by Nhys Glover
‘What do you want at this hour?’ The voice wobbled with uncertainty.
‘I come with a message for Antoninus, son of the Proconsul. Is he here?’ Decaneus made his voice as imperious as possible. This slave knew subservience, but would only behave in such a manner if he believed a superior addressed him.
‘My Master’s son was here yesterday but he’s gone. Took ship to Rome this morning, hoping to catch up with his father. You’ll have to follow if you want to deliver a message.’ The slave sounded weary and only slightly cowed.
‘Did he take a child with him?’
At this, the slave looked nervous and his gaze flicked from side to side.
‘My message concerns the girl. I need to know if he still has her in his care,’ Decaneus explained tersely. This man must believe his motives were harmless. He didn’t want to be forced to make the man give up what he knew.
‘Yes. The child is with him. He bought a female slave to look after her on the long journey. She’s well cared for,’ the man said hastily, already starting to close the door.
‘But she still sleeps?’ Cyra put in from behind him.
The slave’s eyes narrowed as he took in the girl, but he answered her anyway. ‘She was very upset about the terrible thing that befell her. So she sleeps to forget.’
‘She sleeps to….’
‘Thank you,’ Decaneus cut Cyra off and turned on his heel. Pushing her in front of him, he headed back down the hill.
‘What now? She’s gone. That bastard has taken her to Rome. Can we go to Rome? Will our documents allow that?’ Cyra was beside herself with distress, twisting her hands in front of her as she raced down the cobbled street. He was finding it hard to keep up with her now.
‘He’s only a day ahead of us, and there’s a long way to Rome. He won’t have many guards with him. In many ways, this suits us better. If he hasn’t caught up with his father, we have a real chance.’
Cyra stopped dead in her tracks and looked up at him. ‘You really think so?’
‘Yes. Ships are notoriously unpredictable. We could take ship in the morning and find ourselves ahead of him in a day or two if the wind was not in his favour today. Or, if the vessel he took was a weighty craft making many stops along the way, we could catch up… We need to know what he sailed on and for what destination. The Harbour Master can give us that information.’
Cyra twisted her hands for a moment more as she stared down at them. Then she looked up at him and her eyes were alight with hope. ‘Yes, you’re right. Taking her from a place like that villa would have been impossible. But at a seaport, at an inn… much better odds. But what of our documents?’
‘They’ll let us travel freely, don’t you worry. This may seem like a delay, but I see it as a gain. I know we have a better chance of getting her back now.’
Ephesus docks were much busier than those in Rhodos, and there was a night Harbour Master on duty when they reached his domain. A few denarii to grease the wheels, and they had the information they needed.
The Proconsul had left three days earlier, his son that morning on an Achaean vessel bound for Isthmia on the Achaean mainland. It was a small island-hopper, the man assured them, and their journey might take up to six days, as they called at many of the islands between here and there and only travelled during daylight hours. On the other hand, a larger ship from Carthago, which had only to stop at Delos, was leaving the next day. It should reach the Achaean mainland in three or four days.
It was their second piece of good news that day, but the Carthaginian vessel had been overcrowded with passengers when it arrived earlier in the day. It might not have space for two more.
They made their weary way to the Anath. There they were met by the night guards. Yes, they’d arrived with many passengers that day but most had disembarked in Ephesus. There would be room for them in the morning, if they were early enough and had the money required.
By the time they were abed, Decaneus was exhausted but optimistic. With any luck, we might just beat Antoninus to Isthmia and reclaim the child.
‘It’s very late,’ Cyra said reluctantly, as they settled themselves into the large bug-free bed with its clean covering.
‘It is,’ he agreed with a heavy sigh. He knew what she meant. Although they had shared a moment of passion onboard ship earlier in the day, Cyra wasn’t prepared to go further with that this night. Though his body argued with him, he knew it was only sensible. If they should oversleep in the morning, their whole advantage might be lost. No, in this, patience was the key, just as it was to finding and rescuing the child. There would be time for them. A lifetime, if he had his way. In the interim, he had her small body to curl up with.
‘Good night, Leonis,’ she whispered.
‘My name is Decaneus,’ he said on an out breath.
‘Leonis suits you.’
‘I’m not a lion.’
‘You look like a lion. You fight like a lion.’
‘How do you know I fight like a lion?’
‘You killed a lion. To do that you must be a courageous and strong fighter.’
‘I was lucky. I had help from my goddess.’
‘It took more than luck and inspiration. Face it; you are Cor Leonis. You are lion-hearted.’
He was too tired to argue with her further, and there was something about the pride with which she told him what he was that appealed to him. He wouldn’t accept the name given to him by a Roman mistress but he would accept it from his little Cyra. If she wanted to believe him to be a lion, he would let her. It would make it more likely she would do as she was told when the time came for action. He needed her respect. Lions were given respect.
‘You may call me Leonis if it pleases you,’ he said grudgingly.
‘It pleases me.’
And with that, she moved over to rest her head on his naked shoulder. It took a long time before he could relax enough to sleep.
9 June 82 CE, Pyramos River, CILICIA
Marcus Auxentius ran his fingers through the red brush on the top of his helmet. Even after more than seventeen years in the Praetorian Guard and as a respected Evocati Augusti, a soldier who had reenlisted after retirement, he still gloried in the distinction of being one of the elite. He had served Titus and his father Vespasian, and been influential in the political upheaval that was now called the Year of the Four Emperors. In all those years, he’d done his duty without question.
Only now, as he stared down at the broken woman cowering on the deck, did he feel any uncertainty.
He’d been there the day Domitian had ridden into camp, telling them his brother was dying and that they were to declare him Caesar. Knowing the unrest that would follow the death of an emperor, the Praetorians had been quick to step in, and Domitian, for all his faults, was a grateful and generous supporter of the guard.
But he was also paranoid, and over the months of his rule, Auxentius had watched as the man took control of every tiny aspect of the empire. He trusted no one to do their jobs properly, not even his Praetorian Guard, and his fear of educated men was infamous. He hadn’t received the classical education that his older brother Titus had. Rumours at the time had said that Vespasian considered him too stupid for it. So now, Domitian considered anyone classically educated to be his enemy.
Auxentius had been involved in the expulsion of the Philosophers in ‘71, when their dissent threatened Vespasian, and he’d considered that move a wise one. Rabble-rousers simply needed to be removed from the rabble. They didn’t need to be put to death.
Not that he had a problem with death. He’d personally removed threats to Caesar’s power that way many times; he was known as a man who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. But this purge he was leading was unfounded and beneath him. It reduced him to an assassin. And murdering whole households because of unsubstantiated rumours didn’t stabilise an Emperor’s power, it jeopardised it.
He stared down at the Donicus woman again. She had the look of his mother; although his Mat
er wasn’t a highborn lady like this one. But she was still an admirable matron, and he’d been taught to respect her. And now he was crossing the Eastern Empire, committing wholesale murder on defenceless citizens and preparing to sell a respectable matron like his mother into slavery.
Looking down at the woman’s blank features, he wondered if he was doing her a favour. Sometimes death was preferable to the alternatives. Luckily, she was old enough not to arouse a male’s lust. It was likely she’d find a place in a household as a nurse or maid, but how would she cope? She’d probably never done a day’s work in her life.
He should have followed orders and put her and her daughter to the sword instead of giving in to that weakling Antoninus, but the man’s father was a Proconsul, a man with power and influence. It didn’t do well to alienate such men, even if they disgusted him.
So, much against his better judgement, he continued to carry out Caesar’s will and would turn this one Roman matron over to the slave dealers in Antiochia to assure her silence. If the gods were with her, she’d find a good home in Parthia and live out her years in safety, if not comfort.
He just wished she didn’t look so much like his mother.
How would his mother cope if she were in this woman’s place? Better than this patrician, that’s for certain. She would have eaten when fed. She would have made the best of her situation, even knowing her husband was dead and her daughter taken from her. His mother would be stronger and more resilient. Wouldn’t she?
It had been years since he’d seen her. A grandmother many times over and her husband dead these ten years, she was the matriarch of his Hispanic family. Her hair would be greyer than this woman’s would. Her face more lined. Stronger. But still… what would she think of this task the emperor had set him? What would she think of him murdering children?
The rowers put up their oars as the ship edged into the shingled shore. It was growing dark and they’d been at sea for five days, ever since leaving the Isle of Rhodos. Now they were to spend the night on land while they restocked and found a guide who could take them on to the port of Katabolis. From there they’d have to march cross-country to Tarsus.
They’d avoid the port itself, as there were too many eyes there ready to report the sighting of Praetorians far from home. Only in ports where there was a large military contingent did he feel comfortable revealing himself.
What would he do with the woman while they were gone? She couldn’t march and he couldn’t draw attention to them any further by carrying her or finding a donkey for her to ride. He’d have to leave her with the ship. Dangerous. If she were to tell someone what had happened to her… but no, he’d make sure that didn’t happen. And they’d be back in a few days, after another possible threat to Domitian was purged from the empire.
Then they’d finish their journey to Antiochia, get rid of the woman and complete the second last of their assigned tasks. Soon he’d be heading back to Rome where he belonged. All these unfortunate and repugnant duties would be over and he could settle back into his real job – protecting Caesar’s person.
He looked down into the blank, blood-streaked face once more and shivered. Damn, he wished she didn’t look so much like his mother…
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
11 June 82 CE, Isle of DELOS
The sun was setting over the sea in fiery hues when their large merchant vessel finally reached the port on the east coast of the island of Delos. As their craft cut through the teal green waters of the sacred harbour, Cyra and Leonis found themselves standing next to one of the sailors. Cyra noticed him making a gesture that was all too familiar to her. It was one of reverence to Astarte.
‘You worship Astarte?’ she asked him.
‘No, Artemis. Although I have heard that she is called Astarte in some places. This is her sanctuary. Hers and her brother Apollo’s.’ The man looked at her with respect.
‘I’ve heard that. My people are descended from the Amazons and we worship her as Astarte, the goddess of the hunt.’
‘Did you visit her temple in Ephesus? It is the largest temple I’ve ever seen and so beautiful it makes a person cry.’
‘No. We were only in the city overnight. Where was it?’
‘Outside the city walls. On the marshes. I’ve seen it only once. One day, when I have time, I will go there again.’
‘Are there temples dedicated to Artemis here?’
‘Oh, yes, and many small sacred places, too. You can see her sacred breasts outlined on the hilltop over there.’ The sailor pointed to two conical shaped mounds outlined against the sky. ‘It is worth visiting her temple to pray for those you love. If you are one of hers, she will listen.’
‘It looks very beautiful from here. Peaceful.’
‘It is now, but once it was the centre of the slave trade in much the same way Rhodos is today. But the trade was moved and the island cleansed and returned to the gods. Few people live on the island anymore. Only those who serve the gods. The rest are transitory like us – pilgrims visiting the sacred sites or ships seeking shelter for the night on the crossing to the mainland.’
Cyra turned to look up at Leonis, who was staring out at the sacred harbour lost in thought. He’d been quiet and pensive all day. If he hadn’t slept so soundly the night before on the open deck, she would have thought him tired, but it wasn’t weariness that had him distracted, it was something else he wasn’t willing to share. And though it didn’t alienate her, it didn’t bring her closer to him either.
If she’d known him better she would have asked what troubled him. But she didn’t, so she’d kept her peace all day, spending her time in her own private world where Gali and Galeria were together again and the three of them played in the waters of Rhodos, all pain and fear forgotten. Of course, even if they were to be reunited, they wouldn’t go back to Rhodos. There was nothing there for them anymore.
But now, she stared up at Leonis’ handsome profile, his hair alight with the fire from the sky, and she thought of Apollo and wondered if that god would look like this beautiful, powerful man.
A sharp order went up and the sailor dashed away to prepare for docking. She and Leonis hastened back to their little corner of the deck where they were out of the way. It had been a fast and easy crossing the past two days, and she liked the crew that she’d met on board. Unlike the vessel on which they’d travelled to Ephesus, these men didn’t stare at her as if she were a luscious treat they wished to devour. These men were respectful, just as the sailor she’d just spoken to had been.
‘Can we visit the temple?’ she asked as she curled up at Leonis’ side. The heat of the day had gone, and for the first time in days, she felt chilled.
Absently, the Dacian put his arm around her shoulder, warming her instantly. ‘If you like. There’s time before dark. Do you feel them?’
She looked up at his face. It was relaxed and at peace.
‘Who?’
‘The gods. I’ve been hearing them call all day, and as soon as the island came into sight, I felt them. They’re still here.’
She put her head back on his shoulder. ‘It is peaceful here; I feel that. That sailor seemed to be in awe of this place, but I don’t feel the gods here. I don’t feel the gods anywhere.’
‘Because you think they’re dead or never existed at all?’ He was laughing at her; she could hear it in his voice.
‘Possibly. All I know is that the gods, even Astarte, are just names men give to…’
‘She will prove herself to you,’ he interrupted confidently. ‘Before this journey is through, Bendis will prove herself to you. You’re one of hers, Cyra. She’ll want you to know that.’
‘Maybe your calling is as a priest, not a bard.’ She tried to make light of his words but they struck a chord deep inside her. She wanted to believe. More than anything, she wanted to believe. And she wanted to know that the Goddess cared about her and her plight. That she would assist where she could.
Maybe those who said the other gods were more
powerful than Astarte were right. Maybe she could do little against their machinations, just as Cyra could do little against the power of Rome. But if there were a way… even in some small way… that she could get help for this quest they were on, Cyra would ask for it.
They found a room in one of the few inns in the small city and then headed toward the temple of Artemis. On the way, they passed a long avenue flanked by a row of huge, fierce-looking lions.
More lions. It seemed that every step they took, lions marked their path. Was it a sign?
‘Now I see why you feel called to this place. Look, lions guarding the way to the temple of Apollo. Maybe it is Apollo who is your god, not Bendis.’
‘I don’t know the gods of the Achaeans or the Romans. I think they’re all the same, just given different names by different people. But this place does call to me and those lions… it feels fitting that they’re here. Just as it felt fitting that the lions led the way to the mausoleum on the mainland. It feels right that I’m here, too.’
‘Apollo and Artemis, or Diana as the Romans call her, are twins. Maybe they’re the male and female faces of the same god,’ Cyra offered thoughtfully.
He grunted, considering her words as they increased their pace to reach the temple before darkness claimed the land.
At the columned temple, the priestesses were already making preparations to close the sanctuary to the public for the night. Cyra’s disappointment felt more extreme than it should have been. What did it matter whether they made offerings to a Goddess that didn’t exist or who had no true power to help them?
As they stood at the entrance to the sanctuary, a young priestess came over and apologised for not allowing them entrance. Then, as they began to turn away, another older priestess, obviously of a higher caste than her youthful sister, approached them. This one had hair that would have been as dark as Cyra’s when she was young, but now it was threaded with grey. Her dark olive complexion handled her aging far better, and the serene, plain face was barely marked by wrinkles. The dark eyes were gentle and knowing as they met Cyra’s and Leonis’ in turn.
