The Silver Eagle tllc-2

by Ben Kane

  The bestiarius did not react to the obvious lie. It was nothing to him. ‘Gemellus, yes. He invested a third share in a venture of mine nearly ten years ago.’

  ‘That’s about right,’ agreed Romulus, feeling a pang of deep sadness. Fabiola had been there too, eavesdropping on Gemellus while he planned his involvement.

  ‘The whole affair was cursed from start to finish.’ Hiero scowled at the memory. ‘Many animals seemed to know where the traps were, and those we did catch were poor specimens. I lost dozens of men to strange fevers and afflictions. Then the Nile flooded on the way back, so it took twice the normal time to reach Alexandria.’ He paused for effect.

  Romulus nodded in apparent sympathy. Inside, though, he was fuming. Even a few wild beasts would make a man’s fortune. No doubt Gemellus was still enjoying the proceeds.

  ‘That’s not all,’ sighed the old man. ‘Often I sell the animals on the dock at Alexandria, but Gemellus wrote demanding that we take them to Italy.’

  Tarquinius sucked in a breath, feeling rather stupid. How could he have not realised before? A winter afternoon in Rome, eight years earlier. Gemellus, a merchant from the Aventine, desperately wanting a prophecy. The bad omens that resulted from it. Ships with their holds full of wild beasts, crossing the sea.

  Romulus was so caught up in the bestiarius’ tale that he did not notice. ‘That makes perfect sense. You’d get a far better price there.’

  Hiero nodded. ‘For that reason, I foolishly agreed to his request. Thank the gods that I travelled on a lightly laden liburnian, not one of the cargo vessels.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There were freak storms on the voyage across,’ revealed the bestiarius gloomily. ‘Every last transport sank and all the animals drowned. I lost an absolute fortune.’

  Tarquinius brought back every possible detail of the merchant whom he had met outside Jupiter’s temple on the Capitoline Hill. Ill-tempered, fat and depressed, Gemellus had been crushed by his revelations. The last of these had been the most powerful. One day there will be a knock on your door. At the time, there had been far more important things on the haruspex’ mind, and he had not really pondered the significance of what he had seen. An unknown stranger’s worries were of little concern to him. Now though, it made perfect sense. Gemellus had been Romulus’ owner.

  Oblivious to Tarquinius, Romulus could barely conceal his exultation. ‘And Gemellus?’

  Hiero shrugged. ‘The same. His investment of one hundred and twenty thousand sestertii is still lying on the bottom of the Mediterranean.’

  ‘Gemellus is ruined?’ Laughing aloud, Romulus clapped the bestiarius on the shoulder. ‘That’s the best news I’ve had in years!’

  ‘Why?’ Hiero looked confused. ‘What’s it to you?’

  Guilt suffused Tarquinius that he had not made the connection before, and told Romulus. It was a failing of his to focus entirely on grand issues when smaller ones, like this, could make such a difference. Yet he rarely told his protege anything. I have become too secretive, he thought sadly. And I love him like a son. More remorse washed over Tarquinius. Deep down, the haruspex knew that his fear of revealing why he had fled Italy was the cause of his reticence. Wary of letting this information slip, he had deprived Romulus of a possible source of hope.

  I have to tell him. Before it’s too late.

  Hiero’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did Gemellus owe you money?’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Romulus evasively.

  The old man waited to see if any more information would be forthcoming.

  It was not, and the two friends prepared to leave.

  The last piece of news had altered Romulus’ black mood for the better. Tarquinius was pleased by this. Whatever the night held in store would be better faced in good humour. Ill fortune and the gods’ displeasure were sometimes directed at those who entered dangerous situations fearing the worst. Chance and destiny favoured the bold, thought the haruspex.

  Given what he had seen in the sky, it was the only way to think. More than twenty years after Olenus had done so, Tarquinius had read his own fate. If he was correct, the next few hours would reveal all.

  And somehow he would find the right time to tell Romulus.

  Night had finally fallen, and the temperature was dropping. Overhead, a clear sky promised at least some visibility in the dark streets. Wall-mounted torches illuminated the large, colonnaded courtyard, which was packed with four strengthened cohorts of legionaries. Caesar was committing almost half of his forces in Alexandria to this manoeuvre. The general had lost none of his daring.

  Wrapped in a warm, hooded cloak, Fabiola stared at the silver eagle. She had rarely been so close to one before, and was deeply stirred by it. Since her homa-induced vision, the metal bird had come to represent not just Rome, but the last of her hopes that Romulus was still alive. Tears pricked the corners of Fabiola’s eyes, but she wiped them away. This was her private grief and she had no wish to share it again with Brutus. Thankfully, her lover was out of earshot, conferring with Caesar and another staff officer.

  It was not long until they were ready. To light their way, every fourth man had been issued with a pitch-soaked torch. Marching in darkness might have attracted less attention, but soldiers needed to see enemies to kill them. Seeing each other’s faces also helped to keep up morale. Caesar was well aware that the setbacks of the previous weeks had dented his legionaries’ usual confidence. He gave a short but stirring speech, invoking Mars and Jupiter, and reminding his men how they had defeated far greater armies than faced them here.

  A cheer rose into the air, but was instantly quelled by the centurions.

  Without further ado, the gates were opened, and two cohorts marched out to clear the barricades on each side of the entrance. Following the blast from an officer’s whistle to sound the all-clear, the third unit emerged, led by the aquilifer carrying the eagle. This was followed by Caesar, Brutus and Fabiola, the senior officers and a hand-picked century of veterans. Also in their midst were Docilosa and the faithful Sextus. The fourth cohort was last to exit. At once the doors slammed shut behind them.

  Fabiola felt a tremor of fear. They were on their own.

  Beside her, Brutus’ eyes were glinting in the dim light. Seeing her apprehension, he kissed her cheek reassuringly. ‘Courage, my darling,’ he whispered. ‘You’ll be at sea within the hour.’

  She nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on the silver eagle. Torchlight bounced and reflected off its polished wings, giving it a distinctly forbidding air. It was a powerful talisman, and Fabiola took strength from it. From the fervent looks being thrown in the eagle’s direction, it was clear that many of the men did too. Even Docilosa was muttering a prayer to it.

  In close formation, the legionaries headed towards the harbour. Thanks to Alexandria’s wide avenues, they were able to move at double pace. Impressive buildings passed by on either side: temples and government offices. They were constructed on a massive scale, greater than most similar structures in Rome. Rows of thick stone columns formed their porticoes, each the height of many men. Even the doorways were enormous. The walls were inscribed with hieroglyphs from floor to ceiling: dramatic representations recounting the country’s glorious past. Immense painted statues of the half-human, half-animal Egyptian gods stood before many buildings, their dark eyes blankly watching the passing soldiers. Fountains pattered to themselves and the palm trees moved in a gentle breeze.

  Not a person was to be seen. All was silent.

  It felt too good to be true.

  It was.

  Rounding a corner on to the quayside, they found their path had been blocked by waiting lines of heavily armed enemy soldiers.

  Many were dressed similarly to Caesar’s men, which felt disconcerting to Fabiola. Yet the reason was simple, according to Brutus, her adviser on all things military. After a series of humiliating defeats a century before, Egypt had stopped using its Macedonian-like hoplites in favour of troops trained like leg
ionaries. In addition, a Roman force which had arrived in Alexandria seven years before had largely gone native. This meant that recent confrontations between the two sides were often evenly matched. If anything, it was the Egyptian soldiers who had had the advantage, fighting as they were to dislodge the Romans from their own city. And tonight, even more forces had been gathered. Behind the enemy legionaries stood rank upon rank of slingers, archers and Nubian light skirmishers, their weapons ready. This was to be a crushing defeat upon the invaders.

  Caesar’s lead cohort ground to a sudden halt, forcing the units behind to stop.

  Fabiola’s first view was across the water to the lighthouse. It was a dramatic sight, one which never failed to impress. Built on a projecting spur of Pharos Island, the immense white marble tower was awe-inspiring. A single-storey complex surrounded its great base, which was square. Statues of the Greek gods and mythical sea creatures decorated the whole outer surface of this building. Entrance to the lighthouse itself was gained by a wide ramp, which was visible above the outer complex. Even now, Fabiola could see laden mules toiling up it, carrying firewood for the huge fire which burned high above. Many floors up, the second section was octagonal, with the final part being circular. The room at the very apex was formed by supportive pillars, and contained vast polished bronze mirrors. These reflected sunlight during the day and flames at night. On the roof of this chamber was a large statue of Zeus, greatest of the Greek deities.

  Fabiola eventually tore her eyes away. The blaze at the top of the Pharos illuminated the main harbour quite well. Grand buildings and warehouses lined the quayside. A dense forest of masts clustered together, belonging to the Egyptian fleet which had been ferrying soldiers into the city. The water was so deep that even the largest vessel could moor here. Groups of sailors filled the ships’ decks, shouting and gesticulating at the confrontation about to be played out before them.

  Craning his head from side to side, Brutus cursed loudly and vigorously.

  The Egyptians had chosen the site for their ambush well. Thanks to a high curtain wall on the right-hand side, there was only room for two cohorts on the dock. The others were trapped in the wide thoroughfare which opened on to the harbour. The instant that these men came to a halt, loud battle cries filled the air. From the rear came the familiar hissing sound of arrows, followed immediately by the screams of those who had been hit.

  ‘The bastards must have been hiding in the side streets, sir,’ shouted Brutus.

  ‘To prevent us withdrawing,’ said Caesar calmly. ‘The fools. As if I would run away!’

  ‘What shall we do, sir?’

  Before he could answer, guttural orders from the Egyptian officers rang out. A volley of stones flew into the night sky, causing heavy casualties among the unprepared legionaries. Following close behind came a shower of javelins, invisibly arcing up and then scything down in a second torrent of death. Scores of men were hit, many fatally. Others had an eye taken out, or were simply knocked to the ground, wounded or concussed.

  Ten steps from Fabiola, a centurion collapsed. He kicked spasmodically and then lay still.

  She stared at him in horror.

  The officer had just taken off his horsehair-crested helmet to wipe the sweat from his brow. Now an egg-shaped depression visible through his short hair was leaking a mixture of blood and clear fluid. His skull had been smashed.

  ‘Shields up!’ roared Caesar.

  Grabbing a discarded Brutus darted to Fabiola’s side and drew her to him. With it over her head, she was able to witness the Roman legions in action at first hand. Although the volleys of missiles had caused many casualties, the other soldiers did not panic. The gaps in the ranks closed swiftly, and the next stream of stones and javelins clattered down harmlessly on their shields.scutum,

  ‘We can’t stay here like this,’ said Fabiola. ‘They’ll slaughter us.’

  ‘Wait.’ Brutus smiled. ‘Watch.’

  ‘Those with torches, hand them to the men behind. To the second cohort,’ ordered Caesar. ‘Quickly!’

  His command was obeyed at once.

  ‘Front ranks,’ Caesar shouted. ‘Ready your pila! Aim long!’

  Hundreds of men drew their right arms back.

  ‘Loose!’

  The Roman response rose up in a steep trajectory, flying high over the Egyptian legionaries. As Fabiola watched, the metal-tipped rain landed among the unarmoured slingers and skirmishers, striking them down in great swathes. Distracted by the screams of their comrades to the rear, the enemy troops’ front ranks visibly wavered. They were given no chance to recover.

  ‘First cohort, charge!’ Caesar’s order rang out crisp and clear. ‘Loose pila at will!’

  His men had followed their general for years, through thick and thin. From Gaul to Germania, Britannia to Hispania and Greece, he had never failed them.

  A swelling roar of anger left their throats and the front ranks swarmed forward at the Egyptians. Javelins were hurled as they ran, lodging in enemy scuta and injuring scores more soldiers.

  Caesar was not finished. ‘Those in the second cohort, ready your torches.’

  Still Fabiola did not understand, but a huge smile was spreading across Brutus’ face.

  ‘Aim at the ships! I want their sails to catch fire!’

  Caesar’s men bellowed their approval.

  ‘Loose!’

  Turning end over end in graceful, golden cartwheels of flame, dozens of torches flew through the darkness. It was one of the most beautiful things Fabiola had ever seen. And the most destructive. Loud screams rose from the ships and gilded barges as sailors were struck by the burning pieces of wood. There were muffled thumps as some torches landed on the vessels’ decks and hissing sounds as others fell into the water.

  Just a few caught in the tightly furled sails. It was enough. Dried out by the sunshine and sea breezes, the heavy fabric was bone dry. Lit for some time, the pitch on the torches was red hot. It was a perfect mix.

  Here and there, tell-tale yellow glowing patches appeared. They spread fast, reaching the masts within a matter of moments. Fabiola could not help but admire Caesar’s ingenuity.

  Wails of dismay rose from the watching Egyptian soldiers. Their fleet was going to burn.

  And then the legionaries hit them.

  Reaching Alexandria had not proved difficult. After a long march in late-afternoon sunshine, the two friends had arrived at the southern outer walls. Gaining entry was similarly easy. Plenty of guards were on duty, bored-looking Egyptians in Roman-style mail and helmets, but they showed little interest in a pair of dusty travellers. Closing the Gate of the Sun at sundown was of more concern. Although keen to find out what was going on, Romulus and Tarquinius had not asked any questions of the sentries. It was not worth the potential problems they might encounter if their own armour and weapons were discovered. They would have to find out what they could from ordinary citizens.

  But there had been little activity within the city. In fact, it was almost deserted. Even the Argeus, the main street which ran north to south, was virtually empty. A few people scuttled here and there between the obelisks, fountains and palm trees on its central parade, but the usual stalls selling food, drink, pottery and metalwork were abandoned, their wooden surfaces bare. Even the huge temples were vacant of worshippers.

  It looked as if Tarquinius’ predictions were right: there had been fighting.

  Their suspicions were raised further by the sight of Egyptian troops assembling outside what looked like a large barracks. Aware that they could be regarded as enemies, the pair ducked out of sight into an alleyway. More soldiers filled the next street as well. Using Hiero’s directions and the position of the sunlight, they worked their way through the rectangular grid of thoroughfares towards the centre. Romulus’ uneasiness grew steadily as the distance from the southern gate increased. But they could find no one to talk to. And Tarquinius was like a man driven: his expression eager, his pace fast.

  By the time darkn
ess fell, they had passed the tree-covered Paneium, a man-made hill dedicated to the god Pan, and the immense temple to Serapis, the god invented by the Ptolemies. Romulus was awestruck by Alexandria’s architecture and layout. Unlike Rome, which had only two streets wider than an ordinary ox-cart, this city had been built on a grand scale to an imaginative master plan. Rather than single impressive buildings or shrines dotted here and there, whole avenues of them were laid out. Everywhere there were grand squares, splashing fountains and well-designed gardens. Amazed by the Argeus, Romulus was bowled over by the Canopic Way, the main avenue which ran east to west straight across the city. At its intersection with the Argeus, he was able to appreciate its extraordinary length thanks to Alexandria’s flat terrain. The junction itself was dominated by a magnificent square filled with an obelisk and a huge fountain, which was decorated with marvellous statues of water creatures, real and mythical.

  Romulus had been especially thrilled to see the outside of the Sema, the huge walled enclosure that contained the tombs of all the Ptolemy kings, as well as that of Alexander the Great. According to Tarquinius, his body was still on view inside, encased in an alabaster sarcophagus. He would have dearly loved to pay his respects to the greatest general who had ever lived, in whose footsteps he and Tarquinius had marched with the Forgotten Legion. But Romulus had to content himself with just seeing the site of Alexander’s final resting place. It helped him to feel that, in some way, his life had come full circle. Italy was not far away. What a pity Brennus was not with them too, Romulus thought sadly. But that had not been his fate.

  Like all the other public buildings though, the Sema was shut, its tall wooden doors barred. As the sun set, its dying light turned the structure’s white marble an ominous blood-red colour.

  At the same time, a bright yellow glow lit up the sky to the north.

  Romulus stared in shock.

  ‘The lighthouse,’ said Tarquinius. ‘It can be seen thirty miles out to sea.’

  There was nothing like that in the whole Republic, thought Romulus in amazement. The Egyptians were obviously a people of great ability. Everything he had seen here today proved that. And now, as it had done with so many other civilisations, Rome had come to conquer. Except, as Romulus was shortly to discover, things were not going to plan.