At that moment the baby in my womb moved. I felt a hard flutter then a kick. Plexis sat on the bed beside me and put his hand on the gentle swell of my belly. In the pitch darkness I leaned against him, I needed him so much; I needed his strength and his wholeness to lift me out of my melancholy.
Tears trickled down my cheeks and dripped off my chin. They landed on his hands, still clasped over my belly. Without a sound, he lay me down on my side, curling around me, lifting my tunic and running his hands up and down my body. I felt his penis stiffen as his breath grew deeper, matching my own. Hurriedly he fumbled with his own tunic, grasping my hips, pulling me to him, sheathing himself within me in one hard thrust. Battle did that to people, the aftermath left them taut as strung bows.
For a moment he didn’t move, I could feel him trying to regain control, but the boat rocked us, I was as slippery as only a fully aroused woman can be, and with a groan he bucked into me, his fingers digging into my hips as he pulled and thrust.
I uttered a soft moan, feeling my whole body dissolve into a boneless shiver of delight. The throbbing that shook me came from within and from Plexis too. He jerked helplessly, caught in the throes of passion, spending himself with a groan that echoed my own.
Afterwards, I drifted to sleep, Plexis still clasping me in his arms. The boat rocked and rocked, the night was still young, and we had far to go before we were safe.
We were heading towards the surest safety we knew, Rome, mortal enemy of Carthage. On deck was the boy whose descendant would bring about her downfall. Scipio Atticus. I had recognized the name. Scipio was the name of the man who would fight Hannibal and defeat Carthage.
I was tried, found guilty, and hung from the yardarm, the rope digging into my flesh, choking me. I kicked and struggled, my life flashing before my eyes. Below me, the people whose lives I’d endangered looked on with flat stares. Their faces were marble, their eyes slate. I couldn’t speak; the rope was too tight. I was strangling.
‘Ashley, Ashley, hush, it’s just a dream.’ Plexis was leaning over me, his eyes full of worry. ‘You have a fever, that’s all. It’s all right.’
‘Where am I?’ I blinked and looked around. My head pained me; my throat was dry and hurt abominably. The light stabbed my eyes and I closed them. I was lying in a bed, on the ship, in a small space between a large crate of resin and bales of hay. Plexis was kneeling by my side, a damp cloth in his hand. He was gently smoothing it over my forehead. ‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘We escaped from Carthage. The boys are safe, Alexander is fine, just very tired now, and you became feverish and slept for nearly two days. You’ve been delirious, talking in your own language, frightening the crew.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I croaked.
Plexis raised my head and gave me some water. ‘I’ve been so worried,’ he said, and I saw it was true. His eyes were ringed with dark circles and his face was drawn.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I repeated, feeling my throat tighten. ‘Is everyone furious with me? Will they ever forgive me?’
‘Forgive you? For what?’
‘For causing so much death and destruction, for endangering everyone’s lives, for getting us into such a mess, and for killing Scipio’s father. I’ll never forgive myself. That poor boy, I killed his father.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Plexis sounded truly perplexed. He put his hand on my forehead and frowned. ‘The fever’s almost gone, but you’re still raving.’
‘No I’m not. We were almost killed by my folly.’
Plexis sat back and put his chin in his hands. He studied me for a while. Finally he sighed and dipped his cloth in some water again and wiped off my face, tenderly, gently. ‘Ashley, oh, Ashley. Why do you insist on taking the blame for everything? All right, I know you feel responsible; after all, if you hadn’t saved Hirkan, Scipio would never have been sacrificed. But what do you think Hirkan feels about all this? Doesn't he have some say in the matter? Scipio has had time to reflect, and although he still grieves for his father, he realizes that his death was unavoidable. Someone had to die. And he realizes that his father preferred to give his life so that he could live.’
‘Stop it, you’re starting to sound like a lawyer again.’
‘I am a lawyer. All right. The truth is Scipio is still very upset. So are we all. Alexander is still very weak, and he’ll probably never move his shoulder as well as he used to. Demos and Phaleria are upset because they lost most of their precious wine store, and Titte, Kell, and Oppe are muttering about the tears in the sails where the arrows ripped through them. Erati will probably never get over losing his clay oven. That is, until we buy him a new one. Paul has worried himself sick about you, and Yovanix can hardly comfort him. Axiom had to use up all the alum in the medical bag to heal Alexander, and he’s worried about your fever. Therefore, in all honesty, I suppose you are rather an unpopular person today. But tomorrow things will look better, and you’ll see that everything that happened was just as much our fault as anyone else’s.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, there was a hundred talent reward for the return of the slave. Phaleria and Demos could have cashed in any time they liked. Instead they proposed using their wine, and Axiom was the one who thought up the scheme of doctoring it. Alexander was spoiling for a good fight; he has been for months. He was thrilled to heft his sword and fight against a real swordsman like Hamilcar, whom he killed, by the way. He’s sleeping with a huge grin on his face. Erati dragged his clay oven to the stern to light the oil, and he was the one who stepped on it and broke it. He says he was startled by the sight of flames on top of the water. He also says he wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Moreover, Oppi, Titte, and Kell really have nothing better to do today than to mend sails. So you see, everyone will get over their fright and forgive you, if they ever blamed you in the first place, which I sincerely doubt.’
‘What about Scipio?’ I asked in a low voice.
Plexis paused. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll just have to let time take its course. He seems to get on very well with Paul and Hirkan. They stay together. The three boys are almost the same age. Paul is the youngest, I think, but easily the tallest.’ His voice was proud. He loved Paul as if he were his own son. Plexis gave me a soft kiss on the cheek and disappeared. I closed my eyes. The baby in my belly gave a fluttering kick and I smiled.
I must have slept for a while. When I awoke, I felt better and wanted to go up on deck, but the weather had taken a turn for the worse and almost everyone was down below. Plexis sat in his corner with his mending. Axiom was reorganizing the medical bag, making a list of all that we needed. Phaleria and Demos were making love in the far corner, hidden by curtains and out of sight, though not of sound. Their sighs and whispers merged with the patter of rain on the deck and the gusts of wind in the sails.
Alexander was lying very still, reading a scroll. His back was stiff, but healing better than he’d thought it would. Yovanix was whittling, his deft hands carving a smooth bowl from a knotty piece of black wood. The two boys we’d rescued were playing dominos, the click, clicking of the bones a gentle counterpoint to the sighs of the wind.
‘Do you want an infusion?’ Paul asked me, a bowl of steaming chamomile in his hands.
I nodded gratefully and sat up straighter. My headache was gone but my throat still hurt. I sipped the hot drink and smiled at my son.
‘Erati made a whole pot of it, there’s lots more. I had some earlier.’ His voice was low. The boat dipped into a swell and I held the bowl away from me, careful not to spill it.
Alexander shifted in his bed and reached for the vial of mint drops the druid had made for him. His seasickness was held in check. He always smelled of fresh mint on board.
Paul looked at me gravely. ‘Plexis said you were sad,’ he said.
I nodded. ‘I was. However, I feel much better now. I only wish …’
‘Wish what?’
‘That Scipio would speak to me. I feel so awful about wh
at happened to his father. Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?’
Paul smiled tenderly. ‘Don’t worry, he’s starting to see that what happened wasn’t all your fault. I think he’s even angrier at Father.’
‘At Alexander? But, why?’
‘Because he killed Hamilcar, and Scipio wanted to do it himself when he grew older. He’s sworn eternal vengeance against Hamilcar’s whole family.’
‘He has?’ I sat up even straighter and frowned.
‘Prince Hamilcar is dead, but he has a son, also called Hamilcar, and Scipio will not rest until the whole family is destroyed.’
‘But why?’
‘Because, well, I’m sure he can explain it better than I can. Wait a minute, I’ll fetch him.’ He was up in a fluid motion, before I could wave him back. Then he returned, Scipio behind him, his face set in hard lines, his golden eyes flashing.
‘My Lady,’ he said, bowing shortly before he sat down next to me.
I shook my head. ‘I’m not your lady. I’m Ashley, that’s all. I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am your father lost his life. If I’d known what was going to happen, I would have … I’d have …’ I stopped, flustered. Actually, I had no idea what I would have done. Let Hirkan be killed sounded terrible. Besides, I didn’t mean it. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said inanely, wishing there was something – anything – I could say.
He seemed to understand. A sad smile twisted his features. ‘I’m sorry too, Lady Ashley. However, let us not dwell upon it. Tonight we will sacrifice a lamb to the gods and pray to Hermes to lead my father’s shade to the underworld. He had no money in his mouth, so perhaps a prayer to the ferryman to take him across the river Styx.’
I nodded. ‘What will you do now?’
‘I have family in Rome; my father’s sister married a senator.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered again.
‘I have decided to forgive you,’ he said evenly. ‘I am thirteen years old now, old enough to understand that what happened was written by the gods themselves. Now I have but one goal in life, to destroy Hamilcar’s descendants.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I said shaking my head. ‘Paul told me you’d explain.’
‘Hamilcar has been looking for an excuse to destroy my father for years. They were old enemies, at odds about many things, but most of all about Tartessos. My father was a peace-loving man; he never wanted Carthage to go to war. He said that the city’s greatness could come from trade, not war. Hamilcar did not agree. My father had the king’s ear. Now that our family has been eradicated, I suppose that the Barcas will rise to certain power. Hamilcar’s son is called Barca. He is but a babe, but I will make sure my own sons know who he is, and someday, if the gods will it, my father will be avenged.’ He raised his hands, palms upwards, towards the sky. His face was tense. His words had all the weight of his pain behind them. I didn’t doubt for an instant that he would succeed.
‘What is your uncle’s name?’ I asked.
‘Augustus.’ A clap of thunder startled us. The sky was black now.
Kell poked his head down the stairway and called to us to make sure everything was securely fastened. ‘A storm is rising,’ he said.
I nodded. A storm indeed. I looked pensively at the boy sitting cross-legged in front of me. His golden eyes were uncanny in their intensity. His grandson would bring about the downfall of a fabled city.
The gods were roaring in the sky. Thunder boomed and lightning tore the sky apart with the sound of the heavens being ripped wide open. The boat heeled and dived into a trough and everyone gasped. Only I smiled. The storm would not sink the ship. I was staring at a golden-eyed boy, and suddenly the words of Apollo came back to me. I laughed then softly. Perhaps it really was true. Mine was not the power to change anything. But those around me would change everything.
The storm blew over quickly, leaving a glassy calm in its wake. The sun set on a sea as flat as a mirror and we ate dinner on deck, sitting on damp wood, admiring the reds and oranges of the variegated sky. Alexander was moving about now, holding himself carefully, his face chalky. I had ceased to worry about him though. He’d been wounded before and knew what to do when he was injured. We weren’t at war any more; he didn’t need to drive himself. He took a bowl of fish stew from Erati and sat down by my side, grunting a little with the effort of moving.
‘Better?’ he asked me.
‘Much, thank you, what about yourself?’
‘I’ll be all right in a day or two. Or maybe three.’ He wriggled his shoulder and winced. ‘The sword cut the muscle, luckily it went with the fibre and not against it. It will fully recover, unlike my leg.’ He stuck the offending member out and moved his foot to illustrate its limited range of movement. His fibula had been shattered and he still limped. I knew how vain he was, so I refrained from saying anything. He sighed and crossed his legs again, holding his steaming bowl on his lap.
Alexander had wanted to be a doctor; he had begged his father to let him study on Kos, an island where there was a famous medical school. However, his father had sent him to Aristotle, and the result was sitting next to me, eating his fish stew, for all the world like a common mortal.
I grinned, suddenly euphoric. The breeze ruffled the water, and the sails bellied out gently, moving the boat smoothly through the glassy sea. I felt as if the naiads themselves were pushing our boat along, as if the sun were really Helios driving his chariot across the path of the heavens, and as if Poseidon were watching over us, making sure the voyage was swift and safe.
Alexander stopped eating and peered at me. ‘How much wine did you have?’ he asked, his mouth quirking.
I shook my head. ‘None. I’m just happy, that’s all. Happier than I’ve been in months, happier than I’ve been in years!’ I laughed then, out of sheer joy. ‘I can’t believe it. I feel, I don’t know, free somehow. As if everything has suddenly fallen into place and the world is exactly as it should be. I feel as if heavy chains have fallen off my shoulders and the future is as golden as the horizon. Look at that sunset, isn’t it incredible?’
Alexander smiled, his eyes glittering suddenly. ‘You always could surprise me,’ he said softly, and he kissed me.
I closed my eyes, melting into his kiss, letting his lips roam softly over mine. He broke off and I sighed.
‘I feel as if everything has been resolved. It’s strange. Babylon has ceased to haunt me. Strange, and wonderful at the same time. I no longer fear for Paul. Your soul has been returned, and I don’t mourn my missing hand any more. I am looking forward to seeing Rome, Pompeii, and then going home to Alexandria. I feel in my heart that Africa is my home, and I long to go back to our house on the hill and give birth to this child.’ I put my hand on my belly and smiled down at it.
Alexander nodded. ‘I too feel as if we’ve passed a certain point, as if we have been climbing a mountain and suddenly find ourselves on the summit.’
‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ I said. ‘But does it mean that everything else will be downhill from now on? An anticlimax, as it were?’
‘No, I think not. There are other mountains and valleys before us. The valleys may be green and fertile, the mountains steep. But whatever they may be we will cross them together, and that makes all the difference, doesn’t it?’
‘Your lips are the headiest wine I know,’ I said, smiling brilliantly at my husband, running a hand through his hair. ‘Look, a white hair. Soon you will be venerable.’
‘A venerable old man?’ he wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t think I ever expected to become one of those.’
‘You’ll make a wonderful grandfather,’ I teased. ‘I can see you now, sitting beneath the olive trees, a sprig of basil tucked behind your ear, a grandchild sitting on your lap begging you to tell him about the time you went to India.’
‘And about the time we floated underwater, remember? In the glass bell?’
‘And when we saw the tiger. It was magnificent, wasn’t it?’
He nodded, sipp
ing his soup thoughtfully. ‘I wonder sometimes if I’ll go back. I think I’d like to, someday. I’ll tell you something else. I don’t see myself spending the rest of my days in Alexandria. A year perhaps, but no more. After that, I see us travelling again. I hope it will be with Nearchus, perhaps to the lands behind Egypt. Perhaps back to India or to China. Perhaps, who knows, towards the new lands you showed me on your map of the world? However, in the end, I think I’d like to go the valley of Nysa, the Sacred Valley, and grow old there. If there is a paradise on earth, I think it’s by a silver lake under the apricot trees.’
Chapter Seven
We arrived in the harbour just outside Rome and docked the boat after going through customs and carefully filling out several clay tablets, a wax tablet, and five long sheets of papyrus. We had to write out everything that was in the boat, as well as our names and the reason for our visit. After passing customs, we sailed the ship down the river and found a berth in the city. The dock area was vast and located on a curve of the river. Once we’d disembarked, we were shown to a customs building to fill out more documents.
The Roman official sitting behind a desk looked like a modern bureaucrat, except for the statues of the gods carefully lined up on a low shelf behind him and the feathered helmet he wore. He frowned over the documents we’d completed, asked a few questions, and then bade us welcome to Rome. Just before we walked out the door, he told us that there were a few little rules we had to follow while in the city, that we’d find a stack of papyrus by the exit, and to take one and study it carefully.
We picked up a copy of the rules and stared at the long list. It went like this – but I have left out quite a few for lack of space:
First rule: No pissing in the streets. Public toilets are located at certain corners. You can ask a Roman citizen to direct you.
Second rule: Roman gods are to be honoured above all others.
Third rule: The public baths are for Roman citizens only. Anyone else must get a guest pass.
Fourth rule: Slaves must be inside by sunset. Any slave on the streets after the sun sets must have a special pass.
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