‘I’ve seen your eye. It means you’re lucky.’
‘Ha! That’s a laugh. I don’t think my parents ever saw it that way. They must have taken one look at me and seen I’d never grow up to work their fields, or join the army, or to defend their property in their old age. It’s fair enough.’ He poked at the fire with a stick. ‘Tullus found me and took me back to Rome. He gave me another slave as my nurse. And I grew up into the fine physical specimen you see today.’
‘But you are not a Roman,’ said Tog, more a statement than a question.
‘No,’ Cadmus said without hesitation. ‘It’s hard to explain. It’s just a feeling. I know it might not look like it, but I feel just as out of place in Rome as you do. There’s something in my bones that knows I don’t belong here.’
‘And you don’t remember anything about your parents? What they looked like? What they were called?’
‘Nothing.’
Tog picked her mouse up off the ground and cradled it in front of the embers. She whispered something to it and then sat up straight, deep in thought, taking slow and measured breaths. Framed by the absolute darkness of the woods, her face seemed to glow like a hot, heart-shaped coal. And that was when Cadmus thought, clearly, for the first time: she is beautiful.
‘That’s probably a good thing,’ Tog said at last.
‘What do you mean?’ said Cadmus, suddenly embarrassed, as though she had read his thoughts.
‘I can picture my mother and father perfectly. They come back to me every night.’ She paused. ‘And every morning.’
Cadmus realized what she meant. ‘Is that what you were dreaming about the other day? In Tullus’s house?’
She nodded. ‘It makes me want to not go to sleep.’
They were both silent, lost in their own and each other’s thoughts.
‘Well, tonight,’ said Cadmus, ‘I’ll stay up to watch over the camp. If you start having nightmares, I’ll wake you up.’
‘That’s kind, but I think I should be the one who stays awake. You’re more tired than me. I can see it. You sleep first, and I’ll take first watch. Then I’ll wake you and you can take over. Deal?’
He looked at her for a moment.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But don’t be the hero and stay awake all night. You need rest too, even if you think you don’t.’
Cadmus curled up facing the fire, but it was down to embers now, and the dark and the cold was starting to seep around him like spilt ink. He tossed and turned and shivered until Tog finally interjected:
‘Use your blanket.’
Cadmus opened his eyes. She hadn’t moved from her spot opposite.
‘What?’
‘If you’re cold, get under your blanket.’
‘I don’t have a blanket.’
‘Under your head, genius.’
Cadmus sat up. He’d been using the leather bag as a pillow. She was talking about the Golden Fleece.
‘I can’t use that as a blanket!’ he said.
‘Why not?’ said Tog. ‘If it’s as magical as you say it is, I’m sure it’ll stop the cold.’
‘I didn’t say it was magical. That’s just the story.’
‘And you don’t believe the story?’
Cadmus withdrew the fleece from his bag and unrolled it. It glittered beautifully in the dying fire.
‘I don’t know what I believe any more.’
He pulled it up over his body, fleecy side down, and the thick, golden wool warmed quickly against his skin. There was a pleasing heaviness about it that made him feel safe and instantly ready to sleep.
‘It’s good,’ he murmured.
‘Told you,’ said Tog.
Warm and with a full belly, Cadmus felt unexpectedly hopeful. He closed his eyes and listened to the wind in the tops of the pines. From somewhere deeper in the forest an owl hooted – a baleful sound, if the poets were to be believed – but from where he lay it sounded more like a lullaby than a bad omen.
XIII
When Cadmus woke, his tunic was wet and heavy with dew, and his body was as cold as the ground he was lying on. The sky among the leaves was a weak, leaden grey. Early morning. For a few moments his head was blissfully empty, before he remembered the events of the previous night; before he remembered that he was a dead man walking.
He rolled over to where Tog was lying. She had taken the fleece and wrapped it around herself. She must have dropped off before waking him. Her mouse was running circuits around her, experimentally sniffing at the fallen leaves but reluctant to stray too far from the warmth and shelter of her body. She was muttering in her sleep again.
‘Tog,’ he said quietly, tentatively, remembering how violently she had woken last time.
A noise escaped her lips.
‘Tog, we should keep moving.’
A groan, and her eyelids fluttered.
‘Tog . . .’
This time she didn’t swing her arms at Cadmus but flipped herself on to her stomach and began clawing the ground. Her legs thrashed as well, and for a few moments she arched and twisted like some giant fish tossed on to a riverbank, hissing through her teeth. The fleece was thrown to the floor. Her mouse watched her curiously.
‘Tog, wake up!’ said Cadmus. ‘You’re safe.’ And then, more quietly: ‘Sort of.’
He put a hand on the top of her silver head. She turned and looked at him wildly, then at the trees, and realized where she was. Despite the cold, she was sweating.
Her great shoulders rose and fell as she calmed herself with several deep breaths. ‘Sorry,’ she said, after a moment.
‘It’s all right,’ said Cadmus. ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’
‘I’m glad you did.’ She picked at something on the back of her hand. She seemed embarrassed.
‘We should get going,’ he said. ‘It won’t be difficult for Nero to track us, if he wants to.’
Tog nodded. She brushed the soil and leaves and insects out of the folds in the Golden Fleece and pushed it into her bag. Then she carefully picked up her mouse from the floor and let him run up on to her shoulder.
‘Ready,’ she said.
They emerged from the woodland on to some gently sloping hills, Tog leading the way. There were slaves working in the fields, driving cattle under the yoke of a plough and churning the earth for sowing. Next to the farmhouse someone was saddling a horse. They kept to the edge of the trees so as not to be seen.
Once the estate was behind them, they stopped by a stream. Tog knelt and cupped her hands for a drink of water. Cadmus did the same. It tasted as sweet as meadow flowers.
‘Remind me what our plan is?’ said Tog, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
‘Escape the people trying to kill us,’ he said.
‘Good.’
‘Then get to the port at Ostia. South-west.’ He pointed.
‘That’s north-east,’ said Tog.
‘Is it? Oh. Well.’ He turned in the opposite direction. ‘That way. To the sea.’
‘And then?’
‘And then when we get to Ostia, I suppose we could try and meet up with Tullus again. He’ll be getting a boat from there if he’s going to Greece. All we have to do is wait for him to turn up.’
‘Eh? That doesn’t make sense,’ she said. ‘He’ll be with the emperor’s people. They’re the ones who’re trying to kill us.’
‘Yes,’ Cadmus admitted, ‘but Tullus is the only person who might be able to stop them trying to kill us. Or at least he could give us some money to get by. It’s find Tullus, or go it alone.’
‘Then we go it alone.’
She hopped to the other side of the stream. Cadmus stayed where he was.
‘Don’t be stupid, Tog,’ he said. One of her eyes twitched with annoyance. ‘Where would we go? We have no money, no food, no clothes.’
‘I can look after myself, thank you,’ she said defiantly.
‘I see. And where are you planning on going?’
‘Back to Britannia.’
‘How, may
I ask?’
‘I’ll get a boat.’
‘There aren’t any boats that go all the way to Britannia from Italy,’ he said. ‘You’ll need to go to Sardinia, or Corsica, then Transalpine Gaul, then Jupiter knows where.’
‘Fine. I’ll work it out. I’m in no rush.’
‘And how far do you think you’ll get with that collar on?’
‘I’ll take it off.’
‘How? With all those blacksmith’s tools you carry around with you?’
She frowned. Her huge brow gathered like a storm, and it was terrifying.
‘Are you making fun of me?’
‘No,’ said Cadmus, hearing how weak his voice sounded, almost drowned by the noise of the stream. ‘I’m just trying to be sensible.’
‘You’re not. You’re being the opposite. Going back to the old man will take us exactly where we don’t want to go.’
‘We don’t have a choice. We’re slaves, Tog, in case you hadn’t noticed. No one else will look after us.’
‘You’re also being selfish,’ she said, ignoring him. ‘You want to go on adventures. You want to find these heroes. I heard what your master said at the dinner party.’
Cadmus shook his head, but his silence just seemed to confirm his guilt. He really did think that Tullus would be able to help them, and, perhaps even more importantly, he wanted to help Tullus.
But Tog was right. Against Cadmus’s better judgement, thoughts of Silvanus’s notes kept coming back to him. He could picture the map perfectly. He’d never seen a real-life Sibyl. What secrets did she hold? If the Golden Fleece was real, what else was out there, buried by the centuries?
‘It’s fine if you want to go after those old things,’ Tog said, in a tone so reasonable it made Cadmus feel slightly ashamed of himself. ‘But I don’t need to go with you. Tullus is your master, not mine. Athens is your home, not mine. You’re the one who cares about Silveranus—’
‘Silvanus.’
‘—not me. I’ve delivered your letter. I’ve got the fleece for you. Now I may as well go.’
The heat of Cadmus’s frustration was met with a cold, creeping worry. She really didn’t need to stay with him, he realized. She was free in that respect. He couldn’t make her stay, and if she left, he would be alone again.
‘Let’s just get to Ostia,’ he said. ‘Then we can decide.’
She shrugged. ‘You can decide. I’ve already made up my mind.’
They walked on in silence. At least, Tog walked. Cadmus half-walked, half-ran, always a few paces behind her, struggling to keep up with her huge strides. To make matters worse he seemed to land on a stone or a thorn every three steps. Tog waited for him to catch up. She wasn’t impatient, but neither was she sympathetic. She was just Tog.
It was midday when they began to smell salt on the air, and the ridges of the hills were replaced with a deep blue haze where the sky met the sea. They came upon the Tiber again, winding lazily towards the coast, and joined the Via Ostiensis, straight as a legionary’s spear and heavy with traffic from the port to the capital.
They kept to one side of the road and tried to look inconspicuous, as far as that was possible with Tog. When they finally saw the walls of Ostia, and the cluster of ships’ masts around the mouth of the Tiber, Cadmus’s hopes were fading. No one left port this late in the afternoon. Unless the whole project had been delayed by the commotion in the palace, Tullus was long gone.
Ostia was the most important harbour in Italy. The city itself was much smaller than Rome, but busier. More dangerous too. The place seemed populated exclusively with thieves and stowaways. Here, everyone held on to their purses with white knuckles, and walked more quickly than they needed to. Cadmus saw faces from all over the empire – Romans, Greeks, Gauls, Syrians, Egyptians, Ethiopians – each watching the others from the corners of their eyes. In the middle of all these different peoples no one even looked at Tog twice – that was a small blessing.
They followed the sound of the gulls and the smell of fish going bad until they reached the harbour. They emerged from among the warehouses and suddenly the mouth of the Tiber was glittering before them. Four vast merchant ships were moored in the river, with a flotilla of smaller rowing boats bobbing around them.
Cadmus looked along the quayside. Sailors and dockhands trooped up and down the gangplanks like ants, carrying bags of grain, jars of wine and oil and fish sauce, rolls of linen, spices, dyes, mountainous iron strongboxes that no doubt contained enough valuables to buy a hundred of him. Some of the sailors lounged in heaps next to their cargo, drinking and playing dice.
Cadmus froze. At the far end, he saw the slim, unmistakable figure of Epaphroditus. His toga hung slackly around him, like it was draped over a ship’s mast. There were two of the heroidai standing with him, and a handful of slaves. The whole group turned, and Nero’s secretary began to wander away from the seafront. No doubt he was returning to his master.
Tog had her eyes closed and was taking deep breaths of sea air. Cadmus grabbed her arm and hid behind a pile of grain sacks.
‘They’re here,’ he said.
‘Who?’
‘Nero’s people.’
‘Then where’s Tullus?’
Cadmus popped up from behind their hiding place. Epaphroditus was getting closer.
‘I can’t see him,’ he said, squatting down again. ‘I can’t see his ship either. These are all trading vessels. Nero wouldn’t use them for official business. And he definitely wouldn’t use them for secret business.’
‘What would he use?’
‘Something smaller. Faster.’
‘Like that one?’
Tog pointed out over the estuary to the open sea, where a warship had just raised its sail and was carving a swift path through the waves.
Cadmus’s shoulders sagged. ‘Yes. Just like that one.’
They were too late. Tullus had already left, and now they were trapped within the walls of Ostia with the men who wanted to kill them. Just as Tog had said.
He peeked around the corner of the grain sacks, too afraid to stand up. Epaphroditus and the two enormous guards were still heading their way. If they made a run for the warehouses, they would almost certainly be seen.
Tog herself didn’t seem especially worried. ‘Oh, well,’ she said. ‘Looks like you’re coming to Britannia with me, after all.’
‘Tog, I’ve told you, it’s not as simple as that.’
‘But one of these ships will take me in the right direction, won’t it?’
Cadmus listened to the sailors and the merchants yelling to each other in Latin, and a plan started to form. He looked at Tog’s open, guileless face and knew he was about to do something he would regret. He could feel himself pulled towards it, with all the irresistible power of Fate.
‘That one,’ he said, gesturing in the direction of the boat nearest to them. Its owner was standing at the bottom of the gangplank, arms folded on his vast stomach, nodding with satisfaction as his wares were loaded into the hold. Business seemed to be going well. It looked like he ate five or six meals a day.
‘Really?’
‘The captain said they’re taking the goods north. To Gaul. That’s half the journey done.’ The words seemed to form a millstone that hung around his neck.
‘Good,’ said Tog. ‘And you’re coming with me?’
‘Nowhere else to go,’ said Cadmus, and smiled weakly. He leant out and looked down the quayside again. Epaphroditus’s party were a few paces away.
‘So what do we do?’
‘They’re nearly here. Grab a bag of grain. Put it on your left shoulder. Then they won’t be able to see your face.’
She lifted one of the sacks like it was full of goose feathers and held it in place with one arm. Cadmus tried to do the same, but found he had to carry the weight on his back, like a snail, his spine bowed and knees shaking.
They came out into the open and walked to the edge of the quay. Cadmus strained under his burden. His ears were fil
led with the sound of his own blood, but Epaphroditus’s high voice cut through it like broken glass. He must have been just behind them. What if he recognized them?
Cadmus staggered past the merchant and up on to the gangplank, which groaned and twisted under their feet. He couldn’t see the merchant, or the other dockworkers. He just caught glimpses of Tog’s heels a few paces in front of him.
He listened hard through his deafening pulse. No one seemed to have noticed them.
Once they were on board, they made their way down some steps into the ship’s cavernous hold. Cadmus dumped his sack of grain along with the others, but still felt weighed down. He squinted in the darkness and saw Tog returning to the deck.
‘What are you doing?’ he hissed.
‘Going to get another bag.’
‘Why?’ said Cadmus, wanting to laugh. ‘You know we’re not actually employed by this man . . . ?’
‘Just thought I’d help out. If he’s going to be taking me home.’
Cadmus swallowed guiltily.
‘We should find somewhere to hide now, while no one else is around. We might not get another chance.’
Tog looked into the daylight, then into the shadows of the hold, then back to the daylight.
‘Fine,’ she said.
They barricaded themselves into the bows of the ship with boxes of olives and jars of wine. There they waited, like trapped rats, listening to the irregular tattoo of the waves, and the thump of the sailors’ feet overhead. There was the rattle of the anchor being raised and the creak of rigging, and then Cadmus felt the ship bob out into the open sea, tugged by a fleet of rowing boats.
He looked at Tog.
‘We’re away,’ he said.
She didn’t reply. She crouched in the corner, hugging her knees. Her hair looked luminous, like the fleece itself. Words that Cadmus didn’t understand drifted quietly from her lips.
How was he going to explain himself? After all this, Tog was going right back where she’d come from. She’d been right. He was selfish. He’d heard what the merchant had said to the ship’s captain, and had lied to her, lied openly, after all she had done to help him. It was Cadmus who was going home, not Tog. The ship was destined for Athens.
In the Shadow of Heroes Page 10
