Men with broad faces and brutal eyes lounged about. They watched Ballista and his companions approach. One of the men stepped forward.
'Good day, Kyrios,' he said, in heavily accented Greek. 'What are you looking for — a girl, a boy?'
Ballista looked at him, the disgust rising in his throat. Behind him, he sensed Demetrius' fear and Maximus' hostility.
Realizing he was on the wrong tack, the slave dealer flashed an oily smile. 'A maid for your wife maybe? Very clean, very trustworthy? Or another well-educated Greek boy to keep your books? Another pair of strong arms to guard your treasures?'
'I will know what I want if I see it,' said Ballista.
'Of course, of course.' The slave dealer grinned ingratiatingly. 'It is always an honour to serve a kyrios of discrimination, a man who knows his own mind. Please feel free to inspect the goods.'
Ballista stepped past him and regarded the huddled, downtrodden humanity there. Then, in a voice pitched to carry, he called out in his native tongue. 'Are there any Angles here?'
Faces pinched with misery looked at him with blank incomprehension. Ballista felt a wave of relief and turned to go. Corvus was striding purposefully towards him. The eirenarch of Ephesus was followed by a couple of burly Men of the Watch carrying clubs. Between them was a skinny old man in rags. Not another fucking Christian, thought Ballista. They brought it on themselves, but he had not realised until yesterday just how distasteful it was to act as a persecutor.
'Vicarius, we need a word with you in private.' Corvus led them to the centre of the agora. The few people promenading there gave the Watch a wide berth. Corvus stopped under the equestrian statue of Claudius. Cast in bronze, the emperor looked nothing like the slobbering, twitching simpleton described by Suetonius.
'This is Aratos.' Corvus indicated the man in rags. 'He is a fisherman from out of town. Has his hut on Pigeon Island. It is in a bay not far south of here.' The eirenarch turned to the fisherman. 'Tell the vicarius what you saw.'
Ballista realized that the fisherman was on the verge of tears. 'I was out in the boat last night — a good catch, plenty of…' Corvus gestured without impatience for him to get to the point. 'Sorry, Kyrios. I was bringing the boat in at first light. I knew something was wrong. My wife…' He paused, fighting down the tears. 'My wife is always down by the water waiting. She worries. We live on our own on the island. She was not there. I saw them in time. Took the boat out again. Barbarians. Lots of fucking northern barbarians. My wife, my children…' Now he cried.
Ballista gently put his hand on the man's shoulder. 'How many boats?'
The fisherman mastered himself. 'Just one — a big longboat, about fifty rowing benches.'
'Does anyone else know they are there?'
The man wiped his nose on the sleeve of his tunic. 'Their boat was almost out of sight up under the trees. We keep to ourselves. I should not think so.' The fisherman dropped to his knees and clasped Ballista's legs, the classic pose of a suppliant. 'Kyrios, my wife, my children…'
'We will help.' Disengaging himself, Ballista indicated for Corvus to step out of earshot with him. 'Is he reliable?' Corvus shrugged. 'You are the local man,' Ballista continued. 'What do you think?'
'I have not spoken to him before. I think he is telling the truth.'
Ballista considered this for a moment. 'Are there any warships in harbour?'
'No.'
'How many troops are there in Ephesus?'
'Just a detatchment of about a hundred auxiliary spearmen and fifty bowmen.'
'How many Men of the Watch do you have under your command?'
'Fifty.'
'It will have to be tonight. If they are still there. We do not have much time. We need a plan.' The lantern at the top of the mast swung gently against the night sky. Ballista watched it from where he lay, next to Maximus, in the bottom of the small fishing boat. Both men were completely naked but it was a warm August night, and they had thought to bring blankets. Apart from the strong stench of fish, Ballista was quite comfortable.
Above them, Corvus, the old fisherman and an auxiliary soldier, all clad in rags, worked the boat. To give an air of normality, they talked quietly in Greek as they fished. The little boat edged south into the bay towards Pigeon Island. Corvus sat down on a bench next to Ballista's head. 'Not far now,' he said, 'about half an hour.'
The old fisherman had sketched a map of Pigeon Island. It was roughly oval, with two tiny bays to the south. All its coasts were rocky, except the eastern, where there was a narrow band of sand. The barbarians had beached their vessel at the extreme southern end of the sand, drawing it up the few yards to the tree line. Careful observation from the fishing boat had revealed a large campfire up on the highest point of the island and a smaller one halfway up the slope from the longboat.
The plan was straightforward. Ballista and Maximus were to swim ashore with short swords and combustibles in waterproof packs strapped to their backs, kill any sentries and fire the longboat. Once it was well ablaze, they would swim to safety on the southern headland of the bay. The mainland here was only a couple of hundred paces away to the south. With luck, as the barbarians rushed to fight the fire, they would be slow to notice the two large merchant galleys, crammed with one hundred and fifty soldiers, bearing down on the beach. The galleys were a worry. Coming down from the north, there was no headland close enough for them to hide behind. Now they were lying with no lights aboard about a mile off in the open water. To lessen the chance of a barbarian spotting them, Ballista had arranged for another half-dozen fishing boats with bright lanterns to ply their nets between the galleys and the island.
All depended on the barbarians being unsuspecting. Local pirates would have had contacts ashore who may have warned them of the preparations. It was unlikely anyone in Ephesus would want to aid the barbarians — although, to be on the safe side, Corvus' Men of the Watch had been stopping any unauthorized person leaving the city by land or sea since midday.
Corvus had argued vehemently that it was madness for Ballista to swim ashore — let a couple of the auxiliaries do it. Overruling him, Ballista had pointed out that it might be necessary to lull the suspicions of barbarian sentries, and none of the soldiers spoke the language of Germania. But now, as he lay in the boat, he knew the real reason he had insisted on going himself: the excitement that for a time would free him from thinking about his unpleasant task as a persecutor.
Almost as if reading his thoughts, Corvus spoke. 'Great Artemis, this is better than grubbing about at the beck and call of Flavius Damianus.'
'You do not like him?' Ballista's words were barely a question.
Corvus smiled in the gloom. 'I became eirenarch of Ephesus to chase savage bandits over wild hillsides, not to pursue Christians through slums.'
'I had the impression there was ill feeling between the two of you.'
Corvus smiled again. 'Oh, there is. Our beloved scribe to the Demos — how many times has he told you that he is the descendant of the famous sophist? — Flavius Damianus thinks I showed less than commendable zeal a few years ago during the persecution instituted by the emperor Decius.' Sensing Ballista's interest, he continued. 'Seven young men of respectable families were informed against. Of course, I arrested them. Put them in the prison off the civic agora, ordered them to have the best cell, by the door. They escaped. The jailor vanished. I assume they bribed him to disappear. The imperium is big enough. Anyway, Flavius Damianus considers I did not put enough manpower into searching for them.'
'Did you?'
'I detailed a couple of men to it. There were many things to do.'
Ballista thought for a moment. 'You do not approve of the persecution of Christians?'
'It was not why I became an eirenarch. Yes, I understand the logic of it. The open atheism of the Christians may well anger the gods. If the gods are angered they may well turn against us and, as everyone is now saying, the coming war with the Sassanids may end in disaster. But there is something inhuman about
the persecution. Most of the Christians are merely foolish, like those young men. There is something disgusting about tearing families apart, torturing and killing the weak and misguided. Anyway, I incline to an Epicurean view — the gods are far away and take no notice of mere mortals.'
Ballista was surprised at the man's candour. 'I have imperial mandata to persecute the Christians. Should you be talking to me like this?'
Corvus opened a wineflask and drank. 'You will not inform on me. Your face in court yesterday was a picture. You hate it as much as I do or, if not yet, you soon will.'
'My feelings do not come into it.' Ballista took a deep breath. 'I have my mandata. I will do my duty.'
Corvus just smiled and passed down the wineflask. 'There is a ludicrous rumour that the young men who escaped went into one of the caves outside the city, lay down and went to sleep. The Christians say the sleepers will wake when the emperor is a Christian.'
Ballista grinned. 'They might have a long sleep.'
'And would the world be a better place when they woke up?' Corvus took the wineflask back. 'You two had better get ready. We are almost in position.'
The old fisherman brought the boat broadside to the island. He used the spritsail to shield the far side of the boat. Ballista and Maximus rose to their feet. They were blackened from head to toe with a dye they were assured would not wash off in the sea. Ballista had tied his long fair hair in a strip of black material. Maximus had daubed an extra dollup of the tarry mixture on to the white scar where the end of his nose was missing. Corvus and the soldier helped them strap the packs on their backs. Ballista clasped hands with Corvus and, as quietly as he could, lowered himself over the side.
The water was shockingly cold. Ballista bit his lip to stop himself gasping. But once you were in the water, it felt fine. With just his fingertips on the gunwale of the boat, Ballstsa looked round to find his bearings. On the mainland, in the far south-east of the bay, he could see one or two chinks of light from the village of Phygela. From there, the dark line of the hills ran round to the west. They ended in a large independent hill like an upturned bowl. He knew it was directly south of the island.
Maximus joined him in the water with a sharp intake of breath. The fisherman angled the spritsail to catch the faint offshore breeze, the boat pulled away and, there, to the west, was their target. Pigeon Island was a dark outline in the moonlight. It was steep, heavily wooded. It reminded Ballista of the boss of a shield or one of those fancy cakes the Greeks offer to the gods. Near the summit, the large campfire blazed. The smaller one flickered about halfway down. The island was about two hundred and fifty paces away. Aiming to the left of the fires, Ballista started to swim.
There was just the gentle offshore breeze and a faint swell; otherwise, it was a flat calm with a clear, moonlit sky above. Ballista and Maximus swam with slow, even strokes, not wanting to stir up phosphorescence in the very still waters. Pumped up with anticipation, in no time Ballista sensed the seabed shelving up. Hardly swimming now at all, just the occasional slow stroke, he drifted until there was sand beneath him. Maximus came to a halt a few paces to his left.
They lay full length, just their heads out, the water lapping up to their noses. The beach here was about twenty paces wide. At first Ballista could see nothing but the black tree line beyond. Then he made out the shape of the longboat, just off to the right, its stern sticking out from the trees. He lay motionless, searching for sentries.
Now and then, voices floated down from higher up the island. Ballista did not look up towards the campfires; he did not want to ruin his night vision. He scanned the trees around the longship until his sight blurred and his eyes ached. Nothing. When he had almost decided the ship was unguarded, he heard a voice, much nearer, to the right of the boat.
At night the trick is not to look directly at something. Look to the side or above it. After a time, Ballista made out the shapes of two men to the right of the longship. They were sitting with their backs to a tree.
Gently bringing his hand out of the water, Ballista indicated to Maximus that they should go up by the left side of the boat. Quietly pulling himself up, Ballista set off. The sand was very white in the moonlight, horribly exposed. Crouched over, Ballista moved up the beach. At every step he expected a shout from the sentries. None came. He reached the lee of the boat. Maximus dropped down next to him. The Hibernian was grinning. Thy shrugged off their packs and drew their swords.
Ballista touched Maximus on the shoulder and indicated that they should go up the left side of the boat and work their way round through the trees and come up to the guards from behind. Maximus gestured that he understood. Leaving the packs behind, they set off.
The trees gave good cover, the slope not too steep. They had sighted the guards and were creeping down on them, when one of the men stood up. Ballista froze. The sentry was about thirty paces away. He walked some distance into the trees. He stumbled slightly. Maybe he had been drinking. He stopped in front of a tree and began to fumble with his trousers. Ballista moved to get between him and the other man.
Ballista came up silently behind him. The man was swaying slightly, one hand braced against the tree as he urinated. Ballista's left hand covered his mouth and, in a flash, the sword in his right found the man's throat. There was a spray of blood, black in the moonlight. The man's body shook violently as Ballista held him close. There was an unpleasant stench as the dying man's bowels opened.
Ballista lowered the corpse to the ground and looked about him. Maximus was crouched in the shade of a tree. There was no sound from below. Working quickly but quietly, Ballista stripped the cloak from his victim. It was fouled. Ballista turned it inside out and drapped it round his own shoulders.
Walking with no attempt at concealment, deliberately finding the odd twig to step on, Ballista went down to the tree line.
'Feeling better?' The south German accent startled Ballista. The speaker was one of the Borani, the tribe who had a bloodfeud with Ballista. Wherever you go, old enemies will find you.
'Much better,' Ballista mumbled. The man looked up as Ballista walked round the trunk of the tree. His eyes widened, but he had no time to scream as the sword cut into his face. A horrible gurgling sound came from his smashed mouth and jaw. He doubled forward, hands to his face. Ballista chopped the edge of his blade into the back of the Borani warrior's neck. The man did not move any more.
Shrugging off the cloak, Ballista ran to where they had left the packs. He swung up into the longboat, searching about. He found the furled sail, dragged it out and turned it over so the side unexposed to the dew was uppermost. Maximus passed up the first of the packs. Ballista drew out the containers of naptha, unstoppered them and sloshed the contents over the sail. Maximus passed up the other pack.
As Ballista removed the kindling, his heart sank. It was sodden. The pack had leaked. Nevertheless, he heaped it up over the naptha-soaked sail. Taking the flints, he struck them against each other.
Sparks showered down. Nothing. The kindling was too wet to catch. Cursing inwardly, he worked the stones feverishly. Nothing. A vicious stab of pain as he skinned his thumb. He worked on. Still nothing. This was not going to work.
Ballista jumped out of the longboat. He leant close to Maximus. 'We are going to have to fetch a brand from the small campfire up above.' Maximus just nodded.
Ignoring the path that zigzagged up the island, Ballista led them straight up through the trees. The slope became steeper. Sometimes they were moving on their hands and knees. When he needed to look at the small campfire to get his bearings, Ballista closed one eye, again wanting to keep his night vision as much as possible.
They came out on the edge of the path, just above the little campfire. There were half a dozen Borani around it. Huddled in blankets, they were asleep. Ballista and Maximus lay watching them, getting their breath back. Although the fire was low, the crackle and hiss of burning wood was loud in the silent night. Now and then, a voice could be heard from above. Some
of the warriors up there were still awake.
There was no point in waiting. 'Grab a brand, and straight down,' Ballista whispered. They got to their feet. Drawing a deep breath, Ballista counted to three and set off down the path.
The warriors stirred as the two naked black figures burst into the clearing. Ballista selected a good-looking brand. He turned to go. A Borani was getting to his feet, blinking the sleep from his eyes, reaching for his weapon, blocking the way. As Ballista swerved past, he arced his sword down into the man's shoulder. The blade stuck. Ballista had to stop and use his foot to push the injured man off the blade.
Ballista and Maximus launched themselves down the hillside; behind them, a confused, angry babble of voices — then the unmistakable sounds of pursuit. The hillside here was steep. Stumbling. Sliding. Every step threatened a fall. A branch whipped Ballista's face, bringing tears to his eyes. He felt hot blood on his cheek. The crashing pursuit was close behind.
'I will draw them off,' Maximus shouted, and turned to the right. There was no time to answer. Ballista plunged on down the hill.
It was bright on the beach after the trees. His chest burning, Ballista ran to the longboat. Dropping his sword, he used his right hand to swing himself up level with the gunwales. He brought his left hand over and dropped the burning brand on to the naptha-saturated sail.
Ballista landed back on the sand. He scooped up his sword. He turned to face his pursuers. There were just two of them. Ballista stepped forward, carving figure of eights with his sword. The steel hummed through the air. The Borani skidded to a halt.
Time's arrow seemed to have stopped as the three armed men faced each other on the moonwashed beach. The Borani started to spread out, to come at him from two sides. Ballista stepped to his right. The Borani stopped. Behind him, Ballista heard a fizz as the naptha caught. Slowly, slowly, he moved backwards. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blue flame lick over the side of the ship. The Borani both exclaimed. Ballista did not catch the words.
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