Envoy Extraordinary

by William Golding

  Mamillius pulled down the brim of his straw hat and folded a corner of cloak across his nose. He paused for a while, appalled and secretly gratified by his genuine distaste for humanity and the violent mess they made of themselves. Moreover he felt he had a contribution to make to the mythology of hell. It not only stank and burned; it roared. Noise climbed with the heat, vibration, a drum-roll of sound on which screams floated like the twisted flight of a gull.

  He turned from the port itself to the quay where his business was. The quay stretched across half the port to the entrance with a shoulder-high wall to seaward. There were three ships made fast to it. The first, on his left hand and only a few yards from him, was the imperial barge. She lay low in the water, her rowers sleeping on their benches in the sun, a slave boy doing something to the cushions of her throne under its huge purple baldachino. Ahead of her was the slim shape of the trireme, her oars unshipped and stowed. Slaves were working on her deck, but she was very dirty from the traffic that crossed and recrossed her, for Amphitrite was made fast on the outboard side of her, squat and uniquely ugly.

  Mamillius strolled along the quay as slowly as possible, putting off the moment when he would have to endure the heat from her hold. He stopped by Phanocles' second invention and examined it curiously, for he had not seen it before. The tormentum had been set up and trained over the wall, pointing out to sea. Against all military sense, Phanocles had wound back the chain that served for a string and cocked the mechanism. Even the sledge that would drive the peg and release the string was lying ready. There was a bolt lying in the groove and on the other end of the bolt was a shining keg ending in a brass butterfly with a projecting iron sting. The thing was a suitable insect for hell. Strike the peg and the bolt would buzz seaward, out to the fishing boats, would -bear the keg to them, a drink with the Emperor's compliments.

  Mamillius shuddered at the machine, then laughed as he remembered Phanocles' explanation. In the end, desperately, as though the Emperor were a child, he had flung out his arms, said one sentence and refused to add to it.

  "I have shut lightning in the key and can release it when I will."

  The sentry who had been dozing behind the tormentum found himself discovered and attempted to cover his fault by chatting as though he and Mamillius were on one side of a fence and military discipline on the other.

  "Nice little horror, isn't she, sir?"

  Mamillius nodded without speaking. The sentry looked up at the heat haze creeping over the quay wall.

  "Going to have thunder, sir."

  Mamillius made the sign that averts evil and walked hastily along the quay. There was no sentry on the trireme to meet him and no one to greet him at the gangway. Now that he was aboard her he could identify the ground bass to the uproar of the harbour-the slaves in every 1 ship were growling like beasts that lust for the food of the arena. The only silent slaves were those working listlessly, moodily on deck. He crossed the trireme amidships and stood looking down at Amphitrite.

  She made the tormentum look like a toy. Projecting from her on either side were the biggest wheels in the world and each wheel bore a dozen paddles. A great bar of iron that Phanocles had had twisted into a wicked shape writhed its way across the deck between them. Four metal hands held this bar, two pushing, two pulling back. Behind the hands were iron forearms and upper arms that slid back into sleeves of brass. Mamillius knew what Phanocles called the sleeves. They were the pistons; and because there was no other way of making them with the ludicrous, accuracy he-demanded they had been drawn off two alabaster pillars that had been intended for a temple of the Graces.

  Reminded by the Graces of Euphrosyne, Mamillius turned aft. Between the pistons was the most daunting thing of all: Talos, the man of brass. He was headless, a flashing sphere half-sunk in the

  deck, his four arms reached forward and gripped the wicked crank. Between him and the crank fitting in the space that the arms left between them was a brass funnel, tall as a mast, scandalous parody of the Holy Phallus.

  There were few men about. A slave was doing something highly technical to one of the steering paddles and someone was shovelling coal in the hold. The coal grit lay everywhere on her deck and sides and paddles. Only Talos was clean, waist deep in the deck, breathing steam, heat, and glistening with oil. Once Amphitrite had been a corn-barge that labourers had hauled up the river to Rome, an ungainly box, smelling of chaff and old wood, comfortable and harmless. But now she was possessed. Talos sat in her, the insect pointed over the harbour wall and hell roared.

  Phanocles poked his head out of the hold. He squinted at Mamillius through his sweat, shook his beard and wiped his face with a piece of waste.

  "We are almost ready."

  "You know the Emperor is coming?"

  Phanocles nodded. Mamillius grimaced at the coal dust.

  "Haven't you made any preparations for him?"

  "He said there was to be no ceremony."

  "But Amphitrite is filthily dirty!"

  Phanocles peered down at the deck.

  "This coal costs a fortune."

  Mamillius stepped aboard gingerly.

  "The hottest corner in hell."

  The heat hit him from the boiler and sweat streamed down his face. Phanocles looked round at Talos for a moment then handed Mamillius the piece of waste. He conceded the point.

  "I suppose it is hotter than usual."

  Mamillius waved away the waste and wiped his streaming face on the corner of his elegant cloak. Now that he was cheek by jowl with Talos he could see more of his construction. just above deck level at the after-end of the sphere was a projection surrounded with springs. Phanocles, following his gaze, reached out and flicked the brass with his fingers so that it tinged and gave out a puff of steam. He looked moodily at the projection.

  "See that? I call it a safety valve. I gave exact instructions--"

  But the craftsman had added a winged Boreas who touched the brass with an accidental toe and rounded his cheeks to eject a fair wind. Mamillius smiled with constraint.

  "Very pretty."

  The springs strained, steam shot out and Mamillius leapt back. Phanocles rubbed his hands.

  "Now we are ready."

  He came sweatily close to Mamillius.

  "I have had her out in the centre of the harbour and once out in the bay. She works as certainly and easily as the stars."

  Mamillius, averting his face, found himself regarding his own distorted face in Talos' shining side. It faded away from the mouth and pointed nose. No matter how he moved it followed him with the incurious but remorseless stare of a fish. The heat from the boiler and the smoking funnel was like a blow.

  "I want to get out of this--"

  He made his way under the contorted cranks and paused in the bows. The air was a little cooler here so that he took off his straw hat and fanned himself with it. Phanocles walked forward too and they leaned their backs against the bulwarks. Slaves were working on the fo'castle of the trireme only a few feet above them.

  "This is an evil ship."

  Phanocles finished wiping his hands and dropped the waste over the side. They turned to watch it drift. Phanocles pointed upward with his thumb.

  "She is not evil. Only useful. Would you sooner do that?"

  Mamillius glanced up at the slaves. They were clustered round the metal crab and he could see most of it though the claws were hidden by the trireme's deck.

  "I don't understand you."

  "Presently they will centre the yard-arm and swing the crab upall ten tons of it. Steam would do it for them without fuss or exertion."

  "I do not have to swing the crab up. I am not a slave."

  They were silent for a while, standing on tip-toe to inspect the crab. It was a spreadeagled mass of lead and iron, its claws resting on blocks of stone to keep them from cutting through the deck. It was as strictly utilitarian a mass as could have been found anywhere in the Empire, for its sole use wa
s to be dropped through an enemy's bilges and sink her outright: but the same impulse that had made the brass on the keg into a butterfly and stood a Boreas on the safety valve had been at work on the crab too. The makers had indicated the eyes and the joints of the legs. It had a kind of formal significance and the slaves were tending it-cleaning the claws-as if it were more than metal. Other slaves were swinging the seventy-foot yard round, were centring the hoist over the ring.

  Mamillius turned and looked along Amphitrite's deck.

  "Life is a perplexing muddle, Phanocles."

  "I shall clean it up."

  "Meanwhile you are making it dirtier."

  "No slaves, no armies."

  "What is wrong with slaves and armies? You might as well say, 'No eating or drinking or making love'.

  For a while again they were silent, listening to the roar of the port and the shouted orders from the trireme.

  "Ease her down. Handsomely!"

  "This evening the Emperor is going to try your pressure cooker. The one you made for him."

  "He will forget all that when he tries Amphitrite."

  Mamillius squinted up at the sun. It was not so bright, but he still fanned himself.

  "Lord Mamillius-has he forgiven us for the improvised cooker?"

  "I think so."

  "Sway back. Take the strain. Walk. One, two. One, two."

  "And, after all, without that experiment I should have never known that a safety valve was necessary."

  "He said that a mammoth was too much to begin with. Blamed me."

  "Still?"

  Mamillius shook his head.

  "All the same, he is sorry about the three cooks and the north wing of the villa."

  Phanocles nodded, sweating. He frowned at a memory.

  "Do you think that was what he meant by a 'Sense if possible of peril'?"

  The slave who had been firing the furnace climbed to the deck and they watched him idly. He threw a bucket over the side on a rope's end, hauled up water and tipped it over his naked body. The water flowed along the deck, carrying snakes of coal dust. Again and again he laved the filthy harbour water over himself. Phanocles called to him.

  "Clean the deck here."

  The slave touched his smeared forelock. He drew up another bucketful, then shot it along the deck so that water splashed over their feet. They started up with a shout of annoyance and there came the sound of a rope breaking under strain. Amphitrite ducked under them, sidled and made a loud wooden remark as though she had crunched one of her own timbers with metal teeth. There came a dull thump from the harbour bottom, then a huge cascade of water fell on them from the sky, water full of garbage and mud and oil and tar. Phanocles stumbled forward and Mamillius bowed under the torrent, too shocked even to curse. The water ceased to fall from the sky but surged, waist-deep, over the decks instead. Puffs of steam spurted from Talos like ejaculations of rage. Then the water had all streamed away, the decks were shining and the roar of the harbour had risen to a frenzy. Mamillius was cursing at last under a hat like a cow pat and in clothes that clung greasily to him. Then he was silent, turning to the place where they had leaned and talked. The crab had snatched away six feet of the bulwarks, had torn off planking from the deck and laid bare the splintered beam ends. The huge cable led straight down from the yard of the trireme into the water where yellow mud still stank and swirled. A mob of men were brawling on the trireme, and soldiers were among them, using the pommels of their swords. A man broke free. He stumbled to the quay, seized a loose stone, clasped it to his stomach and plunged over the harbour wall into the sea. The struggle sorted itself out. Two of the Emperor's guards were bashing heads impartially.

  Mamillius went white slowly under the filth that covered him.

  "That is the first time anyone has tried to kill me."

  Phanocles was gaping at the broken bulwarks. Mamillius began to shiver.

  "I have harmed no one."

  The captain of the trireme came, leaping nimbly to the deck.

  "Lord, what can I say?"

  The frenzy from the harbour seemed as though it would never die away. There was the sense of eyes, thousands of eyes watching across the deceptive embroidery of the water. Mamillius gazed wildly round into the white air. His nerves were jerking. Phanocles spoke in a foolishly complaining voice.

  "They have damaged her."

  "Curse your filthy ship--"

  "Lord. The slave who cut the cable has drowned himself. We are trying to find the ringleader."

  Mamillius cried out.

  "Oloito!"

  Use of a literary word was a safety valve. He shivered no more but began to weep instead. Phanocles put his shaking hands close to his face and examined them as though they might have information of value.

  "Accidents happen. Only the other day a plank missed me by inches. We are still alive."

  The captain saluted.

  "With your permission, lord."

  He leapt back aboard the trireme. Mamillius turned a streaming face to Phanocles.

  "Why have I enemies? I wish I were dead."

  All at once it seemed to him that nothing was safe or certain but the mysterious beauty of Euphrosyne

  "Phanocles-give me. your sister."

  Phanocles took his hands from his face.

  "We are free people, lord."

  "I mean, to marry her."

  Phanocles cried out in his thick voice.

  "This is too much! A plank, a crab-and now this--!" Hell closed in on Mamillius, haze-white and roaring. Somewhere in the sky the thunder grumbled.

  "I cannot bear life without her."

  Phanocles muttered, his eyes on Talos.

  "You have not even seen her face. And you are grandson to the Emperor."

  "He will do anything I want."

  Phanocles glanced sideways at him, savagely.

  "How old are you, lord? Is it eighteen or seventeen?"

  "I am a man."

  Phanocles made a pattern of his face that was intended for a sneer.

  "Officially."

  Mamillius set his teeth.

  "I am sorry for my tears. I have been shaken."

  He hiccuped loudly.

  "Am I forgiven?"

  Phanocles looked him over.

  "What do you want with my forgiveness?"

  "Euphrosyne."

  All at once Mamillius was trembling again. Beautiful shoots of life sprouted in him. But Phanocles was frowning.

  "I cannot, explain, lord."

  "Say no more now. We shall speak to the Emperor. He will persuade you."

  There came the crash of a salute from the mouth of the tunnel.

  The Emperor was walking briskly for his age. His crier went before him.

  "Way for the Emperor!"

  There was a guard and several veiled women with him. Mamillius began to rush round the deck in a panic, but the women detached themselves from the group of Men and ranged themselves by the harbour wall. Phanocles shaded his eyes.

  "He has brought her to watch the demonstration."

  The captain of the trireme was hurrying along by the Emperor, explaining as he went, and the Emperor was nodding his silver head pensively. He mounted the gangway to the trireme, crossed her deck and looked down at the strange ship before him. Even in these surroundings his spare figure in the white, purple-fringed toga cut a shape of clean distinction. He declined a helping hand and stepped down to Amphitrite's deck.

  "Don't try to tell me about the crab, Mamillius. The captain has told me all about it. I congratulate you on your escape. You too, Phanocles, of course. We shall have to abandon the demonstration."

  "Caesar!"

  "You see, Phanocles, I shall not be at the villa this evening. 1 will examine your pressure cooker another time."

  Phanocles' mouth was open again.

  "In fact," said the Emperor agreeably, "we shall be at sea in Amphitrite."

 
"Caesar."

  "Stay with me, Mamillius. I have news for you."

  He paused and cocked his ear critically at the harbour noises.

  "I am not popular."

  Mamillius shook again.

  "Neither am I. They tried to kill me."

  The Emperor smiled grimly.

  "It was not the slaves, Mamillius. I have received a report from Illyria."

  A look of appalled understanding appeared beneath the mud on Mamillius' face.

  "Posthumus?"

  "He has broken off his campaign. He has concentrated his army on the seaport and is stripping the coast of every ship from triremes to fishing boats. "

  Mamillius made a quick and aimless step that nearly took him into the arms of Talos.

  "He is tired of heroics."

  The Emperor came close and laid a finger delicately on his grandson's sodden tunic.

  "No, Mamillius. He has heard that the Emperor's grandson is becoming interested in ships and weapons of war. He fears your influence and he is a realist. Perhaps our unfortunate conversation on the loggia reached the ears of the ill-disposed. We dare not waste a moment."

  He turned to Phanocles.

  "You will have to share our council. How fast can Amphitrite take us to Illyria?"

  "Twice as fast as your triremes, Caesar."

  "Mamillius, we are going together. I to convince him that 1 am still Emperor, you to convince him that you do not want to be one."

  "But that will be dangerous!"

  'Would you sooner stay and have your throat cut?

  I do not think Posthumus would allow you to commit suicide."

  "And you?"

  "Thank you, Mamillius. Amid all my worries I am touched. Let us start."

  Phanocles pressed his fists to his forehead. The Emperor nodded to the quay and a procession of slaves began to cross the trireme with luggage. A little Syrian came hurrying from aft. He spoke quickly to Mamillius.