We travelled quickly. We had sturdy ponies and carried little baggage. Demos had given a snort of approval when he saw our outfit.
‘No tent, no slaves, no maids in waiting. Good idea. Travel light and fast. I like it.’
After three days and three nights of riding and camping, I was glad to arrive in the valley of the Parisii and catch my first glimpse of the future city of Paris, built on an island in the middle of the river Seine.
At first, I was disappointed by Lutetia. It had a hidden charm that wasn’t evident. Then I started to see the careful way the city had been laid out to make the most of the river, the island, and the small hills. The bridges were clever, made of stone and wood, and functioned like drawbridges. The island could be easily defended.
That was my husband speaking. Alexander dissected the defences and wondered how long it would have taken him to conquer the Parish.
I thought about pushing him off the bridge. To make him happy, I told him that he’d have defeated them in three weeks, tops.
‘Tops?’ He tilted his head and considered. ‘Three weeks, maybe four,’ he conceded.
We walked over the bridge and went into the main part of the city.
The Parisii were a rich tribe. They were goldsmiths and masons. They did excellent work and were often hired elsewhere, but they always came home with their wages, making the city of Lutetia a prosperous, busy, riverside town.
The women dressed in fine robes of soft wool, and glittered with gold jewellery. They wore make-up, like the Persian women, and lots of perfume. Perfume seemed to be the Parisii’s answer to fewer baths, although there were public baths. There was a Roman theatre, Greek baths, Turkish saunas, and a large Roman sports arena. The Parisii were adapting to the changing world.
The first night we were in Lutetia, we saw a play in the open -air theatre. It was a Gallic play, and I’d never seen anything like it. It was mysterious, beautiful, and totally incomprehensible. The music was almost modern. It was heavy on the drums with lots of wailing harps and wind instruments. The beat was fast and heady, and the dancing was fascinating. I couldn’t follow the story, which seemed to be about a druid and a woman falling in love, and her being sacrificed, of course. The spectators sobbed loudly.
After the play, we were invited to a banquet by the people sitting next to us. They were very friendly and didn’t seem to mind that there were five of us, including one who looked like he could probably eat an entire roasted boar by himself.
At the banquet, a woman asked us where we were travelling. The question came from a red-haired Celtic lass about twenty years old, buxom and freckled, with a hand – that she was about to lose – on Alexander’s arm.
‘Why to the far north? Are you trading?’
Alexander caught my look and tried to shrug her hand off. ‘We are going to search for my soul,’ he said. As if that’s what he did every year for the summer holidays.
I didn’t think she was listening. She’d been flirting with Alexander since we’d arrived at the banquet. She had attached herself to his arm, despite my frosty glances. Now she was practically purring into his ear. ‘That sounds so interesting, why don’t you tell me more about it in private?’
‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘He’s mine, sweetie.’
She looked nonplussed then shrugged and disappeared into the crowd.
Alexander looked at me reproachfully. ‘You scared her away.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘You seem to forget you’re married, buster.’
‘Buster?’ He looked pained. ‘It’s when you speak in your future tongue the troubles start. It’s as if the gods find it unbearable to their ears. “Sweetie”, “buster”. The earth should start shaking soon.’
‘Alexander, you hate it when men flirt with me. Why should I be any different?’
‘I know, I’m sorry.’ He leaned back against the wall and took me in his arms. ‘The river is very beautiful. It is quite romantic here.’ He pointed to our reflections in the water. ‘Look at the river, it glides past the island as it goes to the sea. Do you think we should take a boat north? Nearchus and Demos seem to think it would be best to avoid the Peatbog People.’
‘Who are they?’
‘A strange tribe who make human sacrifices all the time. They throw the victims into the peatbog. They believe the bog is alive, and that it eats the people they give it.’
‘Sounds perfectly horrible,’ I said. ‘We should give it a miss.’
‘We can take a boat then?’ He sounded suspiciously meek.
‘Yes, it’s a good idea, why?’
‘Well, you’ve already met the boat captain, so I guess it’s settled then.’
‘The boat cap …what?’ I turned and pointed to the redhead, who was now draped over Nearchus. ‘That … that person is a boat captain?’
‘She’s a member of the nautae Parisiaci, one of the most successful boatmen corporations in the world. She’s got a very nice boat. You should pay more attention to the conversations going on around you at the theatre.’
‘I was listening to the music.’
‘And dreaming. I saw your eyes, you were in another world.’ He laughed softly. His voice gave me goose bumps. He leaned over, kissing me. ‘How would you like to leave the banquet early?’
‘Where’s Paul?’ I asked, pushing him away.
‘With Axiom. Yovanix and Demos are looking after him, as well. You worry too much. I told you that before, remember?’
‘Yes, it was just before you got hit with a catapult, I believe, and spent three days in a coma.’
He took my hand and pulled me out of the doorway and onto the busy street. We walked through the city. It was lovely at night. Shops were still open and dancers and singers performed in the streets. People laughed and talked in silvery voices. The moon hung over our heads in a slender crescent, and the stars seemed to swim in the river. Underfoot, the street was cobbled but clean.
The forest was close. On the hill, where Montmartre would eventually be, vineyards had been newly planted. The Romans had introduced wine, and now the Parisii wanted to try growing grapes. A small herd of sheep bleated softly, and shepherds played music on reed flutes to quiet them. Alexander and I went back to our room at the inn and made love.
We left the window open. That evening, late March in Lutetia, spring blew in from the south.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The same wind filled the sails of the boat we took from Lutetia to the Atlantic Ocean. We sailed down the Seine. The current and the wind combined to make waves curl around the bow of the boat. A small statue at the helm of a boat represented a woman, lying on her side. When I asked, I was told it was Sequana, the goddess of the river Seine. She would protect our boat. I hoped she’d also protect those riding on it.
Paul rushed around getting in everyone’s way. Cerberus barked at the people fishing on shore. Nearchus hauled in the sail and grinned. Demos strode around the deck and waved. Yovanix tried to make himself invisible and helpful at the same time. Alexander hung over the side and vomited.
I kept an eye on the boat captain, who seemed absolutely smitten with Alexander.
She was lovely in the daylight too. I wished I’d had more time in Lutetia to go shopping. I would have liked a miniskirt like hers that showed off my legs. Or a lovely sweater knit from green wool. It went with her green eyes.
Or Alexander’s green face. After two days of seasickness, he looked awful.
The boat captain’s ardour wavered. She started spending more time with Demos. Her name was Phaleria. She was always cheerful. She was an independent woman in a man’s world. I became curious about her and forgot my animosity when she started flirting with Demos.
She had largely ignored me for the first couple of days, although it was not easy to ignore someone on a boat. I’d gotten to know the crew. There was a Gaul named Vix, and three Celts called Titte, Kell, and Oppi. Then there was Erati, the cook.
He had a large clay stove on deck, and cooked all day l
ong. It was wonderful; you could eat whenever you were hungry. There was always a fresh loaf of bread or a pizza. There were shish kebabs of lamb and beef, and there were honey buns in the evening with soup. Erati was a very small, skinny man, forever hunched over his oven or busy kneading dough.
Vix, Titte and Oppi were the sailors; doing all the heavy work and taking care of the sails. Kell was the navigator. They took orders from Phaleria and didn’t seem to mind that she was a woman.
I thought it was an interesting situation. In all my travels, I’d never met an independent woman. At first I was jealous. I hated the way she looked at Alexander, and the way she pointedly ignored me. Then it occurred to me, perhaps she thought I was one of those downtrodden Greek or Persian women. After all, I only spoke Greek or Latin; Paul did most of our translating, although Alexander, with maddening ease, had started speaking Celt and Gallic.
I decided to try speaking to Phaleria myself. Maybe she and I could become friends. Except for Barsine, I’d never had a woman friend, so I wasn’t sure how to approach her. She intimidated me.
It took me four days to get the courage to speak to her. Four days spent caring for Alexander; who lay in his pallet, asking me over and over, ‘Why did you agree to take the boat? Why? I would have preferred to die in the peatbog. Oh Zeus, where’s the bucket, I’m going to be ill again!’
Poor Alexander. After four days, he felt slightly better. ‘The best thing is the headache has gone,’ he admitted, as we stood near the stern.
We heard a splash and looked up in time to see a seagull fly away from an osprey. The bird of prey swooped down and picked up the meal the seagull had dropped. Alexander cried, ‘A sign!’
‘A sign of what?’ I was perplexed. I’d been with Alexander long enough to know that he was a fervent believer in omens, and birds could be important ones depending on what they were doing. Seagulls were good omens, I guess, if you were lost at sea. What did this one mean?
‘It means that we’d better watch out for pirates.’ Phaleria walked over to us and nodded toward the horizon. ‘The seagull represents us, his meal is our cargo, and the osprey the pirates.’
‘How interesting,’ I said politely. ‘Are there many pirates in this region?’
‘Some. The worst are the Peatbog People. They have low rafts that hide in the swells. You don’t see them until you’re practically on top of them, and then they swarm onto your boat and take everyone prisoner. They don’t kill the prisoners,’ she added.
‘Well that’s good,’ I said brightly.
‘They wait until they get back to their land and offer them to the bog. The gods eat them alive as they sink into the mud. But the omen said quite clearly that pirates would attack us at sea,’ she went on. ‘I think we’d better prepare ourselves.’
‘I’m glad the omen was so clear this time,’ I said. Alexander elbowed me in the ribs.
‘Are you any good in a fight?’ she asked Alexander.
I choked, but my husband smiled faintly and said ‘A little.’
‘And you?’ she asked me.
Before I could answer, Alexander said, ‘She’s only good for killing eunuchs. You can count on Nearchus, Demos, and me, if pirates attack.’ I glared but he ignored me. ‘Why don’t you let Paul climb up the rigging to keep watch? He has the sharp eyes of youth, and he’ll be able to see a raft low in the water.’
‘Very well,’ said Phaleria, shrugging. ‘He can watch this evening.’
‘And no lights at night,’ Alexander went on. ‘We’ll have to practise one or two times together, so that everyone knows their positions. I’ll see Nearchus.’ He was starting to mutter. That meant plans were starting to form, tactics were being plotted, and strategy was being developed. Alexander walked slowly down the length of the boat, glancing upward now and then, on his way to speak to Nearchus. The two of them would probably turn the calm boat into an army camp within an hour or so; I had just enough time to see Paul.
Chapter Thirty
Paul had future lessons every day. The reason I was teaching him this was simple. To survive, my descendants would have to avoid major wars, plagues, and natural disasters. For example, I told Paul that Pompeii was a beautiful city. A nice place to visit, but not a good place to live.
I settled down to give Paul his lesson while Axiom, himself very interested in the future, listened attentively. Paul asked questions about inventions, whereas Axiom tended to be more interested in politics. Nearchus, when he attended one of my ‘classes’, wanted to know about geography, and Alexander was interested in everything.
Paul sat with his chin in his hands and listened. He always sat perfectly still. Only his eyes and mouth sometimes moved, as he grimaced or grinned. Now he twisted his mouth to the side and said, ‘Phaleria says that the people in the far north are very wild, and that the women are the chiefs in some villages. She says we’re heading toward one of those villages, and that she knows the woman in charge. She also says that they have dogs trained for war, and that the deer which live in the forests are bigger than the elephants my father had in his army.’
‘How would she know?’ I asked. ‘She never saw an elephant.’
‘I did so.’ Phaleria strode over and sat down next to Paul. She tipped her chin at Paul. ‘Did your father tell you that you must be watchman at dusk? We’re counting on your eyes to keep us away from pirates.’
Paul shook his head. ‘No, he didn’t tell me.’
I was glad Phaleria was speaking Greek. Often she ignored me and spoke Celt with Paul.
‘As soon as the sun reaches the sea, I want you to replace Vix. Be careful when you climb up the rigging. Don’t slip and fall. Move only one hand and one foot at a time. Promise?’
‘Promise.’
‘Good fellow!’ She reached over and ruffled his hair.
‘When will we arrive?’ Paul asked.
‘In two weeks, if we keep on this tack and the wind stays strong. First, we’ll stop in a coastal village to get supplies.’ She looked out over the water thoughtfully. ‘We will sacrifice a chicken tonight and pray. Nearchus says we should pray to Poseidon.’ She made a doubtful face. ‘I think we should pray to Odin, since we’re heading north. But as we’re still in the land of the Celts perhaps we’ll be better off praying to Belenus.’
‘Which god do you usually pray to?’ I asked.
‘Lug, the sun god, or and Epona. I pray to the gods who transform humans to animals. I have been asking for years to be able to turn myself into an animal, but only the druids have that power.’ She gave a heavy sigh.
Paul and I looked at each other. I wanted to ask her which animal she wanted to turn into, but thought my voice would betray my scepticism. Since it wasn’t nice to doubt someone else’s beliefs, I just nodded and told Paul to go see his father. I wanted to speak to Phaleria alone.
‘Are there really women leaders in the lands we’re going to?’
She looked at me sideways. ‘There are many. The village I trade the most with is called Orce. The people are fair, like you. The woman in charge is very old, almost a hundred. Her name is Orcina. She has worn the horned helmet ever since her husband died. The villagers agreed to let her keep it because she is so wise. For thirty years now, she has ruled them.’
‘In Greece and Persia, the women don’t have as much freedom or power. I prefer it here.’
‘I imagine you do.’ she gave an exaggerated mock shiver. ‘Have you ever seen a harem?’
‘I spent a few years in one,’ I said. ‘It was dreadful.’
‘And your husband took you out of it? I thought the only way a women could leave was on her funeral pyre.’
‘There was a war, and the king died, and we left Babylon in the confusion …’ I wasn’t sure how much to tell her.
‘Were you in Babylon, when Iskander died?’ Phaleria sounded impressed. ‘That must have been amazing. Did you ever set eyes on the king himself?’
I kept a perfectly straight face. ‘A few times. He wasn’t all that
impressive.’
‘Not as nice looking as your husband, eh?’
‘Nowhere near as nice,’ I assured her.
She nodded. ‘I thought about marrying a few times, but I like my freedom too much. I inherited this boat from my father, and managed to keep most of the crew. I retained more clients than I thought I would. The world is changing.’ Her voice was deep and could be vibrant when she wanted. She looked at me with green cat’s eyes and said wistfully. ‘But I do envy you your son. I would marry just for the joy of having a child.’
‘You should marry Demos,’ I said. I meant it lightly of course. I’d forgotten how the people of this time reacted to statements; they took them verbatim. Phaleria asked if I thought Demos were good looking.
I watched as the brawny man helped Vix haul in some sail. The muscles in his back rippled like waves.
‘Yes, and he’s strong,’ I said.
‘You’re right. I’ll marry Demos, and then he can help me out on the boat. He doesn’t suffer seasickness like your husband does.’
‘Alexander is more at home on a horse than on a boat,’ I agreed.
‘I like his looks, though.’
‘He’s mine, sister,’ I said.
Phaleria shot me an amused look. ‘“Sister”?’ she asked.
I blushed. ‘It’s just an expression.’
She took a lock of cinnamon coloured hair and wrapped it around her finger. ‘I never had any sisters or brothers, and I grew up on this boat. You probably think I’m a barbarian. All the Greeks call us barbarians.’
‘I’m not a Greek,’ I said, watching as Paul slowly climbed the rigging.
‘Don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine. If you’re not Greek, what are you? Are you one of the descendants of the Celtic tribes that have crossed the mountains at the end of the world?’
‘I have no idea,’ I said.
‘Where were you born?’
I winced. This was a tricky question. America hadn’t been discovered yet. ‘I don’t know.’
Chants to Persephone: The Future of the World Hangs on a Knife's Edge - and Only a Human Sacrifice Can Save It Page 17
