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Page 22

by Steven Saylor


  I looked for Tiro in the retinue, but didn’t see him. Nor did I see Davus.

  ‘Great One!’ I shouted, hoping to get his attention. I reacted as any citizen in the forum might, petitioning a magistrate. But this was not Rome, and the man before me was not Pompey the politician, obliged to ingratiate himself with every Marcus who could vote; this was Pompey the Great, Imperator of the Spanish Legions, the man who believed in carrying swords, not quoting laws.

  ‘Quiet!’ snapped the centurion. He remained at attention. His glaring eyes demanded the same of me.

  Pompey halted at the top of the steps. The officers fanned out behind him. A trumpeter blew a fanfare for attention. I was no more than twenty feet away. Pompey looked tired and haggard. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot. But the soldiers in the square below must have seen a very different Pompey, a powerfully built, golden-sheathed, almost godlike figure, a statue of Mars come to life.

  ‘Soldiers of Rome! Defenders of the Senate and the people! Tonight you will carry out the exercise for which you’ve been drilled over the last few days. Each of you has a role to play. You all know what to do. Act quickly and efficiently, obey the orders of your centurions, and there will be no problems.

  ‘The enemy has been frustrated at every turn. A handful of veteran archers and slingers have successfully kept him away from the city walls. He has no ships. His efforts to block the harbour have proven futile. Typically, his ambition oversteps his ability. In the long run, he shall be sorry for it.’

  There was a murmur of laughter among the troops in the square. I had always been blind to whatever charm Pompey possessed, but these men seemed to appreciate it. Perhaps one had to be a military man.

  ‘We are about to leave Italy and cross over the sea,’ Pompey continued. ‘Some of you may feel misgivings about this. Do not. We are moving forward, not falling back. Rome lies across the water now. We go to join her. A city is made of men, not buildings. We go to where the true heart of Rome resides, with the duly elected consuls. Let the enemy take over empty buildings if he wishes, and invest himself with whatever empty titles his imagination can devise. I think perhaps he has dwelled for too long north of the Rubicon, among primitive barbarians who worship kings. Having conquered those petty monarchs, he thinks he should become one himself. He should remember instead the fate of every despot who ever raised arms against the Senate and the people of Rome.’

  A murmur among the troops swelled into a cheer. Pompey cut it short by raising his hands. ‘Soldiers! Remember the first order of the day: Silence! The enemy’s ear is pressed to the city gates. We must carry out this operation with an absolute minimum of noise. It starts now. Cohort commanders, begin evacuation!’

  He gave a gesture to the officers behind him, like a circus master signalling the commencement of a race. As they moved forward, Pompey stepped back, withdrawing from the sight of the troops in the square like a golden deus ex machina disappearing at the theatre.

  The ranks of his retinue were thinned by the dispatch of the cohort commanders, and I was now able to spot Tiro, who walked to Pompey’s side. The Great One’s personal bodyguards closed around him. Among them I saw a lumbering hulk with a familiar gait. Even before he turned to show the profile of his boyish face, I knew it was Davus.

  I tried to catch Tiro’s eye, but he was busily conferring with Pompey. Suddenly I saw him gesture in my direction. Pompey nodded and turned. He looked straight at me, then stepped past his bodyguards and walked directly to me. The centurion beside me snapped to attention.

  ‘I heard you shout at me earlier, Finder.’ Pompey sounded tired and irritable.

  ‘Did you, Great One? You gave no sign.’

  ‘A trained orator lets nothing distract him. Tiro says you have news for me.’

  ‘Yes, Great One.’

  ‘Good. Centurion, don’t you have evacuation orders?’

  ‘Yes, Imperator.’

  ‘Then off with you!’

  ‘Imperator, I should tell you that this man is armed. He’s carrying a dagger. Shall I disarm him?’

  Pompey managed a weary smile. ‘Worried about an assassination attempt, Centurion? Killing people is hardly Gordianus’s style. Is it, Finder?’

  He didn’t wait for me to answer, but dismissed the centurion and his men with a curt wave. ‘Come along, Finder. I suppose you’ll want to say hello to that son-in-law of yours, since you dragged yourself across half of Italy to find him. I can’t imagine why. I never met a fellow so thick.’

  I drew a deep breath. ‘And my report, Great One?’

  He made a face. ‘Not here. Not now. Can’t you see there’s a fire at my feet? Save your report until we’re safely on the water!’

  XXI

  ‘I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it!’

  ‘Davus, not so hard – you’re squeezing the life out of me . . .’

  ‘Sorry.’ Davus released me and stepped back. I reached up to rub my cheek, where the links of his mail shirt had pressed a tattoo into the soft flesh. Outfitted all in leather and steel, the sight of him was as overpowering as the hug he had just given me. Yet the broad grin across his face made him look as harmless as a child.

  ‘I just can’t believe it,’ he said again, laughing. ‘You came all this way, over the mountains and everything. How on earth did you get inside the city?’

  ‘It’s a long story, Davus. I’ll tell you another time.’

  One of Pompey’s officers gave a shout. He raised his arm and pointed at a tall building across the square. Up on the rooftop, someone was running back and forth, waving a torch.

  Pompey squinted. ‘By Hades, you were right, Tiro. Damn these townspeople! That’s a clear signal to Caesar to commence his attack. Scribonius, order an archer to shoot that man down.’

  The officer who had pointed stepped forward. ‘He’s out of range, Imperator.’

  ‘Then send someone up there.’

  ‘The way to the roof will almost surely be blockaded, Imperator. Is it really worth our time –’

  ‘Then send some archers onto a neighbouring rooftop and shoot at him from there!’

  ‘Imperator, the evacuation has begun. By the time our archers –’

  ‘I don’t care! Look at that ape, waving his torch, laughing at us. The men in the square can see. The brave soldiers manning the wall can see! Terrible for morale. I want that man’s head. And bring me his hand, as well, with the torch still in it!’

  Scribonius summoned archers, but in the next moment Pompey’s order was rendered moot. All around the city, civilians appeared on rooftops. Some waved torches. Others danced in the flickering torchlight like celebrants at a festival. Pompey was furious.

  ‘Damn these people! When I retake Brundisium, I shall burn the city to the ground. I’ll sell every man, woman, and child into slavery!’ He paced back and forth, gazing westward. Above the rooftops we could see the towers flanking the city gate. ‘Engineer Magius, has the gate been sufficiently blocked?’

  Another officer stepped forward. ‘You know it has, Imperator. There are tons of rubble piled against it. No battering ram will budge it. The only way Caesar’s men can get into the city is by climbing over the walls.’

  ‘Scribonius, will the line of archers and slingers along the parapet hold?’

  ‘Every one’s a seasoned veteran, Imperator. They’ll hold.’

  At that moment, we heard the first sounds of battle carried across the cold air. There was only shouting at first, then the eerie echo of steel clanging against steel, and the dull boom of a battering ram.

  The square below rapidly emptied. The last of the soldiers filed out in silence, heading for the ships. The forum grew dark except for glowing patches of light from open temple doors. I found myself wishing I understood Messapic. It seemed to me that the ululations from the temples had gradually changed tenor, from songs of terror and lamentation to songs of deliverance. The chants mixed with the distant sounds of battle.

  There was a signal for Po
mpey’s retinue to commence evacuation. Suddenly, everyone around me was moving down the steps. The officer called Scribonius handed Davus a torch and told him to follow as rear guard.

  We headed towards the port by a different route than the one the centurion had taken earlier. This street was wider and the way more direct. I wondered that it hadn’t been blockaded and said as much to Davus, who told me to wait and see. At the first intersection we came to, the engineer Magius called a brief halt. He and a few other men gripped some ropes hanging from the buildings on either side. In an instant, tons of rubble poured into the street behind us. An ingenious system of pulleys had been installed, connected to wooden sluices and caches full of debris stored in the upper floors of the buildings facing the street.

  The same operation was repeated at the next intersection, and the next. Magius was blockading the street as we passed.

  At other places, Magius gave a signal for caution and led the company in single file along one side of the street, keeping close to the wall. Trenches with spikes had been dug across the street and covered over. Only Magius knew exactly where they were and on which side to bypass them. The traps were impossible to see. In the darkness, the dirt spread above the wicker blinds blended imperceptibly with the rest of the street.

  Now and again I heard faint, echoing sounds of battle from behind us, shouts and screams mixed with the chanting from the temples. The darkness of the narrow streets, the flickering torchlight, the man-made avalanches of rubble, the unseen traps beneath our feet, all seemed like elements from a mad dream. Images of the day flashed through my overwrought mind: arrows crisscrossing in the blue sky above my head – the cold, still water of the harbour, promising death – Fortex on the quay quivering with tension, gripping invisible oars and staring agape at the boatman Charon coming for him across the River Styx.

  I seemed to be trapped in a waking nightmare. Then I chanced to look at Davus beside me. He was grinning from ear to ear. For him, it was all a grand adventure. I gripped his arm.

  ‘Davus, when we arrive at Pompey’s ship, you’ll stay behind.’

  He furrowed his brow.

  ‘Davus, I have the information that Pompey wanted. About Numerius. But I shall give it to him only if he agrees to leave you behind.’

  ‘Leave me behind?’

  ‘Listen, Davus, and try to understand! I shall be going with Pompey, but you shall not. It’s the only way I can make this work. We’ll leave you behind on the pier. As soon as the ship casts off, you must take off all your armour. Do you understand? Keep your sword to protect yourself, but strip down to your tunic and throw everything else in the water. There must be nothing to identify you as one of Pompey’s men. The townspeople are likely to kill you out of spite, if Caesar’s men don’t kill you first.’

  ‘Stay behind?’ Davus still didn’t comprehend.

  ‘Don’t you want to go back to Rome? Don’t you want to see Diana and little Aulus again?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then do as I say! For a while, the city will be in chaos. But you’re a big man; no one will bother you unless they have a reason. Don’t pick any fights. Try to pass as one of the townspeople, at least until you can hand yourself over to Caesar’s men.’

  ‘Hand myself over? They’ll kill me.’

  ‘No, they won’t. Caesar is doing everything he can to appear merciful. You won’t be harmed, as long as you throw down your sword and don’t resist. Demand to see Meto. And if Meto should be – if for any reason you can’t find Meto, ask for Marc Antony, the tribune. Tell him who you are. Ask for his protection.’

  ‘What about you, father-in-law?’

  ‘I shall take care of myself.’

  ‘I don’t understand. You’ll end up with Pompey over in Greece. How will you get home?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘But Diana, and Bethesda –’

  ‘Tell them not to worry. Tell them . . . I love them.’

  ‘This isn’t right. I should go with you, to protect you.’

  ‘No! The whole point is to get you away from Pompey and back to Rome. Don’t spoil all my efforts now, Davus. Do as I tell you!’

  Suddenly there was a tremendous crash ahead of us. Rubble poured into the street. For a moment I thought Pompey had been struck, but he emerged from the dust cursing and coughing. Someone had set off one of Magius’s barricading devices in an attempt to ambush us.

  Pompey’s men immediately swarmed over the rubble, looking for the culprits. Shrieks of laughter were followed by shrill screams. The soldiers returned with their squirming prisoners: four boys. The soldiers restrained them by twisting their arms behind their backs and clutching fistfuls of hair. The oldest looked about the same age as Mopsus. The others looked even younger. I was amazed they had the strength to pull down the rubble. Their success was a testament to Magius’s engineering.

  For Pompey, this was the final straw. He walked up to the oldest boy and slapped him across the face. The boy’s defiance crumbled. He looked terrified. Blood trickled from his nose. He started to weep. So did his companions.

  Pompey snapped his fingers. ‘Bodyguards! Come! Executing partisans isn’t a job fit for soldiers.’

  Davus responded at once. I gripped his arm, but he pulled free. I hissed his name. He looked back at me and shrugged, as if to say he had no choice.

  ‘Tie their arms behind their backs and lay them on the rubble,’ ordered Pompey. Davus held up his torch while the other bodyguards ripped apart the boys’ tunics and used the strips to bind them.

  ‘Gag them,’ Pompey ordered. ‘I don’t want to hear any screams for mercy. Then cut off their heads.’

  The boys’ weeping abruptly turned to shrieks. More cloth was ripped, and the shrieks were abruptly muffled.

  ‘We’ll execute them on the spot and leave them as an example. Let the people of Brundisium see the price for betraying Pompey the Great. Let them think about that, while they await my return.’

  It happened so swiftly it seemed unreal. In seconds, the boys were stripped to their loincloths, bound and gagged and ready to be beheaded. Tiro drew back into the shadows, keeping his eyes down. Davus hung back. Pompey noticed.

  ‘Davus! You’ll cut off the head of the ringleader.’

  Davus swallowed hard. He glanced in my direction, but quickly lowered his eyes. He handed his torch to a soldier and slowly drew his sword. He shifted nervously from foot to foot.

  ‘Great One, no!’

  Pompey turned to see who shouted. ‘Finder! I should have known.’

  ‘Great One, let the boys go.’

  ‘Let them go? They very nearly killed me!’

  ‘It was a prank. They’re boys, not soldiers. I doubt they even knew you were at the head of the retinue.’

  ‘All the worse. How should that have looked in Rome? Pompey the Great killed by accident, by a gang of street rats pulling a prank! They’ll pay with their heads.’

  ‘But how would that look in Rome? Boys, mere children, their heads cut off and left for their parents to find. If these were barbarians in the hinterlands, yes – but this is Italy. We could as easily be in Corfinium. Or Rome.’

  Pompey bit his lower lip. He stared at me for what seemed a long time.

  ‘Put away your swords,’ he finally said. ‘Leave the boys as they are, bound and gagged. Let the people see that they were captured, and spared. If Caesar can show mercy, so can I. By Hades, let’s get out of this godforsaken place!’

  Davus’s shoulders slumped forward in relief. Pompey gave me a last furious glance, then held out his arms to his bodyguards, who helped him over the pile of rubble. Davus fell back to resume his post as rear guard. He helped me pick my way step by step over the debris. The last of the barricades and traps was behind us. We pressed on towards the port, saying not another word to each other.

  As soon as we passed through the city gates and onto the boardwalk, one of the soldiers gathered up all the torches, ran to the quayside, and threw them i
nto the water. The port was clearly visible to Caesar’s forces ringing the harbour. Darkness was as vital as silence to the success of Pompey’s operation.

  The quay was lined with men waiting to board their assigned ships. We hurried past them, heading for the end of the quay.

  The uncanny quiet was suddenly broken by cheering that began ahead of us and spread down the length of the quay. I thought at first that Pompey’s arrival had been noticed, and the cheer was for him. Then I heard a shout: ‘They’re through! They’ve made it!’ The first of the transport ships to cast off had passed safely beyond the breakwaters at the harbour entrance and had reached the sea.

  Masts creaked and sails billowed, and more ships cast off. As we neared the end of the quay I had a clear view of the harbour entrance. The breakwaters were as dark as the quay, horizontal smudges that seemed to rise barely above the waterline. A captain without keen night vision might easily run aground, trying to pass between them. I felt more out of my element than ever, plunged into a shadowy world ruled by the likes of Pompey and Caesar, where men manufactured avalanches, moved mountains of earth, built atop water, and made even darkness their weapon.

  At the end of the quay, Pompey’s ship waited. It was a smaller, sleeker, faster vessel than the big transport ships. A boarding plank was quickly laid in place. Pompey headed straight for it. I summoned my nerve and quickened my pace to catch up with him.

  ‘Great One!’

  He abruptly halted and turned about. Without torchlight, it was hard to read his expression. I saw only deep shadows where his eyes should be. The hard line of his mouth turned down sharply at the corners. ‘Hades take you, Finder! What do you want now?’

  ‘Great One, my son-in-law – I want you to release him from your service. Leave him behind.’

  ‘Why?’

 

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