While the guests took their positions on the couches, the slaves brought in chargers of food. In the confusion, the four boys surreptitiously made their way towards the concealed doorway next to the statue of Saturn.
They had nearly reached it when a shadow loomed up ahead of them. Jake’s heart stopped when he realized that the figure was wearing a leopard mask and was trailing the unfortunate Topaz behind him.
‘Sedete,’ he said in a silky voice, motioning for them to sit.
There was some space amongst a group of diners reclining around the nearest table. The boys couldn’t very well refuse. Charlie thanked Leopardo with a gracious bow and they took their places as calmly as they were able. Jake noticed that Topaz looked terrified, but her half-brother gave no indication that he suspected anything, and lay down with his back to them.
As she took a seat next to the monster, Topaz quickly glanced around. Her eyes made contact with Jake’s. She glared at him for a moment – in fear or friendship, he couldn’t tell – then turned away.
Jake looked at the other diners; they were an unappealing lot, arrogant and overfed, gossiping and laughing, one eye fixed on the new arrivals. They had half pushed up their masks in anticipation of food and motioned for the boys to do the same. Keeping their faces hidden as much as possible, they followed suit.
Suspended just above the table – and, indeed, Jake noticed, above every table – was a little cage containing a small bird with vivid yellow plumage singing an exquisite song. Charlie was immediately taken with it and tried to reach his fingers in, but the creature was unfriendly, puffing its feathers and shrinking away from him. Suddenly something far more alarming caught Charlie’s attention. ‘Hell’s bells,’ he muttered under his breath as a slave approached with a great platter and set it down on the table in front of them, explaining what it was.
‘Baked flamingo and swan surprise,’ Charlie translated in a horrified whisper.
The guests were all cooing with delight, but Jake could barely believe his eyes: from the roasted bodies of two giant birds (still covered in charred feathers) two necks – one pink and one white – rose up to create the shape of a heart between them, their beaks touching in a delicate kiss of death.
‘I wonder what the surprise is?’ Nathan asked out of the side of his mouth. Usually he was quite imperturbable, but even he looked a little worried.
The attendant plunged a knife into the side of each bird. From within came a chorus of high-pitched cries, and out flew a handful of live nightingales. Lucius stood up and half drew his sword in fright, much to the amusement of their fellow diners, but Nathan pulled him down again. From every table, amidst applause and cheers, nightingales took off, fluttering in confusion into the sky.
‘Barbaric,’ Charlie whispered under his breath, shaking his head. ‘Absolutely barbaric.’
The culinary horrors did not end there. Dish after dish of macabre recipes were brought out. Mostly they had an avian theme: turtledove ragout with pomegranates, peacock stewed in honey and damsons, and ostrich flambé; but there were other recipes to bring shudders of distaste: jellyfish and eggs, pickled sea urchins, and eels stuffed with sprats.
Lucius ate nearly everything, which meant that Nathan felt obliged to do the same. Jake bravely tried to swallow something, so as not to attract too much attention, but Charlie ate practically nothing, and became more and more upset by what he called ‘the dreadful savagery of the rich’.
Towards the end of the meal, a figure appeared at the main door: a tall, strange-looking man with a gaunt, unmasked face and a long plaited beard. Jake recognized him, but couldn’t remember where from. Eventually he started to weave his way between the tables until he was at Agata’s side. She received him with a nod and he leaned down to whisper in her ear.
Jake suddenly realized: ‘It’s the man from the laboratory in Vulcano,’ he said quietly. They had seen him working in the room with the foul-smelling plants. Nathan and Charlie looked over.
‘No doubt he has come to assist her with the end of dominions,’ the latter commented, his gloom sharpened by hunger.
After the dishes had been cleared away, an unusual-looking man wearing a wig of curling red hair – a master of ceremonies of some kind – stepped into the middle of the arena and made an announcement in a deep, gravelly voice. What he had said soon became clear – for at each table the guests opened their birdcages to let loose the yellow songbirds. They flew up in unison, circled one way, then the other, before finally settling on the man, so that he looked like a giant bird himself. To complete this image, he started to rise up into the air as if he were indeed flying. Jake realized that he was actually being raised up by some underground mechanism, but it was such an eye-catching trick that the amazed audience immediately stood up to get a better look. It was at this moment that Topaz turned and nodded at the others to indicate that now was the time to go.
No one noticed the four boys disappear into the shadows of the colonnade and creep over to the statue of Saturn. In a flash Nathan had produced Topaz’s key, unlocked the door, and led the others inside.
Nathan and Jake breathed a sigh of relief as they unwound the lengths of ropes and slung them over their shoulders. They made their way up the narrow steps, flight after flight, their footsteps echoing around the dark stairwell, until finally they came to a door. At first it would not open, and Charlie feared it might also be locked; but Nathan gave it an almighty shove, burst through, and the others followed him out onto the terrace.
They were at one of the highest points in the city and the view – 360 degrees of it – was astounding. Under a perfect evening sky of midnight blue, the white marble of the city extended into the distant purple haze. It seemed much more peaceful at night, especially viewed from this vantage point, and a warm breeze swirled around them with a faint whistle.
‘Well I’ll be blowed,’ said Charlie excitedly, spotting a distinctive shape on one side of the terrace. ‘An original Montgolfier, if I’m not mistaken.’
Jake, Nathan and Lucius turned to see a large basket connected to a mammoth bundle of material in gold and indigo.
‘Montgolfier? Montgolfier?’ Nathan pondered. ‘I know the name . . . Remind me.’
Charlie sighed and shook his head. ‘Nathan, sometimes I wonder if you’ve done any basic research at all. The Montgolfier brothers, inventors of the world’s first hot-air balloon?’ As Jake and Nathan went to investigate, Charlie carried on, ‘Actually, that’s not strictly speaking true. The Chinese had a go in the era of the Three Kingdoms, around 200 AD. And I’ve heard rumours that the Nazca of Peru might have got there even earlier. But October 1783 – four years after the French Revolution – was the official date of the first manned flight. Whatever way you look at it, it’s still totally out of place here. Agata Zeldt truly has no respect for history. Can you imagine this taking off across the skies of ancient Rome?’
Jake found the idea entrancing: a hot-air balloon from the other end of history wafting over the city, to the amazement of all.
With Nathan leading the way, the four of them hauled themselves over the balustrade at the back of the terrace and surveyed the dark geometric rooftop landscape.
‘There,’ said Jake, identifying, in the furthest corner, the domed building that Topaz had told them housed Agata’s campaign room. They set off across the roof tiles, four silhouettes against the ultramarine sky. Occasionally they reached an impasse, a wide gap between the buildings, and would have to double back and find a different route. At one point they passed a skylight. From it emerged a strange fluttering sound that intrigued Jake. He couldn’t resist kneeling down and peering through the bars.
A dim light from below illuminated his face as he examined the large, empty chamber. There was a shape on the floor – some kind of creature, tied to a metal post, lying perfectly still on a bed of dark crimson. Then the sickening truth dawned on him: the creature was the half-eaten remains of a man, its bed a pool of dry blood. Suddenly there was an ea
r-splitting squawk, a rush of air, and a bird almost the size of Jake threw itself at the bars, thrusting its head between them and snapping at him with its razor-sharp beak.
Jake cried out, stumbling back across the tiles and falling heavily. The others stopped and turned as he picked himself up. Now the heads of three savage vultures were straining through the bars, shrieking like banshees.
‘Such charming pets our hostess has,’ Nathan commented drily. ‘They make her brother’s snakes look positively cuddly.’
Jake stared at the birds with disgust as he edged his way along the tiles and caught up with the others.
Agata’s campaign headquarters were housed in a solid, square, domed structure. Its far walls dropped straight down to join the sheer cliff face of the Palatine; on the near side, it was separated from its neighbours by a gap of nearly two metres. The boys gingerly made their way over to the drop and looked down. Below them stood two hulking men guarding the double entrance doors. Round the side, they saw two high windows, both tiny and barred. Topaz had explained that the only way in was through the skylight at the top of the dome; they could see a soft light shining up through it. But to reach it, they first had to get across the gap.
‘I’ll go first,’ Nathan whispered to the others. He took a few steps back, then ran, vaulting over the divide and landing perfectly, with barely a sound, on the other side. He peered down: the guards were talking to each other, oblivious to what was going on above their heads. Lucius went next, landing in an elaborate somersault and making it look like child’s play. Charlie followed, showing no fear at all. Then it was Jake’s turn. He didn’t like it one bit, but kept his fears to himself. He stepped back, took a deep breath and lunged forward into the air. As the void opened up beneath him, he had a sudden premonition of disaster. His foot came down short, landing on the edge. His eyes widened as he teetered on the brink, then Charlie grabbed him and pulled him forward. The sentries failed to notice the light dusting of stone that fell down into the gap.
They tiptoed across the roof, clambered up the side of the dome and peered inside. Below them was an octagonal room with a black and white floor of shiny marble that reflected the light from a series of low-hanging lanterns. In the centre stood a circular table with a map spread across its tapestry cover. Even from this distance Jake could make out the shapes of continents: Europe, Africa and Asia. It was mostly emerald green, but there were blocks of other colours. Other tables were dotted around the room, many piled up with plans, tables and diagrams.
‘Can I go first?’ Jake asked the others. He was embarrassed about what had just happened on the roof and wanted to prove himself. ‘I’m very good with ropes,’ he lied.
For once, Nathan couldn’t find a reason to disagree. ‘Sure.’ He shrugged. ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’
‘Well, the worst that could happen,’ said Charlie, pushing his glasses up his nose, ‘is that he falls, crashing onto that map, and alerts the whole villa to our whereabouts.’
‘It was rhetorical, Charlie.’ Nathan gritted his teeth. ‘You don’t have to answer that question every time I ask it.’
Jake was harnessed to the rope, and Lucius, by far the strongest of them, lowered him down. As he descended, Jake noticed that the inside of the dome was painted dark blue and covered with symbols of the constellations over faint golden grids of latitude and longitude.
His foot edged towards the chart, his toes touching down on Italy – on Rome itself; indeed, on a tiny replica of the Circus Maximus. Only now did Jake realize that the map was not flat, but a three-dimensional relief. He carefully leaped down onto the floor, before turning round to have a closer look. It was a beautifully realized miniature of the western world in AD 27. It illustrated, in breathtaking detail, not only the terrain – the mountains, deserts and forests – but many of the famous landmarks, from the pyramids of Egypt to the ancient stone circles of Britain.
But the map was not only geographical; it was scattered with legions of armies. Battalions of minute soldiers (it was these that had formed the blocks of colour Jake had seen from above) were stationed everywhere – from the white peaks of the Alps to the plains of Persia; from the deserts of the Sahara to the wintry forests of Scandinavia. And each soldier, of the thousands that populated the map, wore the same uniform: the familiar armour of the Hydra.
Charlie was the next to descend, followed shortly by Nathan (Lucius was showing off again, proving he could lower two people simultaneously). Once he was on the ground, Nathan called up to him, ‘Maintain that position! We may need to leave at any second.’
‘Anything you say, sir,’ Lucius replied with a smirk, and sat down with his legs dangling through the skylight.
‘I’ve said it already and I’ll say it again,’ Nathan said, glancing up at the constellations on the inside of the dome, ‘you have to admire Agata’s chutzpah. The world is not enough for her – she wants the universe.’
‘Good gracious, you’re right,’ Charlie replied, examining it in greater detail. ‘She’s renamed Scorpio after herself, and Leopardo has been substituted for Ursa Major.’
Jake hadn’t noticed before, but now he could clearly see their names inscribed in curling gold letters across the blue sky. He also realized that another section was in the process of being repainted – no doubt to include the new member of the family: Topaz.
Nathan and Charlie turned their attention to Agata’s map – in particular to the armies. ‘Unless Agata Zeldt plans to produce half a million soldiers out of thin air,’ Nathan commented, ‘I guess her plan is to somehow take command of the Roman army.’
‘I’d say that was about the size of it,’ Charlie concurred.
‘And how big is the Roman army?’ Jake asked. ‘I mean, how many men in each of those divisions?’
Charlie shrugged and whistled through his teeth. ‘Well, in the last hundred years the army has grown tenfold, from a haphazard collection of forces scattered here and there into a hardened and super-efficient machine, capable of conquering anyone.’
‘He’s right,’ Nathan agreed, picking up one of the miniature soldiers and inspecting it. ‘Look at poor old Mithridates and the Persians. One of the most ancient and revered nations in history, wiped out in a decade.’
‘Regarding actual number’ – Charlie was adding it up in his head – ‘there must be at least twenty-five legions with roughly five thousand infantrymen in each, and probably three hundred auxilia regiments – including the navy, cavalry, et cetera, as well as the multitude of foreign conscripts. Which all adds up to about 400,000 fighting men.’
‘In short,’ Nathan concluded, ‘enough to enslave the western world and have a good stab at taking over the rest.’ Then he added with a theatrical arch of his eyebrows, ‘The end of dominions.’
‘But how is she planning to get control of the Roman army?’ Jake asked.
‘That is the question we must answer,’ Charlie replied. ‘Buttering up a few corrupt lawyers and generals with flamingo surprise and eels stuffed with sprats is only going to get you so far.’
‘And the other question is’ – Nathan held up the tiny soldier – ‘who was responsible for these gaudy uniforms? It’s a travesty on every level. If you’re going to take over the world, get the look right first. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Charlie snatched the figure, replaced it on the map and suggested they should all stop talking and start looking. He and Jake began to go through the piles of papers to see if they could find any more information on the end of dominions or this public murder that Topaz had told them about, while Nathan opened all the doors that led off from the chamber to see if there was any sign of the actor Austerio.
Their various searches bore no immediate results: Nathan could find only storerooms, while the charts and papers turned out to be either irrelevant or indecipherable. Only one thing caught Jake’s attention: a drawing of seven golden eggs, with the word Counters scrawled underneath. He remembered, from Agata’s suite in Vulcano, s
omething with an identical illustration.
‘Does this mean anything to you?’ he said, holding it up to Nathan.
Nathan glanced over, but made no sense of it. He shrugged, suggesting that it was of no importance; before turning his attention to a wall mirror, its reflective properties derived from a layer of mercury behind glass. As he admired his teeth, he claimed it was the most ingenious and charming thing he had seen all year.
After about twenty minutes, Lucius gave an urgent whistle from above. ‘Someone’s coming.’
A moment later, they heard the sound of a key in the lock and muffled voices. They looked at each other in alarm.
‘Raise the ropes now!’ Nathan commanded Lucius. ‘Everyone else, under here . . .’ He went over to the map table, lifted the tapestry cover and pushed Jake and Charlie underneath. The ropes shot up through the skylight and disappeared. Nathan squeezed into the dark space under the table with the other two. In unison, without prompting, all three silently drew their daggers as they heard the door opening and footsteps approaching.
Jake and Nathan could see what was going on through a hole in the tapestry. They breathed sighs of relief when they saw not guards but a couple of slaves, each carrying a tray of food – some familiar items from dinner. The two men headed across the room, one reaching down to pull on a lever. Immediately a section of black and white floor rose up, revealing a set of steps that led down into a room underneath.
The two slaves descended. Moments later the boys heard a voice. It was so deep and fruity – so like the voice of an actor – that they were in no doubt as to its owner. Presently the slaves returned empty handed and, leaving the trapdoor open, walked back across the room, locking the door behind them.
Jake, Nathan and Charlie crawled out of their hiding place as Lucius appeared grinning in the aperture above. ‘They’ve gone,’ he said in his version of a whisper.
Nathan put his finger to his mouth to signal for everyone to be silent. He led the others down the small flight of steps and stopped in front of a red velvet curtain. Behind it, the distinctive, almost comical voice had started up again, practising the same phrase over and over using slightly different tones each time: ‘Veni, vidi, vici.’
History Keepers: Circus Maximus Page 19
