The wind was brisk, so we manoeuvred the boat carefully. A dragon boat attracted attention, and a customs boat had come out to intercept us before we even entered the harbour. Once he saw we were traders, he escorted us to our mooring.
Phaleria immediately set about unloading the goods she wanted to sell while Alexander, Axiom, Plexis, Yovanix, Paul, and I set out to explore the city.
The city rose steeply above the bay, with many streets turning into wide staircases. The houses were large, airy, and terraced. Date palms and fruit trees grew in parks and lined the streets. Fountains were everywhere, sparkling and splashing in every garden and square.
Yovanix walked surely, one hand resting lightly on Paul’s shoulder, the other holding the new leash Plexis had woven for Perilous. The dog was growing fast, and his training was coming along well. Docile now, and obedient, he trotted just ahead of Yovanix, slowing whenever an obstacle presented itself. An obstacle could be a large pothole, a curb, stairs, or whatever else risked making Yovanix lose his balance and fall.
Plexis walked next to the dog and corrected him when he did something wrong, and Paul was there to steady Yovanix, in case the puppy forgot himself and leapt after a cat. But the puppy was behaving beautifully, and Paul could concentrate instead on describing what we were seeing as we walked from the docks into the city.
‘We’re following a wide avenue that leads slightly uphill and curves around to the left, hugging the shore. On our right are houses and shops, and on our left is a wall, about shoulder level, beyond which is the sea.’
‘I can hear the waves breaking against the seawall,’ said Yovanix, ‘and we’ve just passed a fishmonger. I could smell his weekly special.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t think I’d want to eat it.’
Paul grinned. ‘Now we’re in front of the harbour. Ahead of us are the Imperial Palace gates, about a hundred metres away, I’d say. To our right is a huge arch, and through it is a bridge leading to the temple on the island.’
‘I can feel the wind coming through the arch,’ said Yovanix, turning his banded eyes towards it. The breeze blew his light brown hair off his high forehead, showing the white skin. He smiled, tilting his head. ‘I can hear the difference between the waves hitting the rocks and the waves washing up on the sandy beach.’
‘There is no one on the island,’ I said, ‘Why?’
‘Only the priests go when they perform their ceremonies,’ said Axiom. He looked at the sky. ‘I believe it’s going to rain.’
‘It won’t rain for a while yet,’ said Alexander, glancing at the heavy clouds on the horizon.
‘To our right is a wide street. It’s at right angles to the waterfront and it cuts the city in half. It seems to be the main street, with many other smaller ones leading off from it.’ Paul said to Yovanix.
‘We can take the main street and see if we can find lodgings.’ Alexander took my arm. ‘Shall we?’
‘We shall,’ I said.
Paul continued his guided tour for Yovanix. ‘The houses are made of stone and wood, with mosaics covering every available space. The streets are paved with flat flagstones – watch your step there; that stone is broken. The houses here are not very grand. Up on the top of the hill are bigger residences, and I can see two or three behind formidable walls. I can only catch a glimpse of their rooftops, but they look to be quite huge. They must be the palaces and the wealthy quarters.’
Yovanix turned his head, listening to Paul and trying to sense where he was going. The street sloped gently upwards. Sometimes there would be a shallow step in the road. The puppy was learning to stop at these to give Yovanix time to ‘see’ it with his foot.
‘There’s a public garden on our left, and up ahead the street widens and circles a fountain, probably a sacred spring. There is a small temple built over it, and bouquets of flowers have been deposited all around it.’
‘I smell the flowers,’ said Yovanix. He spoke evenly, with no sign of the strain he must be feeling. His hand on Paul’s shoulder was firm but gentle. ‘And on our left there is a bakery. The bread has just come out of the oven.’
‘That’s right! Can we buy some, Father? I’m starving.’ Paul looked at Alexander pleadingly and Alexander flipped his wrist and took a coin out of his purse.
‘Get some sweet buns for all of us,’ he said. ‘You’re not the only starving voyager here.’
We sat on a tiled bench in the public garden and ate our buns. They were warm, fragrant with honey, and covered with toasted sesame seeds. We ate the buns, licked our fingers, and did some people-watching.
‘There goes a woman riding a donkey. She’s wearing a red robe and a yellow shawl fringed with glass beads; that’s making the clicking noise you hear. She looks like she’s in a hurry – she probably has an appointment at the beauty parlour and she’s late.’ Paul leaned forwards and said, ‘I see three men carrying a long, rolled-up rug. It looks heavy. I bet it’s for one of the houses on the hill. The men are wearing identical blue loincloths. They must be slaves, working in the same household. Now I see a young girl with long black hair reaching down to her knees. She has a gold circlet on her head. She is escorted by two eunuchs. They are wearing long robes, and, oh! One just billowed in the breeze and I saw a huge, curved sword at his waist.’
‘That’s called a scimitar, and it’s quite deadly, I assure you.’ said Plexis.
Paul whistled. ‘It looks deadly! There are at least fifty women shopping in this street. They are carrying most of their goods in baskets made of woven grass. The baskets have large handles that loop over their shoulders.’
‘Shall we go to find some place to shelter?’ asked Alexander. ‘I think it’s going to rain.’
A fat raindrop fell with a loud plop, landing in the soft dust at our feet. Axiom and I looked up at the clouds. ‘I thought you said it wouldn’t rain until later,’ I said to Alexander.
Axiom grinned. ‘I think I see an inn over there, see? Where the third street on the left connects to the main street.’
We hurried to the shelter of the inn, arriving just as the heavens opened and a deluge suddenly obscured the harbour from our view. The innkeeper rented us two small but clean rooms overlooking the bay. Our room had an oil lamp made of pale blue glass hanging from the ceiling. The breeze made it swing. The shadows around us reared and subsided as the lamp moved back and forth. Outside, the night was full of noise. The city never slept. Restaurants were crowded with people, and the streets were busy. In the cool of the evening, the city started to bustle.
We ate early and retired to our rooms. The fatigue of the journey made our movements torpid. I lay on my back on the bed and watched the lamp, melancholy washing through me.
‘Are you thinking of the tent?’ asked Alexander, stretching out by my side.
‘I suppose so. We’re almost home, aren’t we? Just two more stops, and then home at last.’
He sighed deeply. ‘It seems as if we’ve been travelling for ten years, instead of just one. The memories of Orce are already confused with those of Britain and Gaul. Sometimes I dream of the old woman who leaned over the pit where I was kept prisoner. I see a wizened crone, and then her face changes and she becomes Olympias. And sometimes I forget how you lost your hand. I look at your arm, and I get confused.’ He was silent, thinking.
‘I hardly remember that either,’ I said. It was true, the memory was diffused by shock. I could only recall the smell of my flesh being cauterized, and Demos’s voice crooning in my ear. The rest was a blur. Mostly I tried not to think about the accident that cost me my left hand. Ithad been an accident, after all. My son hadn’t meant to hurt me. It was my fault; I’d tried to grab a razor-sharp sword.
The lamp swung back and forth in front of my vision, its flame flickering and dimming. The room darkened. Outside, a rush of wind clattered the shutters, rustled the palm fronds, and drowned out the murmur of voices coming from downstairs. My heart beat irregularly. Sometimes it did that when I was too tired or stressed. Other time
s my nose bled. Not tonight, though. No sharp tickle warned me of a nosebleed, so I closed my eyes and breathed slowly.
Beside me, Alexander stirred. ‘Babylon seems so far away,’ he said softly. ‘That’s another thing I keep forgetting – my own death there. It was such a lovely city, though tinged with sorrow. I wonder why, with all the beauty, I can only remember the tears?’
‘“How many miles to Babylon? Three score miles and ten. Can I get there by candlelight? Yes, and back again”,’ I quoted in a murmur. I didn’t open my eyes. Visions of the city overwhelmed me. I saw the gate of Ishtar, its blue enamelled tiles glowing in the sun. The great ziggurat that rose above the city like a fantastic, pink spaceship. The temples and courtyards, the central marketplace with its striped awnings, fountains, and white camels. An amber river flowed through the city, cutting the palace in two, irrigating the hanging gardens with its precious water. I envisioned the palace with its echoing brick hallways and huge, arched passages. The biggest rooms had been built below the ground in the cool entrails of the earth. My room had overlooked a small courtyard where an emerald pool sparkled in the middle of towering palm trees. Lined with deep green tiles, the pool was always cool and inviting. Each evening, I’d swum in it, feeling the water like silk caressing me. Or maybe it was Alexander’s hand.
‘You’re crying,’ he said, bending over to kiss my tears away. ‘Why? What did that poem mean?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It was already older than dust when I learned it.’
‘Why aren’t you sleeping?’
‘I’m having a hard time falling asleep,’ I admitted. ‘Perhaps that’s why I’m crying. I’m just exhausted, and I can’t sleep.’
‘Time, what a strange thing,’ he said meditatively. ‘It flows by like water, never stopping, never looking back. Yet you defied it, breasted the current, and returned upstream to a time not your own. The people of your day have no idea what they’re really doing, do they? I used to think of them as time gods. Now I only pity them.’
I opened my eyes. He was leaning over me, his face hidden in darkness. Only his eyes glittered.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Because I have you, they do not. Don’t be sad, Ashley of the Sacred Sandals. You are here, and wherever or whenever that is, it’s enough to have you with me.’
I smiled then. Sleep was nudging me, but so was something else. Something near my hip. My throat tightened suddenly. My flesh contracted with a shiver of delight, and Alexander laughed softly.
‘It’s enough for me too,’ I said, ‘and it always has been.’ I sighed. ‘Mmm, that feels good.’
‘I think I know of a good way to help you sleep,’ he said. The lamplight was blotted out as he moved on top of me, and I closed my eyes and let his body sing me to sleep.
Chapter Four
In the morning, quiet calm had replaced my melancholy. I sat before the mirror and let one of the inn’s slaves dress my hair. My reflection stared back at me. My eyes were still pale blue and my hair a sweep of silver. The bones in my face had changed subtly though. The past year had added depth to the hollows beneath my cheeks and slanted my eyes even more. They had lost their icy frost, but they were far from warm. The Viking blood was even more apparent now, my mouth was still wide, but the lips were less generous than before. I was thirty-two. In this time I was considered middle-aged, and although I looked younger than most people my age, I didn’t look like the youthful girl Alexander had mistaken for Hades’ bride. Four pregnancies had changed my body, and sorrow had marked my face.
I watched in silence as the slave woman braided my tresses and wove tiny, blue glass beads into them. I wasn’t a vain person. I hadn’t really looked at a mirror in nearly a year. Perhaps that was why I was taking such careful stock of myself now. The cream I put on my face every day kept my skin soft. The fact that I didn’t have to do hard work helped keep me strong. I’d worn hats to shade my face, and I’d never gone sunbathing, another plus for my skin. I’d always had enough to eat, and even if I was thin compared to future standards, it was a healthy slim. My teeth were still good, I was fanatically careful about cleaning them, and not eating sweets helped immensely.
I glanced at the woman busy braiding my hair. She was from Carthage and I didn’t speak any Phoenician, so I couldn’t converse with her. I’d asked her name. After a pause, she’d replied Sorra. Her voice had been shy. She took my hand and gave me a manicure; I couldn’t do it myself any more, having just one hand. Then she gave me a pedicure and helped me lace up my sandals. She was a perfect lady’s maid, helping me pick out a robe and draping it expertly over my shoulders. She was shorter than I and had to reach up to fasten the fibula. When she was done, she stepped back and looked me over. Then she nodded, satisfied, and gave me a wide smile.
I went to the terrace. The sun was fully risen and the harbour was crowded with boats. It was early and the market stands had unfolded their awnings and were doing a brisk business. Below me were a fishmonger, a glassmaker, a leather worker, and a man selling vegetables. Another man was selling parrots, and they added their loud screeching to the din.
The morning was just starting. I draped my cloak over my shoulders and went downstairs. Alexander, Plexis, and everyone else had gone to the boat at daybreak to help Phaleria. They would work and trade until noon, and then we’d meet here, at the inn, for lunch. I was free to do as I liked, and I wanted to stroll around. It had been forever, it seemed, since I was on my own in a lovely city with nothing to do but explore and enjoy the scenery. An exhilarating sense of freedom swept over me as I stepped into the thronging streets. I smiled then, from pure joy, and headed up the hill. I wanted to see the view from above. I also wanted a glimpse of the Imperial Palace. I thought I’d be able to see it better from the hilltop.
The climb was steep and my legs hurt by the time I reached the summit. At the very top, a temple had been built overlooking the city. I didn’t think women were allowed inside, so I walked around the exterior, peeking over the tall wall when I could and admiring the gardens. I saw priests but no worshippers. The priests wore dark blue pagnes, Greek-style, and shaved their heads. There were three of them, kneeling in front of a statue of a bull, praying loudly in a strange tongue. The sun beat on their heads but they didn’t move. After a while I grew tired of watching them, and I walked further along the stone causeway, stopping now and then to gaze at the lapis blue sea with white and yellow sails dotting it.
The city was busy that day. From what we gathered, it was preparing to fête Carthage’s victory over Tartessos, and also the new sovereignty. Today the island in the middle of the harbour was being decked with flowers. Hundreds of blossoms were being tied onto the columns and pillars with bright red ribbons. It looked as if the sparkling white pillars were dripping scarlet ribbons of blood. I shuddered with a chill in the hot sun. The image of a white bull came to me, and I remembered Phaleria’s tale of the sacrifice she had seen in this city when she was a child. I turned and went back along the cobblestone path, intending to return to the city and get something to drink. My throat was dry.
As I passed the wall again I glanced over it, expecting to see the priests bowed in prayer. But what I saw was a youth lying on top of the statue.
At first, I didn’t realize what I was seeing. The boy was struggling gamely, trying to escape, but he was firmly tied to the stone bull. In a way, he looked as if he were trying to fornicate with it and, if it weren’t for the grimly determined look on his face, I might have giggled. The look on his face, and the implication of his plight, stopped me from laughing. The sacrificial victims were presented to the god on the back of a bull. This boy was about twelve years old. He was wiry and strong, but not strong enough to break free. I saw that in an instant. That didn’t stop him from trying. Sweat beaded his brow, and tendons stood out in his throat and arms. Finally, with a sob, he stopped and just lay there, panting mightily. His face was turned towards me, and our eyes met. He froze. In his gaze was utter despair.
I realized that I was standing with my hand pressed to the top of the wall, which was roughly chin level. I’d been holding my breath so long my chest hurt. A green flash caught my eye and I bent down and picked up a piece of tile, broken off the wall. The tile was made of baked glass, and the shard I held was long and sharp as a knife.
I don’t think I understood for an instant what I was doing. If I had thought about it, I would have continued down the hill and later cried in Alexander’s arms. But I didn’t think. I shucked off my robe and vaulted over the wall, holding the glass sliver in my teeth, my good hand clutching the hot stone.
I cleared the wall and sprang at the boy. His mouth gaped and his eyes bulged, but he didn’t cry out. Behind him, in the deep shade of a cypress tree, I saw a priest kneeling and heard him chanting. He didn’t hear me, because he was facing the other way. All I saw of him was his back, swaying slowly back and forth in rhythm with the prayer.
Axiom would be furious, I remember thinking, as I neatly cut through the boy’s ropes and set him free. He was always telling me not to get involved or protest at other people’s religions. However, this was murder, I told myself, not religion. The boy and I breached the wall in silence under a white-hot sky. On the other side, I put my robe back on and threw the glass shard as far into the underbrush as possible. It sparkled like an emerald in the light, then disappeared.
The boy and I stared at each other. He stood still, rubbing the red welts on his arms. Then the priest stopped chanting, turned, and uttered a high shriek.
My first instinct was to run, but there was only one narrow path along here, and there was nowhere to hide. Instead, I lifted my robe and pushed the boy beneath it. He clung to my legs, his whole body vibrating with fear.
A second later a man with a donkey topped the rise, and two slave women holding earthenware jars on their heads, followed. Inside the temple, there was pandemonium, and those passing by stopped, of course, and peered over the wall to see what the matter was. I could only do the same.
The Eternal Banquet Page 5
