‘Dido, ask him what the laws are concerning merchants,’ he said when a lull came in the barbaric proceedings.
‘Keep out of this, Tiro,’ she said harshly. ‘You’ve been enough help for one day.’
‘Now just a minute,’ he said angrily. ‘None of this is my fault. Very well, it was wrong of me to interfere with the rights and privileges of the Garamantes to hunt children for the table, but the present situation is nothing to do with me. Obviously our friend over there’ —the big man now couched in the chariot at the chieftain’s side, nursing his bruises in silence—’saw our presence as an opportunity to progress along the course of honour. You’ve got to persuade the chieftain that we are not spies, but are in their lands solely to trade.’
‘Would you have me lie to them?’ Dido said sardonically, opening her big eyes wide. ‘The only one among us who has any intention of trading with them is Claudius Mercator. And you couldn’t trust that old fraud for a second.’
Impatiently, Flaminius pushed her aside and strode forwards. His intention was to communicate with the chieftain by signs, futile no doubt, but better than waiting for Dido to show sense. But the moment he moved, sword in hand, towards the far-off chieftain, the spear carrying nobles surged forwards yelling.
Instinctively, he fought back. A Garamantian lunged at him with a spear and he dashed it to one side with his sword, then brought the blade swinging back. The noble bashed it away with his hippopotamus hide shield, but then another man came in at him, gashing him across the thigh. Flaminius whirled round, brought his sword chopping down. The spear snapped audibly, the spearhead thumped to the ground. Another man tried to bring him down and he leapt to avoid the spear, sliced at his attacker with his sword, opened up the man’s cheek with the tip. White teeth grinned momentarily through the cut that filled up with blood even as Flaminius landed, turning to fend off another lunge from another man.
‘Roman fool!’ Vabalathus drew his own sword and came to attack him.
Flaminius turned, dashed the sword from Vabalathus’ hand. More Garamantes jostled forwards and the Arab was knocked away. Flaminius was fighting for his life. Maybe the Arab was right. Maybe he was a fool. He didn’t even know how he’d reached this point. Another Garamantian lunged at him but he snatched the spear by the haft and hauled him forwards. The man was dragged off his feet. Flaminius wrapped his left arm round the man’s neck and placed his sword blade to his throat, looking warningly at the rest of the Garamantes. They halted and looked about them uneasily.
‘Now,’ said Flaminius, ‘I think this gives me a bit more negotiating power.’
‘Tiro!’ Dido shouted from nearby. ‘Look!’
Flaminius looked. She was pointing at the chieftain’s chariot. Standing beside the chieftain himself were three figures: Demetrius, Menander, and Amasis. All had been badly beaten. The chieftain pointed his assegai at Flaminius then at the hostages. His meaning was clear.
Cursing, Flaminius lowered his sword.
—13—
Phazania, 11th December 124 AD
Under guard, Flaminius was marched to join the others. Vabalathus gave him a withering look. Claudius Mercator wrung his hands. Dido shook her head.
‘You lunatic, Tiro,’ she said. ‘Let me handle this. I can talk to them. You… all you can do is act the fool.’
Flaminius thought this unfair. The Garamantes had attacked him, after all. Was he not supposed to defend himself? Diplomatic, but there’d be no future in it. Besides, Dido had made very little headway with the chieftain.
‘Thanks for your loyalty, friend,’ he said to Vabalathus. The Arab had regained his sword. He sheathed it now with an audible clang, then turned his back on him.
The wounds of the men Flaminius had fought were tended to. Dido was taken through the ranks of the Garamantes to the chariot where she spoke with the chieftain for some time.
She returned sometime afterwards, her brow furrowed, her eyes dark and thoughtful.
‘I’ve spoken with Osorkon,’ she said, then paused. ‘That’s the name of the chieftain,’ she added. ‘A very cultured man, he learnt Punic while in Leptis Magna as a boy. He accepts that we are merchants who wish to trade with the Garamantian kingdom, not Roman spies—although he has his doubts about you, Tiro,’ she added, with a look at Flaminius.
‘Don’t we all,’ grumbled Vabalathus.
Flaminius shot the Arab a glare. ‘What about Amasis and the others?’ he asked Dido. The hostages had been removed from sight shortly after he backed down. He was anxious about them, naturally, the boy most of all.
‘They were sitting under guard in the chariot,’ Dido said, ‘but I didn’t get a chance to speak to them. They seemed subdued.’ She paused.
‘What of the chieftain?’ asked Claudius Mercator. ‘This Osorkon, as you call him. You say he accepts that we are merchants.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘because he has examined our merchandise.’ Again she paused. ‘You won’t like this, merchant. He’s confiscated it.’
Claudius Mercator turned ashen. ‘Confiscated our merchandise?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. After he received word of our coming from Bagas, that’s the big man who betrayed Gildo, the headman, he set out from his castle with all his warriors. They came to the village to find it deserted apart from the women and children, and our three friends. And our merchandise.’
‘My merchandise,’ Claudius Mercator stressed through gritted teeth. ‘I paid you and your men,’ he indicated Hamilcar and the other two who stood under guard nearby, ‘to protect it.’
‘Our merchandise,’ Vabalathus corrected him. ‘We paid for it.’
Dido grimaced. ‘Well, now it belongs to Osorkon, until such a time as he feels willing to relinquish it.’
‘This is monstrous,’ Claudius Mercator announced, as if it had just occurred to him.
‘So he’s stolen our trade goods,’ said Flaminius impatiently. ‘What does he intend to do now?’
‘He says he is very keen to encourage trade,’ Dido explained, ‘as long as he benefits from it. He is high in the favour of King Gulussa and controls the castle and city of Talgae, half a day’s ride from here. He said that if we wish to trade in the kingdom, he is willing to put in a good word with his king—in return for certain concessions.’
Claudius Mercator bustled self-importantly. ‘Of course, concessions will be considered,’ he said. ‘But only after an adequate period of negotiation.’
‘He offers an opportunity for that,’ Dido said, ‘if we return with him to his castle.’
Flaminius looked around at the Garamantian warriors who surrounded them. ‘What an elegant invitation,’ he commented. ‘I take it that it’s one we can’t refuse.’
Half an hour later they were crossing the plains, driving in the direction of the aforementioned city. They had been allowed to retain the chariots loaned to them by Gildo, but it didn’t look too good for Flaminius, standing behind the crouched figure of Dido as she drove him onwards. They rumbled on across the dusty plains, the merchants and their three Nasamonean guards, surrounded on all sides by Osorkon’s chariots. An honour guard, it was called, but its meaning was plain: although they had been permitted to keep their weapons, they were prisoners. And Demetrius, Amasis and Menander remained in the chieftain’s chariot as hostages.
They passed several villages surrounded by fields and groves, each no doubt of as great importance as Gildo’s village if not greater. In between stretched sand flats and sand hills. Flaminius wondered if the villages had been established in existing oases or if their fertility was enhanced by irrigation works of the kind Vabalathus had alluded to. In the distance, mountain peaks were visible again, and Flaminius wondered if water could be brought down from them somehow.
All this was irrelevant, of course, unless the irrigation system could be used in some way to their advantage. What mattered was that he gained access to the temple in Garama, and removed the veil of Tanit before it could fall into the hands of Punic rebels.
Studying Dido as the woman expertly guided the chariot through the clouds of dust, he wondered.
‘Look ahead!’ she cried suddenly, shouting over the rumble of many wheels. Flaminius peered through the clouds of dust. A city rose from the plain ahead of them; green squares of fields and groves of palms were visible outside the massive walls, which girdled a hillock upon which stood many flat roofed, white walled houses. Looming over the city was a great castle of stone. Flaminius guessed that this citadel was their destination.
His suspicions were proved right after the Garamantes led them to the great gates of the city, which were hastily flung open by guards to allow the entrance of Osorkon and his retinue. The prisoners were encouraged to follow shortly afterwards, with the rest of the Garamantes following behind. As they entered the city, the streets were crowded with people, who made way for the passing of the chariots as they made their way up the dusty lanes towards the castle on top of the hill. Shops lined the main street, and all was hustle and bustle, with workshops producing goods, traders hawking goods, citizens buying goods…
The idea that such trade thrived so far from the borders of the empire, indeed in the midst of the howling wilderness, was incredible. Flaminius had heard all about the Garamantian kingdom, more than he really wanted to know, but never had he realised it was so civilised. And yet they hunted people for sport.
They entered the courtyard of the castle and a set of gates closed with a pronounced thud behind them. The chariots and horses were led away by slaves while Osorkon’s retainers marched the foreigners into the castle keep.
They were shown into lavishly appointed chambers on the far side of the keep, where more slaves came to wait upon them. A set of double doors led outside, and two spear carrying guards honoured them with their presence. Refreshed and washed by the slaves, they gathered in the main room, whose drab stone walls were enlivened by costly wall hangings of exquisitely dyed fabric. Flaminius looked around at the company, smiled worriedly at Amasis, and said:
‘We’re prisoners, aren’t we?’
‘They do us much honour,’ protested Claudius Mercator. ‘More than the last time I came to this land. But now you see the wealth of this land, I am sure you realise that your investment was a wise one!’
‘I seldom agree with this Roman,’ said Vabalathus, ‘but it seems to me that he is right about one thing. The Garamantes are holding us prisoner. They still think we are spies.’
The doors opened and in waddled an elderly Garamantian with the look of a chamberlain or major-domo. He beckoned to Dido and addressed her in faltering Punic.
‘It seems I must leave you, gentlemen,’ Dido said to the others. ‘I’ve been asked to speak with Osorkon.’
Claudius Mercator seized her hands. ‘You understand that you must bargain for our very lives?’ he asked in tremulous undertones. ‘Do not fail us!’ He peered at Menander, who was sitting glumly nearby, paying his master no heed. ‘If only they would accept my own negotiations! I could talk with them via my slave…’
‘They don’t like Ethiopians,’ Dido said brusquely. ‘Luckily, I can talk to Osorkon. Don’t worry. I will ensure that you and your investors receive the best bargain possible.’
She was led from the room. Flaminius gave Claudius Mercator a cynical look, and went to talk to Amasis and Demetrius.
They were in a huddle beside Menander. He had not had an opportunity to speak with them on the journey. All still bore bruises and looked dispirited, even Amasis. ‘I hope they didn’t hurt you too much,’ he said awkwardly.
Amasis looked up, rubbed at his side, then shrugged and looked away. ‘I’m alright,’ he muttered. ‘I’m worried about him.’ He nodded at Demetrius, who was gazing off into the distance as if pondering the secrets of infinity.
Flaminius laid a hand on the Greek’s shoulder, and Demetrius cringed, then peered fearfully at him. His brow cleared, and he said, ‘Why, isn’t it…Flaminius? I thought we were prisoners of the Garamantes. Have you come to set us free?’
Flaminius looked embarrassed. ‘I’m afraid that we’re all prisoners now,’ he said, ‘but they seem to be treating us well. You haven’t touched your food,’ he added, noticing some cooling rice and meat on a platter nearby.
‘I thought it best not to,’ Demetrius whispered. ‘It might be poisoned. Poisons are neutralized by taking asses’ milk; henbane more particularly, mistletoe, hemlock, the flesh of the sea-hare, the juice of the white hellebore, pharicon, and canary clover: the same, too, where coagulated milk has been productive of bad effects, for the beestings, or first curdled milk, should be reckoned as nothing short of a poison. We shall have to mention many other uses to which asses’ milk is applied; but it should be remembered that in all cases it must be used fresh, or, if not, as new as possible, and warmed, for there is nothing that more speedily loses its virtue. The bones, too, of the ass are pounded and boiled, as an antidote to the poison of the sea-hare… ‘
‘His mind is broken,’ Amasis whispered in Flaminius’ ear, drawing him to one side. ‘They treated him very badly.’
‘And you?’ Flaminius looked at the boy. Amasis grimaced.
‘I’ll get over it,’ he said. ‘I thought they were going to kill Menander!’
Flaminius looked at the Ethiopian, who was glaring silently at the ground. ‘These people enslaved you, didn’t they?’ he asked him, curious. ‘Where are you from originally?’
Menander looked up, and gave him a baleful glare. He nodded at Claudius Mercator, who was talking animatedly with Vabalathus and Hamilcar on the far side of the chamber. ‘He bought me in Garama,’ he said. ‘My homeland is to the south of here, many days’ journey.’
Flaminius’ eyes narrowed. ‘You knew we would be hunting people, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘That was why you refused to come with us.’
‘I am a slave,’ Menander said tranquilly. ‘I do as my master bids. I return to this land of horror to serve him. But I will not hunt my own…’
‘What does he mean?’ Amasis asked. He seemed to be returning to his old inquisitive self, and Flaminius was pleased to see this. Quite what Nitocris would say when she heard what he had been subjected to, he hated to imagine. ‘You were hunting people?’
Flaminius nodded. ‘Dark-skinned people, who live among the rocks or in caves. It seems our hosts consider them to be animals. They’re the aboriginal inhabitants of this country, it seems. But maybe Menander can tell us more about them…’
Both turned to look curiously at the slave, who opened his mouth to speak. Then the chamber doors opened again and in walked Dido.
Claudius Mercator bustled over to her, followed by Hamilcar and the other Nasamoneans. ‘You are back already!’ he rejoiced. ‘Or has our host refused to cooperate?’
‘How long will we remain prisoners?’ asked Hamilcar. ‘Should we not make some attempt to break out of this place?’
‘Set your minds at ease, gentlemen,’ said Dido smiling mysteriously. ‘I’ve made a deal with our host. Tomorrow, we’re going to Garama to see the king!’
Claudius Mercator seemed uneasy. He tutted. ‘I wish I had been present to guide you in your negotiations,’ he said. ‘Better that I had been the negotiator myself. Menander was so useful in the past! I’m afraid you may have given away something of value to us, made some concession. You’re only a fighter, after all, not a merchant.’
Dido stiffened. ‘I’m sure you’ll find, merchant,’ she told him levelly, ‘that I bargained to get us the best deal we could. At a fair price.’ She held up hand to forestall any questions. ‘I’ll tell you the details when it’s time for you to know. Let’s just say that it will not weaken your position when it comes to opening up the country for trade, if that’s what worries you.’
‘It concerns me, too,’ said Vabalathus. ‘I want the details of your negotiation. What have you done, sold us out to them?’
Dido shook her head vigorously. ‘I assure you, I’ve done nothing of the sort. I’ve just made a deal, that’s all. The
bargain will benefit us all. Osorkon has vowed to Ammon himself that he will do all in his considerable power to smooth our way in Garama. Furthermore, he has agreed to return the merchandise so you can show the king a sample of your wares.’ Amid the jubilant cries of Claudius Mercator and Vabalathus, she added, ‘We set forth this afternoon. I suggest we spend the intervening time making all necessary preparations.
‘Oh,’ she said as if something had come back to her. ‘One last small matter. Part of the deal is that Tiro comes with us… under armed guard.’
There was consternation throughout the chamber.
—14—
Talgae, Phazania, 11th December 124 AD
‘Why’s that, might I ask?’ Flaminius inquired coldly.
Dido gave him a surprised look. ‘You did attack them,’ she pointed out. ‘One of Osorkon’s retainers will be scarred for life! Naturally, they want you under restraint.’
‘I fought in self-defence,’ said Flaminius heavily, ‘as well you know. They attacked me when I went to speak with Osorkon.’
‘You quibbled this particular clause, I hope,’ said Claudius Mercator hopelessly. When she shook her head, he sighed. ‘This is why it would have been better for me to be present,’ he explained to her, as if to a small child. ‘A man of my experience and character… You see, these people will always add such clauses! Seeing what they can get away with, you understand. If you bow down to them, accept everything… well, it gives the impression that they can push you around. Once you’ve given ground in negotiations, you’ll never regain it.’
The Kingdom That Rome Forgot Page 11
