by Tom Pollack
“If you will train to become my main driver, Scorpus, I will promise you your freedom one day. You are strong, brave, and you have excellent reflexes. I believe you can do it.”
The young man’s eyes shone.
“It would be an honor, master!”
“Then I will hire you a first-rate trainer,” said Cain. “On your thousandth win, you will be a free man. With up to thirty races a day, and with your skill and perseverance, that happy occasion may come soon.”
Far from being a passive owner of the Greens, Cain invested heavily in the franchise. He bought a stable of Arabian racehorses, had several dozen lightweight four-horse chariots made, and arranged for the use of a practice track on the outskirts of Rome. He knew it would take time to turn the fortunes of the Greens, but the foundation for future success had now been laid.
His most important project, however, remained the development of his seaside villa. Having reviewed the finished blueprints many times over, Cain had estimated that the villa and repository would require fifteen years to build. By AD 19, the project was halfway done. Two thousand slaves had leveled the twenty-acre property, and hundreds of skilled craftsmen worked the cement, brick, and marble used in construction. The villa would provide fifteen thousand square feet of living space, while the repository would account for an additional eleven thousand.
As the buildings took shape, Cain gave careful consideration to the furnishings. In the villa, he decided for reasons of social assimilation that he would install the conventional Roman appointments: brightly colored frescoes on mythological themes, marble statuary of Greco-Roman deities, fountains, mosaic floors, and ornamental glassware. But the repository, as a more private retreat, would be different. Pagan religious themes would be absent there, and the décor would emphasize science, philosophy, literature, and the arts, just as at the Great Library of Alexandria.
Special security measures would be devised to safeguard the museum’s contents. A custom-made bronze door with a unique locking mechanism would be installed. A concrete dome of revolutionary design would be constructed to cap the rotunda-shaped space, with metal bars embedded in the concrete to maximize its strength and durability. In the dome there would be an oculus, or roof opening, that could open and shut, allowing Cain’s telescope a view of the heavens. The entire structure would rest on a huge foundation of salt crystals and other drying agents, thus ensuring excess humidity would not damage the treasures within. In the event that an unexpected rainstorm occurred with the oculus open, Cain designed a large drainage tunnel in the floor that emptied into a seaside culvert.
While Cain knew that nothing lasted forever—with the possible exception of his own life—he was determined that his repository would withstand the ravages of time.
***
Monthly inspection trips to Herculaneum kept Cain occupied, but he tried to schedule them so they would not displace too much time from his other passion, the races. By now, he had become acquainted with many of the principal backers of the factions, who regularly invited him to their sumptuous banquets.
Cain had no time for romance in the midst of his frantic building and racing projects, yet nonetheless love found him. One evening in AD 20, at a party held to celebrate the advent of the midwinter Lupercalia festival, one of the major backers of the Greens introduced Cain to a young woman named Julia. The daughter of a distinguished aristocratic senator, she impressed Cain with her wide-ranging knowledge of history and architecture. Cain asked Julia if she would accompany him to the races the next day, and she gladly accepted the invitation. Julia’s passion for racing nearly equaled his own, although he had to get over the fact that she was a die-hard fan of the Blue faction.
They were married three months later. Julia’s rather snobbish father seemed lukewarm about the match, since he suspected that Cain was secretly active in commerce, but the young man’s ability to provide for his daughter and his social connections, both in Rome and Herculaneum, were beyond question.
In AD 21, to the aging senator’s delight, the couple’s union was blessed by a son. Cain chose the name Quintus, defying the Roman custom for naming the firstborn after the father. He did not want his son to bear the name Marcus, which after all was one of his myriad deceptions.
However, the parents’ joy swiftly turned to concern when it became apparent that the infant was sickly. At first the doctors had no diagnosis, but by the time Quintus was three years old they identified his ailment as some form of lung disease. Cain thought sadly of the deaths of Jacuna and Nefran back in Egypt. Would another son soon be taken from him before his time?
Yet Quintus was a fighter. Although he became increasingly frail as he grew older, his spirit remained strong and determined. Cain could see, by the time Quintus was six, that the child was phenomenally intelligent. That year, father started taking son to the races. The crowd’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Quintus jumped up and down with excitement at every race won by the Greens. The boy was a special fan of Scorpus, who had begun a consistent streak of wins several years before.
***
In AD 27, while Cain was away on business, he received a message that Julia had fallen gravely ill from an infection due to an abscessed tooth. He cut his trading mission short to come to his wife’s side, but by the time he returned to Rome she had passed away. Himself no stranger to grief, Cain knew that Quintus would be shattered by the loss, so he suspended all his trading activities and remained at the house on the Palatine for most of the next two years. He limited himself to only brief inspection trips to Herculaneum, where his villa was nearing completion.
Father and son became inseparable companions. Cain taught Quintus the game of senet, and in seemingly no time he found himself on the losing side, and no longer deliberately. Quintus enjoyed their sailing trips to Herculaneum, but he was always glad to return to Rome and the Circus.
By the time Quintus was almost eight years old, the boy’s health had not appreciably improved, but his spirits had recuperated from the blow of his mother’s premature death. Although Cain wondered periodically how long the boy could hold out in the long term, he felt he could leave Quintus in Rome for an abbreviated business trip.
Cain had twin objectives. The first was to inspect his sprawling glass factory in Carthage, Rome’s erstwhile enemy. The sea journey to North Africa could be accomplished in about three days’ sailing. His second goal was exploratory. He wanted to see the beautiful new harbor built by King Herod the Great at Caesarea Maritima on the coast of Judaea. Constructed of concrete, it was supposedly the largest artificial harbor in the Mediterranean. Cain had heard of it when he was in Antioch, but he had never seen it. The new port at Caesarea had turned Judaea, previously a Roman backwater, into an important trading post. Cain expected to sell a load of his fine glassware there, and perhaps also to purchase additional Silk Road goods as finishing touches for the estate in Herculaneum.
Bidding Quintus an affectionate farewell, he set sail early in the spring, promising his son that he would return by midsummer. He would have taken the boy with him, but the child’s poor health precluded a journey over the open sea.
“Keep track of the horses for me, Quintus,” Cain told him on the dock as the launch that would bear him down the Tiber prepared to depart.
“Don’t worry, Father,” the boy replied. “The Greens always win when I’m at the Circus!”
He gave his son a farewell hug, and then gazed steadily, waving his right arm, as the boy on the dock grew smaller and smaller in the distance.
CHAPTER 59
Judaea: AD 29
“PERFECT SAILING CONDITIONS, SIR,” declared Captain Felix with satisfaction. “We should be sighting land later this afternoon.”
As a moderate southwesterly filled the sails of Cain’s newly outfitted cargo vessel, the captain exclaimed further, “And the navigational instrument is outstanding! If you market that device, it will revolutionize travel in the Mediterranean.”
The truth of Felix’s
words became clear soon after the lookout sighted the Judaean coast. Recognizing the lighthouse that marked the harbor of Sebastos, as well as the huge promontory palace built by Herod, Felix said, “Caesarea is dead ahead, sir.”
Cain nodded and went below to change into fresh clothes. He was looking forward to seeing the harbor—indeed, it was one of the major reasons that Caesarea was on their itinerary. Business had gone well in Carthage, with progress at his glass factory exceeding expectations. Now, his vessel was laden with a shipment of fancy glassware—bottles, beakers, bowls, even ornamental candlesticks and chandeliers—which he would have no difficulty in selling to the traders who thronged Caesarea.
The harbor did not disappoint him. Captain Felix, whom Cain had hired largely because of his extensive experience in the eastern Mediterranean, explained how King Herod had built it over forty years ago.
“The secret was pozzolana, apparently—a special sort of soil,” said Felix. “He imported tons of it from Pozzuoli in Italy.” Cain knew the Italian port well, since it was close to Naples and was a major trading post for glass products.
“When the water and the fine, lightweight dirt mix with lime, it produces a durable mortar that actually solidifies under water,” Felix continued. “Herod was finally able to devise a method for laying the wooden forms for the concrete, allowing him to build the two enormous breakwaters you see here, sir. The southern mole is almost one-third of a mile long. The harbor can hold as many as three hundred ships at a time.”
Cain whistled his acknowledgment. He had designed and contributed to many audacious building schemes himself, but even he was impressed, especially with Herod’s residence. A master of self-aggrandizement, Herod had ensured that his palace here was one of the largest in the western world. At the same time, he was careful to construct a magnificent temple dedicated to his Roman patron, the emperor Augustus, for whose title of “Caesar” the city was named.
While his commercial team busied themselves with eliciting bids for the glassware shipment, Cain and Felix, accompanied by half a dozen porters, went from shop to shop to evaluate buying opportunities. In addition to large quantities of top-quality silk, Cain purchased a variety of decorative items, including a stunning collection of agate tableware and several dozen decorative rock crystals, as well as a lampstand of free-blown glass.
After a weeklong stay, Cain spent his final afternoon in Caesarea walking alone through the city while his ship was being fully loaded. As he entered a public square close to the forum, an unusual sight greeted him. All around the square’s perimeter, tables and chairs had been set up for what seemed to be a board game tournament. Umbrellas and awnings shaded the players, all of them men, from the late afternoon sun. As a longtime devotee of senet, Cain couldn’t resist the temptation to linger, and perhaps pick up an attractive board as a gift for Quintus.
A sprinkling of spectators were following the progress of various matches, and Cain spent quite some time as an onlooker at a table where an especially animated game of senet was unfolding. Then, about an hour before sunset, he strolled over to the eastern wall on one side of the square. Just as he was passing a stall, he happened to notice a young man, perhaps eighteen or so, sitting in front of a board made of a beautiful mineral rock he had never seen before. The youth had evidently just arrived, and had yet to match himself up with another player. Cain was not surprised when the young man stood up, smiled at him, and beckoned him to enter the stall.
Cain inspected the beautiful gaming board closely. It was jet black with bright flecks of red and gold. The pieces were rectangular ceramic tiles with finger-size indentations in the center. Some of the tiles had intricate shapes of animals fired into them, and others simply had numbers.
“What stone is this board made of?” Cain asked the young man.
“I do not know, sir. It belongs to my father. My name is Abaddon. Will you sit down and have a game with me?”
Cain could see that the board was designed for senet, one of his favorites. Yet he hesitated. The sun was now dipping close to the horizon, and he needed to return to the port to ensure his ship was ready for departure early the following morning.
“I have a lot of money to wager,” the youth declared proudly as he drew several silver pieces from the leather pouch attached to his belt. “You see these, sir? There are thirty pieces in all. My father sent me here to buy tools for the farm, but I have decided to gamble instead. The farm equipment can wait.”
The youth’s odd mixture of inducement and insolence puzzled Cain for a moment. Then he made up his mind to teach this adolescent a few things about gambling and respecting one’s parents.
“I accept your invitation,” Cain said firmly.
As he was about to pull back a chair to seat himself, the young man spoke again.
“Before we start, sir, would you kindly draw the netting so that the insects won’t bother us?”
The boy glanced around as Cain pulled the netting closed. Like many of the stalls, this one was equipped with a semi-opaque screen used to shade the occupants and keep out bugs around sunset. The screen also enhanced merchants’ privacy during sensitive commercial transactions, since passersby could not identify the individuals inside at a glance.
“Let me explain the rules,” said Abaddon after Cain had drawn up his chair to the wooden table. Next to the board, Cain placed the beautiful bottle of mosaic blown glass he had brought along, full of drinking water for a hot day in early summer.
“But I know the rules of senet well,” he objected.
“This is a modified form of the game, sir. I just want to be certain that you understand the differences between my game and the more familiar version.”
Cain shrugged his shoulders. As his opponent laid out the tiles, forty for each player, the youth offered an overview of how each player could move his pieces and when a player was permitted to “take” one of the opponent’s tiles. These rules diverged, in fact, from any version of the game familiar to Cain. But he had accepted the challenge, and as a gamer he was a quick study.
“From where do you come?” asked the young man, as the two of them began play in earnest.
“I am from Rome. I am here on a trading mission.”
“Ah, Rome!” exclaimed Abaddon with a sigh. “I should love to travel there one day!”
“If you gamble your family’s money away, you will find travel difficult,” Cain dryly admonished with a meaningful gaze at his opponent.
“Money can always be had,” the youth parried. A brief silence ensued, as tiles were taken on both sides.
Furrowing his brow, Abaddon asked, “And where do you go to now? Will you stay some time in Judaea?”
“No, my business here is concluded. I sail for Rome tomorrow, assuming fair winds.”
“You have enjoyed your visit to Judaea? You will return one day?”
“Perhaps,” Cain answered vaguely.
“Do you believe that the emperor Tiberius should control this country? There is a lot of dissatisfaction among the Jews here.”
“I make it a point to steer clear of politics,” Cain replied. The young man was certainly plying him with questions. “Look, let us focus on our game,” he added.
During the ensuing silence, Cain took stock of the remaining tiles on the board. He was not doing nearly as well as he had expected. He had only seventeen tiles in play, to his opponent’s twenty-two. If the young man stalemated him and he lost every tile but one, the game would be over and Cain would have to pay up on the wager. Perhaps his opponent’s bravado that he could readily acquire money was justified, after all.
Cain lost a further three pieces on a single turn. Just as he was growing even more frustrated at the possibility of being defeated by a farm boy, the screen of netting was suddenly pulled back, and the last rays of the setting sun poured into the stall. With eyes glowing from the fiery sunset, Abaddon glared at an unannounced visitor who had dared to interrupt the game.
Cain, who had sat with his ba
ck to the stall’s opening on the square, turned around to face the newcomer. He looked to be about thirty or so. With longish hair and a short, dark beard, he carried himself with dignity and grace. Cain noticed he had the hands of a craftsman. He was dressed in a simple, russet-brown tunic.
Abruptly, the young gamer addressed Cain. “I shall be back. I must go urinate.” He quickly rose from his seat and then rushed by the visitor, disappearing out of the stall.
“Welcome to Judaea,” said the man hospitably in Aramaic. “I can see by your clothing that you are not a native here.”
“That is true,” Cain responded in fluent Aramaic as he stood to greet the man.
“You are from Rome, then? Few Romans speak our language so well,” the visitor replied.
“Thank you for your kind words, stranger. I have learned quite a few languages on my journeys.”
Cain could see that the man was uncomfortable in the late afternoon heat, with perspiration beading his forehead. “Please allow me to offer you some water,” he said, gesturing to the blown-glass bottle.
“I would be grateful for a drink,” replied the visitor. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he swallowed deeply. Then, pausing to admire its dazzling swirls of blue and white, he said, “What wonderful workmanship! Where did you get this fine bottle, my friend?”
“I made it. Or, rather, my factory made it.”
“And where is the factory that produces such beauty, if I may ask?”
“In Carthage. I established the facility some years ago,” Cain said proudly. “Its output can now be found all over the world.”
