
A Song For Nero 
 

Tom Holt

 

One
So there we were in the condemned cell in Damascuswhich is in Syria, and believe me, you dont want to go there, its scalpingly hot and the people are not friendlywaiting for the soldiers to come back and take us off to be crucified.

I tapped him on the shoulder (he was huddled in the corner, sulking) and I said to him, Lucius Domitius, can I ask you a question?

Piss off, he grunted, so I tapped him on the shoulder again. Look, I said.

Weve been going around together now for, what is it, seven years or is it eight, I lose track, and all this time Ive been wanting to ask you

Ask me what?

I shrugged. Well, its a bit personal and you know how uptight you get talking about the old days. But any minute now theyre going to take us out and kill us, so I thought, it cant do any harm. So?

Do you mind if I ask you a question?

He didnt turn round, but his shoulders sort of wobbled. Yeah, why not? What did you want to know?

Is it true you murdered your mother?

For Gods sake, Galen. This time he did turn round. Of all the things to come out with at a time like this.

Yes, all right, I said. Keep your hair on. Id just like to know, thats all.

He sighed Youd just like to know.

Thats right. Come on, just to please me. Like I said, weve been  friends a long time now.

He was wearing that words-fail-me expression. No, he said. No, I didnt.

Ah, right, I said. Only, everyone says you did.

Then everyones wrong, he replied. Not for the first time, he added. You dont want to believe everything you overhear at the bathhouse.

Fine, I said, holding up my hands. I believe you. If you say you didnt do it, you didnt do it. Only you must admitkilling your own mother, its not the sort of thing people make up out of their heads. Usually, when people say things like that, you generally find theres a grain of truth in it somewhere.

He scowled at me. Ah, he said. You mean, probably I murdered her just a little bit?

I sighed. There you go again, I said, being hostile. Every time I ask you about the old days, you get hostile. You know, a lot of people would be offended by that. Lucky for you Im hard to offend.

I know, he said, in a funny sort of a way.

Well, there you are. And if youre telling me you didnt kill your old mum, I believe you, not a moments hesitation. So, what about your wife?

He stared at me as if I wasnt making sense. What about my wife?

Did you kill her?

No I bloody well didnt, he snapped. Either of them, he added.

I peered in the water jug, just in case someone had crept in while our backs were turned and filled it up since I last looked, two minutes before. Let me tell you, Syrian prisons are the worst place on earth, hot as hell and they give you one piddly little jug of water to last you all day. Thank you, I said, thats all I wanted to know Only, you do hear all those stories, and you cant help wondering. Well, you know.

No, he said, I dont. Whats the matter, does the thought of being locked up with a psychotic killer bother you?

I laughed. Never has in the past. And you think Im kidding, I was in a cell with a murderer once. Real nasty piece of work he was, stole a slave boy from a barracks on one of those big country places, cut him up into little bits, fried him in oil and ate him. Said he was hungry, apparently, and he didnt have the price of a plate of whitebait. Anyway, I was in this cell with himBeneventum, I think it was, or maybe it was Ancona , anyway, it doesnt make any oddsand a nicer man I never spent time with. We scratched a chequers board on the floor and made the pieces out of little pellets of bread from our rations.

He frowned, like he was thinking about something. So what happened to him in the end?

Oh, they executed him, I replied. Well, you can see their point. Cant have a vicious bastard like that roaming the countryside. But he was really pleasant to me.

He turned round again and faced the wall. Id like it if youd shut up now. Were going to be dead soon, and itd be nice to take a little time to compose my thoughts.

Fair enough, I said. And I hope you dont mind me asking, its just curiosity. Are you sure about the wives, by the way?

He made a funny noise; I couldnt quite make it out. Pretty sure, he said.

Only, I went on, your first wifegods, what was she called? Memory like a colander. Olympia ? Orfitia?

Octavia.

Thats right, Octavia. Wasnt she executed or something?

Yes.

Oh, so you did

No, I did not. He was rubbing at his eyes with his thumbs. He tended to do that when he was upset about something. She was found guilty of adultery and the court sentenced her to death. I had absolutely nothing to do with it. In fact, I was horrified when they told me. All right? Or do you want me to swear an oath or something?

No, no, I believe you, I told him. After all, why would you lie to me? Especially now, when well both be dead in two shakes. I mean, whatd be the point?

Anyhow, thats what he told me, and like I said, why would he lie? Its not like Im anybody, and God knows, he had enough dirt on me to have me hung, drawn and quartered a dozen times over, even if we werent both of us about to die as soon as the sergeant got back from lunch, so he couldnt have been afraid Id blackmail him or anything; and if Id wanted to blackmail himwell, you get the idea, Im sure. So yes, I believe him. Liars cant fool liars, my old mother used to say, and in all the time we were going around together, I cant remember him lying to me once. Not that I ever found out about, at any rate.

Well, you can believe me or not as you like, and theres magistrates and city prefects and watch captains from London to Babylon wholl tell you they wouldnt believe me if I told them fire was hot, and fair enough, since they only ever knew me in what Id call my professional capacity. Even so, it comes down to what I said to himwhy would I lie? Ive got nothing to gain, except maybe looking after the good name of my friend, except he hasnt got one. Doesnt matter. As far as Im concerned, Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus Nero Claudius Germanicus Caesar Augustus didnt murder his old mum, or his first wife, or his second wife; and I dont think he did half of that stuff they say he did, like burning down the city on purpose or things like that. Not the man I knew, anyhow.

And when youve been through good times and bad with a person, sleeping in ditches and under carts and in and out of dungeons and prisons and condemned cells and gods only know what else, I reckon you get to know a man fairly well.

So there you have it, and whether you want to take my word for it or not is up to you.

And anyway, even if he did do some of those thingsand you never hear the full story, only what they want you to hear; for a start, his mother was a vicious old bitch by all accounts and I dont suppose his wives were much better, all the nobility are savage as fighting cocks and three parts off their heads because of the in-breeding and stuff like thateven if he did do what they say he did, I cant judge him on that. After all, Im no vestal virgin myself, Id be the first to admit it. All I can go by is how he treated me, and my poor brother, rest his soul. And on that score, Im going to stick my neck out and say no, he wasnt a villain or a monster or any of those other things they call him. He was all right.

In case you were wondering, we got out of that condemned cell, no bother at all.

It was a stroke of luck, I wont argue about thatanother quarter of an hour and wed have been dead men. But just before the sergeant was about to collect ushe told me afterwards, he had the keys in his hand, if he hadnt stopped for a quick shit hed have been right there and wed have been crowbaitup turns a herald from the governors mansion saying His Excellencys wife had just had twins after twelve hours labour, and hed promised Our Lady Diana (thats Artemis to you) that if she came out of it all right hed set free all the prisoners who were due to die that day. So there we were, and that was all right. You know, when you stop to think of it, its amazing how often things like that have happened to me over the years. The gods must like me, or something.

Well, if you want an example of that, theres the first time I ever set eyes on Lucius Domitius, and that was a close thing, Im telling you. There we were, Callistus and me, theyd tied us to the crosses and hoisted us up, and I was saying to myself, Galen, this time youre really in the shit. And the crowd was yelling at us and throwing thingswhy have they got to do that? its none of their businessand the watch sergeant was grinning nastily at us and hed got that big wooden mallet they use for breaking your legs so you cant push yourself up to breathe, when suddenly theres this movement in the crowd, like everybodys getting out of the way in a hurry, and this covered chair appears, with four enormous Germans carrying it, and a dozen guardsmen trotting alongside, and the chair stops suddenly and a face shoves through the little window and asks whats going on.

Just an execution, Caesar, one of the guardsmen told him. Bloody silly thing to say I mean, he could see that for himself. But he beckoned the man over and whispered to him, and the man went and whispered to the watch sergeant, and he goes over and talks to the man in the litter.

What have they done? the man in the litter asks.

Very serious crime, Caesar, replies the sergeant.

Really? Murder?

Worse than that, Caesar.

Good heavens. Worse than murder? Thats pretty bad. So what was it exactly?

Impersonating you, Caesar.

For a moment nobody says anything, then theres this extraordinary noise from the litter, which of course is Lucius Domitius laughing. Is that so? he says.

Quite so, Caesar.

Oh, I think Id better take a look at this, he says. So the Germans lower the chair and the door opens, and out he gets. And you know, even though I was hanging off two bits of rope by my wrists and couldnt hardly breathe, I forgot all that for the moment, because the man in the litterand Im not stupid, I knew very well who he was by thenwell, its not every day you get to see the emperor of the Romans. And besides, he was the spitting image of my brother Callistus.

I say spitting image: actually, seeing them together you could tell them apart all right. For one thing, Callistus hair was dark and he wasnt so jowly or thick round the neck. But there was one hell of a likeness, and when he saw it, Lucius Domitius was obviously tickled pink. Get him down this instant, he said. Itd be a crime to execute such a good-looking fellow

Of course, everybody laughed like the pantomime had come to town, and to this day Im not sure whether Lucius Domitius really meant for the watch sergeant to let us go, or whether he was just being funny. But the sergeant wasnt taking any chances, not when the emperor of the Romans had just given him a direct order. He was up that cross like a polecat up a drain, and they were helping Callistus down like he was made of Chinese pottery.

Which was all very well, but it wasnt doing me any good. Hey, I shouted out.

What about me? And I guess I mustve sounded pretty comical because everybody burst out laughing, and Lucius Domitius looked up at me and said, Whos he? The little rat-faced chap, there on the left. He seems very upset about something.

Thats the impersonators brother, Caesar, someone said, and Lucius Domitius shrugged and said something like itd be a poor show to save one brother and leave the other one up there for the crows, and the next thing I knew, I was standing on the ground on my own two feet, which Id never expected to do again, thats for sure. Bloody terrible pins and needles Id got, of course, after dangling up there by my wrists, but I decided Id keep my face shut and not mention that. Luck is a wonderful thing, but it doesnt want to be pushed if you can help it.

*

We Greeks talk a lot. Were famous for it. If youve been to Greece , youll know why. If you haventwell, its quite simple, really Greece is a few patches of flat dust wedged in between far too many mountains. The soil is thin and it never rains. If you spend all day every day bashing baked clods with the back of your mattock head, you can just about scrape a living. So when it comes to thingsnice things, like gold and silver and furniture and clothes and bread that isnt hard enough to sharpen chisels onweve never had very much.

Now, when youve got nothing worth having, life can be pretty miserable, unless you take your mind off it by being sociable. Outside of an anthill, you cant get more sociable than a bunch of Greeks. One of my earliest memories is walking from our village to the next village down a straight, dusty road with dozens of little tiny fields on either side. In each field theres a shrivelled little man, leaning on his mattock or his hoe while he chats over the boundary wall to the shrivelled little man on the other side. I promise you, the sound of Greek farmers nattering is like the hum of bees: you hear it long before you see them, and its all round you wherever you go.

Ask anybody who knows about these things, theyll tell you that the Greekest Greeks in the world are my lot, the Athenians. You name a typically Greek thing, you can bet we do it or weve got it in Athens , twice as much as anywhere else.

Weve got more mountains per square mile, and our mountains are drier and rockier. Were the best at trading and doing deals. Were the cleverest, and the too-cleverest-by-half. Well go to greater lengths than anyone else to get out of having to scratch dirt for a living. We talk the most. And we have the most glorious and fascinating past of any Greek city in the world. No future worth spit, on account of trying to be way too clever for our own good for far too long, but a great past, which were extremely proud of.

Take our family, for instance. Nowadays we arent anybody, but we can trace our ancestors back hundreds and hundreds of years, right back to the incredibly famous and astoundingly wealthy comic poet Eupolis of Pallene. Its been downhill all the way since his time, of course, and the astounding wealth got mislaid over the years, along with the social position and the respect and all that. But its one of the laws of nature that fathers are better men than their sons, and that year by year in every way everything gradually gets shittier and shittier, so weve never been ones to go round sulking and whining about our lost heritage and stuff.

When I was a kid we lived with my grandfather in the ward of Phyle, which is about as far as you can get from the city and still be Athenian. He had a grotty little farm, twelve acres or so scattered right across the ward, and he also kept an inn. Besides him there was my mother, my brother Callistus and me, and our cousins Therion and Plutus, the sons of our uncle Adrestus who joined the legion and never came back. All the time I was growing up I always knew there was something not quite right about Callistus and me, because we stayed at the inn and peeled the onions and saw to the horses, while Therion and Plutus went out to the fields with Grandad. We accepted it, of course, the way kids do when they dont know any betterbesides, it was far less work peeling onions than growing them, so we didnt care. But it was always understood that when Grandad died, wed be out on our ears and have to go and make our own way in the world, while Therion and Plutus sorted out between them who got the farm and who got the inn. Luckily for us, Grandad managed somehow to keep going till he was an old man of sixty-five, by which point Callistus was seventeen and I had turned sixteen. When Grandad finally turned up his toesI always liked him, though he had a filthy temperTherion got the land and Plutus got the inn, and we each got a pair of sandals, a cloak, a loaf of bread and directions to the city.

Mother cried a lot when we left home, but that didnt really mean much coming from her, and off we went to seek fame and fortune in Athens .

Fortune was out when we got there, but we quickly made ourselves very famous, mostly with the watch sergeants and the market stewards. Id always had the rather naive idea that I had a talent for thieving. I dont know where this notion came fromsome vicious bastard of a god with a warped sense of humour, probablybut it wasnt long before I had to face up to the fact that Id been sadly mistaken. Truth is, Im not a naturally gifted thief. If anything, Im two or three notches below average. Its a great shame, and I wish it wasnt so, but youve got to face facts in this life.

Its not even as ff1 started off too ambitious and got cut down to size. The first thing I tried to steal was an apple. I can picture it to this day in my minds eye. It was small, wrinkled, a bit waxy from being stored over the winter, and it was sitting on the edge of some vendors stall in the main marketplace in Athens on the day Callistus and me first hit town. Wed finished off the last of our food the night before and we didnt have any money or any practical ideas about how to get any, and suddenly there was this apple, just lying there. Nobody seemed very interested in it. The stallholder was having a row with some woman about a duff pomegranate and the people standing around were earwigging on the argument, the way Greeks do. The way I saw it, all I had to do was lean nonchalantly up against the table with my hands behind my back, grope around with my fingers till I connected with the apple, then walk slowly and casually away. Piece of cake. Child of three couldve done it.

Yes, but I wasnt a child of three. Kids can get away with murder in the thieving line, because they look all sweet and innocent and nobody suspects them. But my face is against me, for one thing. I look like a thiefloads of people have told me this over the years, and I expect its where I got the idea from in the first placeand I was nervous as hell, this being my first attempt outside the family circle, as it were. Upshot was, no sooner had I got my little clammy digits round that apple when a great big hand, frying-pan size, clamps down on my shoulder and some clown starts hollering for the market police.

Turned out that the man having the slanging match with the pomegranate woman owned the next stall down, and the real stallholder, the one whose apple I was pinching, had had his eye on me right from the start.

So there I am, first day in the big city, lying on the floor of the market district lock-up and wishing Id stayed in Phyle and starved to death, because if youre going to die horribly you might as well do it among friends. By this stage Im feeling rather sorry for myself, not to mention distinctly pissed about being left in the lurch by my dear brother, whod somehow managed to make himself invisible as soon as the trouble started. I was keeping myself occupied thinking of all the rude names I was going to call him when we finally met up again on the other side of the Styx, when the guard sergeantlong, thin Corsican type, as I recalllooms over me and tells me Ive got a visitor.

Of course, the visitor is Callistus, only youd never have recognised him. He was wearing this absolutely stunning green and orange tunic, embroidered seams, the lot. He had fifty-drachma sandals on his feet and his head was dripping with that really expensive oil that smells like violets and stale armpits. Anyhow, he thanked the sergeant in a loud, grand voice and gave him a drachma.

This him? the sergeant said.

Callistus sighed. Im afraid so, he replied, and it was enough to bring tears to your eyes, the sadness and disappointment in his voice. Really, he went on, I can only apologise. Its the third time since we got off the boat at Corinth. I keep telling him whatll happen to him if he keeps this up, but he wont listen. Its like some kind of illness, really.

The sergeant pulled a face. You want to sell him on, he said, before he gets you in real bother.

I know Callistus clicked his tongue, just like the rich people do. But I cant, and thats all there is to it. You see, he was my poor dear fathers favourite, and I promised him, during his last illness, that Id look after the wretch, try and keep him under control. He shook his head, spraying little drops of oil on the deck. The least I can do is give that poor stallholder something for his trouble. Do you think ten drachmas would be enough?

The sergeant grinned. You bet. That Mnesterd sell his own father for ten drachmas, if only he knew who he was.

Splendid, Callistus said. Look, would it be all right if I gave you the money, to give to this Mnester person? Only, Id be rather embarrassed having to face him myself.

From the way the sergeant smiled, I knew for sure that if Mnester got to see any of that ten drachmas ever, itd only be because the sergeant was at his stall buying fruit. Sure, he said, no bother at all. Right, you, he called out to me, on your feet. It must be your lucky day.

There you go, you see. Callistus didnt look like a thief. Callistus looked like a gentlemanwell, he looked just like the emperor, though of course we didnt know that thenso nobody ever dreamed of suspecting him. Which meant he could just stroll into the bathhouse, take off his clothes, go for a nice swim and a splash about, have his hair done, get a massage, the whole bit. Then he wanders back into the changing room, starts putting on the smartest-looking kit he lays his eyes on, and if the attendant comes up and says anything, all he needs to do is look down his nose and the poor bugger slinks off to avoid getting whipped for annoying the gentry. Mind you, it was a stroke of luck there being a nice fat purse along with the clothes, because it made getting me out of there a damn sight easier.

Shut up, he hisses to me as were walking out the door, and for Gods sake try and look like a slave.

Well, that wasnt difficult. We kept it up as far as the next block, just in case someone was watching, then we drop down in the shade and both started shaking like leaves.

That does it, Callistus said. From now on, were going to be honest. My nerves cant hack this.

Bullshit, I said. You were flicking brilliant. But where the hell did you get all the clobber from?

So he told me what hed done, and immediately I knew, like some god had appeared out of the sky and told me in a vision: no more thieving for us, we were going to be swindlers. Far grander, and a much better living, too.

You must be out of your tiny mind, Callistus said when I explained it to him.

Just that one time was bad enough. Its taken years off my life. I was so scared I nearly shat myself.

Well, that was my brother all over. I looked him in the eye and said, Dont be so pathetic. You strolled through it, youre a natural. You even had me convinced, and Ive known you all your life. Sure you were nervous, I went on, thats perfectly all right. Youre a performer, an artiste. All artistes get nervous before they go on, its a well-known fact. Hell, Id be worried if you werent nervous. But youll get used to that, I promise youand when have I ever let you down?

He narrowed his eyes. How much time have you got? he said.

That wasnt a very nice thing to say, but Im bigger than that. The trouble with you artistes, I told him, you dont have any confidence in yourselves. Its the same with all the world-class flute-players, they never believe theyre any good.

Really, he replied. And how many world-class flute-players do you know?

One, I told him. Chrysippus, who used to come to our place when we were kids. I remember him saying once, he always threw up every time just before he went on to play. Nerves, you see.

He frowned. Chrysippus used to throw up all the time, he said, mostly because of drinking neat wine on an empty stomach. And he was hardly world class.

He played in Naples once, I pointed out, and Antium, and once in Capri , in front of the emperor Tiberius himself. If that isnt world class, you tell me what is.

Callistus shook his head, like a dog trying to get water out of its ears. Fuck Chrysippus, he said. Youre trying to change the subject, like you always do.

The point is, Im not doing it. And thats final.

You dont mean that.

Yes I do.

No you dont.

Shut up, Galen, for crying out loud. He rubbed his eyes. He always did that when he couldnt make his mind up about something. Anybody else would have learned his lesson, he went on. The first and only time you try breaking the law, you get caught. Not only that, you get caught straight away, faster than a dog with a rat. Doesnt that tell you anything?

Of course it does, I said. It tells me that thieving stuff off market stalls is a mugs game, while conning people is as easy as treading in cowshit, especially, I pointed out, for a naturally gifted artiste such as yourself. Surely you can see that. Its as obvious as a hornet up your tunic.

For the last time, he said, and by now he was almost whimpering, Im not going to do it, and thats that. Getting you out of stir was one thing, but doing it for a living is something else, and I dont want any part of it.

All right, I said. Fine. So what else can we do?

Id got him there, of course, and he knew it. He didnt say anything, just sat there looking miserable, but he knew I was right. Two young lads from the country, no money, didnt know anybodywell, there was our cousin Antyllus who always reckoned hed give us a job, but would you fancy spending your life scraping down the insides of tanning vats? The way I saw it, we had two choices:

a life of crime, or join the army And when you put it like that, its not really a choice, is it?

Oddly enough, I got a chanceyears later, of courseto talk about this with the wisest man in the world, and I asked him what would he have done if hed been in our shoes, and he told me, probably exactly what you did. Well, that cheered me up no end, as you can imagine, because Id thought a lot about it over the years and there were times (mostly when I was sitting in condemned cells or waiting my turn in the queue for the gallows somewhere) when I wondered if Id made the right decision, that hot afternoon in Athens. But apparently I did, and thats always meant a lot to me. Its one thing deciding something off your own bat and hanging on grimly hoping itll turn out that you were right, but getting it confirmed by the wisest man in the world is another matter entirely.

In case you were born in Britain or your dad kept you locked up in the stables till you were thirty, the wisest man in the world was Lucius Annaeus Seneca, the philosopher, and I met him back when Callistus and I were hanging round the imperial court after that day when we first met Lucius Domitius. In those days, as Im sure you remember, Seneca was pretty much running the empire, on account of having been Lucius Domitius tutor when he was a kid. Needless to say, Lucius Domitius was supposed to be in charge, he was the emperor and all that kind of thing, but he was still only a young lad who didnt know what time of day it was, except he had the common sense to leave all the important stuff to people who knew what they were about, and who he could trust. Mostly this was Seneca

after all, he was the wisest man in the worldand he did all the paperwork and the money and negotiating with foreign kings and what-have-you, while the military side of things was left to the guards commander, a miserable old bruiser by the name of Burrus. Anyway, thats beside the point, and Im only telling you about it because you need to know how come a low-life like me found himself talking to a fine gentleman and a scholar like Seneca.

It was one of those lazy afternoons around the palace when everybody was either sleeping off lunch or doing something they didnt want anybody else to know about. On days like that you could walk up and down and round and round through all the corridors and courtyards and cloisters for hours at a time and never meet a living soul. I was at a loose endnothing unusual there, of course

and there was nobody about apart from a few clerks scuttling back and forth with their arms full of scrolls and tablets, and I was just wandering round looking for someone to talk to. Eventually I ended up in a courtyard by a rather pretty little fountain and Id been there a while, just sat there with my mouth open thinking of nothing much, when this old, sad-looking type flops down next to me on the seat and starts cleaning out his ear with his fingernail.

I knew straight away who it was, so I stayed perfectly still and kept my face shut, looking down into the little pool under the fountain. He didnt say anything either. Soon as hed finished cleaning out one ear, he started on the other one, and I guess he was concentrating on the job in hand, which is what youd expect from the wisest man in the world. Then quite suddenly out of the blue he turns to me and he says, So, which are you?

I thought I understood what he was going on about. Im Galen, I replied. Im Callistus brother.

He frowned, then laughed. No, thats not what I meant, he replied. I meant, which are you, a Stoic or an Epicurean?

I hadnt got a clue what he was talking about. Neither, I said, Im from Phyle, in Attica .

You could see it cost him a lot of effort not to laugh. Im sorry, he said. I was miles away, thinking about something else.

I may not be the sharpest razor in the box, but Im not stupid. If you find yourself sitting next to the man who runs the world and he looks like hes in the mood to chat to somebody, you chat. Also, like I said, Im a Greek, we dont need a reason. That stuff, I asked him, what you said just nowwhat does it mean?

He smiled. Stoic and Epicurean?

I nodded. Thats the ones.

He leaned back, clasped his hands round his knee. Theyre the names of the two main schools of orthodox moral philosophy, he replied, then he mustve realised that everything hed said had gone whistling over my head like the geese flying south. Ways of looking at life, he explained, of figuring out right from wrong, good from bad. The Stoics think that everything that happens to us in life is already decided, even before were born. They hold that each of us has his destiny and we dont really have any say in what happens to us. The only thing that matters is our intentions, whether theyre good or bad. We cant change what we do, because its already been worked out down to the smallest detail, but what we can control is our own attitudes. He stroked his beard for a moment. Look at it like this. Suppose youre an actor in a theatre. You havent got any choice about what youre going to say, because all the words come direct from the playwright, and you arent allowed to change so much as a syllable. Your job is to say those words as well as you possibly can. That way, it can be a truly rotten play, but you can still shine and excel because you said the truly rotten lines but in a clever and interesting way Well, thats what the Stoics believe.

I think I see, I lied. So what about the other lot? Ep-something, wasnt it?

Epicureans, Seneca replied. They believe something quite different. They reckon that everything in life is random, nothings got any meaning apart from what you bring to it. That being so, he went on, the rights and wrongs of everything we do rest fair and square with us, and the only valid or sensible reason for doing anything at all is because you enjoy it, or because its to your advantage.

Well, right up to the point where he said that last bit, I was pretty sure I was a Stoic, because of nothing I did being my fault. But as soon as he got on to the part about enjoying yourself, I realised I was definitely with the other lot, the Epicureans. Odd how easy it is to make a mistake over something so very basic and straightforward. Right, I said, got you. Thanks for explaining.

Thats all right, he replied, smiling, and I thought, this is a case of the old nut and sledgehammer. Here youve got the smartest thinker in the world, and hes wasting his time telling me something that any street-corner lawyer couldve told me. Like sending for the Prefect of Aqueducts to bring you a drink of water. I get the impression, he went on, that you arent a student of moral philosophy. He paused, and looked at me. Did I say something funny? he asked, and I realised I was grinning like a thirsty dog.

Sorry, I said, private joke. You see, for a long time, before I lucked into this courtier lark, I was a full-time thief. Well, no, thats not true, we tried thieving and we were bloody awful at it. No, I was bloody awful at it, lets be accurate. So instead we did scams.

He looked puzzled, so I explained (my turn to be the teacher). You know, the bathhouse dodge and the three nutshells caper and the Spanish silver mine sting and the old stolen necklace fiddle

How absolutely fascinating, Seneca interrupted. You know, Ive met a lot of interesting people in my time, but never someone in your line of work.

Oh, we dont do that stuff any more, I said quickly Honest as the days long, we are now, I added, not bothering to mention that the day in question was the first of January in Caledonia. But the point is, if its moral philosophy youre afterwell, youve come to the right stall, because thats exactly what my brother and me have been studying ever since we got slung off the farm.

He raised a snow-white eyebrow Really? Hows that?

Obvious, isnt it? I said. Moralitys all about good and evil, isnt it?

Right and wrong. Truth and lies. Thats right, isnt it?

He nodded. Broadly speaking, yes.

There you are, then. Were professional liarswere professional liars, I mean. These days were as pure as a mountain stream. But you cant spend your working life telling twisters and not get to know a thing or two about the truth.

I see what you mean, Seneca said, rubbing his chin. Ill confess, I wouldnt have seen it in those terms myself, but your position is essentially valid. Do go on.

I shrugged. Not a lot more to it than that. Thing is, where does the truth end and the lie begin? Heres an example. If I tell you an out-and-out whizzer, like Im the King of Armenia, you arent going to believe me for a moment. So I dont do that. I try and trim my lie as close to the truth as I can get it. All right. I went on, suppose I wanted to make you believe Im really the King of Armenia, right? This is how Id go about it. Id make out like Im the king, only Im going round in disguise for some reason, and Im frantically trying not to get recognised. So I drop a few hintsinadvertently, if you get my drift, say some stuff that makes it sound like the king talking, but sell you on the idea that it just sort of slipped out because I was careless, or smashed, or whatever. Then I pretend like Ive just realised what Ive done, so I rabbit on about how Im not the king. Ill say that now and again people have been known to mistake me for the king, since we look a bit alike. Then Ill stop myself, and make a big fuss about how I dont think I look anything like him, its just that some peoplequite a lot of people, actuallysomehow get the impression that I look like him, or our voices are a bit alike. You see what Im getting at? Most of the time Im telling you the solid gold truthIm not the king, I dont look like him one little bitand the clever bit is that by telling you the truth, I can make you believe my lie much better than if I came straight out with it. Thats what we call drawing the lie out of the mark, rather than trying to stuff it in. I guess the idea behind it is that everybodys full of lies

the honest folk, I meanand that what youve got to do if you want to con someone is to charm one of their own lies up to the surface, like tickling a fish. Which means, I went on, that nobodys really honest, when you come down to it. See what I mean?

Seneca sat there for a moment looking like hed just had his head stuffed full of new wool, then he burst out laughing. Exactly, he said. Youre absolutely right. Youre saying that its no good you telling me a lie, because I wont believe it. Youve got to make me tell myself a lie, by telling me the unblemished truth.

Youve got it, I said.

Wonderful. he replied. And, taking that argument to the next level, we can say that it takes two men to make a lie: one to suggest it and one to believe it, and both of them are equally at fault.

I wasnt sure I followed that. In fact, that sounded to me like hed got the whole thing arse about face. But you dont go saying that to a man who can get you top billing in the circus just by clicking his fingers. You betcha, I said. Thats all there is to it, really.

Anyhow we had a long talk after that, and gradually I ended up telling him all about our adventures, Callistus and me, from when we left home, when I was sixteen, through our nine years together on the road right up to the point five years ago where we were about to die and Lucius Domitius showed up. Well, that seemed to tickle the old bugger no end. He laughed, and said, So what youre telling me is, precisely because everything you did was wrong, everything turned out right in the end. In other words, youre a stonecold Stoic.

That shut me up for a moment or so. I am? I said.

Absolutely. Think about it rationally for a moment. Nature, or the gods, never wastes effort; everything happens for a reason. If we accept thatwhich is what the Stoics teachthen your destinies were set cold in the mould the instant you were born. Why else would Nature go to all the trouble of creating a spitting image of his majesty, and then weave a web of circumstances that brought that facsimileagainst all the odds, mark youto the one place and time where the copy and the original could be brought together to interact for their greatest mutual advantage? To claim that it wasnt predetermined would be like acknowledging the existence of the elephant and the intricately carved ivory scent bottle, but denying the existence of the ivory carver; and insisting, furthermore, that the scent bottle is a natural rather than an artificial thing, owing its shape to the random erosion of wind and weather. He reached out his hand and clamped me on the shoulder. Where I come from we bust peoples noses for that, but he was a Roman senator, so I guess he couldnt be expected to know better. Thank you, my dear friend. That must be the most compelling piece of evidence in support of the Stoic argument that Ive heard in thirty-five years. Im most deeply obliged to you, and your admirable brother.

Goes without sayingas soon as he got started on all those long words and big beetlecrusher sentences, I stopped trying to understand and let it all wash over me. Oh, I remembered it all right, because coming from him it was obviously the good stuff, the real onion gravy, but it struck me that the sensible thing to do would be to tuck it away in my mind, like sneaking a couple of cutlets into your hanky at a posh dinner party, and see if I could crack it open later, as and when I had the time. So I did.

Anyhow, after that we nattered back and forth for a bit, till suddenly he realised what the time was and had to scurry off to some departmental briefing or whatever. And after hes gone Im sitting there thinking, yeah, right.

Clearly hes been funning with me, puffing my tail, spouting a whole lot of camel feathers and making me believe it actually made sensejust the sort of thing thatd tickle a smartarse Roman, conning a conner. But then I got to thinking, so what? Doesnt matter if hes having me on and hes so far up himself hes practically poking out through his own ears if what he said does turn out to make a bit of sense. And the more Ive thought about it over the years (and for some reason Ive never managed to flush it out of my head), the more I reckon he smacked the peg square on the head, and what he told me wasnt far off being the truth

And you cant go planting stuff like that in the head of a Greek without expecting something to come up out of it. Because, think how itd be if there was this poor fool who went through his life telling the truth and everybody thought he was lying? And wouldnt it be even worse if there was another poor foolmaybe even the same onewho went around trying his very best to tell lies, and it always turned out that everything he said was actually true?

Two
So there we were in Syracuse , hiding under a table.

Sorry: You can tell Im new to this storytelling businessan amazing confession for a Greek, but like I told you just now, these days I make a point of only telling the truthits just dawned on me that Ive been talking for half an hour and I havent even started the story properly.

We were in Syracuse , Lucius Domitius and me. Syracuse is in Sicily , in case you didnt know. Sicily is a terrible place: its all big estates worked by chain gangs, and everybody knows everybody else, which makes it really hard for people in our line of work. Anyway, we were in Syracuse, and wed just tried the old one where one of you pretends to have discovered a load of buried treasure but youve had a bang on the head and lost your memoryyou know about that one, Im sure, it had whiskers on it when King Priam was getting chased out of orchards for stealing applesand it hadnt gone very well, which was why we were hiding under this table, which was the front of a cheese merchants stall in the market. I think it was the soldiers who were after us, them or the rich senators bodyguardanyway, we were being chased, and it was only a matter of time before we got caught and dragged off for a chat with the magistrate.

Lucius Domitius was wetting himself, as usual. He never got the hang of handling stress. What bothered him was the thought that the magistrate or the rich senator or one of those people would recognise him for who he really was. Now I wasnt too fussed about that. Its been my experience that people only ever see what theyre expecting to see, and nobody would be expecting to see the former emperor Nero Claudius Caesar because everybody knew hed been dead for ten years. It might just possibly occur to someone that one of the prisoners looked a bit like the late unlamented emperor, but the thought that it might actually be him wouldnt cross his mind, and even if it did he wouldnt dare mention it for fear of people thinking he was nuts. No, what was making me feel uncomfortable was the prospect of being found guilty of obtaining money by deception and being sentenced to twenty-five years in the slate quarries. Now its a fact that nobodys ever actually done a twentyfiveyear stretch in the quarries, and you might think thats reassuring, until you find out that the reason for this is that most people tend to die after five years down there, and the really tough old leatherbacks only make it to fifteen.

So this is it, then, he was saying, as we watched the sandals of our pursuers tramping backwards and forwards in front of our noses. This is where it finally grinds to a halt. What a bloody stupid way to go.

Dont be so miserable, I told him. Well get out of this, dont you worry.

And when we do, well go to Africa .

 Africa ?

Shouldve gone there years ago, I told him. Wonderful place, by all accounts. Glorious weather, beautiful cities, loads of money about, and the people are all overfed and dumb. Inside of a couple of years, well be so rich we can retire.

What the hell makes you think that? he asked.

Oh, I keep my ears open. Remember that wine shop in Massilia, where you had those bad olives? Well, there were a couple of Spaniards in there, just off a ship from Cyrenaica . and they were going on about how great it is out that way and how its toe to heel with gullible rich silphium growers. Did you realise that nine-tenths of the silphium grown in the empire comes from Cyrenaica ?

He shook his head. Im not sure I even know where Cyrenaica is.

You should do, I replied. You used to own it.

Maybe. But you know perfectly well I never went anywhere in those days. Anyway, thats beside the point. What the hell makes you think wed do any better in Africa than here? You told me the Sicilians were gullible, but it didnt take them long to figure us out.

I sighed. All right. If you dont fancy Africa , theres other places.

Lusitania , for instance. They have huge great silver mines in Lusitania .

No doubt, he replied gloomily And if Im stupid enough to listen to you, well end up down one of em, with a pick and a crowbar and half a mouldy loaf a day between us.

Dont talk like that. You know what your trouble is?

Yes. I allow myself to get talked into things by bad people.

Your trouble is, I went on, youre an Epicurean. You cant see that everything is part of a vast prearranged plan, and every little detail was figured out and set in stone centuries before you were even born. Now, if you were a Stoic, like me, youd realise theres nothing at all else we couldve done, wed still have wound up here m the end. Its not what happens that matters, its how well you cope with it. Which means, I explained, staying calm and together, and not pissing down your leg every time you hit a rough patch.

I expect hed have said something downbeat and depressing only he didnt get the chance, because that was when the soldiers found us and winkled us out from under the table by prodding our legs with their spears.

I could have told him there was no fear of us being recognised by the magistrate. He scarcely even looked at us. He just listened to what the prosecutor had to say, and passed sentencewhich may be your idea of the due process of justice, but it definitely isnt mine.

Fifteen years hard labour in the slate quarries, he said. Next case. Well, I told Lucius Domitius, it could have been far worse. I was sure wed get at least twenty years, maybe even twenty-five, and wed got off with fifteen. He must have liked our faces, or something.

Be that as it may. There we were, huddled in back of a rickety old mule cart, bumping along a narrow road winding its way round the side of a horribly steep mountain. The cart was so packed with poor bastards on their one-way trip to the quarries that we could hardly breathe, though since most of our fellow passengers didnt smell very nice that was something of a blessing. Nobody said much. We were all too miserable and the soldiers got nasty if we tried to chat.

There were five Gaulish cavalry troopers in front of the cart and another five following on behind, and we were all chained together just in case we took it into our heads to jump off the side and make a run for it, though they neednt have worried about that, since there was nothing over the side except a bloody great drop. The best you could say for it was that it was better than walking.

Its hard keeping track of time when youre in that kind of situation. Youre cramped and uncomfortable and every time the wheels go over a rut or a pothole you feel like your spines just been broken, but after a while you find yourself drifting off into a sort of trance, just to take your mind off your troubles. So I dont know how long wed been on that road, and I certainly havent got a clue where we ended up. The best I can manage is somewhere between Syracuse city and the quarries, which isnt very precise, I know But wherever it was, thats where it happened.

First I knew that something was up was when the cart suddenly jinked drastically over to the right, and all of us sitting on the left side found ourselves tumbled into the laps of the poor fools opposite. It was a wonder nobody got shot out and over the edge, and because we were all chained up together, its a fair bet that if one of us had gone, the rest wouldve been dragged out too, and that wouldve been a bloody mess. I heard the cavalrymen yelling at the carter, and he shouted back something about the right front wheel going over the edge.

Anyhow, the cart stopped and one of the cavalry troopers from behind shouted at us not to move or wed all be dead. Wed figured that one out for ourselves, but it was nice of him to care.

What had happened was the edge of the road had got a bit crumbly and come away, damn near taking the cart with it. As it was, we were perched there, half on the road and half dangling over the drop. One of the troopers had the wit to draw the linchpin and get the mules clear: if theyd spooked and started backing up wed have been over in a flash. But thanks to those damned chains there was no way to get us off the cartwe were all too close together and couldnt move

and they didnt dare try dragging the cart back off the edge, it was too finely poised. All in all, we couldnt have been more delicately balanced if wed hired a top-flight Alexandrian engineer to draw it all out on paper and do the calculations.

No disrespect to you, but if youd been in our shoes youd have been pissing yourself, but it was different for us, we were all dead already as far as we were concerned, and when youve got sod all to lose you can afford to see the funny side. I was finding the way the soldiers were scatting about distinctly amusing, and Lucius Domitius was grinning like an idiot.

I was just thinking about what we were discussing under that table, he said, when I asked him what we found so hilarious. About Stoics and Epicureans, and predestination and all that. I was thinking, he went on if everything is predetermined down to the smallest detail, like you were saying, that must mean this mess was, too. And I thought, Destiny must be pretty damned smart to be able to balance a cartload of condemned men so absolutely precisely on the edge of a precipice. Getting it inch-perfect like that, and first time, too. With a talent like that, shes wasting her time being a goddess. She should be raising triumphal arches or building pyramids.

You can mock, I said. But this is exactly what I was talking about. I knew when we were under that table that it wasnt over quite yet, and the same when we were in the dock. Whatever happens next, it wont be what was supposed to happen, thats for sure.

Shut up a minute, he interrupted. I want to hear what theyre saying.

The troopers had come up with a plan. They were thinking about putting a rope through the spokes of the back wheels and making fast to a stumpy old thorn tree, and then passing a second rope through the nearside front wheel and hauling the cart up off the edge that way It wasnt a bad idea at all, and it mightve worked if only theyd had two ropes, or even one. As it was, all they had was a long steel chain, and that wasnt a whole lot of good to them because of all the people attached to it. The best they could do was send one of the troopers back down the road as fast as he could go for some rope, and take a chance on him getting back before somebody sneezed and we all got smeared across the valley floor like birdshit.

Our part in this jolly adventure was to stay absolutely still, and to do us credit, we took to it like wed been apprenticed seven years in the trade. Mind you, I dont suppose there was a single one of us in that cart who wasnt trying to figure out how to turn the situation into a chance to escape. Luckily for all of us, we were smart enough to realise that it wasnt on, not for us or Archimedes or Pythagoras or the clever men who make those moving bronze statues powered by steam. Nevertheless, it was something cheerful to think about, and kept us from getting restless.

Some time later (again, dont ask me to be precise), we heard voices up ahead.

Nobody tried to take a look and see who it was, since that wouldve meant moving, and we were wise to that. But luckily the voices carried well in the air

still day, no breezeand we could hear what was going on.

Hey, someone said in Greek, what the hell do you jokers think youre playing at? Get that bloody cart out of the way Typical landlords voice: loud, confident, didnt give a damn about all the emperors legions if they happened to be blocking a road he wanted to ride along. Did me good to hear it just then, that tiny faint suggestion that there are other powers in the world besides the senate and people of Rome , and very occasionally, on their own turf, they win.

Long pause, which I put down to the cavalrymen being savages and not understanding Greek. Same thing mustve occurred to the mystery voice, because he repeated what hed said, only in Latin.

We cant, called back one of the troopers. Cart stuck on edge of cliff. We trying to move, fall off bump, everybody die.

Bloody hell. The voice sounded amused. Whatve you got in there, anyway?

Slaves for the quarry, is it?

Ya, ya. The trooper again. Criminals, bad people, going to quarry. Only getting stuck in the cart, and not to be moved.

Poor bastards, replied the voice, and neither of them said anything for a while. Then the Greek said, You know, if you passed a rope through the back wheel

This we thinking of, interrupted the trooper irritably, but not have rope. 

The Greek laughed. Shows you arent from round here, then. Nobody takes a cart out on these roads without rope.

Pause, while the trooper thinks about it. You got rope?

I got rope, sure. I got brain, so I got rope. You not got rope, go figure.

You give rope.

I not give rope. Me give anything to the government if I dont absolutely have to? Not bloody likely.

The trooper made an angry sort of noise. We soldiers. You give rope. 

You Roman soldiers. I not give rope. You fuck yourselves.

Oh, for crying out loud, muttered Lucius Domitius. A patriot. The gods must hate us.

Seems that way, I agreed. Mind you, your uncle Claudius is a god now, so maybe we shouldnt be surprised.

That settles it. then. If Uncles in Heaven, give me the other place any time. 

The trooper was gabbling away to his mates in Foreign, and they sounded pretty upset about something. Then a different trooper called out. You give rope. It is the law. We requisition.

The mystery voice answered back in Greek. What he said is pretty well untranslatable, and probably just as well, but the troopers seemed to have got the message anyhow. If you not giving rope, we take.

No fear of that, the Greek replied. You take one step in this direction, the rope goes over the edge, and you can go and fetch it from the bottom of the valley. If you get a move on, you could be there by this time tomorrow.

Wonderful, I thought. Talk about your equipoise of opposing forces hovering in space. There was the cart, teetering on the edge of the gorge, and there were the troopers and the Greek, equally delicately poised. One tiny shove anywhere and the whole lot would go down. It was turning into an interesting day After a long quiet spellI could hear the buzzing of the bees and the steady sound of horses chomping their bitsthe first trooper piped up again. We buy rope, he said.

Now were getting somewhere. The Greek sounded positively cheerful. Giving to the government is one thing. Selling to the bastards is something else. Twenty drachmas.

Pause. You could almost hear the graunching sound as the troopers calculated drachmas into sesterces in their heads. Too much. We give five sesterces.

You know what you can do with your five sesterces. If you dont, ask a good doctor.

Five sesterces, the trooper repeated, only louder. Fair price for rope. Same as market.

The mystery voice laughed. Thats right, he said. And if anyone ever catches me selling to the government for a fair price, may the crows pick the sinews off my bleached bones. Twelve drachmas, take it or leave it.

Actually, Im surprised that the patience of those troopers held out as long as it did. Soldiers arent exactly known for their long-suffering forbearance, especially your northern auxiliaries. I dont know what the troop sergeant said, because he said it in Gaulish, but you didnt have to be a linguist to figure it out. A moment or so later we heard the mystery voice shouting, Right, I warned you, at which point, I guess, he mustve chucked the rope over the cliff.

Im sorry I missed the next bit, because if theres one thing I enjoy, its a good fightprovided Im watching, of course, not taking part. Judging from the outcome, that mustve been the fight of a lifetime, because the next thing we heard was the mystery voice saying, All right, thatll do. Leave them alone, and lets see to this cart, and it wasnt long before we could feel the cart moving. In the right direction, I hasten to add, or I wouldnt be here telling you this.

I had my eyes firmly shut all the time, of course. Its a sort of superstitious thing with me in moments of great danger, all my life Ive had this unnatural fear of seeing my own death happening. Anyhow, when I opened them again, the first thing I saw was this amazingly shiny bald brown head gleaming in the sunlight over the side of the cart.

Now then, you lot, he saidhis was the mystery voicelets be having you.

Its your lucky day

So we stood uptook some of us several goes, because cramp and blind desperate terror combined really screw up your kneesand we finally got a look at what had been going on.

My guess is that it was the dozen or so men standing behind the bald-headed character whod done the actual fighting, because several of them were bleeding and all of them were dusty from rolling about on the ground, whereas the bald-headed man was still as clean and freshly laundered as a page boy. The soldiers were lying on the ground, and they had that flattened out, slightly comical look that tells you they wont be getting up again (there were two of the Greeks men lying the same way, so it hadnt been entirely one-sided). How the troopers got that way was explained by what the Greeks men were holding in their hands: mattocks and picks and chunky oak mallets, heavy-duty farm tools that just happen to make first-class weapons (after all, if you can use them to gouge a living out of a goddess like Mother Earth, it stands to reason theyre more than up to the task of sorting out a few mortal soldiers).

What happened here, the Greek was saying, is like this. Your cart lost a wheel. The sound of a big mallet scrunching spokes showed the Greeks admirable attention to detail. You villainous lot of desperadoes took advantage of this to escape, pausing only to massacre these brave, loyal soldiers. My boys and I tried to stop you, public-spirited types that we are, but you just swept us aside, stealing a valuable sledgehammer and cold chisel as you went. Well, thats how Im going to tell it when I make my report and put in my claim for damagestwo premium-grade field hands killed, damage to clothing and property, not forgetting the hammer and chisel, which youll find in the box of tools at the back of the wagon. If any of you worthless bastards get caught, itd be nice if you did me the courtesy of telling it my way, though no buggers going to take your word over mine if you dont. In the meanwhile, enjoy the rest of your lives.

Ill say this for Lucius Domitius: he was as strong as a carters ox. Give him a sledgehammer and point him at a length of chain, and hed get the job done. Hed just freed the last of our travelling companions and was leaning on his hammer having a well-deserved blow when the Greek called to him, or rather us (Id been holding the chisel). Here he said, you two.

About half a dozen of us looked round, with that gormless who-me? expression on our faces.

Yes, you two. The little rat-faced type, and the bruiser. Dont I know you two from somewhere?

Now he said it in Greek, but if hed been talking Latin, if hed had any sense hed have used the grammatical form unique to that language, the Question Expecting The Answer No.

What, us? I said. Dont think so, sir.

He scowled. He was one of those solid, chunky-faced types who manage to look jolly even when theyre scowling, but I didnt let that fool me. Balls, he said. Im sure Ive seen you before. Faces as ugly as yours, I dont tend to forget. His frown got deeper, then he burst out laughing. Sure I know who you are. Youre the pair of toerags who tried to con my cousin Thrasyllus in the fish market. I helped catch you bastards.

Lucius Domitius gave him a look. Oh, he said. Really

Thats right, the Greek said, grinning all over his face (and he had a lot of face to grin all over, as I think I mentioned). Damn straight thats who you are. Bloody hell. He shook his head. I dont suppose hed had so much fun in his whole life, outside of public executions. Comical do that was, when those idiot soldiers ran straight past where you were hiding behind that barrel. If I hadnt told em where to look, theyd never have seen you.

Fancy, said Lucius Domitius.

The Greek started roaring again, like a bull with the bellyache. Oh, this is too good for words. Here, he went on, pulling a purse the size of Hercules

scrotum out of his belt and throwing it at us, take it, youve earned it, and thanks for the laugh. Youve made my day

Lucius Domitius looked like he wanted to pull the Greeks head off and play handball with it, but theres a time and a place for everything. Thank you, I said quickly, and I darted out and scooped up the purse before he could change his mind. Time we were going, I hissed to Lucius Domitius, grabbing him by a handful of his hair, andjust as well for all concernedhe took the hint and followed me.

Once we were out of sight we started running, down the road and up a miserable stony little goat track that wound up into the rocks. We kept going until Lucius Domitius tripped over a rock and went splat on his face.

All right, I said, looking round, thisll do for a moment. Well, now, I added, dropping onto the ground like a sack of onions, didnt I tell you it was going to be all right?

Lucius Domitius called me a rude name, which was quite uncalled for. I wasnt bothered, though, because Id pulled open the Greeks purse. Itd been a long time since Id seen that much money all in one country, let alone snuggling in the palm of my hand.

You see, I went on, isnt that exactly what Ive been telling you, about philosophy and all that shit? You look after the attitude, and Destinyll take care of the rest.

Lucius Domitius shook his head. I dont see that at all, he said. Your attitude was pitiful. You just stood there in that dock looking like a badly stuffed olive.

I was being calm and dignified, I told him. What did you think I was going to do, stand up and make a speech? Anyway, you cant talk. You were whimpering.

I was not.

You bloody were. I was so ashamed, I didnt know where to look. Really, if youre the stuff those fine old Roman families are made of, it beats me why we arent all speaking Carthaginian.

He made an impossible suggestion involving my head and other bits of me, and I left him to get on with his sulk. When youve been around with someone as long as Id been with him, you get so you dont even notice stuff like that. Water off a ducks back, as the saying goes.

The crazy thing wasand Im telling you the truth, straight upId known all along that we werent for it that time. I knew for a fact that wed get out of it somehow or other, just so long as we played it cool and waited for God to yank our nuts out of the fire. Now it could be your Stoic philosophy, or maybe Im prophetic like the crazy old women who work in oracles, or maybe some god appeared to me in a dream and told me the whole story of my life, and for some reason itd slipped my mind. Maybe its none of those things. Maybe its just instinct. But I knew, sure as the runs after eating too many plums. I always know Like I knew that time in Italy , when Callistus diedWell, yes. Maybe I ought to tell you about that. I mean, nows as good a time as any, if there can be a good time for something like that. Truth is, Ive been putting it off, because even thinking about it depresses me, let alone putting it into words. But I suppose youve got to know, sooner or later.

 

Bet you anything youve been wondering how in hell a scruff like me and the former emperor of the Romans came to be traipsing round together cheating honest men of their hard-earned money.

For one thing, youre asking, what could two such different men possibly have in common?

Well, thats easy We both loved the same person, namely my poor brother Callistus, rest his soul.

As far as Lucius Domitius was concerned, the whole thing started more or less as a game. Back then, I have to say, he was a very different man in all sorts of ways. Creature of his environment, as the philosophers would say, because up till then his whole life was sort of creased down the middle: everything on the left-hand side being work, everything on the right being fun, and never the twain shall meet. Work entailed ruling the world, or at least trying to look like he ruled the world while Seneca and that ox-necked thug Burrus actually did the job, when, that is, they could spare the time from playing high politics and pass the hemlock souffl with Lucius Domitius ghastly mother. So work was a real pain in the bum: audiences and meetings and state receptions and trying to stay awake through all those mind-numbing religious services and smiling sweetly at ambassadors from the King of the Snake People and freezing your nuts off at trooping the colours in the cold light of a February dawn on the Field of Mars. Well, yes, it beats digging ditches or scraping out poultry sheds, but unless you happen to be a real old Roman with dried laurel leaves where your brains should be, its hardly a barrel of laughs. Meanwhile, on the other side of the ledger, theres fun, and not just fun as in playing knucklebones or getting completely honked at the chariot races. When youre the last of the Julio-Claudian dynasty, heir to the likes of Tiberius and Caius Caligula, youre pretty well obliged to measure up to a fairly high standard of debauchery. Its expected of you, like wearing the toga and being able to recite your Homer. When they bring on the Libyan eunuchs on all fours dressed in goatskins, you cant turn round and say, No, thanks, Id rather read a book.

Not that Lucius Domitius would rather have read a bookwritten one, possibly, but thats another tale. Im certainly not trying to imply that he was in any sense backwards when it came to dunking his sausage in the gravy. But, as the old saying goes, if you get served up nightingales livers in truffle sauce every meal for twenty years, you can be forgiven for daydreaming about a boiled egg and a stick of celery. Lucius Domitius told me once that after months and years of evenings spent at home with two dozen hand-picked Cappadocian virgins and characters with nicknames like Mylon the Human Flagpole, and always getting told when he asked whose idea it was, Well, thats how it was done in your uncle Caligulas time, and he was following on from your great-great-uncle Tiberius, its traditionwell, he said, he reached the point where the dividing line between pleasure and duty was getting more than a little blurred. When you get to the stage where you can only tell one kind of ritual from another by whether or not the people taking part have got their clothes on, its time to find yourself another hobby.

Now you dont need me to tell you what Lucius Domitius hobby was, and of course he chose it precisely because it was the most shocking thing he could think of.

Duty, you see: the Claudian familys always prided itself on being as outrageously offensive as possible, right back into the mists of prehistory, and the one thing a Roman aristocrat can never do is let the side down. So Lucius Domitius took up playing music and singing and writing poetry, like a slave or a Greek, and when people had sort of got used to that, he started doing it in public. Only, that was where he went that one step too far that makes all the difference. He was young, of course, still just a snot-nosed kid, so he cant really be blamed for it. Nevertheless, once hed started down that track, there was no way he could ever go back.

In case youre wondering what was such a big dealsure, noble Romans are expected to behave like wild animals in their free time, just like theyre supposed to be absolutely prim and proper when theyre on duty. But the whole point is, theyre supposed to keep the private stuff private. Everybody knows what they get up to, thered be no bloody point in doing it if they didnt. But whats not allowed, under any circumstances, is to do it in the road where the many-headed and the smelly-footed can see you. And as for standing up in the theatre or the circus and making a public exhibition of yourselflets put it this way Nobody really gave a second-hand breakfast about what Caligula got up to with his sisters behind closed doors. But when Lucius Domitius announced his first public concert, youd have thought the world had come to an end.

Well, yes. Thats Romans for you, and if every last one of them suddenly got eaten by giant killer ants, Im not saying the world wouldnt be a much nicer place to live in. But theyve been around a fair old while and there doesnt seem much chance of getting shot of them in the immediate future, so the sensible thing is to get to know how their bizarre little minds work. Besides, we Greeks arent all that much better in some respects, though dont tell anybody I said so.

Anyway. When Lucius Domitius first set eyes on my brother Callistus and noticed the striking resemblance, it struck him as a splendidly Julio-Claudian sort of notion to have a boyfriend who was the spitting image of himself. All sorts of possibilities, as you dont need me to tell you. I expect he could almost picture the ghosts of his uncles and his great-great-uncles sagely nodding their approval and saying he was a chip off the old block. Trouble wasonce again, typically Lucius Domitius took the thing one step too far, and screwed up everything. He fell in love.

Mind you, if youre going to go around falling in love with people, Callistus was a logical choice. Im biased, of course. But ever since I can remember, Id always somehow known that our kid was something special, like he was a different species or something:

the improved model, the perfected strain, what people would be like if we lived in Platos Republic instead of the septic tank of the nations we call the Roman Empire . It wasnt just that he was tall and well-built and muscular and all that shit, he was also all those things youd expect would make someone a serious pain in the arse, like good and kind and brave and wise and generous and unselfish, except that you couldnt help liking him. When we were kids together, of course, I hated his guts. But I always loved him, better than anybody ever.

He was like that.

So there you are, thats what the Emperor Nero and I had in common, and for some reason I cant begin to fathom (I loved Callistus, but I never ever understood him), he loved both of us, completely and straight from the heart, no mucking about. I couldnt even feel jealous, though I did my level best. Also, if were going to be honest, when you go from starving in the gutter all night and running away from the guard all day to living in the palace and eating white bread off silver dishes, youre inclined to think nice thoughts about whoever is responsible for your change in lifestyle. So, as far as I was concerned, Lucius Domitius was all right, and if he was in love with my brother Callistus, it only went to show what good taste hed got.

So there we were, Callistus, Lucius Domitius and me, all living in the palace along with several hundred other people, and generally speaking, things couldve been a whole lot worse. Dont ask me how long I was living in the palace, because that kind of life does funny things to your sense of time. It was years, certainly: five or maybe even six. Funny thing. Either the time was whizzing by because I was living in the lap of luxury and everything was fine, or else it was dragging by like a lame snail because I had nothing to do all day and I was bored out of my skull. Whatever, it was a long time, and Id got pretty well settled in when things suddenly started to go wrong.

Living in a palace, you havent got a clue whats going on in the real world.

Actually, in the real real world, where you and I and all the rest of the little people have to live, things werent too bad at all. True, there were Romans all over the place, governing everything that couldnt get out of the way quick enough, but since Lucius Domitius had been sitting in the big chair, taxes had gone down, or at least they hadnt gone up; he didnt start any wars, so the countryside wasnt swarming with recruiting sergeants poised to swoop on the unwary; and for once there were half-competent people in charge of the grain supply, so people werent starving in the streets. Pretty cushy all round, unless you happened to be a noble Roman. Unfortunately, noble Romans are the only ones who matter worth a damn, and they werent having a nice time. Lower taxes meant they couldnt cruise round the provinces ripping off the locals and taking their slice off the top. No wars was a total disaster, of course, since if you dont have wars its very hard for ambitious second lieutenants to earn medals. Worst of all, though, as far as they were concerned, was an emperor who stood up in front of twenty thousand dock workers, cheesemongers and professional layabouts in the theatre and sang songs about the fall of Troy , with harp accompaniment. Given a choice between that and an invasion by a million plague-infected Germans, theyd have taken the Germans so fast itd have made your head spin.

Oddly enough, the conspiracy that had us all scared shitless was about the only one that didnt come to anything. That was the plot to give the throne to Julius Vindex, the governor of the province of Gaul . I have no idea why anybody thought Vindex would make a good emperor; in fact, I dont know anything at all about the man, other than his name and the job he did. But we were so busy worrying about him that we hardly noticed the Spanish governor, Sulpicius Galba, until his soldiers were inside a long spit of the city. Silly mistake to makeon a level with being so fussed over a missing roof tile that you fail to notice that the house is on fire.

Now, unless you were born in a cave and raised by wolves, you know perfectly well what happened next. Galbas army closed in on Rome and Nero killed himself before the cavalry could get to him; Galba became emperor and was killed by Marcus Salvius Otho; Otho became emperor, reigned for ninety-five days and killed himself before Aulus Vitellius men could get at him; Vitellius wasnt so lucky when the governor of Africa, Titus Vespasianus, rolled into town: he was chopped up into little bits and slung in the river, and Im in no hurry to tell you that it didnt serve him right.

And thats stone-cold history, which you heard about from a very reliable source in the barbers shop while it was going on, or learned about from your elders and betters, who youre duty-bound to believe. The truth is slightly different as regards some of the peripheral details, but nobodys going to stop a galloping horse, as my uncle used to say.

I can tell you a funny story about the Year of Five Emperors, as its come to be called. One time, several years later, Lucius Domitius and I were in this wine shop in Apamea, which is a horrible dump of a city in northern Syria . So there we were, nursing a small jug of rotgut and minding our own business, and we got talking to this clerk, who was something trivial and boring in the Roman prefecture there. Anyway, he was fairly thoroughly tanked up, and after a bit he suddenly started cussing and ranting and carrying on about how he was the unluckiest man who ever lived, and how all his troubles were the fault of that miserable no-good bastard Nero.

At this point, Lucius Domitius topped up his cup from our jug and said there was a coincidence, because Nero had completely flicked up his life, too, and the clerk said, well, there you go. Then Lucius Domitius said, Excuse me asking, but what exactly did Nero do to you?

Well, the clerkcant remember his name, and it isnt importanthe pulled a very sad face and explained that he hadnt always been a poxy little clerk, once upon a time he was the secretary in charge of production at the Mint in Rome , where they make all the coins. It was, he told us, a very responsible and important job, and he did it very well. His bosses told him how many of each type of coin would be needed each year, and it was his job to commission a sculptor to engrave the dies (for stamping the coins out of sheet metal), get dozens of identical copies made, and make sure the coins were made on schedule and all ready when they were needed for paying the soldiers, and so on.

As you can imagine, he said, it was a major part of his job to keep up with what was going on in the world, particularly anything that might mean a change of emperor. Like the rest of us, when things started going brown and smelly at the end of Neros reign, he naturally assumed that Vindex was going to be the next emperor, but he was ready for that. He sent one of his house artists right up to Vindexs headquarters in Gaul to take a good look at him, make a few sketches, generally get an idea of what the man looked like so the Mint sculptors would be able to get some dies made up in plenty of time for the start of the new reign.

No flies on him, he told us, as a big fat tear wobbled its way down his nose. He knew perfectly well that as soon as Vindex got in, the first thing hed need would be barrels and barrels of freshly struck coins to pay off his soldiers with. So he put his top man on engraving Vindexs portrait, and a bloody wonderful job he made of it too. In fact, this sculptor reckoned it was the best work hed ever done, totally lifelike and outrageously flattering at the same time. Only problem was, of course, that Vindex never got to be emperor; so theres our new friend, trashing those beautiful new diessomething told him that if Galba ever saw them, hed be explaining to the palace guard exactly what he wanted them forand chivvying his sculptors for portraits of Galba. Luckily for him, his chief engraver was a quick worker, and pretty soon lovely new denarii and sesterces were tumbling off the die-stampers benches, ready for despatch to the army barracks.

Then, of course, Galba got scragged and Otho was in charge; and Otho was a pretty-faced type half Galbas age, so there was no chance of just firkling the dies about. In the scrap they went, and all those lovely new coins ended up in the melt, while the chief engraver sat up all night chipping out a suitably impressive portrait of Otho.

Being caught on the hop like that nearly gave the poor bugger a stroke, since what he liked best of all was to get his work done calmly and sensibly without having to rush. But he could get a wiggle on when he had to, and in just three months hed got new dies installed and was all set to go, just in time for Otho to top himself and leave the way open for Aulus Vitellius.

At this point, the chief engraver walked out on him, and went to work for his brother-in-law mending bagpipes. So his assistant got an unexpected promotion, and slaved away night and day in order to come up with a really top-class likeness of Vitellius. It really was a triumph. So good, in fact, that one of the first things Vespasian did when he took over shortly afterwards was send the sculptor and our friend into exile, on the grounds that nobody could turn out such an admirable portrait of someone they didnt really admire.

So, said the clerk, there he was, doomed to spend his last few years scribbling inventories in the flyblown heat of Syria , and none of it would have happened if only that criminal lunatic Nero hadnt screwed things up to the point of being slung out of the palace. People in important, responsible jobs should have more consideration for others, he told us. It was their sacred duty to think of the consequences of their actions on innocent, hard-working people who only ever did their best in really appalling circumstances. In fact, he said, it was a bloody disgrace that Nero had been allowed to kill himself in quiet and peace, because hed have enjoyed ripping the selfish bastards lungs out with a blunt trowel.

Well, even though we werent exactly flush right then, we reckoned it was the least we could do to buy this wretched sod a quart jug of the house blended red; and we ended up drinking Vespasians health well into the wee small hours.

Coincidentally, next morning we got the news that Vespasian had conked out and his boy Titus was now in charge; and strangers in the marketplace were so upset at the way the three of us took the news that they pulled horrible faces at us and asked us what in hell we thought was so funny.

Oh yes, theres a funny side to everything, if youre in the right place at the right time to appreciate the joke. There were probably quite a few people grinning like camels on the last night I spent in the palace, but I wasnt one of them.

First I knew of it was when someone woke me up out of a deep sleep (Ive always had the knack of getting to sleep, even when things are at their hairiest). You know what its like when youre dead to the world and suddenly youre bounced into being awake, its like a real bitch of a hangover, distilled into a few seconds of intense pain and bewilderment. So there I was, and there was this shape looming over me with a guttering oil-lamp in its hand, but I couldnt see well enough to tell if it was my brother Callistus, or the emperor himself, or some god appearing to me in a dream looking like one or both of them.

For fucks sake, Galen, the shape hissed at me, get up, its an emergency,

and since it was talking Greek with a thick up-country Athenian accent rather than a poncified Roman one, I guessed it had to be my brother.

Piss off, Callistus, I yawned at him. Its the middle of the night.

Correct, he snapped at me. Its just after midnight , and the whole place is deserted. Theres nobody in the whole flicking palace except you, him and me.

That woke me up, better than having the chamber pot emptied over my head. The palace was about the size of a large town, hundreds of people lived there, maybe even thousands. As well as the servants and the office workers and the cooks and hairdressers and laundry staff and gardeners and God-only-knows what else besides, there ought to have been a hundred or so palace guardsmen on duty all hours of the day and night, not to mention all the guests and hangers-on.

Are you sure? I asked him. We cant be the only ones here, its not possible.

Come and see for yourself if you like, he replied. And Ill give you a thousand sesterces for every man you can point to.

Shit, I said. So whats going on?

Guess, Callistus replied, throwing my tunic at me. And when youve done that, meet me by the kitchen door. Get us a sword each, and any money you can find.

Im going to fill a sack with bread and cheese. Theres no knowing where itll be safe to buy food.

Now once he started gabbling on about swords, I knew we were really in trouble, since Callistus had always been one of those people who has involuntary bowel movements at the sight of anything sharp and pointy. His idea of martial arts was flopping down on his knees screaming Please dont hurt me!, and Im pretty much the same. And a very satisfactory method its proved to be, over the years. 

Anyway, he buggered off before I had a chance to get any further news out of him, so I had no option but to do as he said. I pulled on my tunic in the dark

hed taken the lamp with himand I eventually managed to find my boots, groping about on the floor with my hands. To be fair to myself, I did try and find the stuff he told me to get, but everybody else in the place mustve had the same idea: no money and no swords to be found anywhere. After Id wasted loads of time looking, it struck me that if I didnt get down to the kitchens straight away the bastards might leave without me, so I packed in the search and hurried off as fast as I could go. He was absolutely right, of course. The whole building was as empty as a tinkers purse, and the echoing noise my boot heels made on the marble floors was the scariest sound Id ever heard in a lifetime jam-packed with scary sounds.

Where the hell have you been? Callistus barked at me, when I caught up with the two of them at last. We thought something bad mustve happened to you.

Oddly enough, I was under the impression that something bad was happening to all three of us, right then and there, but I wasnt in the mood to argue the point.

A bloody comical sight we mustve looked, so it was just as well there was nobody to see us. At least Callistus and I had our tunics and boots on. Lucius Domitius was still in his nightgown and slipperscrazily exotic slippers they were too, silk and seed-pearls, embroidered with the Rape of the Sabine Women in gold threadwith a ratty old cloak on top and a battered old leather hat that Id last seen on the head of one of the gardeners. Considering how finicky hed always been about how he looked, that was another very bad sign.

Now then, Callistus was saying, lets pull ourselves together, theres no reason why we cant get out of this if we only keep our heads. I say we head over to Phaons place. (Phaon was an ex-slave, freed by Lucius Domitius as a reward for twenty years faithful service to the family; since then hed made an obscene amount of money out of highway contracts and aqueduct concessions. He lived about four miles out of town, in a villa that looked like the sort of thing Zeus might have built for his retirement, if only he could have afforded it.) Anyone got any better ideas?

Truth was, neither of us had any ideas of any description, so we set off for Phaons house. Now, Lucius Domitius wasnt used to walking. Running, yes. He liked taking part in athletics and all that shit, and he wasnt half bad for an amateur. But walking wasnt something hed ever had to do, especially not in the dark, down cobbled alleys and rutted lanes, in thin-soled pornographic sandals.

As a result, our progress was a bit more leisurely than any of us would have liked. It got worse. For one thing, the shortest route to Phaons place took us right past the gates of the Guards barracks, and it was a years wages to a second-hand mackerel that if the soldiers recognised Lucius Domitius wed all be for the chop. We put our heads down and hurried past, which was a bloody silly thing to do, since it made us look furtive and suspiciouswhat we should have done was lurch along singing objectionable songs, as if we were plastered, but we didnt think of that. Anyhow, we got stopped by the soldiers and asked to explain ourselves.

Looking back, the expression on the soldiers faces when they shoved their lantern under our noses and saw not one but two apparent Lucius Domitiuses was one of the most comical things Ive ever seen. Wasnt quite so droll at the time, though. Fortunately, Callistus brain was still just about turning over.

He grinned like an idiot, and told them we were entertainers.

The guardsman wasnt expecting that. You what? he said.

Entertainers. Actually, Callistus went on sheepishly, were professional Nero impersonators, and this is our manager. He nudged me savagely in the ribs and I nodded three times. What we do is we show up at parties and weddings and stuff, and we do Nero impressions; you know, singing and playing the harp and doing little dances. Its not a bad gig, so long as youre careful not to overstep the mark.

The soldiers were staring at us as if we had three heads each. You can make a living doing that? one of them said.

Sure. Twenty sesterces a night, plus nosh and a drink or two. Better than digging ditches. But we sort of got the impression that the bottoms about to fall out of the Nero business, so were clearing out of town for a while.

The soldiers just stood there gawping at us for a scarily long time, then one of them shrugged, as if to say that nobody could possibly make up a bloody stupid story like that so it must be true. Good idea, he said. In fact, if I was you Id put a good long stretch of road behind you as quick as you can.

Thanks, Callistus said, well do that. Have a nice day.

That wasnt all. No sooner had we got out of earshot of the barracks but the ground started jumping up and down, and there was a terrific crash of thunder, followed by lightning. Too much for Lucius Domitius, whod always been pathetically superstitious; and I cant pretend I didnt feel a sharp twitch in the bladder, even though Im savvy enough to tell the difference between a mild earth tremor with thunderstorm accompaniment and the wrath of the gods. It took us several minutes of comforting, cajoling and arse-kicking to get Lucius Domitius back on his feet, and even then he was gibbering away in Latin under his breath all the way out of town and into the country lanes.

Did I mention I hate the countryside? May sound odd coming from a farm boy like me, but the great outdoors gives me a pain in the tush. Its horrible all the time, but at night, when you cant see spit and you dont know where youre going, its at its unspeakable worst. We walked into brambles and went in up to our knees in reed beds. We wandered into an abandoned gravel pit and couldnt find our way out. In the end we had to scale a small cliff: Callistus on top, me bringing up the rear, and the two of us puffing and pushing Lucius Domitius like a pair of dung-beetles. Eventually, just when wed convinced ourselves that we were hopelessly lost, we walked straight into the outer wall of Phaons place

(literally). That was all right, but we couldnt find the gate. We trudged up and down, following the wall, but if it was there we contrived to walk straight past it. This was getting ridiculous, so we dropped down on our heels and tried to figure out what to do. Climbing the wall was out of the question, with Lucius Domitius doing a wonderfully lifelike impression of a three-hundredweight sack of onions. Then Callistus laughed and said, Not to worry. If we cant go over the bugger or through it, well go under.

That bothered me a lot. Things were bad enough already without Callistus cracking up and starting to babble. But he was quite serious. Wed get down on our hands and knees and scrabble away with our fingers and burrow under the wall.

And thats what we did; and it worked. Turned out we were sat right next to the spot where a drain ran under the wall. We cleared away a bit of mud and shit, and there was a nice big hole for us to crawl througheven big enough for Lucius Domitius, and he was quite a size back then, especially round the bum.

So, we were through. Lucius Domitius was all for striding up to the front door, assuming we could find it, and banging on it like gentlemen. But Callistus didnt like that idea. Hed been turning things over in his mind ever since we left town, and hed come around to thinking that maybe Phaon wouldnt turn out to be quite as friendly as wed thought. Well, we werent too happy about that, and I might have suggested that itd have been better all round if hed thought of that earlier. Anyway, while we were discussing the point, Lucius Domitius happened to find some gardeners toolsactually, he stood on a rake and got smacked on the nose by the handleand that set Callistus off again. If we could dig under the outer wall, he reckoned, we could bust into the house the same way, and nobody would know we were there; and if you dont know someones there, you cant turn him in to the soldiers, however treacherous a bastard you may happen to be.

You can tell how tired and screwed up we all were from the fact that that line of reasoning seemed to make sense. So we prodded and groped around until we found tools to dig with: a pick, a double-tooth mattock and a shovel, to be precise. This isnt the tool kit of choice of your career housebreaker, but it was better than using our hands and risking Lucius Domitius breaking a fingernail. We chose a spot at random just under the back wall of the house and began to dig, and wed hardly got started when the ground just seemed to give way under us, and there we were, sitting on our rear ends on the cold flagstones of Phaons cellar.

Long silence, then Lucius Domitius pipes up. Well, here we are, then, he says.

Now what?

Things are different in real life to how you imagine theyll be. Needless to say, all that racket didnt pass unnoticed. Phaon turns up at the cellar door holding a lamp. He peers at us through the darkness and says, Oh, its you,

like hed met a poor relation at the racetrack. What do you want? he says, and we get the impression hes not thrilled to bits to see usthough its understandable, I guess, because how would you feel about a party of uninvited guests whove just caved in a hole in your cellar roof?

Well, wed achieved our objective against all the odds: wed got to Phaons villa, and youd have thought wed be pleased with ourselves. Not so, because it dawned on us that even though wed completed our mission, we were still just as much up to our knees in cowplop as wed ever been. At best, all wed done was buy ourselves a little time.

Phaon told us the news from town; it wasnt good. Apparently thered been a special emergency meeting of the Senate, at which Lucius Domitius had been declared an enemy of the people and a warrant had been issued for his arrest. As soon as he was found, they said, hed be punished in the old-fashioned way

What does that mean, exactly? Lucius Domitius interrupted.

Its the ancient traditional punishment for treason, Phaon told him. They strip you naked, wedge your neck in a wooden fork and beat you to death with sticks. Apparently its been so long since it was last done they had to look it up in the old records.

Another thing Lucius Domitius hadnt had much experience of was pain. Toothache a couple of times (though he had remarkably good teeth; anyway, far better than he deserved after spending his early years stuffing his face with honeycakes.

Where I grew up, we couldnt afford the stuff that rots your teeth but Ive been a martyr to toothache all my life). Nothing worse than that, though, so the idea of being tortured to death scared him rigid. Thats your Roman nobility for you.

Soft as a pancake.

Its all right, Callistus interrupted, its not going to come to that. Oh, for pitys sake, he went on, as Lucius Domitius produced a pair of very small, extremely fancy daggers from his sleeve. Put those things away before you cut yourself.

Im not going to let them take me alive, Lucius Domitius said. Then he got a fit of the shakes and dropped the daggers on the ground with a clang. The jewelled knob on the end of one of them came off and rolled across the floor.

But maybe youre right, he added quickly. Maybe we can get out of this after all. What do you think, Phaon? Can you hide us here until everything settles down?

No, Phaon replied. Well, at least he was honest about it. You must be out of your tiny mind bringing him here, he went on, addressing Callistus (presumably because he recognised that my brother was the only member of the party with enough common sense to smear on a biscuit). Thisll be one of the first places they look, and if they catch you here, Ill be feeding the crows along with the rest of you.

I must say, disaster is a wonderful way of getting to know people. The couple of times Id met Phaon before, Id put him down as just another Imperial brown-noser: polite, charming, anything-you-say-is-fine-with-me-Caesar. A pain in the bum, in other words. I never knew he could be so refreshingly straightforward.

At this point, Lucius Domitius burst into tears. Its all my fault, he said.

I brought it all on myself, and now all of youthe only true friends Ive ever hadyoure going to be killed along with me. Its all because Im such a pathetic coward. If I had a scrap of decency about me, Id kill myself right now

Callistus sighed. Shut up, will you, for Gods sake, Im trying to think. He scowled for a moment, then grabbed Phaon by the sleeve. You, he said, get upstairs, watch the road, the moment you see anything, you let us know Right?

Phaon nodded and fled.

I wouldnt trust that arsehole if I were you, I muttered. If the soldiers show up, I bet you hell be running down the road yelling, This way! Over here! as fast as his feetll carry him.

Callistus looked at me. Thats what Im counting on, he said. Now shut up and listen, both of you. I think Ive got it figured out, so for crying out loud pay attention. I dont know how long weve got.

He sounded so confident that for a moment I really believed he might have thought of something. After all, hadnt he winkled me out of the shit a dozen or so times over the years, starting with that stunt in the bathhouse? All right, Callistus was no Aristotle, but he could think on his feet. Whats the plan? I asked hopefully

All right. Callistus stooped down and picked up the funny little daggers. I think Phaons probably right. Sooner or later theyll look for us here. I should have seen that back in the palace, but I didnt, so Im the one to blame. I want that understood before we go any further. Im the one whos got us in this mess, so Im the one wholl have to get us out. Thats the plain truth, and I dont want any arguments from you two. Clear?

Of course, Lucius Domitius had never seen him in this mood before. He was a bit stunned, I think, at being spoken to like a footman or a stable-boy Probably just as well, because it made him keep quiet. Anyway, we both nodded to show we agreed, and Callistus continued: We could try and get away, but I dont like the odds. The three of us, on footif we stick to the roads wed never cover enough ground before the soldiers find us. Its a simple matter of walkers against riders. If we go across country, we wont have a clue where we are, well be strangers, sticking out like a maggot in an apricot. You know what its like in farm country, Galen. If theres a stranger in the district, everybody knows about it before the poor buggers gone a mile. Long story short: I think running for it is out.

Sos hiding, I pointed out. You heard the fat man. We cant stay here.

But Callistus shook his head. Thats not what Im proposing, he said. Think for a moment. Whatll it take to get the soldiers to flick off and leave you in peace?

Thats easy, Lucius Domitius groaned. My head in a basket.

Fine, Callistus said, with a slight nod. Then thats what well give them.

I have to say, forget about the context for a moment, the look on Lucius Domitius face was something quite comical. You bastard, he said, backing away until his arse bumped into the wall. Youre going to give me to them after all.

You bastard.

(See what I mean about disaster? This from the same fat slob who was all set to slash his wrists two minutes earlier so Callistus and I could escape. And the rest.)

But Callistus shook his head again. Thats not what Ive got in mind, he replied calmly Then he turned to me. Galen, he said, you remember that polecat we had when we were kids? And the bloody thing got loose and scragged Anaxarchus prize rooster, and he came storming over our place swearing at Mother, and unless we gave him the polecat so he could pull its neck, hed have the archon and the soldiers and the governor-general on us, and see us all in the galleys? He grinned. And you remember what we did?

I didnt like the way this was going. Sure, I said. You made a little wicker trap and went up the hill to where you knew there was a polecat nest, and you trapped a stringy old gill and gave that to Anaxarchus, and he never knew the difference. But

Exactly My brothers grin melted into a smirk. He got a polecat to kill, we got to keep ours, and everybody was happy

Except the other polecat, I pointed out.

Screw the other polecat. Besides, this is better. This time, we dont have to go snaring a decoy, weve got a volunteer.

I was afraid that was what hed meant. Really afraidyou know, that cold griping feeling in your bladder that makes you want to pee all down your leg.

From anybody else, I simply wouldnt have believed it. But coming from Callistus

well, he was that sort of person. He didnt mess about, and he was straight down the line, always.

Just hold on, will you? Lucius Domitius had that dumb, bewildered look on his face. Really, for two coatpins I could have banged his head against the wall. I dont understand. Will someone please explain what you two are talking about?

Callistus swung round on him. Oh God, he said, have I got to spell it out for you? Listen. You and I look pretty much the same, right? Not shoulder to shoulder, maybe, but anyone seeing me on my own, without you there, would take me for you. Certainly its a good enough likeness to fool a guards captain whos only seen you maybe half a dozen times on parade or in the theatre.

Yes, Lucius Domitius said. Hows that going to help us?

Bloody fool, he still hadnt seen it. Callistus had to explain. Simple, he said. You kill me. When they get here, they find my body and think theyve got you. Youre hiding up in the hayloft, but of course they wont bother searching, theyll think theyve got the genuine article

Lucius Domitius screamed. I kid you not: a full-blooded scream, like a pig being slaughtered with a blunt knife. No, he whimpered, no, no, you cant. No, I wont let you. Dont even say such a thing, its horrible

Callistus slapped him round the face, put a lot of wrist into it. It worked.

Lucius Domitius stopped squealing and stared at him in horror.

Thats settled, then, Callistus said. Right. He held out one of the little daggers. Come on, then, we dont know how long weve got. Itd be best if you can scuff my face up a bit, not so much that they wont recognise me, just enough to blur the edges a bit. Well, come on, for pitys sake.

But Lucius Domitius was sliding down the wall like a slug and sobbing helplessly He wasnt going to be any use. Callistus, I said, what the hell are you thinking about? You cant chuck your life away forfor that.

Fuck you, he replied savagely Its my life. When I think how many times you nearly got us killed with your bloody stupid scams, and I had to risk my neck to save you. He must have seen from the look on my face that I was suddenly going all to pieces. It was as if someone had peeled me open, taken out all my bones, and sewn me up again. Its all right, really, he said gently This is what I want to do, for his sake, and mine. And its not as if weve got any options.

Its either me or all of us, so its as broad as its long.

Bullshit, I said. I was starting to shake all over. Odd thing. Ever so many times Ive been sure I was about to die, and with good reason; I was always scared shitless, yes, but there was never that feeling of absolute total despair

because, I guess, I knew that if I got snuffed it wouldnt really matter

(because what bloody good am I to anybody? None at all, not even to myself). But the thought that Callistus would diethat hed die and Id be left on my own

Id never had to face that before, and Im telling you, I couldnt take it. It was only being frozen stiff with horror that stopped me blubbering helplessly like Lucius Domitius was doing.

And then he said: Galen, I want you to do this thing for me. Ive never asked you for a favour before, ever, but Im asking you now, because its important.

Will you do it for me? Will you?

And I heard myself answer, All right, because, fuck it, I couldnt really say anything else. That was Callistus for you: sometimes, just occasionally, he made you want to be like him.

Will you? he repeated, and I nodded my stupid head, and let him stick one of those ridiculous little knives in my hand. He had to fold my fingers round the handle just to stop me dropping the thing.

Then he took a step towards me, and of course I shrank back, like he was the one who was about to knife me, and not the other way about. Pull yourself together, Galen, he said sharply, lets get this over and done with. Behind him, Lucius Domitius started wailing and boo-hooing like a fractious two-year-old; itd have made a cat laugh to hear him, but not me. Callistus came closer; I tried to stay put, but I couldnt, and then my back was to the wall and there wasnt anywhere else to go. Come on, Callistus shoutedhe was annoyed, of all the things to beand I opened my eyes very wide and stabbed him.

Of course, it was a bloody shambles; I screwed it up, like I screw up everything. I got him all rightthere was blood everywhere, all over my hands, on the floor, you name itbut he was still alive. He was hurting, you didnt have to be a doctor to see that, but he was trying very hard to keep his temper.

Its all right, he said, youve got to try again. He reached out and took my hand, pushed it away so as to pull the knife out of his gut. Go on, he said, up here, look. I suppose he meant his heart or his neck, but I was completely lost, I couldnt even breathe. So he lifted my hand until the point of the knife was pressed up against that little hollow where the collarbones meet the neck, and then he put his arms around me and hugged me.

I tried to grab hold of him as he fell but he was too slippery with blood, he slithered down my front and landed at my feet in a heap, and all I could do was look down at him. I wanted to scream, but I didnt have a voice. It was the worst thing ever.

God knows how long I stood there, but at some point that little shit Phaon came bursting in, yelling something about the cavalry, and then he saw the dead body, and me, and he said, Oh God. Then I guess some part of me I dont know much about seemed to take over, and I heard myself say, Its all right, I killed him.

Fortunately, Phaon was too busy staring at the bloody mess on the floor to look round and see Lucius Domitius. So when he said, Who? Whove you killed? I said, Caesar, of course, who the hell do you think? He didnt want to be captured, so I killed him.

Phaon tore his eyes off the thing on the ground and looked up at me. Now what?

he said.

Now you go out and meet the cavalry, I said. And you fetch them down here and you show them the body, and you tell them a slave did it. I dont know who was saying all this stuff. It sounded like the sort of thing Callistus would say, only it was my voice I could hear, but when was I ever that bright or that resourceful? You tell them, I went on, that the slave who did this was Epaphroditusyou know, that evil little wanker who used to write his letters for him. This is very important: Galen and Callistus were never here, you never saw them tonight, it was Epaphroditus the secretary who killed him, and he ran off before you got here. Do you understand?

Phaon was too fiddled to argue. Epaphroditus, he repeated, like he was learning his lines for a play All right.

Good, I said. Because if you tell them different, if you say it was Galen and Callistus, and we get caught, were going to tell the magistrates that it was you who helped him escape from the palace, and you brought him here, and you were going to hide himyou get the idea.

Phaon was too scared to talk, so he just nodded.

Right, I said. Now piss off.

So he ran out, and I grabbed Lucius Domitius by the collar, and I pretty much had to drag him out of there, up through the hole wed made in the cellar roof, and I had to push him to make him start running, and I had to keep shoving him in the bum to keep him from stopping and flolloping down in a big messy heap, and we ran out through the orchard and under the wall, and once we were on the road we kept running, and running.

And, basically, thats what weve been doing ever since.

Three
Where were we? Oh yes.

So there we were in Sicily, on the run, having just escaped from fifteen years in the slate quarries (which was good), all because some crazy Greek had massacred our guards (which was bad, since we were going to get the blame, and pretty soon every soldier in the island was going to be looking for us). We had a big purse of the crazy Greeks money (also good), and the clothes we stood up in (also bad, because the fashion statement they made was unmistakably Escaped Convict). We hadnt got a clue where we were, or what we were going to do next.

By our standards, in other words, just another day at the office.

The first thing we need to do, I told Lucius Domitius, as we picked our way down a rocky hillside, is get out of these clothes and get a wash and a brush up. Next, we go to Mauretania .

He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me.  Mauretania , he repeated.

 Mauretania . Its the answer to all our problems. All we have to do is go there, and well be free and clear, all our troubles will be over.

Oh, good, said Lucius Domitius. Would you mind awfully telling me why?

I scowled at him. Its obvious. First, its easy to get to from here, theres ships going backward and forwards every day. Second, nobody knows us in Mauretania , wed be off to a fresh start, and we wouldnt be looking over our shoulders every two minutes. Third, the Mauretanians are a nation of born marks.

What?

Marks. Was he being deliberately obtuse or something? Suckers. Not very bright people. Rich, fat, friendly and gullible. Well do well there.

He looked at me as if I was dribbling at the mouth. Where the hell did you get that idea from?

Its common knowledge, I told him. Everybody knows that. Its, whats the word, proverbial. Rich and thick, like buttermilk. You go to any of those places, theyre all the same. Tingis, Icosium, Cyrene

Cyrenes in Libya.

Is it? Trust Lucius Domitius to split hairs, just when I was getting a flow going. Well, its all the same thing, isnt it?

No, it isnt, he replied snottily. Theyre a thousand miles apart.

Lets not quibble over details, I told him. The point is, its a long way from here. Also, I went on, because this was the good bit Id been working round to, only hed interrupted me, its border country. Basically, youve got your long, narrow coastal area which is your Roman province, and behind that, theres the vast expanse of free Mauretania, which is an independent state. And you know what that means.

He nodded. They dont speak Latin, he said.

Which means, I told him patiently, its outside the jurisdiction. If things get hot for us and we need to clear out in a hurry, all weve got to do is nip over the line and were safe. No extradition.

He shook his head. Youre wrong there, he said. Theres a treaty between the empire and the free state.

No, there isnt.

Yes, there bloody well is. I should know, I signed it.

I shrugged. Well, anyway, I said. Its got to be better than here, with soldiers looking for us under every bush. What do you say?

He looked doubtful. I dont know, he said.

Dont be such a pain in the bum. Its wide-open territory out there. And a fantastic climate.

He raised an eyebrow at me. Its all deserts, isnt it?

Only when you get inland a way

Didnt you say thats where were headed? Besides, theyve got lions in Mauretania, and scorpions the size of cats. And savage nomadic tribesmen wholl kill you for whats under your fingernails. We dont want to go there.

Yes, we do.

No, we dont.

No, we dont, I repeated. Ill say this for you, Lucius Domitius, all those years you spent honing your debating skills with the finest minds of your generation, they really paid off, didnt they?

Oh, shut up. 

 

All this time wed been carrying on down into the valley, until we reached the fiat plain where the farmland started. We still didnt know where we were, of course, and my instincts were telling me we should stay up in the rocky bits, away from where people lived and wed stick out like pimples. Actually, my instincts were bickering like an old married couple, because they were also telling me that up in the rocky bits was where the soldiers would expect us to be. What we needed to do was get out of those clothes, stop being runaway quarry slaves and become something else. Thats one of the good things about not being anything at all: youve got flexibility.

Pretty soon we found ourselves on a dusty little road between small, stone-walled olive groves, with a little river chortling along somewhere close on our right. This wasnt good, since anybody seeing us would know we werent local. I was wondering what we could do about this when we heard voices coming from a little patch of beech trees dead ahead. Bugger, I thought; I grabbed Lucius Domitius by the sleeve and pulled him down behind a wall.

Now what? he said.

Voices up ahead, I told him. Shut up, I want to listen.

So I listened, and then I started to grin. There were two of them, a young man and a girl, and it was pretty obvious what they were doing; no threat to us, anyhow Lucius Domitius started to get up, but I pulled him down again.

Oh for pitys sake, he muttered. You might get off on eavesdropping on young lovers making out in the fields, but now isnt the time. Were running for our lives, in case youd forgotten.

I sighed. No attention to detail, you see. Youve got to pay attention in this life, or youll walk past all your golden opportunities and never know theyre there. Listen, I said.

I dont have many talents, but I can place people by their voices, its a knack I have. The girl was easy enough, some local farm kid; probably shed been doing the family laundry down by the river when she met the boy. He was rather more interesting. Admittedly he wasnt saying much, she was the one making all the noise, but when he did say anything, he said it in Latin. Its my experience that in these moments of high passion, people dont tend to muck about with foreign languages. What wed got here was a genuine, twenty-carat Roman.

The rest of it was easy enough to figure out. Personally, I blame the schools.

If you send your kid to one of those fashionable places where they set them reading Theocritus and all that stuff, all about handsome young noblemen out hunting who run into lovely, willing peasant girls in idyllic pastoral settings, what the hell do you expect? Its always worse the closer you get to a big city, of course. Where I come from, near Athens, its getting so you cant duck in behind a bush for a quick shit without tripping over a Strephonand-Amaryllis act in among the daisies and buttercups.

So, there we were, and what I needed most of all, of course, was a bathhouse creepers hook.

Sorry, Im getting technical. You know what a bathhouse creeper is, right? Just in case you dont, think of one of those low-life characters who make their living stealing things from the changing rooms of the public baths. Its an ancient profession with a rich heritage of tradition, though Ive never done much good with it myself. The principal tool of the trade is your small bronze hook mounted on a long, thin, flexible shaft, which you stick through the bathhouse window and use to fish out purses, cloaks, hats, whatever. Im told they make the best ones in Alexandria, with three prongs and a shaft that folds up so you can stash it under your cloak, but any old hook will do, and if you havent got a hook, you can always use a suitably shaped branch off a tree.

Thats assuming you can find one. The nearest trees were the beeches where the Sweet Young Things were still hammering away at it (which reminded me, I had to get a move on; they couldnt keep going for ever), so I crept up as quietly as I could and had a snoop round for a fallen branch. No joy, but they didnt seem to have heard me, so I took a chance and broke a long, whippy shoot off a sapling.

Just the job, right down to the handy little fork near the tip, which would do just as well as any fancy three-tined Egyptian bronze hook.

Another thing Ive observed about your young Roman buck:

when he goes al fresco bonking, he always takes his clothes offso they dont get dusty and covered in grass stains, I guess. Wouldnt do for everybody to be able to tell at a glance where hes been or what hes been up to. Amazing streak of prudery in the high Roman character, which is a real blessing for a bloke in need of a change of clothes.

Like I said, Ive never really done much with creepers hooks. The real artists

ticklers, they call them in the tradecan winkle out a ring or a brooch though a narrow window with their eyes shut, standing on their mates shoulders.

Im not in that league, but Im good enough to snag a tunic and a belt on the flat. For some reason, the bastard had kept his sandals on, but there wasnt anything I could do about that.

Right, I whispered to Lucius Domitius, once Id got safely back behind our wall. Time we werent here.

So we hopped it, back up the road in the opposite direction for a hundred yards, then across the river on stepping stones, up the other side and into a handy stand of fir trees. Only then did we have a chance to examine our haul.

Nice, Lucius Domitius said, fingering the cloth. Good weave. Mainland Greek wool.

I nodded. And get a load of the buckle on the belt, I said. Thats ivory, not bone. Lets see whats in the purse.

Less than Id expected: fifteen in silver and some copper, but every bit you get makes a little more, as my old mother used to say. Right, said Lucius Domitius, Id better try them on.

That wasnt what Id had in mind. You? I said. Dont give me that. You want a change of threads, go steal your own.

Dont be stupid, Lucius Domitius replied. Think about it for a moment, will you? Weve got one high-class tunic between the two of us, right? So one of us is going to be the master, and the other ones his faithful slave. Do you really think anybodys going to believe in you as a smart young city type?

He had a point, unfortunately You dont get Greeks swanning round with Italian slaves, not even in Sicily All right, I muttered. But just till we get to a town with a tailors stall. Understood?

He grinned. Well see, he said, pulling his tunic off over his head. Now then, he went on, putting on the nicked tunic, but he got half of the way in, then stopped. It was way too small for him.

You were saying, I said.

He tried again, twice, and only gave up when we heard the ominous sound of stitching giving way under the strain. All right, he conceded, you try. Though its probably too small for you, too.

Fitted me like a glove. Well, like a small glove, but at least I could get my neck through the head hole without ripping it to shreds. There, I said, how do I look?

Like a Greek tickler whos just stolen a Romans shirt, he replied. I suppose youll pass as an ex-slave whos come into money though the ears a bit of a giveaway Valid point, and it just went to show he could pay attention to detail when it suited him. Its a good tip for telling your genuine ex-slave, by the way: look for the mark on the ear lobe where the piercings healed over. A bit of free advice for you, to help you when dealing with rogues and unscrupulous characters.

Itll do, I said. All right, Im a wealthy freedman on a business trip, and youre my personal attendant. What line are we in?

He thought for a moment. Dried fish?

This far inland? Not likely What else have they got in Sicily?

Wheat, Lucius Domitius said, trying to remember his geography lessons, wool, figs. Cheese. Sicilian sheeps milk cheese, those big cartwheel jobs with the thick plaster rinds.

Thatll do, I said. All right, Im a Mauretanian cheese merchant

Oh for pitys sake.

Well, everybodys got to be from somewhere. Im a Mauretanian cheese importer, my names Pittacusour neighbour next door but two down the valley at home, I explained, before he could ask me where Id got the name from. Youre a slave, obviously Galatian, youll pass for a Celt with that hairknow any Celtic names?

 

No, he said. Lets just stick to Lucius, or well get confused. Thats the trouble with you, always making it too elaborate, so we forget or muddle ourselves up, and then

Yes, all right. I took a moment to get myself into character. Fine, I said.

Now, lets get some more space between us and the owner of this shirt, just in case. An extra mile never hurts, as my brother used to say

I cant say as I like Sicily much, but one thing its got going for it, you never have to walk terribly far before you get to somewhere. It may not be anywhere exciting, or the place you want to be, but so long as you keep going youll find yourself in a village or a town. Other places Ive been, you can walk all day and never see anything but rocky mountains, or desert, or moorland; and one place I was in, I remember walking for three days and seeing nothing but row upon row of beans.

The place we fetched up in was either a fat village or a thin town. Anyhow, there were a couple of dozen houses, a smithy, a wheelwrights shop and a tower, all perched on a hilltop like a pimple on a Romans nose. It was a bit like the poxy little towns in Attica where I grew up, except that you got the impression that people only went there if they had a reason, or couldnt avoid it. Oh yes, and there was a little thatched shrine to some minor local hero or other (but then again, there always is, isnt there?).

Obviously, we headed for the smithy as being the place where the local deadheads and time-wasters would be likely to hang out. Village smithies in predominantly Greek communities are remarkable things. You can spend your life going from one to another and Ill bet you ten drachmas youll never ever see any work getting done. But they must make a living somehow, and if you want your hoe straightened or your ploughshare faxed, the manll give you a long, cool stare and tell you he might be able to get round to it at some point in the second half of the month after next, with a following wind and barring a plague of locusts. What you will see, on the other hand, is half a dozen old-timers with five good teeth between them, a bloke with a wooden leg who talks to himself all the time, three or four farmers who look at you as if youre something theyve tracked into the house on the sole of their boot, one blacksmith sitting on a stump drinking, and one skinny twelve-year-old boy leaning on a fifteen

pound sledgehammer. The moment you show up, of course, theyll all immediately stop talking, except the guy with the wooden leg, and theyll stare at you for a very long time, and then the smithll say, Right, then, or something like that.

Now, this is where you need to be careful. If you come right out with it and say what you want, like, The wheels come off my cart, can you possibly fix it for me? or, Is there anywhere I can get a bed for the night? or, Where the hell is this? or whatever, theyre all going to look at you like youve got six heads, and a four-year-old girl you hadnt noticed befores going to burst into tears and run into the house yelling for Mummy No; what you want to do when the smith says, Right, then, is stand there leaning on your walking stick and nod your head just the tiniest bit, with a little upwards flick. If youve done it right, therell be a silence that lasts about as long as it takes a cat to throw up a furball, and then theyll carry on with their conversation where they left off, and youre in. Its all right, theyve accepted you, and sooner or later someones going to pipe up and ask you what you want. Just follow these simple rules, and theres no reason why you cant get yourself an overpriced dinner of sausage and leek broth and a nights sleep in a hayloft in any village in the Eastern Mediterranean .

Anyway now that you know the drill, I dont need to take you through it step by step, so lets skip to the bit after the smith says, Right, then, and on to where one of the old farmers says, And whatll you boys be after?

The good thing about this ritual is that it gives you time to get yourself together, which is handy if youre being someone else for the first time. Just a bite to eat and somewhere to doss down for the night. I said, And could you tell me if were on the right road for Leontini?

The old farmers looked at each other. The kid with the hammer sniggered.

Leontini, said the smith, as if wed asked him if hed seen any pink-winged hippogriffs lately Nope. Cant say as you are.

Oh, I said. Not that I cared a damn, you understand, I just wanted to find out where we were. So where are we, then?

Heracleia, said one of the farmers. That was a fat lot of good. Its a fact that nine out of ten villages in the Greek-speaking world are called Heracleia, and the ones that arent are called Aegae.

Right, I said. So where does this road go, then?

Short pause. Syracuse, said one of the old men.

Yes, we just came from there. What about in the other direction?

In the other direction. The shortest and stockiest of the farmers frowned, like he was doing long division in his head. Well, if you keep going long enough, reckon youll wind up in Camarina. And serve you right, he didnt add, but it was all there in his tone of voice.

Ah, right, I said, like I knew where the hell Camarina was. We mustve taken a wrong turn back at the ford. Its always safe to say that. Well nine times out often, anyway

Thatd be right, grunted the smith. You want to get to Leontini, your best betd be to go back the way you just come, then head west where you went east and carry on up over.

I shrugged. Camarinas just as good to us, I said. See, Im just going round looking for places where I can buy good quality Sicilian cheese. Thats my business. Actually, I went on, maybe you gentlemen could help me out here. Does anybody make cheese in these parts?

Stunned silence, then they all shuffled half a step closer. Best cheeses in Sicily, croaked the oldest of the farmers. Known for it, in fact. You wont get a better bit of cheese this side of Acragas.

It all went like a dream after that, of course. Somehow, about half an hour later, the whole village knew that there was some lunatic stranger in town willing to pay actual silver money for anything round with a plaster rind on it.

Never been so popular in all my life. Of course, I had the wit to play it cool.

Gnarled old men came bustling up shoving cheeses under my nose, but I kept on frowning and sucking my teeth, and saying, Well, I did hear they do a pretty good strong cheese out Lilybaeum way, whereupon theyd out with their knives and hack off huge great wedges and practically shove them down my throat. Pretty good cheese it was too, though personally I prefer the stuff they make back where I was raised. Its got that light, delicate flavour, and what you dont eat you can use to sharpen chisels on.

So it was all working out pretty well. Quite apart from all the buckshee cheese, there wasnt any nonsense about having to pay for a place to sleep or kipping down among the cows and goats. Some fat bloke with a lot of cheese to get rid of insisted that we go on home with him, and I got an actual bed, with a pillow and sheets, while the family slept on the floor with the dogs. Lucius Domitius didnt do quite so wellhe had to muck in with the livestockbut, as I explained to him afterwards, it wouldve been totally out of character for me as a major cheese baron to give a toss about where my slave got billeted for the night.

Next morning, after a leisurely breakfast and a refreshing dip in the river, we set off on the road to Camarina. I explained that since Id come so far I might as well press on a bit further, but it was almost a stone-cold certainty that I wasnt going to find anything even half as good as their cheese, and Id be back in a day or so with a cart, ready to load up everything they could possibly spare, payment in cash on the spot. They seemed genuinely sorry to see me leave, which was a rare treat for me.

Which just goes to prove what I was telling you, I explained to Lucius Domitius, as we lost sight of the village behind some mountains. The vicissitudes of fortune, and all that. In the space of one day, we went from being condemned men on our way to the quarries to honoured guests of the village, nothing too good for us, help yourself to another plate of biscuits. Thats what lifes all about, I went on, bad fortune, good fortune, down one moment, up the next; and the mark of your wise man, your true philosopher, is treating the rough and the smooth like theyre really all the same thing. Which of course they are, I pointed out, essentially speaking. 

Oh, shut up, Galen, he replied. Youre making my head hurt.

Of course he was just snotty about having to sleep with the dogs while I had the bed, but I didnt say anything. It was a nice day, for Sicily, and I wasnt in the mood for bickering. We were walking down a good, level road with cornfields on either side, the sun was shining and we had a quart of drinkable wine the farmer had given us for the road. There was even a woman singing somewhere in the distance, probably some old bat doing her washing or fetching water.

Pleasant little tune, too.

Lucius Domitius stopped dead like hed just stepped in a cow turd. Do you hear that? he said.

Hear what?

That woman, singing, he said. There, listen.

I shrugged. Yes, I can hear it, I said. So what?

He had this look on his face. Thats my song, he said. I wrote that.

Oh God, I thought, here we go. Nah, I said, I dont think so. Probably just sounds a bit similar, thats all.

He scowled at me. Thats my bloody song, he said. Niobe, among the wavy reeds. You think I dont know my own music?

Oh well, I said. If you say so. Can we get on now, please? Or have we got to stand here like a couple of prunes till shes finished?

Nows probably a good time to tell you about Lucius Domitius and his music.

Well, Ill do my best, anyhow, because Im damned if I understand it, the way he used to carry on. Me, I cant ever see why people make such an almighty big deal about music and poetry and stuff. Its just something that people make, the way I see it, like furniture or pottery or hardware. Sure, it comes in lots of different grades of plain and fancy, just like everything else. Same goes for cutlery or shoes, only you dont get people drooping about in raptures of ecstasy about a beautifully crafted pair of boots. But really what difference is there between a boot and a hendecasyllabic ode, except that a good pair of boots keeps your feet dry? Its just stuff that people make, and if theyre really lucky, they get paid money, though as far as I can see most poets and musicians and the like end up giving the stuff away to their friends, assuming their friends hold still for long enough.

Be that as it may Now, Ive got an ear for music like a cabbage has teeth, but I dare say that Lucius Domitius stuff was as good as anything else, maybe even a bit better. Big deal. As far as I was concerned, this didnt actually help us much. Now, if hed been prepared to use his divine gift to make us a copper or two along the way, like by singing in peoples houses or playing the bagpipes outside country inns, I could have seen the point in that, and Id have been right behind him, every step of the way But he wouldnt ever do that. His reason was, he was terrified that someone whod heard him in the old days, when he used to give these recitals in front of thousands of people packed into theatres and racetracks, would know in a flash it was the Emperor Nero, who wasnt dead after all but still alive and taking a hat round outside a carters brothel in upper Pacoma. Well, quite. I dont think that was the real reason, either. I think it was all in his head, because music and poetry made him think of the old times, who he used to be and what hed lost, and he just couldnt bear to be reminded of that. Its as if he felt he had to pay a price for getting out of the palace alive that nightand for Callistus, of courseand the price he thought was fair was the thing he loved most in all the world, or maybe second most. And fair play to him, whos to say that wasnt the right thing to do? After all, were all supposed to make sacrifices to the gods when they do something for us, and sacrifices are supposed to mean something, like youre giving up something valuable, to show how grateful you are. Most people, of course, they send the cook down to the market to buy the cheapest, scrawniest couple of chickens he can find, because any old rubbishll do for the gods, and what they dont want will make a casserole for the servants. Thats not my idea of giving thanks, though I wont pretend Im religious or anything like that. Lucius Domitius, though, when he gave thanks for the life of my poor brother, he did it properly, gave up something he really valued, and I have to say, that was all right by me.

Also, of course, it meant I didnt have to listen to him practising, which was also a blessing.

So there we were, on this otherwise perfectly agreeable morning, stood there in the middle of the road like a lopsided triumphal arch, while Lucius Domitius listened to this old boiler singing his song. It seemed to go on for a very long time but eventually she ran out of verses and it ground to a halt.

Right, I said. Now, do you think we could possibly get on with running for our lives? If its absolutely convenient, I mean.

Of course, I was exaggerating a bit, because we hadnt seen hide nor hair of any soldiers, but there was nothing to say they wouldnt show up at any minute, and besides, strolling for our lives wouldnt have sounded nearly so good. But it didnt matter. I was wasting my breath anyhow, because he wasnt paying any heed to me. He was too busy wallowing in self-pity, the bastard. Eyes all red and puffy, and a big fat wet tear rolling down his cheek. That was a bit much, from where I was standing. I mean, it was a nice enough little tune and the old woman had an all-right sort of a voice, but it wasnt anything to get you sobbing your eyes out.

Hey, I said, Lucius Domitius, pull yourself together. This isnt the time or the place.

He turned his head and looked at me. A proper sight, he was. I guess youre right, he said. Im sorry. Very unprofessional of me, like laughing at your own jokes.

Well, I couldve said something pretty amusing at his expense right then, but I let it go. No point picking a fight. Itd only have delayed us further, and by this point Id had enough of standing still in the open. Dont worry about it,

I said, grabbing him by the sleeve and hustling him along.

But he was still brooding about it at midday, when we sat down for a rest under a chestnut tree and ate some of the food our hosts had kindly given us (cheese, needless to say). Bloody strange, he said, hearing that song, right out here in the wilds of Sicily Im amazed it got this far. He grinned. Someone mustve liked it, I guess.

Quite probably, I said. Catchy tune. Nice words. And it only takes one satisfied customer to go prancing round humming it and suddenly the whole village knows it. There was a song like that back home when I was a kid, something about a wandering knife-grinder and a farmers daughter

He gave me a poisonous look, for some reason. Well, anyway, he said. Thats quite enough about that. Lets just put it out of our minds for now, shall we?

Well, he shouldnt have said that, because all the rest of the afternoon I was humming that stinking tune under my breath. I just couldnt get it out of my mind. I was still humming it when we kicked our boots off under the table at a scruffy old two-room inn that evening.

Will you shut up that row? Lucius Domitius hissed at me. People are staring. 

I was about to point out that that was bloody fine, coming from him, when to my amazement I heard the same tune coming from the back of the room. There was nothing for it, of course. We had to go and see who was singing it.

Turned out to be this smelly old carter, who was sort of stacked up in a corner, drinking his way through a small bath of the gorgons blood the management had the nerve to pass off as red wine. No point talking to him if you wanted a rational answer, but sitting next to him on the bench was another man, presumably his matea little bit younger and less mothbitten round the face, and to all appearances moderately sober.

That tune your pals singing.. . I began.

He looked up at me and frowned. Yes, I know, Im sorry about that. He leaned across the table, tugged his chum by the wrist and shouted, MENIPPUS, SHUT UP, YOU STUPID OLD FART, so loud that heads turned right across the room.

Its all right, I said politely, he wasnt bothering us. Its just that song he was singing, its familiar from somewhere but I cant think where I heard it.

He looked at me sideways and laughed. Obviously you two arent from round here, he said, or youd know that song. Its famous in these parts, that song.

Lucius Domitius didnt say a word, but he was glowing so much the back of my neck got burnt.

Really? I said. Traditional, is it?

He grinned. You could say that. Good story, too. That was a hint, so I sat down next to him and waved to the innkeepeer for more booze. When it came, the man went on, That song is by the emperor Nero himself. The fat, ugly, murdering bastard, he added, with feeling. So I expect youre surprised to hear it being sung by respectable folk. But it got famous around here because of the stone quarries.

Stone quarries, I repeated. There are stone quarries nearby, are there?

He nodded. You bet. Bloody terrible place, by all accounts, though Ive never been there. Anyway, its one of the places where that evil shit Nero used to send people to die. Hundreds of em he put in there, thousands even, and not more than one in twenty made it past the first year, or so they reckon. All the rich and powerful Roman lords who pissed him off, or else he was after their money and trumped up some phoney charge against them. He was always doing that. 

I remember, I said with a sigh. Nobody was safe.

Too bloody right. Anyhow, he went on, spilling some of the wine as he poured it, one of the things that creep Nero did was, hed hold these parties for all the high-up Romans, and when hed got them trapped in that huge palace of his in Rome, hed make em all sit there for hours and hours while he played his harp at them and sang. Sheer murder it was, by all accounts, because he couldnt play the harp worth pigshit and his voice was something like a cat in an olive press.

So hes doing one of these parties, and there sitting in the front row is this fat old Roman senator. I cant remember his name, not that it matters worth a fart. So this old senators been there for three hours or more, on top of a big dinner with a lot to drink, and the musics going on and on, and finally he cant keep his eyes open a moment longer, and he nods off to sleep and starts snoring. Well, that turd Nero catches sight of him and does his nut, what a terrible insult to his singing and all that crap, and he calls for his guards and sends the poor old fat bloke off for five years in the quarries.

How terrible, I said. Carry on. 

Well, said the carter, a couple of years go by, and one day Neros sitting on his golden throne chatting to some people, and he asks, whatever became of old So-and-so, havent seen him round here in a camels age. Well, of course, everybody gets very twitchy, until someone says, dont you remember, Caesar, you had him chucked down the pit for falling asleep during your wonderful concert.

Now old Nero, hes had a drop to drink already that day, hes feeling a bit soft, so he says, We cant have that, send a messenger and have him released at once. So off the messenger goes, and back he comes with the senator, whos still just about alive but not nearly as porky round the tum as he used to be; and hes still wearing the rags of his senators purple gown, and everybodys real sorry for him, and theres this big sloppy scene where Nero forgives him, and everybodys sobbing their eyes out, and its all fine. But then Nero says, Ive got an idea, lets have a nice party to celebrate old whats-is-names getting out of the can, and everybody thinks, Oh shit, because they know whats coming, but they all say, What a clever idea, Caesar, lets do that. So they bring on the booze, and as soon as everybodys sat down, up gets Nero and he starts doing a concert. Well, hes done one song and hes halfway through the next when the old senator gets to his feet and slowly starts walking out of the room. Neros absolutely furious. He swings round and he says to the senator, Where the bloody hell dyou think youre going? And the senator lets go a great big sad sigh, and he says, Back to the stone quarries, Caesar, where do you think?

I didnt look round and I didnt say a word. Had to bite a dirty great chunk out of my tongue, but I managed it. Anyway, the carter went on, So thats exactly what he did; and every day for the next three years, until Nero finally got what was coming to him and some bugger finally slit his useless throat, which meant all the poor prisoners in the quarries got let out and sent home again, that old senator used to sing that same song, the one Nerod been playing when he walked out, over and over again, till everybody in the quarries and the villages around knew it by heart. Well, he finished with a shrug, I guess folks round here must be the only people in the world who still know any of that fat arseholes music. Reckon you could call that immortal fame, if you were so minded.

 

Immortal fame. That old thing.

Now the other day I was in the market square, leaning up against a booksellers stall reading the Odyssey. Now before you get the wrong impression of me, I wasnt doing it for fun; I was checking some facts for this story Im telling you, though thats by the by Anyhow, theres this really weird bit in the Odyssey, where Ulysses is on his way home from Troy, and its taken him ten years to get nowhere and hes had all kinds of really horrible adventures with monsters eating his friends and now hes been shipwrecked and everybodys dead except him, and he gets washed up on this island that nobody even knew was there. And the locals, who mustve been a damn sight more soft-hearted than most islanders Ive come across, take him to the kings palace, where he gets a cracking good feed and a change of clothes and a nice warm fire to dry out his bonesall without anybody asking who he is, because of course hospitality is its own reward, and a good mans always ready to help out anybody whos in a bad way on the road, regardless of whether the unfortunate guest is a prince or a beggar. Yeah, right. Anyhow, so there he is, incognito, stuffing his face with good wheat bread and cheese, and the palace minstrel gets up and starts singing a song aboutguess whatthe remarkable adventures of the great hero Ulysses, who sailed for home after the fall of Troy, had marvellous adventures, and then was never heard of again.

Immortal fame, see. Ulysses gets to be famous, even while hes still alivebut you can bet your front teeth that the adventures the minstrel was telling the tale about werent anything to do with the real Ulysses. Either it was stuff that had happened to somebody else who wasnt famous, so the minstrel told the story but made it about Ulysses instead, or else he just made it all up out of his head and pretended it was about Ulysses just to make it more interesting.

Same with Lucius Domitius, as Im sure youve figured out for yourselves. Just as the Ulysses listening to the song wasnt the same man as the Ulysses the song was about, so Lucius Domitius was never the Nero Caesar the carters mate told his tale about. Same in my line of work, too. The Galen who tells everybody in the village hes a wealthy cheese importer is just a cheap crook; but for all I know, to this very day there may be people in the arse end of Sicily whore still waiting for Galen the cheesemonger to come back, buy up all the cheeses in town, and make them all suddenly rich, so theyre free and clear, and all their troubles are over. Its like I left a little bit of me behind, and its grown and changed, like a shoot grafted onto a tree, into something with a life of its own. Which is more than Ive ever had, at that.

 

Of course, Lucius Domitius said next morning, after wed left the inn, its a very old story.

Really, I said.

Oh yes. He nodded firmly In fact, its at least four hundred years old. In the earliest version of it Ive come across, its set in the court of Dionysius, who was the dictator of Syracuse back in Platos time.

Oh I said. Its not true, then. I mean, you didnt...

He looked uncomfortable. I never said that, he replied. Im just saying, its an old joke, thats all.

But you didI mean... 

Id rather not talk about it.

Well, it was none of my business. Still, it struck me as a bit farfetched that anybody, even a Roman senator (and theyre all as crazy as a barrelful of polecats), would set himself up for a second term in the slate quarries just for the sake of an apt quotation. Then again, Im just a farm boy from the back end of Attica , so what would I know about Roman noblemen?

Anyway I said, at least we know where were headed. Id done some discreet asking around in the inn, and found out that we were no more than three days

walk from Camarina, and once we got there we stood a fair chance of finding a ship bound for the African coast without having to hang around for too long.

Truth is, I was getting a bit sick of the sight of Sicily As things had turned out, the place had seen us right, but lucks a bit like a heap of rocks piled up on the edge of a cliff directly above your house. It doesnt do to push it.

Three days walk, Lucius Domitius was saying. I dont think these boots are going to make it that far. I say when we reach the next village we buy a couple of mules.

I shook my head. We dont want to do that.

Why the hell not? Weve got money And anyway, we can ride them to Camarina, sell them when we get there, get our money back and save ourselves a walk.

Bad idea, I said.

That annoyed him. What the hells wrong with it? And another thing, he went on. You keep saying, the sooner were off this road the better, before the soldiers come up here looking for us. Well cover the ground a hell of a lot quicker if we ride.

Absolutely not, I said. Well get to Camarina on our own two feet, thank you very much. No mules.

Whats wrong with mules?

He was starting to get on my nerves. I dont like em, all right?

I see. Going to tell me why?

No.

Please yourself.

Actually, theres no secret about it, and Lucius Domitius knew perfectly well, or he should have done if hed ever listened to me over the years. Plain fact is, I cant be doing with mules. I think its got something to do with the time Callistus and me were in Bithynia, and wed done something or other to make ourselves unpopular in this town we were passing through, so much so that some git had called the guard, and we had reasons of our own for not wanting to explain ourselves to a parcel of soldiers right then. But it was all right, because tied up outside the towns knocking shop were these two mules, and we thought, hop on them, wed be out of town and gone long before the soldiers got there. So we help ourselves to these mules, and off we go, and were almost out of the danger area when suddenly my mule decides to stop running and stand there still as a rock, like hed just seen the gorgons head or something, and nothing I could do would get the miserable creature to move. So there I was, shouting and kicking at this completely stationary mule when the soldiers show up, and next thing we know were in the cooler, with stealing mules added to the charge sheet (and stealing livestock on its ownll get you strung up in Bithynia, which is a horrible place at the best of times, you just take my word for it). Anyway, thats me and mules. Now if Lucius Domitius had said donkeys or an ox-cart or even horses, I might well have said, yes, fine, because Id far rather ride than walk any day of the month. But mulesno way on earth, never again.

So we went on walking, and at the end of that day we fetched up in this town.

Proper-sized place it was, with two inns, bathhouse, bakehouse, even its own diddy little theatre and racetrack. Another time Id have said, lets hang around here a day or so, see if we cant work a decent fiddle. But we had money in our purses and what I was interested in after a hard days walking wasnt sizing up marks, it was getting my boots off and resting my feet on a footstool for a few hours. So we put in at the less evil-looking of the two inns, paid cash in advance for a jug of the local poison and a couple of plates of pot luck, and settled down for an evening of lounging around like a couple of gentlemen.

Its important when youre doing what we were doing always to make sure you keep in character. Like, if youre being a cheese merchant and you blow into a new town, youve got to spend some time asking about the local cheeses, doing deals, whatever. Otherwise, two gets you one that someonell tell someone else, We had two cheese buyers in our place the other day but they didnt seem to be very interested, and you can be sure that the bloke they say this to is a captain of guards or a market commissioner whos been after us for days, and hell ask his mate: These two strangers, they wouldnt happen to be a rat-faced little Greek and an Italian with a neck like an ox, and next thing you know, were getting our collars felt.

So the very least I could do was start asking round the inn about cheese, and who had any for sale, and once Id got the point across I was suddenly knee-deep in farmers again, not to mention the steward from a big estate, all trying to get me to go up their place next morning and try a slice or two. So I was saying yes, wed really like to do that, only were pressed for time a little bit, anxious to get to the coast as soon as possible to be sure of catching our boat home before it leaves without us, but wed be back in a month or so, and maybe thend be a good time to go round looking at stuff. They all seemed happy enough at that, kept promising me that itd be worth my while, because each and every one of em just happened to produce the finest cheeses in Sicily for flavour and texture and God only knows what else. All in all, I did more work that evening than your genuine cheese merchant does in a week, and not a green copper to show for it at the end, of course. Strikes me, if Id put half the time and effort into being an honest businessman that Ive put into lying and swindling over the years, Id be a rich man by now, with my own villa by the sea, drinking wine from my own vineyards. But there you go.

Needless to say, Lucius Domitius wasnt pulling his weight in all thisfair play to him, it wasnt his job, since he was being the humble and self-effacing slave, sitting quiet in the corner with his jug of etching fluid and his half-loaf of barley bread. Credit where its due, over the years hed got it about perfectnot that theres a lot to it, sitting still and keeping your face shutbut he had talent, no doubt about it. Sometimes, when he was really putting his heart and soul into his performance, Id look round for him and not even see him till he stood up, he was that good. No, his job (aside from just being, like slaves do) was keeping his ears open, picking up the little stray snatches of conversation that can make all the difference in our line of work.

It could be anything: some clown shooting his mouth off, suggesting hed be a good mark; something we could use in a scam, like theres these merchants expected in town with letters of credit, but theyre strangers, so nobody knows what they look like; advance warning, like the prefects cracking down on tall-story men, or someone wed had dealings with before is arriving on the next boat.

So, when Id done my rounds and it was time to go to bed, we went out into the yard, like we had horses to see to or something, and I asked him if there was anything doing.

Too right, he said, with a worried look on his face. Theres a Roman senator on his way, visiting his estates or something. Wed better clear out first thing.

I could see his point, of course. A Roman senator would know the former emperor of the Romans by sight. Now I wasnt as bothered about that as he was. I know for a fact that most people only ever see what they expect to see, and none of your purple-stripe boys would ever expect to see a dead Caesar togged out like a garlic-nibbler in a country inn in the back end of Sicily Rich men dont see slaves, unless they want them for something, and even if this senator happened to notice Lucius Domitius and see the resemblance, hed just think, Oh look, theres a slave who looks a bit like Nero. He might mention it to his chums or write a poem about it, but youd never get him to believe. No way But yes, it wasnt worth the risk. After all, there wasnt anything we wanted to do there, itd just mean hauling ourselves out of bed at first light instead of having a lie-in. No big deal. All right, I said. Any idea where this characters coming in from? Syracuse, presumably

He jerked his head up, Greek style (nice touch). They didnt say, he replied.

Oh well. I shrugged. Like I said, I wasnt really worried. Well keep going for Camarina. Well just make sure were on the road bright and early Dont suppose his lordships going to shift his aristocratic bum while the dews still on the grass.

So, come cock-crow, we were up and washed and ready to go. Paid the landlord, slipped out before the stable-boys started work, no fuss. Just to be on the safe side, Id given in to Lucius Domitius whining and splashed out on a couple of mules. Wed cover half as much ground again riding as walking, and a man Id got talking to the night before had offered me a pretty good deal on them. It was a pleasant enough morning, the road was good and flat for a change, and I was explaining to Lucius Domitius why Mauretania was such a good idea. A couple of hours down the road and Id forgotten all about the Roman senator.

Well, you couldnt fault my logic, could you? Id done my best:

figured it all out, weighed up the odds, chosen what seemed like the sensible way of handling the situation. Short of having Pallas Athene come to me in a dream and tell me my fortune, I dont see how I couldve been expected to see what was going to happen. Thats whats so unfair about life. You follow the proper drill, do it all right, you ought to be able to expect that thingsll go your way and you wont end up knee deep in the shit.

No warning, of course. One minute we were walking our mules up a gentle little hill; the next, over the brow comes this bloody great procession, coming straight at us. Nowhere to hide, we were right out in the open, nothing else on the road for a mile behind us.

Your Roman senators, being the richest men the world has ever seen, theyve got to find stuff to spend all that money on. You and me, we reckon were ahead of the game if weve got enough to eat for today and tomorrow, and a change of clothes if were really lucky. For your Roman senator, lifes never that simple.

If he stays at home, hes got to have a villa the size of Troy , with enough footmen and houseboys to man a full-strength legion. If he goes anywhere, its either a coach with six milk-white horses, or a sedan chair carried by eight identical Germans, with the labours of Hercules in full relief on the doors, picked out in gold leaf. Nor is there any risk of his lordship getting lonely as he travels from A to B. Aside from his four coachmen or his eight bearers, theres his valets and his secretaries and the two Syrians who wipe the snot off his chin when he sneezes, and a half battalion of bodyguards with great big clubs just m case the King of Persia decided to sneak up behind him with his entire army and try to steal his ivory pedicure set.

So there we were, the two of us, and bearing down on us like Hannibal and all his elephants was this column: footsloggers at the front, then two blokes with the bundles of rods and axes (showing that this one was some kind of high-up government official as well as a rich bastard), then a dozen cavalry outriders, then the coach, and another wagon behind that, presumably to carry his worships clean underwear.

Now what you do in a situation like that is you get off the road as quick as you can, doffing your hat and looking down hard at your feet, to show you know your place. This is no bother to me, I dont mind it in the least, and Id have been happy as a pig in shit to do the usual thing and carry on my way a few moments later. Unfortunately, it was taken out of my hands, so to speak, by my goddamned contrary mule.

I knew, as soon as I tugged on the useless creatures bridle and my arm nearly came out of its socket, I knew I should never have let myself get talked into breaking my number-one rule of survival in the cold, cruel world: no fucking mules. Needless to say, as soon as mine dropped anchor, Lucius Domitius did the same. So there we were, obstructing the highway, and the Roman getting closer to us every moment.

The front man was yelling at us, Get those bloody animals off the road. Well, that was helpful. I was hauling away with every last bit of strength I had (but that wasnt worth much, a skinny little runt like me) and so was Lucius Domitius; and if he couldnt shift his mule, what chance did I have?

Well, the procession came to a dead stop about a foot from my big toe, and it was pretty obvious that they werent pleased. The footsloggers grabbed us and shoved us out of the way I landed on my bum; Lucius Domitius banged his head on the paved road. Then they tried to shift the mules, but they didnt have any luck either. One of the cavalrymen rode up, but my mule mustve said something nasty in Horse, because his fine white mare suddenly got all skittish and tried to buck him off over her head. Then the carriage door opened and this perfectly round head appeared, shouting, Whats the hold-up? Whats going on? Wonderful, wed met the senator.

The lead thug shouted back, trying to explain. Its these mules, sir, they wont budge.

The senator frowned and thought for a moment. Kill them, he said. I havent got all day

So the cavalryman hops off his horse, gives the reins to a thug to hold, strides up drawing his sword, and slices it across my mules neck, just like that.

Before the poor thing hit the deck hed done the same to the other one, and a moment later the footmen had got both carcasses dragged onto the side of the road out of the way Problem solved.

Well, Id have been quite happy to leave it at that. But your Roman senators a devil for fair play when you dont want him to be. He had his people bring us over, and there we were, looking up at him, hemmed in on all sides by his flunkeys so we couldnt make a run for it.

Sorry about that, said the senator, staring over the tops of our heads as if looking straight at us wouldve made his eyes dirty. But Im in a hurry, official business. Give these men a fair price for their animals.

Some Greek in a flashy green tunic hops down out of the coach and sticks money in our hands. I didnt even bother to look. I was keeping my eyes on the toes of my sandals, and praying Lucius Domitius had the good sense to do the same. I was waiting to hear the click of the carriage door shutting, maybe someone shoving us out of the way, but nothing happened. Finally, I looked up.

The senator was looking me over like he was out fishing and hed found me in his net. Dont I know you from somewhere? he said.

Shit, I thought. I dont think so, sir, I said. Im sure I havent had the honour.

He wasnt buying it. Im sure I know you, he said. Have you been to Rome?

I shook my head. Never, sir.

Youre sure about that?

Bloody silly question, like its something thatd slip your mind. Positive, sir. My name.. ., Screw me, I couldnt remember what my name was supposed to be.

Pittacus, I remembered, just in time before it looked funny Im a cheesemonger, sir, from Mauretania.

The senator clapped his hands together. That must be it, then, he said. I served there on my last posting. Whereabouts in Mauretania do you come from?

I didnt look round, but I could feel great waves of hate crashing into me from Lucius Domitius direction. Icosium, sir, I answered, mostly because it was the only place in Mauretania I could think of.

Really The senator was beaming. I know it well. And youre a cheesemonger, you say So what are you doing in Sicily?

Given the choice, Id rather have been eaten alive by beetles than carry on this conversation. Sadly, nobody gave me the option.

Buying, sir, I said. Stock.

Oh. The senator frowned. How odd. Is there a market for Sicilian cheese in Iconium?

I nodded. Oh yes, sir, they cant get enough of it. Goes like shit off a shovel, sir, pardon the expression.

Really He shook his head. How peculiar, when the local variety is such a delicacy I dont remember ever seeing Sicilian cheese for sale when I was there.

Bastard, I thought. Its a new thing, sir, I said, very new Fashion, you know

Oh well. He thought for a moment, then rubbed his nose on the back of his hand. Well, anyway, that explains that. I knew Id seen you before, you know Never forget a face.

Then, mercifully, the carriage door slammed and the procession moved on. I was still clutching the coin Id been given. Dont suppose two strong men with crowbars couldve prised my fingers apart, I was that tense. I stayed there without moving till the last man had disappeared over the brow of the hill.

Do you know who that was?

Id clean forgotten about Lucius Domitius. Stinking fucking bastard Roman, I replied, thats who that was. I opened my fist and saw what Id been give: a whacking great gold piece, enough to buy a whole string of mules. Bastard, I repeated.

Then Lucius Domitius was grabbing me by my shirt, twisting the collar so I could hardly breathe. Do you know who that was? he hissed.

Let go of me, you lunatic, I said. What the hell are you throttling me for? 

He let go, but he was bright red in the face. That, he said, was him. The senator.

Yes, Id gathered that.

No, you clown. The senator. Him. The one I sent to the slate quarries.

Four
Once, a long time ago now, I was in Egypt or one of those places, broke as a tinkers fiddle, to the point where I was hanging round the market looking for actual work, and this fat bloke wearing what looked like a carpet came up to me and asked me did I fancy being a beater in a lion hunt? And the answer was, obviously, no, but if the job paid money, count me in; and next thing I knew, I was standing in this long line of people, all deadbeats and losers like me, and we were walking across this slice of desert rattling sticks and bashing old copper pans and making a hell of a racket. When wed been doing this for a very long time, out of a little clump of scraggy bushes jumps this lion. Well, he takes one look at us and bolts off the other way, which is exactly what Id have done in his place, and hes running flat out, thinking, well, that was easy, when suddenly the ground gave way under his feet and there he was at the bottom of this deep pit, which the hunt people had dug the previous day and covered over with dry grass and bits of twig.

Im only telling you this because I knew exactly how that poor bugger felt. One moment hes doing fine, showing the bad guys a clean pair of heels; the next, everythings turned to horseshit and hes comprehensively stuffed. Just like that time with Lucius Domitius and me in Sicily

Youre kidding, I said.

Lucius Domitius looked at me. Yes, he said, Im pulling your leg. Thats my idea of a funny joke. Pull yourself together, will you? That was him. Gnaeus Sulpicius Asper, the poor sod I sent to the slate quarries. He waved his hands like he was trying to shake them off his arms. Weve had it, he said. This time, weve finally run out of fools luck. Were dead.

I could see where he was coming from, but even so. Dont talk soft, I told him. Sure, it got a bit warm back there, but we got away with it. Take a couple of deep breaths, and everythingll be fine.

He just looked at me.

Oh for Gods sake, I said. Look, he thinks Im an African cheese dealer, this time tomorrow hell have forgotten the whole thing. All weve got to do is keep out of his way, and thats the end of it.

He didnt say anything, which was a really bad sign. Well, I wasnt putting up with that. Its all your fault, anyhow, I told him. You were the one who insisted on bloody mules. Havent I always told you, no mules, not ever? And did you listen?

He didnt look like he was in the mood to talk about mules. He stood there for a moment or so, making an effort to stop quivering. Then he said, All right, which way?

What?

Which way do we go now? Straight on, or back the way we came?

Talk sense, I told him. Obviously, we keep heading for Camarina. Seaport, boat out of here, simple as that. Why, what did you have in mind?

He shook his head. Sorry, he said, my brains stopped working. Yes, lets do that. You never know, we might still get away with it.

We didnt talk much the rest of the day, which was probably just as well. He was just plain miserable. I was trying to think ahead, figure out the sort of unforeseen shitmines we might stroll into, but for the life of me I couldnt think of any, apart from a company of cavalry thundering down the road after us because his lordship had just remembered where hed seen Lucius Domitius before.

Nothing we could do about that if it happened. The trouble with Sicily is its all open country. You cant just duck off the highway and hide out in the bush when you catch sight of a nasty-looking dust-cloud coming up the road behind you. Its all just fields full of dirt-scratchers just waiting to say, They went that way, to any passing cavalryman. But that was all right, because it wasnt going to happen, for the reasons I just explained. His lordship wasnt going to turn round suddenly and say, Bugger me, that slave we just passed in the road was Nero in disguise. Things dont happen like that. Looked at calmly, there was nothing to worry about.

So we kept on down the road, walking as fast as we could go, and come evening we crawled into yet another poxy little Sicilian town and parked ourselves in yet another poxy little Sicilian inn. This time, I didnt do the cheesemonger bit; in fact, we kept our faces resolutely shut on the whole subject of cheese, and you dont need to be told why We found a quiet corner, tried to make ourselves look as unfriendly as possible, and rested our feet.

There were a couple of carters behind us, talking to someone I couldnt see.

Naturally I started earwigging, because its second nature.

Just arrived, one of the carters was saying. Dont know what to make of the bastard yet, but chances are hell be no better and no worse than the other bastard. Theyre all pretty much alike, anyhow

His mate laughed. Not so sure about that, he said. Reckon this one might have a bit of an attitude, at least to start off with. You heard about his son?

The other carter and the bloke we couldnt see hadnt heard, so he told them.

What I heard was, his son arrived a few days ahead of his old man, wanted to do a bit of hunting or whatever before knuckling down to his job on Daddys staff.

Anyway, a couple of days ago he was out wandering about in the villages, and he only goes and gets himself robbed, the dozy young sod.

Get away, said one of the others.

Damn straight. What I heard was, they snuck up behind him when he wasnt looking, smacked him over the head, took the lot. Even the clothes he was wearing. He sighed. Well, you can guess what thatll mean. The new governor hasnt even taken office yet, and his sons the victim of a brutal robbery. Its going to mean soldiers everywhere, random stop-and-searches, and if you cant prove youre on legitimate business, in the guardhouse you go till they can find someone wholl vouch for you. The man we couldnt see grunted, like he was saying, Thats right, thats whatll happen. I mean, itll wear off after a few months, I dare say, specially if they get the toerags who did it, but dont be surprised if things are a bit tense for a while.

The other two seemed to find it all pretty amusing. What, they even nicked his boots, did they?

So I heard. The kid reckons he didnt see them, but some blokes in the fields saw a couple of dodgy-looking strangers acting a bit funnybig, broad, thick-necked Italian type, and a little Greek bloke with a face like a ferret.

Word is, theyre a couple of those convicts who did in the guards on the way to the quarries; there were two blokes answering those descriptions in that batch. 

Ah, said the one who hadnt said anything yet, presumably the bloke I couldnt see. That explains that then. Only, our sergeant was saying something about going and checking out some village where theyd seen a couple of strangers, and none of us knew what it was in aid of. Thatll be it then.

So there we were, Lucius Domitius and me, not daring to move in case this bloke whod turned out to be a soldier looked up and saw us. Luckily, they all pushed off not long afterwards. We gave them a count of twenty, and got out of the inn quick.

The hayloft seemed a safe bet, for the time being, so we went there. This is terrible, Lucius Domitius said. I cant believe it. Its like someones doing it deliberately

It was my turn to sit quiet. I like to be upbeat about things, but this was beyond me.

Really, he went on, if it wasnt so fucking awful, itd be hilarious. Weve got one lot of bogies after us for murdering Roman soldiers and escaping from the quarries; weve got the governor about to put two and two together and send his personal guards out after us; and now it turns out that you stole the shirt youre wearing from the governors son. Between that lot, every single soldier in the entire Roman armys going to be looking for us by this time tomorrow He made a funny sort of gurgling noise. Its amazing, he said. Just like that, weve turned into the most desperate criminals in Sicilian history, and we havent even done anything.

Normally Id have pointed out the bright side, but there wasnt one. You got any ideas? I asked, which shows how depressed I was feeling.

Sure, he said. Lets kill ourselves and save them the trouble. About the only good thing I can see in all this is that well have been crucified as common criminals long before Sulpicius Asper figures out who I am, which means Ill be spared all that really nasty stuff they promised to do to me if they ever caught me. Thank heaven for small mercies, really.

Hold your bloody water, I snapped at him. They havent got us yet. Therell be a way out of this, you wait and see. Theres always a way out, so long as you dont lose your nerve, and have faith.

Really. He looked at me as if I was something hed found in an apple. Next youre going to tell me youve been in worse fixes than this.

Well, yes, I told him. And so have you. Its not so long since we were in a cart on our way to the quarries, and look at us now Free and clear. No reason why we shouldnt stay that way, so long as we stay cool and dont panic.

I thought he was going to shout at me, but he didnt. All right, then, he said, so whats the big idea this time?

Im not sure. Probably the best bet would be the original plan. We cant be all that far from Camarina by now If we could just get on a boat, all our troublesd be over. But, I went on, Ive got a gut feeling that thatd be a bad idea.

Like, if they already know out here about us stealing the kids clothes, its more than likely theyve sent riders all along the coast telling the bogies to watch out for us, so Gamarina could be putting our heads in a noose.

Lucius Domitius nodded slowly. Makes sense, he said. So, whats the alternative

Head inland, I said, maybe. Its what theyre not expecting us to do, so thats in its favour. On the other hand, it wont be long before everybody on this islands going to be looking out for us, especially if they put up a reward. Well be strangers wherever we go, so well stick out like a boil on a camels bum. If this was back home Id say head for the mountains. I know loads of caves and places like that around Phyle where a bloke could stay out of sight for months. But wandering about in these hills would be asking for trouble

assuming we could get across the plains without some bugger seeing us, which isnt likely.

Bloody hell, said Lucius Domitius thoughtfully And youre the cheerful one.

Im right, arent I? Were dead.

No were not, I said. It just needs thinking about, thats all.

Thats all, he repeated. Well, fine. You get thinking. Personally, Im going to try prayer.

So there I was, in this hayloft in Sicily, trying to think of some simple but ingenious way of staying alive, and I guess I mustve thought so hard I sprained my brain and knocked myself out, because next thing I knew, I was waking up, with sunlight pouring in through the loft door.

Now it could be that Id been thinking in my sleep, or maybe Lucius Domitius

prayers had got through for once and the gods sent me the answer in a dream.

Dunno. And I dont suppose it makes a blind bit of difference. The point is, as soon as I woke up, I knew. Simple as that.

Hey, I called out. You there?

I heard him grunt and turn over. Wassmatter?

Ive got it, I said. Our way out of here.

He groaned. Whenever you get that confident, self-assured expression in your voice, I know Im in for a bad time. Go on, then, whats your brilliant idea?

Just as well Im the thick-skinned type, or I might have taken offence. Shut your face and listen, I said. Wheres the last place theyd think of looking for us?

He thought for a moment. Ecbatana, he replied. But thats no good, its three thousand miles away I pretended I hadnt heard that. Whos looking for us? I asked. Soldiers, thats who. So, what we need to do is we need to be soldiers. I mean, I went on, when you look at a soldier, what do you see? You see the armour, the shiny helmet, the red cloak, the big shield, all that. Never look at his face, do you? I mean, you cant see much more than the tip of his nose past those big cheekpieces, and besides, you dont bother to look. Its like I keep telling you when you worry about being recognisedpeople see what they expect to see. They look at a man sat on the curule chair, they see the emperor. They look at a bloke dressed as a slave, they see a slave. And a bloke in armour, with a red cloak...

He stared at me like I was dribbling. Are you out of your tiny mind? he said.

Also, I said, there you are sitting outside an inn, or herding your cows, or spitting up your field, and these two blokes come up to you, in uniform, asking if youve seen two blokes. Its never going to occur to you that the blokes asking the question are the blokes theyre looking for.

He scratched his head. Say that again, he said. Slowly

We dress up as soldiers, I said. We pretend were looking for us. Think about it.

He thought about it. Just one problem, he said. Where are we going to get two sets of army kit from? Or were you thinking of strolling up to the barracks and asking the quartermaster sergeant if hes got anything in our size?

I shook my head. Dont worry about that, I said, Ive got that all sussed.

Least of our problems. So, what do you think?

He had this look on his face like he had really bad wind. I dont know, he said. Its so bloody stupid, we might just get away with it. But

Thats settled, then. All right, lets get going. No point sitting here waiting to get caught.

 

Now if youre racking your brains trying to figure out my brilliant plan for getting hold of two sets of infantry uniform, youre in good company, because so was I. Oh, I know Id told Lucius Domitius Id got it all worked out, but that was a little white lie, because otherwise hed have kicked up a fuss and wed never have got anywhere. As we climbed down out of that loft, Ive got to say, I didnt have much idea of how to go about it. Well, I was pretty much resigned to the fact that we were probably going to have to bend the law a bit, but apart from that, I was trying to keep an open mind, as it were.

My first thought was that Lucius Domitius crack about the quartermaster sergeant wasnt as dumb as hed tried to make it sound. Its a well-known fact that the Roman army is there for two reasons: to keep the peace, and to get ripped off by anything that moves. If youve got a dying horse, or three tons of mildewed beans, what do you do? Sell em to the military. Or suppose youre a building contractor, or youve got a factory making hobnails. Whos your favourite customer, the one you know you can screw over any day of the week? The boys in red. And if theres anything you want, and the armys got it, all you need to do is buy the quartermaster or the stores clerk a drink, and you can call round the barracks with a wheelbarrow and the soldiersll help you load it up. I love the army Really its enough to make me wish I paid taxes.

Only trouble with that as a game plan was that I didnt know where the nearest barracks was, and for some reason I wasnt keen on the idea of wandering round town asking people the way A pity, but youve got to be realistic. So I remembered what my old mother used to tell us when we were kids: what you cant buy, steal.

Well, thats all right to say, but I didnt like the idea of following a half platoon of squaddies down a dark alley and mugging them for their kit. A direct frontal assault was out, I reckoned. That just left stealth. And that was when I started to wish that when I was young and starting out in life, Id had the chance to knuckle down and learn a trade. You see, its one thing hooking a cloak and a belt off some young git while hes shagging the local fauna.

Tickling off the military, on the other hand, is skilled work. You need to have had a decent education if you want to play that sort of game.

Still, it was all I could come up with, so I applied my mind and thought it through: when do soldiers take their kit off? Answer:

they dont much, and if you dont believe me, stroll up to the next sentry you see and take a good sniff. And then I thought, Galen, youre thinking small again, itll be the death of you, your lack of vision. True, your bacon-chewing, fiat-footed Mule of Marius only sheds his togs twice, his wedding night and his funeral. Your officers, on the other hand, are a cut above that. Theyre gentlemen. They wash.

Now then, I told Lucius Domitius, keep your eyes peeled for the bathhouse.

He looked at me and started whining, but I was expecting that. Oh for Gods sake, he said, youre not planning on tickling for the stuff, are you? Dont you ever learn? Thats what got us into this mess in the first place.

Sure, I said. Its like the old country saying: fuck-ups are like a door, they get you in and then they get you out again. Now, were going to need a long pole, and something we can use for a hook.

No.

And some string, I added, because Im dead keen on attention to detail. Start looking.

The long pole was easy You know those things shopkeepers use for snuffing the lamps outside their shops? We found one of them, just leaning up against a wall.

The hook was a bit harder. I figured a pot hook would do, but all the ones we saw had pots hanging off them, and itd have taken too long to snaffle them.

Just when I was getting nervous strolling through the market holding a long stolen pole, we saw this ironmongers stall, and there on his table was a row of brand new meathooks, still black from the fire. There, I said. Just the job.

Lucius Domitius looked worried. How the hell are we going to steal one of them, he said, with the bloke standing there watching? And if you say start a diversion

Dont be stupid, I told him. Weve got money, remember. We buy one.

So we did, and then we snuck round the back of a butchers shop and unpicked a yard of thread from the hem of Lucius Domitius tunic, and used that to tie the hook on the pole. Of course, that made another problem. Its not smart to wander round the place with a hook tied on a long stick, asking people the way to the public baths. In the end, all I could think of was tearing the sleeve off Lucius Domitius tunic and wrapping it round the hook. A bit obvious, youd have thought, but we got away with it.

Luckily, the baths in that town werent hard to find: posh new building, probably only been up a year or so. It was still fairly early in the morning, early enough for there to be a fair chance of catching an officer preening himself before setting out for a days shouting at the men. (Now if youre smart, youll have noticed that suddenly Im talking about one officer, singular. That was the clever bit. Your officer, of course, wouldnt dream of leaving the camp and going into town without his faithful batman trotting along at his side. The only drawback was that I was going to have to be the slave this time; but Id seen that one coming. After all, say what you like about Lucius Domitius, he was a Roman aristocrat, something I could never pass myself off as in a thousand years.)

When will they ever learn, these bathhouse keepers? Anywhere you go, from Hibernia to Sarmatia, every bathhouse you see, youll find a little window round the back just the right position and height like its been put there specially for the local ticklers. Actually, thats not far off the truth. The architects will tell you its there to let the hot air out, or some such garbage. Truth is, the bathhouse keepers get a slice of the action from the ticklers, and everybodys happy Quick scout round first. Nobody about, so I hopped up on Lucius Domitius

shoulders, stuck my head through the window and looked to see what I could see.

It was promising. I had a direct line into the changing room and, sure enough, among all the gowns and tunics I caught sight of a nice shiny Greek-style breastplate, all gilded and cute, the way the rich boys like them. Better still, there was nobody about, apart from a doddery old wreck of a changing-room attendant, and he was having a quiet kip in the corner. It was all too good to be true. Well, no point hanging around. I stuck my tickling pole through the window, and it reached just fine. Then it was simply a matter of poking about until I got the hook round one of the breastplate straps and reeling the bugger in, and all our troubles would be over.

Well, almost. Probably youre way ahead of me. A breastplate, youre thinking, thats a bloody heavy thing to winkle out of a building on a long, thin pole.

Too right, only I hadnt thought of that. I did manage to get the rotten thing halfway across the room before the leverage ripped it out of my hands and it went clattering on the marble floor, making a row like the battle of Marathon.

Even the changing-room guard couldnt sleep through that. Up he jumped, looked round, saw the breastplate on the deck, rocking backwards and forwards, while the hook end of my pole was disappearing through the window Naturally, he makes a grab for the pole, and of course he misses, but the stinking hook gets snagged in his sleeve. So theres me, hauling like a fisherman on a good day, dragging this old fart across the floor by his sleeve.

He starts yelling bloody murder, and straight away the changing room starts filling up with angry-looking blokes, not a stitch on, of course, but all of them baying for my blood.

Well, I had the wit to let go of the pole, but that put me off balance. I rocked to and fro for a second, then I slowly toppled off Lucius Domitius

shoulders and landed hard on my kneecap on the pointy cobbles. Lucius Domitius fell over too, and there we were, sprawled on the floor howling with pain, while inside the building some evil shit starts hollering for the guard.

This would have been an ideal time to hop it, quick, only Id buggered up my knee by falling on it and I couldnt move. Lucius Domitius didnt seem much better off, but nonetheless he hops up, grabs me like Im a sack of charcoal, swings me over his shoulder and sets off as fast as his legs can carry us.

Fair play to him. Probably he thought he was being brave and noble, like that bloke in the poem who carries his old dad on his shoulders to safety out of the burning ruins of Troy Unfortunately, it didnt quite work out that way After about a dozen steps, Lucius Domitius legs caved in under him and we both go crashing to the floor. Goes without saying, I pitch on my buggered knee. All I can think about is how much it hurts; Lucius Domitius is scrabbling around trying to get me off him so he can get up. Hardly surprising, were still there thrashing about when out pop the guards.

Of course, the first thing they do when they see us is burst out laughing. The second thing is they scoop us up by the scruff and drag us inside, me still howling about my knee, Lucius Domitius calling me a bunch of stuff he never learned from Seneca. All in all, we were in a bit of a state.

(Now youd have thought that, what with me being a bit of a philosopher, Id have handled this unfortunate reversal with calm dignity. Sorry to disappoint you, but I didnt. First, Im not that much of a philosopher. Second, its hard to be dignified and calm when youve got three soldiers dragging you along by your ankles while youre frantically trying to cling on to the doorposts. Try it, and youll see what I mean.)

 

Anyway, there we were, in a cell in the lockup in this poxy little town in Sicily, and this time, believe it or not, I really did think wed had it. Your Roman soldier may not be a genius; in fact, it takes all his concentration to eat a dish of beans without half of them going up his nose, but it seemed a pretty safe bet that sooner or later they were going to look at us and think:

big, thick-necked Italian, small scrawny Greek with a face like a polecat, and realise theyd just earned themselves a promotion. Then itd be up in front of the magistrate, and it wouldnt matter a toss whether Lucius Domitius got recognised or not, we were facing enough capital charges to kill a legion.

Speaking as one who already knew how it feels to get roped up on a cross with the sergeant swinging the big wooden mallet I told you about earlier, Ive got to admit I wasnt happy

Its all your fault, I told Lucius Domitius. You should have told me trying to tickle a breastplate was a bloody stupid idea.

He looked at me, then shook his head and lay down on the floor.

Really, I said, I rely on you to do that. Yes, I know sometimes I get an idea and Im all carried away with it, but thats where you come in, its your job to say, dont be so bloody daft, Galen, thats a terrible idea. And you didnt. And thats how come were in this mess.

Go to hell, he said.

Yes, right, I replied. Because of you, thats exactly what Im about to do, thank you ever so much. Id been pacing up and down but there didnt seem any point, and besides, the cell was too small for serious pacing. Lucius Domitius, I said, you ever think about that?

About what?

You know, I said. What happens to us when we die. Well, what do you reckon?

He yawned. Cant say Ive given it much thought.

That struck me as a bit poor. Oh really, I said. Thats funny, because I seem to remember that in the old days you were the supreme high priest and in charge of all the religion right across the empire. Seems to me you cant have been doing your job properly, in that case.

True.

I wasnt having that. I really wanted to have an argument about something.

Bloody hell, I said, thats a fine thing to say If anybody ought to know about religion and stuff, its you. Your uncles a god, for pitys sake. Come to that, half your rotten family are gods. I thought about that for a moment.

Here, I said, do you think that when we fetch up on the other side theyll put in a good word for us?

I doubt it, he said. All my relatives always hated me. Even the ones I didnt have executed. He sighed. My uncles going to be convinced I murdered him; and even if he isnt, I dont think hell be too happy about what I did to his wife. Who was also, he added, his niece. So I dont think we can count on him being very sympathetic. Now, who does that leave? Well, theres my great-great-great-grandfather Augustus, he was very fond of my grandfather, so there may be a bit of hope there. On the other hand, he was always bloody strict, so Ive heard. If he knows about me playing the lyre in public, hell have me in Tartarus before you can say knife. That just leaves his uncle Julius, and he was a vicious bastard at the best of times. He yawned again. If I were you, as soon as we get there, Id pretend you arent with me. Itll probably make things a lot easier for you.

Thanks a lot, I said; then I paused. So you really believe in all that, then?

He laughed. No, of course not, he said. My great-uncle Claudius cant be a god; he needed two footmen and a surgeon every time he had a shit. Besides which, I dont think Ive ever really believed in the gods. Its all just politics, as far as I can see.

Shut up, for crying out loud, I shouted, and I spat into the fold of my tunic for luck. Thats a bloody stupid thing to say at the best of times, and the way were fixed right now .. . Well, I couldnt believe it. Of all the things to say What if Jupiter had heard, or one of the others?

Calm down. He sighed. One things for sure, Im going to find out the answer pretty soon, one way or another. So wheres the point in speculating about it now?

He was starting to get on my nerves. Could make all the difference in the world, I said. Like, I heard about one lot who reckon that so long as you tell the gods youre sorry for all the bad stuff you did just before you die, you get to go straight to the Elysian Fields, just the same as if youd been good all your life. If theres any truth in that, it could be important.

He shook his head. I dont think so. That wouldnt make any sense. You could be an absolute shit for seventy years, likewell, like my greatgreatgreat-uncle Tiberius, for example, and so long as you had a moment or so to apologise before you snuffed it, youd be free and clear. Itd be chaos.

Something had been striking me as odd, and I finally realised what it was.

Youre being very calm about all this. Usually when were about to die you go all to pieces.

Yes, he admitted. But this time itswell, so final, if you see what I mean. All the pieces slotting into place, if you like. Its got to mean that this time we really have come to the end of the road. Somehow, that doesnt bother me nearly as much as when I still believe, somewhere deep down, that we might be getting out alive after all. Theres a lot to be said for not panicking. I wish Id known about it before.

I shrugged. Ill say this for you, back in the old days youd never have been this calm.

True, he said. But in the old days I had something to live for.

Whats that supposed to mean?

Oh for pitys sake, Galen, look at me. Look at what Ive turned into, ever since we ended up in Phaons cellar. Im a joke. Im dressed in rags, Ive got hands like the soles of a boot, Im sunburnt up to the shoulder, I spend my life running away from soldiers and sleeping in ditches, and all Ive got in the way of human companionship is you. Call that a life? Why the hell should I be bothered about losing something like that? If it was a punishment, I wouldnt do it to my worst enemy I breathed out slowly Im going to pretend you didnt say any of that, I said.

Im going to pretend that even if you did say it, you didnt mean it, youre just ranting away because deep inside, youre scared out of your mind and its making you say the first thing that comes into your head. All right?

Suit yourself. I still reckon its a pretty poor go when Ive got to spend my last hours in this life locked up in a cell with you. When I think how it used to be... He stopped and sighed. Actually, he said, Ill tell you a secret. I hated having to be emperor.

Bullshit, I said.

No, absolutely straight. It was a foul life, and I loathed it.

Sure, I said. All that partying and boozing and screwing around. You only did it because you had to.

He laughed. Thats not far off the mark, believe it or not. It seemed to be the thing to do. Id spend all day in the law courts hearing appeals, or in some meeting with advisersadvisers, thats a joke, they were telling me what to do. Thats when they bothered to let me know what they were up to. Oh, they were very polite, it was always, May I suggest, Caesar, and Perhaps you might consider doing this, Caesar, but if I came up with something I wanted to do, or I suggested a way of dealing with whatever it was, it was as though they hadnt heard me. And then there was the endless bitching and fighting, wherever my mother was concerned. I reckon she fed on melodrama, like a bee on honey And then, at the end of the day, in would come all my so-called friendsthough I wouldnt trust them not to steal snot, they were an evil bunchand then Id be obliged to go out with them, getting drunk and beating people up in the street.

I think I only went along with it because it was the exact opposite of what Id been doing all day only it wasnt. It was the other side of the same coin, another thing that was expected of me. And so finally I thought, what is it I really want to do, and I knew, I wanted to write poetry and music and perform in front of people. Can you believe it? All I wanted to do was stuff any tarts son can do but I wasnt allowed to. Well, I made up my mind, I wasnt having that

it was Callistus who helped me do that. He said, if theres something you want to do, then you go right ahead and do it, and to the crows with what anybody thinks. And I was just starting to get the hang of it when Galba shows up and suddenly Im hiding in cellars.

My heart bleeds.

He wasnt listening. Ill tell you another thing that damned near broke my heart, he went on. Every time I played something or sang something, itd always be the same, even if Id played like an elephant and sung like a crow, everybody in the room would start clapping and cheering and carrying on like I was Apollo himself, and the only reason they clapped was because they were afraid for their lives, didnt want to end up in the slate quarries, like Sulpicius Asper. And you know what? he went on. That just wasnt fair, because

well, Im not Homer or Pindar or Anacreon, Im not even Virgil or that smug little creep Ovid, and my voice is all right but nothing special, even when I was young and everybody was telling me how wonderful I was, I knew that. But some of my stuff was good, I know that too. Once or twice, just occasionally, I got it right and I produced something with some quality to it, but nobody plays my stuff now, of course, and everybody thinks it must all have been rubbish, and thats simply not fair. Like I said, if Id had the camp whore for a mother and Id grown up in the Subura, chances are that I could go into a wine shop in the city and mention my name, and someoned turn round and say, Hey, arent you the chap who wrote that thing, the one that goes ta-tumptytumpty-tum, and hed buy me a drink. You know, thats all I ever wanted, and its the one thing I could never ever have.

How sad. How utterly fucking tragic. Oddly enough, all I ever wanted was to sleep in a proper bed and go into a wine shop and have enough money for a jug of wine and a plate of tripe, and not have to keep looking over my shoulder in case the guard drops by And thats what I could never have. But then, I never learned to play the flute, so what would I know?

He looked at me and shook his head. You dont understand, he said.

Too right I dont, I replied. Of course, there were things I did have. I had my very own hoe, back on the farm, and any time I wanted I could walk up the mountain and spend all day smashing bloody great clods of dirt with it. Blisters, now, I could have all the blisters I liked, and there was never anybody saying, Its not fair, why does Galen get to do all the hard work and not me? Dammit, I said, I even had a brother once. Not for as long as Id have liked, mind you, but it was better than nothing.

Then he looked at me again and I was sorry Id said that. But, like I mentioned, I was in the mood for a good fight. I wanted him to get angry But he wouldnt play, just slumped back on the floor and stared up at the roof I sighed. Its all right. Im sorry, I didnt mean that. And yes, in a way I can see what youre getting at, because you had so much and you lost it all, and I never had anything worth spit, so big deal. It mustve been hard for you.

He shook his head. That wouldnt have mattered. Oh, you dont believe me, but its true. Theres been times, this last ten years, when I wake up in the morning and I cant remember what it was like, living in the Golden House and never wearing the same shoes twice. It seems so bloody ridiculousall that effort and money, and I never actually noticed. It amazes me how little Ive missed all of it.

So yes, I know that if only I couldve been me, instead of always having to be someone else, some character in a scam, or nobody at all when were on the run and keeping our heads downif I couldve been me, and gone around the place singing and playing, passing round a hat or standing up on a cart outside inns, I couldve been so happy Id never have wanted anything more. But instead ...

He shrugged. Too late now, he said, and then he grinned. You know what they say I said? My famous last words, before I stabbed myself? What an artist dies with me. You know, thats quite good, it puts it pretty well; shame I never had the talent to come up with something like that. And now here I am, about to die, and its not even my own words, its somebody elses, its a quotation. Thats the bloody awful truth. Im not even as good as the lies they tell about me.

Not as bad, either, I said gently For what its worth, I know that. Youre a bit of an idiot, Lucius Domitius, and you do some pretty dumb things and you fuss like an old woman sometimes, but basically youre all right. I just thought youd like to know that, I added awkwardly He laughed. Wonderful, he said. Couldnt find his arse with both hands but basically all right. What a wonderful thing to have carved on your headstone.

Youve got no idea how good that makes me feel.

Hed clearly made up his mind to be miserable, so I left him to it, and went back to walking up and down. But that wasnt any more help than it had been before. Also, I was feeling very hungry, since we hadnt had anything to eat since the inn. This is no good, I said. So were going to die. They still ought to feed us.

Oh, theyll feed us, all right. The only question is, what to?

Then the door opened, and a short, square sergeant with no neck told us it was our time to go up in front of the magistrate. Never mind, I thought. And then I had an idea. Not one of my best, I didnt need to be told that, but better than nothing. Lead on, then, I said to the sergeant. He grinned. He could see I was up to something. I could see him figuring away behind his little round black eyes.

No you dont, he said. After you.

So I let Lucius Domitius go first, then me, then, as the sergeant came up close behind us, I kicked the cell door backwards with my heel, hard as I possibly could. For a moment there I didnt think Id got enough oomph into it, or else he wasnt where I needed him to be, but then, as I was turning round, I heard a lovely chunky noise, like a huge apple falling off a tree. Sure enough, Id got the bastard right on the nose, and the bump had been him falling over.

Well, dont just stand there, I hissed to Lucius Domitius as I dragged the door shut and shot the bolt. Run.

All right, he said. Where to.?

How the fuck would I know?

Oh for He scowled at me, like Id just done something really embarrassing at a diplomatic function, then he spun round and started runningup the corridor, when Id reckoned on going down. But it was broad as it was long, since I didnt have a clue where the passage went to, up or down. The sergeant was back on his feet already, because I could hear him thumping the door with his fist while he yelled for help. Wouldnt be long before the corridor was packed with soldiers, all of them extremely pissed off at us for bashing up their mate. Whether theyd come up the corridor, or down, or both at once, remained to be seen.

You might have told me, Lucius Domitius yelled back at me over his shoulder as we ran, but I was too winded to explain that Id only just thought of it on the spur of the moment, so I panted, Drop dead, and left it at that.

Just as I feared, we ran into a soldier. Luckily though, we ran into a soldier, or rather Lucius Domitius did, and he was a big bloke, and the soldier was only little, though pretty tough and wiry, at that. But in a head-on collision its sheer mass that gets the job done. Down the soldier went, with Lucius Domitius on top of him. I just managed to pull up short and jump over the pair of them, and I stopped myself by slapping both arms against the wall. Something rolled by my feet, and I saw it was the soldiers helmetlazy sod hadnt bothered to do up his chinstrap. But that was all right, because it meant that when I kicked the soldier in the head, I didnt bust a toe.

Anyhow, I kicked him good. What the hell are you doing that for? Lucius Domitius shouted.

Get his cloak, I said, scrabbling for the helmet. It wasnt a great fit, but it was all right. And whats he got under it, a breastplate?

Mailshirt, Lucius Domitius answered. How do you get those things off? I cant see any straps.

Pull it over his head, I guess, I replied. I dont know, do I? I wasnt the commander in chief of the Roman army for fifteen years.

It turned out to be a bit like skinning a hare. We havent got time for this,

Lucius Domitius muttered as he lugged the soldier about. What do you want the bloody thing for, anyway? It wont do you any good when they string you up on a cross.

The mailshirt was a better fit than the helmet, though I can tell you, its damned hard to breathe in those things, they squeeze all the puff out of you.

Were back to the original plan, I said. Here, pass me the sword belt. Come on, itll only take a moment if you dont stand there nattering.

He stood up and looked down at the soldier. You just said it was a bloody stupid idea.

No, tickling the stuff from the bathhouse was a bad idea. The rest of its fine. Help me with these chinstraps, I cant reach.

Wed been longer about it than Id have liked, but we werent doing so bad for country folk, as my grandad used to say. Also, Id have liked to have got the soldier out of sight, but there wasnt anywhere to put him. Come on, I said.

Lets keep going. This must lead somewhere.

Well, of course, hed been quite right, it was a bloody stupid idea. On the other hand it worked sort of, because we came round a corner, past a whole lot more cell doors, and saw daylight. That had to be good. But before we could get out there, a load of soldiers came up behind us.

Not so good, I thought. Theyve got to have seen the bashed-up guard and know what wed done. Running for it was about all I could think of, and I didnt reckon much to it.

Then something wonderful happened. The soldier in front stopped dead, stuck his chest out, tucked his chin in, and saluted.

Well, like I said, Im not the former supreme commander of twenty legions, I cant tell a lance-corporal from a regular squaddie just by looking at his belt buckles, or whatever it is you tell rank by

You got one of them, then, the soldier said.

No thanks to you, I snapped back. Dont just stand there, for crying out loud. The other ones bound to be somewhere close.

The soldier did the saluting thing again. Do you need any help with that one, chief? he asked.

I can manage, I replied. Now get on and do as youre told.

The other one, chief, hes armed and dangerous. Left one of our mob out cold just down the passageway

What, that little Greek squirt? I said. Stone me, he didnt look like he could bust his way out of a cobweb.

And then, mercifully, they buggered off. I waited till they were out of sight, then I nodded to Lucius Domitius and we sort of strolled across the courtyard like we were taking the air after a nice meal. Only goes to showif you look like youre doing something youre not supposed to be doing, every man and his dogll jump on you. Make it seem like youre going about your business, all normal and boring, and they dont even see you.

Id like to pretend that finding the stores was all part of my original plan, and that I figured out where it was likely to be from first principles and made a beeline for it like a dog after a weasel. After all, you werent there, so youd never know I was lying. But then, Im not like the people who write history; I tell it like it was, not like it ought to have been. Truth is, I heard a lot of soldiers coming up behind us, so I pushed open the first door I came to, and got lucky.

Weird place, the stores in a barracks. I dont suppose theres anywhere in the world where youll see so many things that look exactly the same. There were stacks of identical blankets, rows of identical shovels, piles of identical boots, and a whole wall covered in shelves loaded with identical helmets, swords, breastplates, belts (all rolled up, like an army of giant snails), tent pegs, pot hooks, shield covers, bow cases, every bloody thing you can think of and a bunch of stuff youd never recognise(What the hell are those? I asked, pointing at a rack of polished iron bits.

Spare ratchet mechanisms for catapults, Lucius Domitius replied. How he knew that, I have no idea.)

everything exactly the same as the one next to it, from palisade stakes to spoons, all neatly arranged, everything straight and tidy and ready so the quartermasters clerk could lay his hand on it without having to look. Forget your aqueducts and your triumphal arches and your gilded chariots drawn by four milk-white horses. Whenever I think about what the empire actually means, thats the picture I see in my head: every single thing you could ever think of, and hundreds and hundreds of each of them.

Dont just stand there gawping, Lucius Domitius said. Lets get what we need and get out of here.

Id thought we had the place to ourselves, but no such luck; a huge bloke came out of the back room and scowled at us. Well? he said.

That wasnt good, but I gave it my best shot. This man needs a full set of kit, I said. Everything, the works.

The big bloke looked at me as if I was mad. So? he said.

Wasnt expecting that. Well, then, I said. This is the stores, right?

Yes, this is the stores. Wheres your requisition?

Decision time. He was a big bloke, but Lucius Domitius and I could probably have handled him. He wasnt expecting trouble and thats half the battle. So yes, we could have thumped him, grabbed the stuff and made a run for it, but somehow I didnt want to push my luck that far. That just left talking to the bastard. No time for any of that bull, I said sharply You can take it up with the captain later.

Crap, he said. You know the rules. No requisition, no stuff. He looked at me. Cant say Ive seen you before, he added. Whats your unit?

I could feel Lucius Domitius getting tense, but wed gone past the point where bashing the bloke was a viable business proposition. He was looking at us a bit sideways, and we wouldnt have the element of surprise. I didnt know enough army stuff to kid my way out, and of course theyd relieved us of our ill-gotten gains, so offering him money wasnt on the board. Turning and running out of the building was tempting, but luckily I had more sense. Beyond those options, I couldnt think of anything.

Luckily, I didnt have to, because suddenly Lucius Domitius barked out, Name and rank, in his best Roman voice.

The bloke told us his name: Marcus something, buggered if I can remember, rank:

quartermaster sergeant. I noticed hed stood to attention without even thinking about it. Anyway, Lucius Domitius was scowling. He took a step closer to the bloke. Do you know who I am? he said quietly The bloke looked at him. Poor bastard, he was obviously scared rigid. No, sir,

he said.

Better that way, Lucius Domitius said. Who do you report to?

He muttered some name.

Right, Lucius Domitius said. Ill see to it that he gets the necessary dockets. Now listen to me, soldier, he went on. I havent got time to explain and you dont want to hear what Ive got to say, so well skip all that. One set of kit, and do try and get it as close to my size as possible. Ive got enough to contend with without hobbling round Sicily in boots two sizes too small for me. Understood?

The sergeants eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head any moment, and his hands were twitching, but he shook his head. Sorry, sir, he mumbled, but I got to see a docket. Otherwise

Lucius Domitius punched him on the nose, and he fell straight backwards, like a chopped-down tree. Then we helped ourselves to what we were after: armour and helmet and stuff for him, a new pair of boots each, that sort of thing.

Marvellous, Lucius Domitius sighed, as he did up his boots. Now weve added robbery with violence to the collection. And this time were actually guilty, though I guess that by now it doesnt matter a damn.

I was in no mood to listen to that. Youre crazy, I said. Stark staring nuts. I cant believe what you just did.

He looked surprised. What, belting the sergeant? Seems to me we didnt have much choice.

No, not that, I replied angrily What you said back there. Do you know who I am, for crying out loud. And youre the one whos always petrified of being recognised.

He shrugged. Maybe. But I dont think he got wise. He was too busy wondering what had gotten into you. Actually, Id be interested to know what you thought you were playing at.

We left the stores and walked across the yard. Of course it was anyones guess which way the main doors were, leading out into the town. Pretty soon the soldiers would catch on, or the magistrated get tired of waiting and send some men to hurry us up, or the quartermaster would wake up and start yelling the place down. The way I saw it, wed used up an entire lifetimes worth of luck, along with all the unused good fortune I mustve inherited from my ancestors, and pretty soon it was all going to fall apart round our ears. On the other hand, they hadnt got us yet.

Bugger me if the main doors werent straight across the courtyard. Of course, they were shut, and there was a brace of sentries in front of them, looking dead miserable, the way sentries generally do, but what the hell, I thought, Im game if they are.

We doubled back and walked round three sides of the yard so they wouldnt see us. Then we broke into a run as we came up to them, yelling, Quick! Open up. 

Hold on, mate, wheres the fire? one of them said.

Get those fucking gates open! Lucius Domitius shouted. Couple of prisonersve escaped. Got into the tower and shinned down the wall on a rope. If they get away, were all going to be in the shit.

He may have been useless at pretty much everything else, but when it came to telling the tale, Lucius Domitius had the knack. The guards looked at each other, then they started shooting the bolts back.

Get a move on, will you? Theyre getting away, Lucius Domitius bawled, and they did as they were told. They believed him. Hell, I believed him. Mind you, he was telling the truth, because a few moments later, the prisoners had got away, and if anybody in the whole province of Sicily was more surprised about that than they were, Ill buy him a drink, with pleasure.

The depressing thing, Lucius Domitius said, as we jogged round the corner and darted down an alleyway, is that that was probably the easy bit.

He was being miserable again, but I could see his point. One step at a time, I told him. Lets get out of this horrible bloody town, and then we can see about getting off this horrible bloody island.

One good thing about living under the iron heel of a cruel and ruthless oppressor is that people dont think twice about seeing soldiers on the street.

Better still, they do their best not to look at them; instead, as soon as theyre aware of them, they tend to shuffle past as quick as they can, looking the other way Naturally, that suited us just fine; and we found that the more we stomped along, making ourselves as conspicuous as we possibly could, the more invisible we became. By the time we reached the outskirts of town, people were darting out of our way like we were a couple of runaway carts and we practically had the roads to ourselves.

These people must have guilty consciences, Lucius Domitius muttered, or else why are they so scared of us?

I didnt answer that. It was one of those things where, if you need to be told, youre never going to understand.

Once we were back in open country it didnt take us long to click back into the old routine. After all, we still had to eat, and that meant practising the only trade we had, namely kidding. Dressing up as a soldier is an old scam and pretty reliable, though the take is always poor. You can bluster free food, booze and lodgings out of innkeepers, and thats about it. Its a living, but I wouldnt call it a career. One good thing about it, as far as we were concerned: it meant we had no trouble finding out what was going on. Wed prance into an inn or a farmhouse and do our have-you-seen-two-men routine, and wed get the latest news, or the latest rumours, at any rate, about how the hunt for us was going.

It didnt take long for the word to get out that wed busted out of the guardhouse. It was bloody alarming to hear that wed been credited with killing at least two soldiers, and in some cases as many as five. But we were pleased to find that, apparently nobody had twigged that we might be togged out as soldiers. On the other hand, they had put two and two together and figured out that the two hooligans who tried to tickle the bathhouse had to be the same ones who robbed the governors son, which also meant that they had to be two of the cons who escaped from the quarry gang. To Lucius Domitius delight, we didnt hear the name Nero anywhere, and he started to get a bit more cheerful as we put more and more distance between ourselves and that town.

On the negative side, we hadnt got a clue where we were or in which direction we were headed. I figured we were heading west, towards Camarina. Lucius Domitius was certain sure we were going south, in which case wed be walking into the sea at any moment (which we didnt). All he had to do was look up at the sun and hed have known I was right, but Lucius Domitius was never one to let a few poxy facts choke him off a nice juicy opinion.

It was only after wed been on the road for four days, bludging off innkeepers and farmers and sleeping in barns, that I started to wonder where Camarina had got to. It was bloody annoying, like being stood up for a date with your best girl. Wed walk and walk, and still the wretched city wasnt there. Eventually it dawned on me what had happened. Wed gone right past it, above it to the north.

Right, I said. Youre the one who went to school. Whats in this direction?

Lucius Domitius looked at me. How should I know? he said.

Dont give me that, I told him. Ill bet that somewhere in the palace there was this huge great bronze map of the empire with all the places marked on it, and you mustve seen it hundreds of times. You must know the principal towns in Sicily

He shrugged. Not me, he said. And its the first Ive ever heard about any map. Whereabouts in the palace would that have been, then?

I dont know, do I? I was just a house guest, I didnt own the place. You sure there wasnt any map?

There could have been, I suppose, he said. It was a big palace. There were loads of rooms I never went into. But nobody ever mentioned anything like that. 

Oh. I was shocked, for some reason. I mean, youd have thought it was the sensible thing to do. Think about it: some messenger blows in, says theres trouble brewing in Cyanopolis. Nobodys ever heard of Cyanopolis, its just some border fort, so it stands to reason, thered be a big map, and everybody, all the advisers and general staff and what not, theyd troop off and take a look at it, and then theyd know Otherwise, youd have a major crisis on your hands, decisive action needing to be taken straight away, and nobodyd know whether it was in Cilicia or Upper Moesia. What the hell kind of a way to run an empire would that be?

I think, he went on, that if weve overshot Camarina, we should be headed straight for Gela. Only, if that was the case, we should be following the course of the river Anapus, and if we are, I havent seen any sign of it.

I looked round. No river.

If were north of the Anapus, he went on, any moment now were going to run into some horrible great mountains. But if thats where were headed, we should be right up close to them by now, unless were following one of the lower river valleys that feed down off the central block. But I dont think we are, because thered still be damn great big mountains on either side of us, and there arent.

Right, I said. What youre saying is, you havent got a clue where we are.

I never said I did. Look, its been years and years since I learned all this stuff in school, and I wasnt paying attention then. I was too busy looking out of the window or making up tunes m my head. Of course, he went on, its possible that that big road we were following for a while back there was the military road across the mountainsonly Id have thought itd have been bigger and widerin which case, we should have spent last night in Hybla, though its just possible that we left the road a mile or so short of there. In which case, this ought to be the flat plain that runs down off the mountains to the sea, halfway between Camarina and Gela. But I wouldnt bank on that, because everythings in the wrong place for that.

Thank you, I said. I wish I hadnt asked now But he was right, amazingly enough, because early the next day we found ourselves back on his military road, and sure enough it wound up at the sea. We got off it before that, of course, since we didnt want to be on the main road where there were likely to be people about. Anyhow, the long and the short of it was, we fetched up at the seaside, our toes practically in the water, looking out towards (if Im not mistaken) Tripolis, on the African coast.

Its at times like this, I said, I really wish I was a seagull. Then wed be in Sirtis by nightfall.

I dont think thatd be such a good idea. They eat seagulls in Tripolis.

You know what I mean, I said. All right, now what? Weve got a choice. Left or right. What do you reckon?

He shrugged. Id toss a coin for it, if we had any money

No, I said, I want a sensible, reasoned decision. If it was blind guessing, Id do it myself. Which do you think, Camarmna or Gela?

Broad as its long, as far as I know, Lucius Domitius replied. Seeing as how both of us know fuck all about either of them. Well, he added, thats not strictly true. I seem to remember that in Gela, every summer solstice, they have a big crab-eating competition down on the sea front. They pile up all these crabs, and each contestants got a pair of tweezers and a little brass hammer, and the first one

Whats that got to do with us?

Search me. Im just telling you because its the only thing I know about Gela.

Unless, he added, Im thinking of the other Gela, the one in southern Macedonia.

I changed my mind about the map. If hed had a chance to study a map, instead of just piecing it together from what he remembered, he couldve bored me right off my feet and straight into the grave. Gela, then, I said.

All right. Why not?

Right.

So that was that. Wed made up our minds to head for Gela. It only goes to show, really, how pointless it can be, making big decisions, because we hadnt been on the road more than an hour when we saw a ship.

It was close in to the shore, quietly bobbing along, one of the big grain freighters that make the run from Sicily to Italy, final destination Rome. Id seen enough of them at anchor at Ostia. Seen from a distance, they look like a floating city, scores of them all tied up in a row along the specially built dock, and as soon as one gets emptied it pulls out and another one slots neatly into its place. Its a hell of a business, feeding a place the size of Rome, and to do them credit, theyve got it figured out pretty well. Mind you, its one of the few things they really care about, because a grain shortage can turn Rome from the hub of the civilised world into a wall-to-wall hunger riot in about three days.

Anyhow, there was this ship. Lucius Domitius, who knew a thing or two about the grain trade for obvious reasons, reckoned it had loaded up at Camarina and was working its way round the east coast on its way home. (The big freighters dont like crossing any more open sea than they have to, but they dont like having to shove their way through the straits of Rhegium, either. Theyd rather take another day and a half over the trip, even though time is money, than risk pranging the ship on a rock. Most of the freighters on the grain run are on the elderly side, and you only have to sneeze in the wrong place and they start shipping water in seven places.) He pointed out how low she was riding in the water, which backed up his theory that she was full and making for home. That seemed like a reasonable conclusion to draw, from my limited knowledge of such things (and what I know about ships and international trade you could carve on a toenail).

Well, I said, what do you reckon?

What do I reckon about what?

The ship, dummy Us getting on it and getting the hell out of Sicily What do you reckon?

He frowned. Well, he said, itd be nice if we could manage it. But I dont see how

Bloody hell, I said. And youre supposed to be the educated one.

All right, he said. You tell me, how do we go about hitching a ride on a grain ship?

Easy, I said.

And yes, I was pretty confident that it would be, or at least, itd be a damn sight easier than staying alive and free in Sicily with the whole island after us. True, when I said that to him, I hadnt actually got a plan or anything like that, but figuring out each last painful detail before I make a decision isnt my style.

Easy?

You bet, I said. What we need is a small boat.

He looked at me. What do we want a small boat for? he asked.

I clicked my tongue. He could be a bit dense sometimes. You fancy swimming out that far, be my guest. Me, Id rather row So, the next thing was, find a small boat. Luckily for us, thats not too hard when youre right next to the sea, in an area thats so dirt-poor they eat fish all the time. The first one we came to had a little prune-faced old man in it, fooling about with a fishing net.

I walked up to him. Sorry, mate, I said, were requisitioning your boat.

He looked at us, took in the armour and uniforms, didnt seem all that impressed. No you bloody well arent, he said.

Sorry, I repeated. But its a military emergency, we need that boat. Youll get it back when weve finished with it, dont worry about that.

Im not worried, he replied, turning his back on us. Youre not having my boat. Now fuck off.

It wasnt going the way Id expected. Where I come from, you see, if a soldier comes bouncing up and tells you hes taking your cart or your mule, answering back will get you a thick lip, and thats if youre lucky, so people dont tend to do it. Obviously the Roman garrison in Sicily wasnt quite so straightforward when it came to military procurement.

Hey, you. Lucius Domitius reached out and clapped the little guy on the shoulder. Were talking to you. Now, get your arse off this boat, or Ill do it for you.

He winced and turned round. What dyou want my boat for, anyhow?

Thanks to the delay, Id had time to think of an answer to that. See that big grain ship out there? We have reason to believe theres two wanted criminals on board. Our orders are to search the boat and arrest the scumbags. All clear?

The old boy scowled at us. Whyve you got to have my boat, then? Havent you wankers got a navy for that sort of thing?

Yes, I said, but not here. Last I heard, it was saving civilisation from the Parthian menace. Which doesnt make any odds, I went on, because we dont need a couple of squadrons of battleships. All we need is your boat. All right?

Hed probably have carried on arguing the toss, but Lucius Domitius slowly started drawing his sword, and in the right time and place the sight of a couple of inches of Spanish steel is worth a few thousand words.

Its all right, I called back to him, as Lucius Domitius pushed us off and then scrambled in behind the oars, well have it back to you by nightfall.

I think the old boy may have shouted back a reply, but I didnt hear it. I could guess what it was.

Here, said Lucius Domitius, after wed gone a couple of dozen yards from the shore, have you got any idea how you set about driving these things?

What, boats? I said. Dead easy piece of cake. You just sort of dip the oarblades in the sea and pull on the handles. Nothing to it, really

Ah, he replied, shooting a bucketful of water up my nose, thats all right then. You can row, since you seem to know so much about it, and Ill sit in the back here and steer.

Me? I dont know spit about rowing.

He frowned at me, the git. Dont be silly, he said, youre an Athenian, proud descendant of the victors of Salamis, rowings in the blood. You know perfectly well

I do not, I replied, straight off. Rowing in the fleet was what the poor people did. My lot were upper crust, cavalry class. We were riding into battle on thoroughbreds when your lot were still hoeing turnips in Latium.

Really? He grinned at me. How are the mighty fallen. Now get rowing, or Ill push you in the sea. You can swim, cant you?

Of course I can swim, I lied. All right, you get hold of the steering thing, and Ill see what I can do.

Like Id said, nothing to it, rowing a boat. Its like skimming the shit off a vat of newly fermented wine, only the spoons six feet long. I dont know why Lucius Domitius made such a fuss about it.

Right, I said, as we skimmed across the water like a great big beetle. Get that armour off, and dump it over the side.

He looked at me as if I was crazy. You what?

Get rid of it, I said. Quick, before we get there.

After all the trouble we went to getting hold of it in the first place? No way I sighed. For pitys sake, why is it youve got to moan and whinge about every damn suggestion I make?

I dont know, he said. Maybe its something to do with the way you keep landing us in the shit. Or perhaps Im just an old fusspot.

The armour, I said. And the cloak, and all that stuff. Get rid of it.

He gave in, and started ditching metalwork into the sea. I did the samebloody awkward, since I was trying to keep the boat going at the same time. Heres a tip for you, by the way If you try and row a boat with one hand while unbuckling a helmet strap with the other, the boat goes round in circles.

Lucky for us the grain freighter was just wallowing along. Even so, I had to stretch my back to get us up next to it. By that time, wed dumped all the army stuff except the swords and belts. Hey, I shouted, loud as I could manage, you there in the ship.

Just when I was sure they hadnt heard, or they were pretending they hadnt seen us, someone stuck his head over the rail. What do you want? he called back.

Where are you headed?

The bloke on the ship shrugged his shoulders. Ostia, he replied. Whats it to you?

Can you give us a lift?

No.

That caught me a bit by surprise. Oh, I said. You sure about that? Well pay 

Thats different, the bloke shouted back. Thirty drachmas each. Forty with food, he added.

I smiled, though I dont suppose he could see me very clearly at that distance.

Actually, I said, I thought we could trade.

Trade?

We have valuable stuff, I told him. Worth a lot more than forty drachmas.

Have we? Lucius Domitius muttered. News to me. 

Shut up, I told him. Well? I said to the ship bloke. What do you reckon?

Depends. Whatve you got?

Good question. Well, I said, for a start, weve got two really nice swords, with scabbards and belts, top of the range stuff. The bloke didnt say anything, so I went on, Best Spanish steel, lovingly crafted by dedicated artisans, absolutely guaranteed

No, said the bloke.

What?

No. Not interested.

Oh. I looked around quickly Well, how about a nice, tight little rowing boat? One owner from new, lovely handling, throw in a pair of oars absolutely free.

No, thanks.

This was starting to get desperate. All right, I said, and this is my final offer. How about a best quality, home-bred, fully certified male field hand? Excellent condition, prime of life, turns his hand to anything.

What? Where?

Him, I replied, pointing to Lucius Domitius. Here, look at the shoulders on him, just the thing for lugging great heavy jars of corn about. You interested or not?

You bastard Lucius Domitius started to say I kicked him on the shin, and he shut up.

I dunno, said the ship bloke. Shirt and boots go with him?

Yeah, go on, I said, why not? But Ill want wine with the food.

He was still thinking about it. Teeth? he said.

What do you mean, teeth? I asked.

Whatre his teeth like? the bloke said. Has he got them all, or what?

Sure, I said. Loads of teeth. Look, you want to deal, or do I wait for the next freighter?

The bloke hesitated for a moment or so, then nodded. Deal, he said. But you sleep on deck with the crew, right?

Suits me, I said. I like the fresh air.

The bloke disappeared, and somebody threw a rope over the side of the ship.

Looks like weve done it, I said cheerfully Next stop, Italy

But Lucius Domitius didnt seem pleased at all. In fact, he was pulling the most horrible faces at me. You shit, he hissed, You total arsehole. You just sold me to that man.

I shrugged. So what? I said. Look, dont worry about it

Not worry about it? Are you out of your tiny mind?

Calm down, will you? I said. Its quite simple. It just means we leave the ship a bit early, thats all.

No way, he whined. Have you any idea what they do to runaway slaves?

Sure, I said. More or less the same as the soldiersll do to us if we dont get the hell out of Sicily Now shut your face and try to act like a slave.

Youve done it loads of times, it shouldnt be a problem.

Yes, he whimpered, but then I was just pretending.

Well, now its for real, so that ought to make it easier. Come on, I saidI was reaching for the ropeitll be all right. Like, when have I ever let you down?

He may have said something, but I was scrambling up the rope and didnt hear.

Five
I have to say, its not bad, travelling on a grain freighter. Theyre not like most ships, where everythings cramped and if you sneeze everybody on the boat gets wet. Youve got room to stretch your legs, and freighters dont sway about as much as your little merchant ships. Theyre still pretty basic, mindif you want to take a shit youve got to squat down in this chair arrangement at the back end, with your bum hanging out over the oceanbut there are worse ways to get about, believe me.

Lucius Domitius wasnt so keen, of course. Once theyd stripped his clothes off and had a good poke about to see if he was all there and so on, they made him ships cook, on account of the real cook had jumped ship in Camarina and they hadnt had time to find another one. I tried to tell them he hadnt done much cooking before, but they didnt seem too bothered about that, and I got the impression they didnt care who did the job so long as they didnt have to. As we went along, I figured out why that was: its no fun looking after great big cauldrons of hot oil and boiling water when a ship starts rolling about. Still, he got the hang of it quite quickly, with nothing more than a few minor scalds and such like. What really pissed him off was having to be chained up at night, but the captain insisted on that, since we were so close to the shore and all, and he didnt want him jumping overboard in the middle of the night and swimming for it. I told him there was no danger of thatwhich was true, so long as we were in Sicilian watersbut he said hed rather be safe than sorry, and I didnt want to make a big thing about it.

At first sight, the crew struck me as a bunch of pirates, but it turned out that they were all right, more or less. About half of them were Greeks, and they never stopped gabbing; the other half were a mixed bunch, Spanish and Egyptians, a couple of Italians, and they never said a word. Most of the time they were busy puffing on ropes and scrambling about up in the rigging, like sailors do, but of an evening theyd all squat down on the deck next to the galley and gobble down their bacon and beans and have a natteror at least, the Greeks nattered and the rest listened, or not, as the case may be. The first couple of nights out, when I went over to join them they all shut up and stared at me, even the Greeks; but then I guess the strain of keeping their faces shut got too much for them, and one of the Greeks asked where I was from. I said Phyle, in Attica, and of course that was enough. Two of the Greeks were Athenian, and next thing they were asking, did I know so-and-so, and it didnt take them long to decide I was an off-relation, twelfth cousin nine times removed, like everybody is in Attica. Of course, I hadnt been telling the truth when they asked me all these questions, because the last thing I wanted was for anybody to tumble to who I really was, but of course I knew enough people in Phyle to lie so theyd never know the difference. Once theyd made up their minds that I was all right, they even started talking to Lucius Domitius, which made life a bit easier all round. Hed had the sense to figure out who he was going to be in advance, so he had all his answers pat. He was always smart that way.

Im from Galicia, he said, when they asked. It was a good answer, because he could pass for a Celt with his reddish hair and enormous neck, though he was a tad on the tall side. Back home I was called Brennus, but nowadays I answer to pretty well everything.

They laughed at that, but one of them frowned a bit and said, You speak pretty good Greek for a Celt. Actually, Id have put you down for an Italian, myself

Lucius Domitius pulled a very sad face. Ah, well, he said, thats a long story.

So?

Well, he said, as he scraped out the bean pot, if you must know, I come from one of the best families in Galicia. In fact, by rights, I should be a prince in my own country. But when I was just a kid, the Romans came round taking up hostages for good behaviour, and I was chosen, so they packed me off to Rome, and I got raised there, along with all the other hostage kids. Went to Roman school and everything.

They were impressed. Is that right? one of them said. So how come you ended up here?

Lucius Domitius shrugged. My folks back home mustve screwed up somehow, because when I was fifteen, one day when we were in philosophy class, these soldiers came in looking all grim and solemn, and all us Galician kids were stood up and marched off. Half of them, I never did find out what happened to them, but I guess they got the chopthey were all the really important ones, the kings sons and nephews and so on. The rest of us wound up in the slave market and well, no offence to you folks, but its been sort of downhill ever since.

Obviously they reckoned that was really sad, because they looked at him and nodded gravely, and one of them poured him a drink. That must be a shitty thing, one of the Athenians said, being born a genuine prince and ending up a slave. Makes you think, really.

Lucius Domitius shrugged. It was a long time ago, he said. And Ive been a slave much longer than I was a prince, so Ive had time to adjust. Its just the way things go, thats all.

I think they were impressed with his courage and modesty. I know I was, and I knew full well he was just bullshitting. Maybe you were well out of it, at that, piped up another of the Greeks, an Illyrian with a nose busted two ways.

I mean, at least youre still alive. Them other kids werent so lucky.

Lucius Domitius sighed. You said it, he replied. Whenever I catch myself thinking about the old days, I tell myself, its better to be alive and be someones slave, even if your masters just a small-time chiseller, than to be the Lord High Emperor down among the dead men.

That really got to them, and a couple of them started nodding like billy goats and saying, thats right, thats very well put. I reckoned so, too, at the time. Since then, I found out it was straight out of Homers Odyssey, with a few of the old-fashioned words taken out. Shouldve guessed, I suppose.

So we carried on, nice and quiet and peaceful, pottering along the Sicilian coast; and then one day, a small boat comes alongside and its an old man and a couple of women selling stuff, and while theyre trying to kid the sailors into buying their junk, theyre telling them this really exciting news.

I could tell it was something pretty hot by the way they all acted when they heard it. Now the old man and his outfit were giving me a pretty wide berth, since theyd somehow figured out just by looking at me that I didnt have any money, so I had to creep up on someone else and eavesdrop.

Straight up, the old man was saying. Heard it the night before last in town from a mate of mine, hed heard it off a carter whod had it off a bloke in the market, whod heard it off a barber whod given a shave to a bloke off a ship from Rome; and this bloke, the sailor, hed left the city the same day as the news broke, so its fresh as apples.

The sailors were shaking their heads, like something bad had happened. And he was no great age, he said. I mean, he was getting on, but he wasnt that old.

Sixty-nine, said the old guy Thats six years youngern me, and Im still going strong. Still, its the lift they lead, all that boozing and whoring. Does them in while theyre still in their prime.

There was a bit more stuff like that, and then the captain showed up and told the old bloke to piss off out of it, so I didnt get to hear any more till that evening when they were all discussing it, even the Spaniards and the Egyptians.

Like Id thought, someone important had died. In fact, it was about as important a someone as you could get: the Emperor Vespasian.

Soon as I heard that, of course, I looked across at Lucius Domitius, to see how he was taking it, but he just stood there stirring the beans, like he didnt understand what they were all talking about.

He was all right, one of the two Italians was saying. Sure, he wasnt perfect, he had his faults like the rest of us. Basically, though, he was all right.

You can say that again, one of the Greeks put in. At least, when you think of who we couldve wound up with.

Too right, said one of the Spaniards. I mean, think what itd be like if that arsehole Galbad stuck around.

Or Otho, said one of the Greeks. He was a really nasty piece of work, Otho was. 

Or Vitellius, come to that, someone else said. He was the worst of the lot, by all accounts. Old Vespasian did everybody a favour when he knocked that creep on the head.

Behind them, Lucius Domitius cleared his throat. Forget about Vitellius, he said. And the rest of that lot. If youre looking for a really evil bastard, what about Nero?

That set them all off nodding and muttering, thats right, he was the worst of the lot. Of course, I was sat there speechless, thinking he mustve gone off his head, but he didnt look like he was throwing a crazy fit. Quite the opposite.

Just goes to show, you cant judge by appearances.

I mean, Lucius Domitius went on, that other lot, they werent around for more than a day or so, theres no way of telling what theyd really have been like.

They might even have settled down, turned out all right in the end. Unlikely, Ill grant you, he added, as some of the crew started shaking their heads and puffing faces. But anythings possible, they couldve reformed, turned over a new leaf once theyd got their backsides on the curule chair. But Nerowell, we had fifteen years of that bastard, so we know for sure exactly what he was like. Lucius Domitius sighed, like he had toothache or something. Id like to see someone get up and try and make excuses for all the stuff he did, as if anybodyd try.

One of the Greeks nodded so furiously I thought his headd come off. He was an evil shit, that Nero. He had the right idea, killing himself like that.

I dont agree, Lucius Domitius said (and I thought, hello). No, a quick, easy death like thattoo good for him. They shouldve caught him and strung him up by the balls outside his own palace gate, and let the crows peck his eyes out.

Nobody disagreed with that. Wouldve served him right, said one of the Spaniards, the things he done.

Only murdered his mother, didnt he? said one of the Italians. Only had his own mother put to death, like she was a criminal or something. A man who could do something like that

Lucius Domitius shuddered. Doesnt bear thinking about, he said. Though, mind you, she was an evil bitch as well, or so Ive heard. Still, that doesnt excuse what he did, does it?

Oh, pure poison, that Agrippina was, said one of the Athenians. No doubt about it, shed have done him in if he hadnt got to her first.

Shed have done the world a favour, then, Lucius Domitius said sharply. And anyway, it doesnt matter that she was a vicious, scheming bitch. Doesnt even matter that shed have killed him if shed thought of it first. She was still his mother, and theres absolutely no excuse.

Oh, I dont know, piped up one of the Greeks. What about Oedipus?

Confused silence. How do you mean? I asked.

Oedipus, the Greek repeated. His mum did in his dad, so he killed her. Its in plays and everything.

You mean Orestes, one of the other Greeks said. Oedipus was the one who killed his dad and screwed his mum. Though they do say Nero did that, as well.

Lucius Domitius sighed again. I wouldnt be surprised at anything that bastard did. Though I dont know why hed have wanted to. She was no vase painting, so Ive heard.

That stopped their conversation dead for a while, and I was just about to try changing the subject when someone said, Well, I never heard where he murdered his father, but they do say he did in old Claudius, and wasnt he his uncle or something?

Great-uncle, Lucius Domitius said, though technically he was Neros father, since he married Agrippina. She was his niece, you see.

What, Neros niece? I thought she was his mother.

No, Lucius Domitius said patiently, she was Claudius niece.

And he married her? Dirty old bastard.

Lucius Domitius shrugged. Well, they see things differently, the Roman nobility. But yes, I dont see how Nero couldnt have been in on Claudius

murder. Mind you, he was only, what, sixteen, seventeen at the time, but that doesnt mean much in those circles. And Claudius was a good emperor. At least, he wasnt so bad.

Everybody laughed at that. Give us a break, someone said. Claudius was a real vicious old sod, executed people right, left and centre. Whoever done him in, he had it coming.

Thats right, someone else said. He let those advisers of his, ex-slaves the lot of em, go around killing people for their money. And didnt he ever get through wives at a hell of a rate? Best you can say for Claudius is, he was better than the bloke before him.

Yeah, said one of the Egyptians, then he added, Who was that? I cant remember.

A Greek laughed. Caligula, you clown. You know, the nutso who thought he was a god. I reckon he mustve been the worst of the lot.

Apart from Nero, Lucius Domitius said firmly Nero was the worst.

Everybody nodded again. He was the pits, Nero was, said a Spaniard.

Glad you agree, said Lucius Domitius. For instance, you take taxes.

A Greek frowned. Actually, he said, youre wrong there. Taxes werent so bad in Neros day, in fact they were lower, at least out our way. I remember, because my dad was on the local board in our village, and he said Nero actually lowered taxes from what theyd been before. Still, he added, thats neither here nor there.

Exactly, Lucius Domitius said. After all, what good are lower taxes when the price of everything keeps going up all the time? Like when Nero was in power.

Did they? One of the older men lifted his head. I dont remember that. In fact, they went down when Nero came in. I know that because there was a drought in our district about that time, and the government stepped in and fixed the price of grain. Still, he added, I dont suppose that was any of Neros doing.

One of his advisers, more like.

Bound to have been, someone else agreed. Dont suppose Nero knew what was going on in the empire from one day to the next. All he cared about was writing poetry and playing the harp. What sort of emperor is that, I ask you?

I was just going to say that, Lucius Domitius said. Mucking about enjoying himself, dressing up in silks and prancing about on a stage when he should have been doing something worthwhile. Do you know, there wasnt a single war while he was in charge? Pathetic. And he was proud of it too, the gutless coward. Boasted about it, while the soldiers had nothing to do all day but loll around the barrack yard playing dice.

Shocking, said an Italian. Still, that all changed when Vespasian got in. He really sorted out those Jews, didnt he?

And the British, a Greek pointed out. Killed thousands of em, the savages. There was always plenty to keep the army busy while he was around.

No wonder the taxes had to go up, then, I said. Got to be paid for, wars.

Yes, Lucius Domitius admitted, but at least he didnt go spending it all on building fancy palaces and temples and all that shit, like Nero did. He was obsessed with all that stuff, art and architecture and rubbish like that. No wonder he couldnt afford to fight any wars.

Yeah, it was all right if you were a painter or a plasterer, an Italian pointed out. Like my uncle, he did plastering and fresco painting, that line of work. Very comfortable, he was, in Neros time. But he didnt like doing it, he said, not working for that arsehole. It made him feel guilty, he told me, all the time he was doing it.

 

No wonder, Lucius Domitius said. And dont forget, it was Nero who started the Great Fire, just so he could get rid of the old slum buildings and put up poncy new ones.

Thats right, said a Greek. That was him, that fire. Him and the Christians. 

An Egyptian nodded. They were in it together, he said, or so I heard. Nero gave em all torches and sent em out setting light to peoples roofs while they were asleep. They like doing that sort of thing, Christians. Its because theyre Jews.

And slaves, added a Greek. Slaves or ex-slaves, the lot of em. Its time something was done, if you ask me.

Lucius Domitius picked up a knife and started slicing leeks. What really put the tin lid on it for me, he said, was the hypocrisy of the bastard. Just as soon as the fired died down a bit, he was out there on the streets, directing the fire crews, heaving buckets of water, as if he cared what happened to people. And all the time, hed started the bloody fire himself. I dont know how somebody could behave like that.

Well, he was wrong in the head, wasnt he? a Greek said. Mustve been.

Otherwise, he wouldnt have done all that dressing up and singing in public.

Rotten voice he had, too, though my dad always said he played the lyre well. He heard him once, actually, that time he came to Greece. But he couldnt sing any better than our old cat.

Your dad?

Nero.

Oh, right. Actually, whoever it was went on, I heard he used to make all the senators go to the theatre and listen to him caterwauling, and as soon as they were inside, theyd lock the doors so they couldnt leave, not till hed finished.

I heard that, someone said. By all accounts, there were people asleep and having fits and heart attacks, right there in the stands, and nobody was allowed out for any reason. What a bloody farce.

Too right, Lucius Domitius chimed in. I mean to say, what a disgusting way to treat Roman senators. Absolutely no respect.

Several of the men sniggered. Fuck the Roman senators, one of them said.

Respect? Come on, this is rich bastards were talking about here, the men who own all those huge estates right across the world, with slaves working them so free men cant compete and get forced off the land. I should know, or why do you think Im here and not back home, pruning my vines? They get no sympathy from me if they had to sit through a boring concert or two. Them and Nero, they deserved each other, is what I say.

That made them laugh. Pity he didnt scrag more of them, really, said a Spaniard, or wed all be better off. Shouldve done the lot of em in, and nobodyd have missed them. Not that Im saying murders right, of course, but youve got to admit it, theres some people are better off dead.

Couldnt agree more, Lucius Domitius said. Nero, for one.

 

What the hell was all that about? I asked him the next day, as soon as I got the chance for a quiet word. Have you gone off your head, or something?

But he just smiled and went on slicing onions. Quite the reverse, he said. I dont think Ive been this sane for years.

Funny idea youve got of sane, I muttered. Saying all that stuff about yourself like that.

I enjoyed it, he replied. It set my mind at rest. All these years, you see, Ive had this nagging feeling at the back of my mind that I mustve done something wrong, something really bad. Now it seems like I didnt, and the worst that could be said of me is I made a lot of Roman senators listen to music.

Quite good music, some of it, though I say so myself. He flicked the sliced onions into the pot and wiped his knife on his sleeve. So finally, he said, I was able to make up my mind, about what I want to do.

Oh, really, I said. And whats that, then?

Simple, he said. I want to go home.

For a moment or so, I couldnt think what he meant. Home?

He nodded. Thats right, he said. Home. Where I come from, where I was raised. Ive been thinking about it a lot, and Id really like to see Rome again before I die.

You couldve knocked me down with a grape skin. Tell you what, I said, if you go anywhere near Rome, you might just get your wish. Especially the dying part. 

He shrugged. So what? he said. Big deal. Oh, think about it, will you, Galen? Ever since weve been going round together, since that night in Phaons cellar, weve been half a step ahead of the hangman every inch of the way Weve been in half the condemned cells in the empire, and every time we manage to scrape out by the skin of our teeth, straight away were being hunted down for something else. He shook his head, like he couldnt believe it. And you know what? he went on. The crazy part of it is its all for little stuff, trivial little offences, thieving and swindling, or even stuff we didnt actually do, chickenshit stuff, and all so bloody unnecessary. Dammit, Galen, if Im going to spend the rest of my life dodging a horrible death, I might as well do it back home where I belong as in some filthy alley in Pannonia or Cyrenaica, or some other place Ive scarcely even heard of. And if Im going to be strung up on a cross or torn limb from limb, why cant it be for something worthwhile? Like being who I am, for example.

I was stunned, no other word for it; it was like someone had just bashed me over the head with a big lump of lead pipe. Youre crazy, I said. You cant go back there. Youre a wanted man, for Gods sake.

Sure, he said, in Italy And Pergamum and Raetia and Lusitania and Illyricum and Liburia and Pamphylia and Bithyma, and now Sicily as well. He laughed, though I couldnt see what was so damned funny You know, he went on, its got so that Romes probably the safest place in the world for me right now After all, Im already dead there. Thats got to be an advantage.

Well, what was I supposed to say to that? Still, there was nothing to be gained from losing my rag with the idiot, so I just said, Well, youve changed your tune, havent you? Youre the one whos always shit-scared of being recognised wherever we go.

I know. He nodded. But it was this last time, when we were in that cell in Sicily, I finally realised. And its all thanks to you, of course, you and your brilliant schemes and your sideways career moves. Thanks to you, its even more dangerous not being me than it is being me. And then, when I thumped that soldieryou remember, that big, ugly bastard in the storesI didnt plan on doing it, it just suddenly seemed the obvious thing to do, and I did it, and it worked; and you know what? I wasnt afraid. Ten years ago, Id never have dared, Id have been frozen with fear, trying to take on a trained soldier half a head taller than me. He could see Id lost the plot some time back, because he went on, Its simple, really Im not afraid any more, because suddenly I think I know who I am. And I dont mean who I was, I mean who I am now Isnt that something, Galen? I knocked out that huge great bruiser with just one punch, and he never knew what hit him.

I guess he was making some kind of point, but buggered if I knew what it was.

After all, I was the one whod put down the other guard, when we were leaving the cell, and Id been absolutely terrified every single moment. And I knew exactly who I was, and it didnt make me feel any better at all. Quite the opposite.

Look, I said. This is all very well, and if youve managed to achieve inner peace, bloody good luck to you. Right now, though, what Im mostly concerned with is how the hell were going to get you off this ship before it docks at Ostia. Unless, of course, you want to spend the rest of your days slicing onions.

He grinned. Is that so? he said. I was sure you mustve solved that problem before you sold me to the ships captain, because otherwise you wouldnt have done it, would you? I mean, nobodyd be so recklessly stupid as to do something like that without figuring out a completely watertight plan first.

All right, I said, spare me the brilliant sarcasm. There are times when youve just got to think on your feet, thats all. Or would you rather be back in Sicily dodging soldiers?

You know, he went on, ignoring me and laying into the last onion, if it wasnt for wanting to see Rome again, Id be perfectly happy staying put on this ship. I mean, Ive got enough to eat, somewhere to sleep, and I expect theyd give me a new tunic when this one falls to pieces. Oh yes, and they seem to like me, and weve been on this boat three days and nobodys tried to kill me. What more could you possibly ask out of life? Except a chance to go home, he added.

Thats the one little bit that itches. Its like a nail working up through the sole of your boot; the further you go, the worse it gets.

Im not listening, I said.

Big deal, he replied, you never listen. You talk instead. He slashed at what was left of the onion like he was a Thracian cavalryman cutting off someones head. God almighty, am I ever tired of your incessant bloody talking. Itd be different if you ever, just once in a while, said something worth hearing. Even if it was only twice a year, Kalends of March and Ides of September, something like that. But you dont, you just drivel. There were tears running down his face, but it mustve been the onions. You know, he went on, Ive travelled the world with you, Ive seen men whose skins are black with the heat and blue with woad, Ive seen deserts and forests and oceans, and everything, every bloody thing, was drowned out in a sea of your never-ending chatter. He spun round, and his knife was level with my throat, though that was just coincidence. I couldve heard music or listened to philosophers or storytellers in the markets. Instead, I got you. And you know what? Because of you, Ive kept silent. I havent sung, I havent played. When I was sixteen years old I used to walk along composing poetry under my breath, I chewed my food to an iambic rhythm, I even dreamed in metre, and when I woke up thered be little shards and snippets of pure, clean hexameters left in my mouth that Id have lost by the time I opened my eyes. And then, he said, scowling at me, you came along. Through some horrible error, some ghastly case of mistaken identity, your brotherthe only person I ever loved in my whole lifeyour brother died and I got you instead. Wonderful. He threw the knife across the galley; it clattered on the decking. I got you, and your constant hum of dogshit driving everything out of my mind, every verse and every tune, untilbloody hell, until I stopped listening to me and started listening to you instead. I tell you what, Galen. If the Senate and People of Rome wanted to make me suffer like nobodys ever suffered before, all they had to do was shackle me to you for ten years; only I did it for them. And all this time, Ive been keeping you alive, saving your useless neck over and over again because he would have wanted me to. Im rotting in hell, Galen, and hell is you. Do you understand that? Are you actually listening to me, or are you allowing your attention to wander?

You couldve pulled out my spine and shoved it up my bum, and I wouldnt have noticed. It was like Id bumped into some nutter in the street, the sort who follow you around screaming at you and wont go away And the sheer bloody ingratitude of itI tell you, if wed been alone somewhere, out in the open where nobody could see, Id have smashed his teeth down his neck, even though Id have had to stand on something to reach.

You finished? I said.

More or less.

Fine, I told him. You know what, Lucius Domitius? Youre an arsehole. Youre a selfish, ungrateful, stupid arsehole, and if it wasnt for the fact that Callistus died for you, Id turn you in to the captain, and me with you for being such a bloody fool as to look after you all these years. Oh, I was angry all right. You saved my neck, did you? Fuck you. You wouldnt have lasted a day on your own. Theyd have caught you and pulled you apart, bit by bit, youd never have had a chance to starve in a ditch because you arent capable of fending for yourself. Well, I said, thats all right. If you want us to go our separate ways, lets do it. Ill take care of me, and you can look out for yourself. Starting with getting your useless bum off this ship. You think you can do that, all by yourself?

Sure, he replied. And I can do it without making everything ten times worse, which is more than you can say I laughed. Really? I said. Is that right? Let me tell you something, Roman. All over the world theres thousands and millions of slaves, and you know why they stay slaves, instead of just slinging their hook and going home? Its because they havent got any choice. Its because its bloody difficult and dangerous, a slave running away, and they only hang around because they know that if they try and make a dash for it, theyre going to get caught and strung up on a cross, and theyre going to die painfully Now, if youre so much smarter than all those thousands and thousands of poor bastards who never even had a chance, you go ahead and you do it. But youre so thick, you cant pick your nose without sticking a finger up your ear. You try it, youre a dead man. As if I cared.

You reckon?

I dont reckon, I told him, I know Oh, you think youve had it hard because you cant ponce around in silk dresses playing the harp any more. Big fucking deal. Ive had it hard because I never had anything, not even enough to eat. I didnt wind up stealing and cheating for a living because I pissed off a whole empire so they couldnt stand the sight of me any more. I wound up this way because I was born. And you talk to me about having it hard.

He pulled a face. You said it, he said. You were born to this life, because its all youre fit for.

I dont know how 1 kept myself from decking him. The only thing I can think of was knowing he was right. But thats got nothing to do with it, has it?

Listen to you, he went on. You tell me how incredibly hard it is for a slave to escape, and then you stand there telling me that if I stick with you, youre clever enough to figure out how to do it. You honestly want me to believe that youre smarter than all those millions of people. For crying out loud, Galen, dont you ever listen to what you say?

Id stopped being hot angry, I was cold angry now All right, I said, thats up to you. From now on, youre none of my business. If you can manage to get away from this ship and stay loose long enough to go back to Rome, then bloody good luck to you. I mean it, I added, I wish you all the luck in the world, I really hope youll make it. I owe you that, I went on, because finally, after all these years, Im free of you, free and clear. Its wonderful. Ten years, Ive had this grindstone the size of a cartwheel hanging round my neck, because Callistus wanted me to keep you alive. And now you turn round and tell me I dont have to do that any more. You know what? Its better than all the jailbreaks and the lastminute reprieves, because I havent just saved my life, Ive actually got it back. My life, Lucius Domitius. Thank you.

He looked me in the eye. My pleasure, he said. We shouldve had this talk years ago.

I wish we had. Suddenly I felt cold all over, because this wasnt just a row, like we used to have all the time. This meant something. It was like having a tooth pulledhurts if you do, hurts if you dont, but you know deep inside that youre better off without. Goes to show, doesnt it, how dumb you can be.

Thats ten years of my life Ill never have again. But its worth it, to put things right.

He nearly said something, but he stopped himself, and his face was all stiff, like hed been dead for three days. Good luck, Galen, he said. I hope we never see each other again, but good luck anyhow

And to you, Lucius Domitius, I said. Hope the music and stuff come together somehow

Thank you. Suddenly he looked at me. Galen.

What?

Just tell me one thing, will you?

All right.

He took a deep breath, like he was nervous. Tell me, he said, is my voice really that bad? Or is that just another piece of shit they say about me?

I paused before I replied. Its really that bad, Lucius Domitius. Sorry, but you did ask.

He lifted his head. Thats fine, he said. I dont mind. Just so long as I know And youre the only person who wouldnt lie to me about that.

Well, I said, Im glad you realise that. I may have done some shitty things to you over the years, but Id never lie to you.

I turned and walked out of the galley, and it must have been those awful bloody onions, because my eyes were hurting. Or maybe I really did feel bad about something, I dont know It was almost enough to make me wish Id told him the truth about his singing.

*

Time went by, and the brown splodge on the right-hand side of the ship stopped being Sicily and turned into Italy, and I found myself having to face up to the fact that this journey wasnt going to last for ever. In spite of my falling out with Lucius Domitius and everything else, it had been one of the most relaxing times in my life (which gives you some idea of the complete mess Ive made of it) and the thought of having to go back to workstarting at the bottom again, with a completely empty purse and nothing but the clothes I stood up in, etceteratook the shine off the last few days of the cruise. For two pins and a clove of garlic, as my old mother used to say, Id have asked the captain if he had a job going, only hed have wondered why a supposedly prosperous merchant like me suddenly wanted to join the crew of a grain freighter.

I dont think I said more than a dozen words to Lucius Domitius from the time we had that fight until the day when the lookout told us that we were coming up to Circei, next stop Ostia and Rome . I went to the galley to get my meals, held out my plate, and walked away without saying anything. Silly, really, but my anger had turned septic, and even looking him in the face made it ache. In the back of my mind, I was worried sick about how he was going to get off the ship

(assuming he still wanted to, and hadnt made up his mind to stay on board and cook bacon and beans for the rest of his life; and somehow the fact that he had that option and I didnt made me resent him more) but I tried not to think about it. Not my problem any more.

One day out from Ostia , the sea got crowded. Nobody else thought anything of it, but to me it was a sight to see: dozens of grain freighters, as big as ours or bigger, sitting in the water like giant ducks as they waited their turn to put in and unload. When you see something like that, it makes you realise how enormous Rome is, the sheer number of people who must live there.

About midday we dropped anchor and settled down to wait. There wasnt any of that buzz you sometimes get on a ship when its about to put in after a long journey, as the crew start talking about what theyre going to do when they hit town. Grain freighters arent like that. As soon as theyre unloaded theyre off again, time is money, a quick turnaround makes all the difference between profit and loss when youre shaving your margins to the bone. As far as our crew was concerned, party time was at the other end, at Camarina, where the ship would have to lay over two nights waiting for the next load to be put on board. I wished that I could be with them, but I knew I couldnt risk showing my face in Sicily ever again. No, by the time they were getting slung out of taverns in Camarina, Id already have been back in my own personal slate quarries for a fortnight: back to the daily grind of pulling scams, snatching stuff off market stalls, running like hell from the guard. What a wonderful life, I thought.

And then it struck me, as we sat there on the water with nothing to do but look at the scenery: actually, I dont have to do that any more, I can do something else. It hit me like a bolt of lightning out of a clear sky What I could do, I had no idea, but what the hell, it wasnt possible that I could be the only man in my position in the greater Roman area, home to millions of the worlds poorest people. There had to be thousands like me, and they managed somehow Id never heard anybody talking about carts going round the streets of Rome picking up the emaciated bodies of down-and-outs whod starved to death during the night. No way It was simple: all I had to do was go into town and get a job.

Of course, Id never done anything like that before. Twenty-four years since I left home, and all that time Id watched people working in countries all over the world, but Id never walked up to someone and asked him for a job of work, or hung around at a hiring fair, or anything like that. I knew how it was done, in theory, but Id never done it myself. But, I reasoned, it cant be difficult, or how would all the deadbeats and brickheads manage to do it? If they could do it, a resourceful bloke like me ought to have no problem, surely The more I thought about the idea, the more I liked it. In my minds eye, I started picturing myself, ten years, fifteen years on. There I was, in a nice wool tunic, standing in front of a busy workshop with a dozen or so blokes beavering away in the background, and I could hear me saying, When I first came to this town, I had nothing but a ragged old shirt and the boots on my fret. Of course, I had my back to the workers, so I couldnt see what it was they were doing, which was a pity, since Id have liked to know, it might have given me some ideas. Still, at the time it didnt seem important. Didnt matter what work I set my hand to so long as I worked. It was all so blindingly simple: put the effort in, and at the end of the process out pops a comfortable, stress-free old age. A bit like making sausages, really And (I couldnt help pointing out to myself) none of this would have been possiblealready I was thinking of it as safely in the jarnone of it wouldve been possible if I hadnt finally got rid of Lucius Domitius. Sad to say, but the fact needed to be faced. It was him whod been holding me back those last ten years, the worry and aggravation of looking after him, keeping him out of harms way Without him on my back like a sack full of stones, I could finally crack on and live my life, I could finally find out what it was I was supposed to be doing in the world, I could finally be me. Maybe Id miss him, a bit, to start off with, but there comes a tune when youve just got to turn your back on the past and start looking at the future. So there.

Well, you get like that when youre stuck on a ship going nowhere for hours on end. Its like when you wake up in the middle of the night and cant get back to sleep, you start thinking too hard about things, and before long it feels like your brains itching and you cant scratch it. Then all the crazy stuff starts seeping out from wherever it is you keep it stashed away the rest of the time, and the next thing you know, youve made up your mind to do something really crazy and stupid. When this happens in the wee small hours it generally doesnt matter, because eventually you fall asleep and when you wake up its all gone.

But on a ship in the Ostia roads, absolutely still on the water and no way off if you cant swim, theres a very real danger of taking some of this dogshit seriously Well, that was the frame of mind Id managed to work myself up into. At some point, not quite sure when, I realised that one of the things Id have to do before I could draw a line under my useless, wasted past and press onwards to my bright new life was make my peace with Lucius Domitiusnot that I wasnt still mad as hell about some of the things hed said, but I didnt want to wake up one night and lie there fretting because wed parted enemies and Id never said goodbye. Besides, there was nothing else to do, and Id been sitting on a big coil of rope for several hours, and my arse was going numb. So I got up and went looking for him.

Grain freighters are big, but theres not much room on them. All the space is filled up with jars of corn. Usually, you can find anybody youre looking for in less time than it takes to eat a bowl of soup. But he wasnt in the galley, he wasnt on deck or down in the hold, and he wasnt sat out back in the shitting chair; it was a pretty safe bet that he wasnt in the captains cabin.

So where the hell was he?

I asked around, but nobody had seen him for ages. Eventually, one of the guys I asked mustve got to thinking, and asked the captain, because suddenly he was charging round in a blazing temper, searching under empty sacks and up in the crows nest and prodding about in the huge man-sized grain jars with a spit

and no sign of Lucius Domitius anywhere.

Bastard cant have gone overboard, he was muttering, because he was still cooking breakfast when we dropped anchor. Anybody remember hearing a splash?

Then it dawned on me. At some point that morning, while we were lazing around with our brains turned down, hed taken his chance and buggered off.

Mustve sneaked off over the side, nice and quiet, the captain said. Probably swam underwater as far as the anchor rope of the next ship down, then made his way ship to ship as far as the shore. Well, I hope he got a stitch and drowned.

He kicked a pile of old sacks. Serves me right for being too bloody soft-hearted, I guess.

For some reason, the captain seemed to blame menot that he came out with it and accused me of helping him escape, or anything like that. I think he was just extremely angry at losing a slave, and I was the one whod put him in the position of having a slave to lose, so it was all my fault. As usual, the crew took their mood from the skipper, and by the time we finally tied up at the dock, I was only too glad to get off the ship and away from all those scowling faces. I was so upset and pissed off at being hated for something I hadnt done that Id walked the length of the pier and started up into the town when suddenly it hit me.

Damn, I thought. Hed gone, and Id missed him.

I didnt know what to do, so I sat down with my back to a wall, and for some reason I suddenly burst into tears. I was squatting there, bawling my heart out, when I noticed there was someone standing over me. Short, round bloke with a bald head and a scrubby white beard.

Face like a full moon, with a little piggy snout for a nose.

Whatre you making that filthy row for? he asked me, in Latin. I looked up at him. He was all blurry round the edges, because of the tears.

I just lost the only real friend I ever had, I said. He up and buggered off, and never even said goodbye.

The round bloke frowned. Oh, he said, right. Well, there you go. Have a drink, itll make you feel better. He fished about in his purse and flicked a coin at me. I caught it one-handed without even looking. It turned out to be a good silver denarius, whichll buy you a really bad hangover any day of the week in Rome, with enough for a good meal left over, so that was all right. Of course, it had to be an old coin, with the Goddess of Fortune carrying a Horn of Plenty on one side, and the head of the emperor Nero on the other.

Six
So there I was, down and out in Ostia, without a copper to my nameactually, thats not true, because when I woke up the next day, after my denarius worth of debauchery, as well as a real classic of a sick headache I had precisely one copper farthing (and I damn near swallowed that; never been able to get out of the Greek habit of carrying my small change in my mouth, see). Somehow, that one completely useless cointheres nothing you can buy with a single farthing

made it even worse.

Anyhow there I was, with a bad head and a stiff neck after a nights sleep in a temple portico. Wonderful way to start off the rest of my life. Still, it was my own silly fault, and I had no sympathy I sat down on the temple steps and tried to figure out what I was going to do.

Well, I could stay in Ostia . Always plenty of work around a grain terminal, if you dont mind ending up a cripple after a year or two. Or I could stroll up the military road to Rome ; or I could pick a direction, head out into the countryside, and see if I could get a job doing farm work.

Maybe it was the hangover and the stiff neck, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked the third option. After all, I told myself, deep down where it matters Im a farm boy, and if it wasnt for the cruel vicissitudes of fate

(Senecas line, not mine) at that very moment Id be home in Attica, sitting down under my own fig tree with my breakfast in a basket before putting in an honest days work hoeing between my vines. A city wasnt the place for me, I told myself; in a city Id get into trouble, have the guard chasing me down narrow alleys in no time flat, and I was done with that kind of thing, thanks all the same. Good healthy farm work, thoughof course, I knew farm work from nothing, ploughing and sowing and pruning and all that stuff, nothing anybody could teach me about growing things in the bosom of our mother Earth. Screw cities, I told myself. Give me the feel of newly turned soil under my feet, the sweet smell of apple blossom in the evening, the quiet, friendly chatter on the way home from the fields, and a fat hunk of cheese and a wodge of fresh home-baked barley bread in front of the hearth before turning in for a refreshing nights sleep. Thats the way people were meant to live, after all, not cooped up in brick boxes like pigs in winter.

Once you get away from the docks, Ostias not a big place. Just keep walking for an hour or so and youre out into farmland. As the fresh air cut my hangover and the exercise loosened up my aches and pains I realised that, for once in my life, Id made the right choice. On either side of the road I could see people working at that slow, unstressed, enduring pace you get once you leave the town behind. Just occasionally, a big cart rolled by, piled high with greens or fruit or winejars, off to feed the insatiable maw of Rome. Hah, I thought, how pathetic; all those millions of people who cant even feed themselves, have to pay someone else to do it for them. The hell with all that, I thought. Thats the joy of farming. You just put stuff in the ground and go away, and when you come back theres a tasty meal, sitting there just waiting for you to pick it and take it home.

Well, all this time I was keeping my eyes open for a village or a big farmhouse, somewhere I could go and ask if they had any work going. Of course, I knew that Italy wasnt quite the same as my part of the world. Id heard all about that, many times; how the small farmers bad all been conscripted into the army or put out of business by the rich senators and their big, slave-run estates. Yeah, I thought, sure; Id heard all that from ex-soldiers and other low life, blokes whod never done a real days work in their lives. If theyd lost the family farm it was because they were basically no good. Thered always be plenty of real farmers, men who ate what they grew and grew what they ate. You cant just sweep them all off the face of the land, and sooner or later Id find one, and hed give me a job. Or even if I didnt, well, all these rich absentee landlords, theyd need men to do their work for them, and the blokes in the fields I could see from the road didnt look like slaves. I couldnt see any chain gangs or overseers with stockwhips, just blokes in homespun tunics and broad leather hats, quietly getting on with the job in hand.

But on I went, and no village or farmhouse, just more and more fields, not even a cowshed or a linhay Obviously I was missing something. So I decided to ask someone.

The first man I saw was leaning on a two-tine hoe, having a blow. He couldve been my next-door neighbour from Phyle, the type was that familiarlong, stringy bloke with big nubbly hands and a faraway look in his eyes. Morning, I called out.

He turned his head and looked at me. Mphm, he said, or something like that.

Nice day, I said. It doesnt do to rush things when youre talking to country people.

Mm. He looked at me without blinking, like I was a nasty case of leaf rot.

Good rap youve done there, I said, waving my hand at five neatly spitted rows of turned earth.

Mm. He frowned slightly, but I wasnt worried. Its like with horses or cats, youve got to earn their trust first.

Well, I said. This your place, then?

He didnt move for a while. Then he shook his head.

I see, I said. Tenant, then?

He shook his head again. Thats Italians for you, they arent as forthcoming as us Greeks. Still, salt of the earth.

Im only asking, I went on, because Im in the way of looking for a bit of work. Any going up your place, do you know?

He thought about it for a long, long time. Mphm, he said, and then, just as I was about to ask him if that was mphm-yes or mphm-no, he added, Reckon so. Whats your game, then?

I shrugged. Oh, Ill turn my hand to anything, me. So, where should I go?

 

Salt of the earth, Italians, but as thick as shit. Who should I go and see? I explained. The steward, or the foreman, or whatever.

He jerked his head sideways at nothing in particular. Try the house, he said.

Right, Ill do that, thanks. I hesitated, just in case he was about to say something helpful. No chance. So, wheres the house, then?

Up over, he replied, with another sideways jerk.

Pardon.?

He frowned. Up over, he repeated. Then down along. Big house, cant miss it. 

I had no trouble at all finding the big house, mostly because it was the only house Id seen since I left Ostia. House is maybe not the right word. It was bigger than a lot of villages Ive seen, and what it reminded me of most was an army camp. Bloody great big barracks, for one thing, right next to the barns and sheds; also its own watermill and a damn great big smithy The house itself was one of the smaller buildings on the site. It had an odd look about it, old-fashioned and brand spanking new at the same time.

One good thing was, there were loads of people about. I stopped a bloke who was pottering along prodding a mule in the ribs with a bit of stick, and asked him where the foreman might be. He shrugged.

Dunno, he said. But your best betd be to go up the long barn and ask there. 

A bloke in the long barn said, try the presshouse. A bloke in the presshouse thought he might be in the stables. A little skinny bloke in the stables reckoned hed just seen him leaving the mill-house, probably headed for the tool store. The two blokes in the tool store just looked at me. On my way back across the yard, someone yelled at me from behind and I turned round to see who it was. 

You, he said. I dont know you. Whatre you prowling round for?

He was a short bloke, wide as he was tall, no neck, shoulders like two pigs side by side. Ex-sergeant; you can always spot them Sorry, I said. I was looking for the foreman.

Im the foreman. What dyou want?

Well, Id got off to a good start, hadnt I? I was looking for a job.

You? He made it sound like Id made a bad joke. Youre not from round here, are you?

No, I admitted.

Thought not. So, where are you from? You look Greek to me.

Thats right, I said. Im from Naples originally, spent some time in Asia

He scowled at me, and I got the impression he didnt want to hear my life story, which saved me the trouble of making one up. Whatre you doing in these parts, then?

That was an easy one. Looking for work, I said.

Exslave?

Freeborn, I replied smartly Raised on a farm, I added, not much I cant do around the place.

Really. His scowl got deeper, till it nearly met in the middle. Well, normally we dont hire in from off the road.

Normally was good; suggested that this might be an exception. I kept my face shut and let him talk.

But, he said, just so happens we could use a few more hands, what with He stopped and lifted his head, Greek style. All right, go on. Get yourself down the barracks, ask for Syrus, hes the lead hand. Hell tell you what to do.

So that was all right, I was in. Now, I could tell that something was up, because of that what with he hadnt finished, and a general twitchiness about his manner. Also, I wasnt too keen on a barracks for the hands, and a lead hand called Syrus was either an ex-slave or a slaveSyrus is just a name Romans give to someone from Syria, because they cant pronounce his regular name. Cant say I blame them for that. Syrian names sound like someone blowing his nose in a handful of wet grass.

So I went and asked for Syrus, and a bloke with one eye missing said he wasnt there, what did I want him for, and I explained, and he said, more fool you, but get a blanket from the pile in the corner, soups in the big pot. Soup sounded good, because I hadnt had anything to eat since I got off the ship, unless you counted the meal I had out of the kind mans denarius; and I seemed to remember parting company with most of that somewhere between the last tavern and the temple steps. But the soup turned out not to be so good after all. In fact, it was very bad, mostly water with a thick skin of grease floating on top. Still, it was better than nothing, so I slurped down as much as I could bear, got a blanket (old and frayed round the edges) and sat down in a corner to see whatd happen.

Id been there a whilelong enough to lose track of time, cant be more specific than that when I saw an old bloke coming towards me. He cant have been as ancient as he looked, or hed have croaked from old age shortly before the Trojan war; he was crooked and bent, the way very tall people get when their spines wilt, and he had a completely bald head, little bleary eyes and maybe one and a half teeth. His skin was all mottled and blotchy, but there was enough colour in it to show he wasnt Italian; some kind of Easterner, I guessed.

You there, he said.

What, me?

You. New man. I am Syrus.

Wonderful, I thought, this is the lead hand. Hello, I said, because it never hurts to be polite.

Overseer is telling me, new man arriving. He blinked at a patch of wall behind me, to my left. You with me, please.

So I got up, and he carried on looking at the patch of wall. Be following, please, he said, then he turned round and started tottering off the way hed just come.

This very good place, he said, without looking round. This very good place to be working. I am working here sixty-seven years, since I am being fetched here from my familys home in Apamea. I am lead hand here thirty-one years. Boots you will be finding in bin next to window.

From the look of the boots, theyd been there longer than he had. I found two that looked like they might be distant cousins; they were scruffy, but they had to be better than what I had on my feet. Besides, they were free.

I am serving master, Syrus droned on, and masters father, and his father before him. Very good family, very glorious and honourable, very fair and kind to hard worker. When first I am arriving, crying, crying all the time, but soon finding out this is very good place. Tunics in box in corner, all sizes, very good.

Thanks, I said, pulling out a few specimens and putting them back. So, I said. Whats the food like, and whats the pay?

Working in fields very hard, Syrus went on, soil very good, not like Syria , where is no water, very dry. Growing good vine, good fig, good olive, doing everything best way, like it says in book. This is new masters way, very good way, all is in book, very wise. You be following, please.

Sure, I said. About the wages, do we get paid by the day or the month, or what? Only, if its possible, I was wondering, a little sub up front would be really helpful

Master is very good man, said Syrus, like I wasnt even there. Much learning, much understanding in books. Always reading, reading, very good.

We crossed the yardfor someone who could only take little teeny steps, he covered the ground damn quickand he led the way into the tool shed. Here is tools, he said, very fine, all made here on farm. You be taking from stack in corner double-tine hoe.

I groaned. I hate those bloody things. Look, I said, I dont suppose the foreman mentioned it, but actually Im better suited to working with animals

you know, leading the team, or maybe a job in the stables. Anything to do with horses, Im your man.

From stack in corner, he said. Stack in corner. 

I got the impression that unless I picked up a hoe, hed have to stand there all day repeating stack in corner for fear of losing his place and having to start all over again from the beginning. I picked up a hoe just to shut him up, and then he was off again like a polecat down a drainpipe. No kidding, I had to walk a damn sight faster than Id have liked just to keep up with him.

He may have been blind as a bat, but he obviously knew his way around the place.

After wed been walking for maybe half an hour, he stopped dead in the middle of a huge ploughed field, and announced. Is here.

I was afraid hed say something like that. Stretched out across the field in a long line were maybe three dozen blokes, all with double-tine hoes, all doggedly bashing away at the clods of dirt turned over by the plough. My least favourite job in the whole world: clod-busting (and guess what I spent most of my childhood doing).

I looked round to tell him Id got this terrible shooting pain in my right shoulder, but hed gone; I caught sight of him scuttling back towards the house, still nattering away about something or other. Then some bloke who looked like Management caught my eye and gave me a look like fresh mustard; so I sighed, got a firm grip on my hoe, and started swinging.

Never let it be said Im shy of pulling my weight; an honest days work for a fair days pay, thats all Ive ever asked out of life. But theres all sorts of honest work that dont involve stooping down all the damn time, and I particularly despise stooping down. I have a delicate back, the slightest thing can set it off sometimes, and once it goes sort of click, thats it for the rest of the day, Im in agony. Anyhow, Ive always found that when youre in excruciating pain you quickly lose track of time, so I dont know how long we were out there bashing clods. It felt like twenty years, but it was probably just a few hours. Then everybody suddenly stopped and looked up, so I did the same. Straightening up was no fun at all, but I wanted to see what was going on. 

There was this bloke sitting on a big horse, watching us. He was a sight to see all right. Try and picture a little kid whos died and been pickled in brine, like the Egyptians do, so hes all wrinkly and blanched. Top the mess off with a mop of fluffy grey hair, and there you go.

The overseer yelled out, Who said you could stop working? and everybody snapped back down, like those water cranes they have out East. But I was curious to know who the bloke on the horse was, so I kept glancing up at him whenever I could, and of course I kept my ears open, because he was muttering something under his breath. I couldnt make out the actual words, but it sounded a lot like poetry.

Then he stopped muttering, because the overseer bloke was talking to him. I was thinking, boss, he was saying, times getting on, howd it be if, instead of going over all this lot by hand, we got the harrow out and just

But the bloke on the horse interrupted him. His voice was very high and shrill, and he sounded extremely pissed off. No, no, no, he said. How many times do I have to tell you people?

But when thy fluttering hand hath sown the seed, 

Breaking the soil becomes thy greatest need; 

By delving deep strive to appease the gods, 

And with the ponderous hoe assault the clods.

Ponderous hoe, he continued. The book specifically states, the ponderous hoe. Or do you presume to know better than the poet?

Short silence. Well, said the overseer slowly, thats as may be, but where I come from

There are some sounds you can identify straight off without needing to look, and the noise a riding whip makes when it hits a mans face is one of them. Of course, I sneaked a look. The overseer was staggering back, with his hands up round his mouth. The bloke on the horse had a whip in his hand, and was carefully rolling it up again. Remember, he was saying, the ponderous hoe. Not the harrow Really, is it too much to ask for you people to do as youre told?

Well, I got my head down bloody quick, because one thing Ive learned in life is not to draw attention to yourself when things start getting stroppy. Next time I dared look up, the bloke on the horse had gone and the overseer was standing there mopping blood off a nasty long cut across his cheek from his lip to his eyebrow Marvellous, I thought, Ive really landed on my feet here.

Finally, after a couple of lifetimes with time added for bad behaviour, we reached the headland and the overseer called time for the day. On the way back to the barracks, I asked one of the blokes what all that had been about.

He looked at me. Youre new here, arent you? he said.

Yes, its my first day Who was the nutso on the horse, and why did he belt the overseer?

The bloke laughed. Him on the horse, he said, thats Marcus Ventidius Gnatho, and its him as owns this lot. And a whole lot besides, but this is where he lives, most of the time.

Ah, I said. Well, thats handy to know But what made him go beating up on the overseer? And what was that poetry he was spouting?

The bloke grinned. Ah, well, he said, our Marcus Ventidius, hes a bit of a scholar, see. Always got his head in a book, or else hes making up his own books, poetry and stuff. Well, about five years back, his old man dies and Marcus inherits, and he gets the notion of running the farm like it says in this big long poem, by one of them writer chaps from the city. Seems like theyve got nothing better to do with their time up there than sit around making up these poems all about how youre supposed to do things, like farming or sailing or doctoring the sick, any damn thing that comes into their heads. Course, they dont know bugger all about it, they just copy it all out of some other book and pretty it up so it scans and all, but our Marcus, he gets hold of this damned old poem, that he calls On Farming, by Publius Virgilius Maro, and the long and the short of it is, we got to do everything like it says in his book, whether its the right way or not. Now this overseer, Cleitus his name is, Spanish chap, hes not been here very longthey dont hardly seem to stay here any time, overseersso he dont know any better than to go telling master how his books all wrong; and Marcus, he dont like that at all, like you just saw Course, we couldve warned him, but then, wheres the fun in that?

I thought for a moment. Now, you probably wouldnt put me down as a literary type, and youd be right enough at that, but you couldnt hang round the palace any time back in the old days without overhearing people banging on about this poet and that poetbored me half to death, of course, and mostly it went in one ear and straight out the other side, but bits of it couldnt help stickingand I particularly remembered Virgilius Maro because Lucius Domitius couldnt stand his stuff, not even for ready money, and he was always reciting bits in silly voices and generally taking the piss. So when the bloke said the name, I nodded and muttered, Oh, him, or words to that effect. Not that Id recognise the works of Virgilius Maro if you painted them blue and stuck them up my bum with a forked stick, but there you go.

So, I said, thats not the first time hes done something like that, then?

The bloke grinned. Overseer before last, he tried to tell old Marcus you cant go pruning in September, youll kill the vines deadwell, stands to reason, everybody knows that. But master, he flies into a right old temper, smacks overseer round the face with the back edge of a billhook, busts his jaw for him, tells him it says in his book, start pruning when Arcturus is rising, and if he wont do what hes told, hed better clear off out of it. Well, overseers gone the next day, and we do the pruning like he says, and all the vines on the north slope, dead as boot nails inside of a week. The heat, see. Laugh? We nearly shat ourselves.

I nodded. Actually, I could see whatd happened there, because they do start their pruning when Arcturus rises in Ionia, which is where a lot of the old Greek poets came from, and it mustve been one of their books Virgilius Maro was copying out of. I thought about trying to explain this to the bloke, but I decided not to bother.

Well, I said, no skin off your nose, I guess. 

The bloke shook his head. Master blamed us for the vines dying, he said.

Picked out three blokes, had em flogged till they damn near died. Still, you cant go telling these fine gentlemen what to do, they always reckon they know best. Lords of all creation, thats what they think they are, and if something goes wrong its always got to be some other buggers fault. But you cant complain, can you? I mean, thats the way things are.

 

The food turned out to be rubbish, and nobody said anything about wages, or if they did, I didnt hear them. But I was too knackered after a long day with the ponderous hoe to be bothered about that. I found a corner of the barracks that nobody wanted for anything, curled up in my blanket and went to sleep.

Next day we were booted awake at daybreak and marched out for another spell of ponderous hoeing. By midday Id just about had enough, but the overseer was in a filthy mood and skiving didnt strike me as a sensible idea, so I gritted my teeth and got on with it. Come knocking-off time, all I wanted to do was crawl under a stone and die. The next day was pretty much the same, and the day after that. Id hoped that after a day or so Id have got back into the swing of field work and the aches and pains would start to ease off, but I was kidding myself.

If anything it was getting worse and worse, and still nobody had mentioned money or anything vulgar like that. On the other hand, I kept telling myself, at least I was eating regularly, and I hadnt had to hide from a half platoon of soldiers ever since Id arrived in Italy There wasnt much in it, but on balance I reckoned I was better off, just about.

On the tenth day, we were still clodbashing. By this point, I was pretty certain that Id done something nasty and permanent to my back, and my arms and shoulders werent all that wonderful either. Also, the boredom was starting to get to me in a big way At first I hadnt minded it so much, since you can have too much excitement in life, but when youve been used to keeping your wits about you, living on your nerves and your instinctswell, its like a bloke I once got talking to in a bar somewhere. He said hed been born and raised in a big city in Asia Minor somewhere, and then hed moved for some reason and wound up in the depths of the country, on his own all day, and he told me the peace and quiet was slowly driving him round the bend. All his life hed been used to noisepeople in the streets in the day, carts rumbling and creaking through the streets all night, having to dodge and weave in and out of the crowds and the traffic just to get from one side of the market square to the other.

Standing in the middle of a wide open field all day, no sounds except the tweeting of the larks and cows farting in the distance, it was sheer torture to him, he said. Well, I guess it was the same with me and excitement, or, if you prefer it, danger. My brain was going numb from not being used, and I was getting so bored during the day that I couldnt sleep at night, even though I was completely shattered. Crazy, of course. I mean, whoever heard of anybody pining away because they werent in mortal peril all the damn time? But then, I never pretended I was right in the head.

So theres me, on the tenth day of my new career in agriculture, and were in our usual line belting great big lumps of caked dirt with the ponderous fucking hoe, when who should turn up but that doddering old pest Syrus? Hadnt seen hide nor hair of him since the first day, not that Id missed him, but there he was, still twittering on into space, and behind him there was this other bloke. Big man, broad shoulders, enormous neck like an ox, reddish-brown hair starting to go thin on top. Lucius Domitius.

Well, I didnt know what to make of that. First thought was, he mustve come looking for me; and though I was still very angry indeed about the stuff hed said, really bloody angry, I found myself thinking, Well, thats all right, then, as if everything had just been put straight. But he didnt seem to be looking for me, or anybody much. He was just stood there, looking at the double-tine hoe in his hands like he was trying to figure out how you made it work, with a look on his face like hed just woken up after being bashed over the head down a dark alley Then I tumbled to what had really happened. He hadnt come looking for me after all. Hed just happened to show up here looking for work, and it was all sheer coincidence.

Needless to say, breaking line or wandering over to chat to someone was definitely not on, not while the overseer was about, so I had to wait till knocking-off time before I could hurry across and say hello. By that point, he looked like hed been tortured for military secrets by the Parthians: his mouth was hanging open, and he was shaking slightly all over. At least Id done farm work before. Dont suppose he ever had.

I came up behind his left shoulder and said, Hello, Lucius Domitius, in a quiet, everyday sort of way He stopped dead, then swung round so fast he nearly lost his balance.

Galen, he said. What the bloody hell are you doing here?

I grinned at him. Earning a living, I said. Good, honest work, you cant beat it. How about you?

What? He looked like he hadnt understood the question. Oh, me too. I mean, Ive been wandering about since I got off the ship, trying to make my way to the city, but this is, well, as far as Ive got, and I hadnt eaten for two days, and someone said there was work going here, so .. . He shook his head. Galen,

he said, and his eyes were going all red like hed got dust in them, youve no idea how glad I am to see you. Ioh God, this is stupid. And he flung his arms round me and gave me a hug that came close to busting all my ribs.

Leave off, for fucks sake, I gasped, youre killing me. And the other blokes are staring.

Huh? Oh, right. He let go, and suddenly we were both grinning like complete fools. I thought Id never see you again, he said.

Me neither, I replied. So, when you jumped ship, what happened?

We started walking. Oh, nothing much, he replied. I climbed down the anchor rope when nobody was watching, then I swam underwater as far as the next ship down, came up, caught my breath, and so on right into the harbour.

Thats what we thought you mustve done, I said.

Oh. He frowned. Oh, right. And I was thinking how clever Id been. Well, no matter. So, how long have you been here?

Ten days, I said. And in case you hadnt noticed, this is a fucking awful way to live. I wouldnt wish it on a dung beetle.

He lifted his head. Id sort of got that impression myself, he replied. I mean, is it always like that?

Today was one of the better days, I told him. The master wasnt about, the overseers been in a relatively good mood.

Oh. He frowned. So, who does this place belong to? I asked the old, mad bloke, but he didnt seem to be listening to me.

Marcus Ventidius Gnatho, I replied, and told him all about the poetry and Virgilius Maro and the overseer getting smacked in the face. He looked very thoughtful.

Ventidius Gnatho, he repeated. Oh God, I remember him, he was a right creep. Very boring, but with a vicious streak. He frowned. Came to all my readings and recitals, he added. Didnt even need to be invited, he came of his own accord.

Well, that proves it, then, I said. Obviously hes completely mental.

Quite. Always looked like he was enjoying it, too; or at least, I dont ever remember him falling asleep or sticking pins into his hands to make himself stay awake. I remember one incredibly long evening where he started telling me why he liked my use of the double caesura in trochaic hexameters, and it was dawn before I managed to get him to shut up. I think he hated me as much as the rest of them, but he was a genuine virtuoso when it came to crawling: never let his personal feelings get in the way of his work.

I pulled a face. Youre thinking he might recognise you, then?

He shrugged. I wouldnt have thought so. Itd never cross his mind that someone working in his fields could be a dead emperor. But its not a risk Id want to take, all the same. Does he hang round the workers very often, or is it just once in a blue moon?

Ive seen him three times in ten days, I replied. From what I gather, he likes to spend a couple of hours each afternoon riding round making a pain of himself, but its a big place and theres loads of other field gangs beside this one. So long as you keep your head down and your mouth shut...

But he was frowning. I dont like it, he said. I mean, just my rotten bloody luck, I wind up on the only estate in Italy that hasnt got an absentee landlord. He stopped, and looked at me. If I move on, he said, will you stay here, or what?

I hadnt given it any thought. I mean, as soon as I saw him again, I mustve automatically assumed wed stick together. After all, it seemed meant. Wed been apart eleven days, and then the gods scoop us up and shovel us back together again. Not that I go a lot on the destiny stuff, but its hard to ignore the subtle machinations of fate when a giant hand descends from the clouds and rubs your nose in them.

Maybe, I said. I mean, this is a really shitty place, but Ive sort of got used to not having soldiers chasing me all the time.

He started walking again. Well, he said, maybe itd be safer if we did split upfor you, I mean. After all, nobodys after you in Italy, youve got a clean slate. But if someone recognises me and youre with me, itd only take one person from the old days ... I mean, you two werent very popular around the court.

This was news to me. I mean, I didnt think anybody even knew who I was back then. Really? I said.

He nodded. All my friendsmy hangers-on, they called them, and that was the polite termthe senators and the army people hated the lot of you, because you were with me. I suppose they blamed you for me going to the bad, or you made a convenient scapegoat for people whod supported me or Agrippina in the early days. I dont know; the point is, so long as youre with me, youre running a risk you dont need to run.

Even at the time I was pretty sure, deep down, that it was genuine concern, that he really was worried for me. But I didnt want to take it that way I wanted it to be an excuse for ditching me. Well, fine, I said. If thats the case, maybe we would be better off if I stayed and you slung your hook. Like we said, Gnathos probably not bright enough to recognise you, but if you think its dangerous for you here, then youd better clear out while you can.

He looked at me. You think so?

Its your decision, I said. I dont like it much here either, but its not like Ive got a lot of choices of places I can go.

Nor me. He sighed. Another thing, he went on. If I do leave here, Im definitely heading for the city. Its important to me, Ive set my heart on it.

And Romes hardly a safe place for me, so.

Suddenly I didnt want to talk about it any more. Whatever, I said. You decide. After all, every single decision I ever took for the two of us landed us in the shit.

Thats not true, he said. He was lying, but I liked that he said it. Ten years is a long time. I defy anybody to go around ten years with a person and not get used to them being there. We were just unlucky a lot of the time, thats all,

he said, rather lamely People didnt tend to make friends in the barracks. It wasnt the kind of place where people talked to each other a lot, and we were making ourselves conspicuous chatting away like that. So we kept our distance that evening. We sat apart during the evening meal, and he took his blanket to the other side of the barracks when it was time to go to sleep. To be honest with you, when I woke up the next morning I was half expecting to find hed buggered off during the night, but he was still there when we lined up for the work detail. When we stopped work at midday, I went over and sat next to him.

Youre still here, then, I said.

Yes, well, I havent made my mind up yet.

You sounded pretty definite about it yesterday

Theres no desperate rush, he replied. Romell still be there this time next week, probably

Sounded to me like he was changing his tune again, but then, being decisive and resolute werent exactly his strong suit at the best of times. Which made me think: if he stuck around for a while, maybe hed forget all about the going to Rome nonsense, and wed both be better off.

Just my luck, we were three days into a heatwave, and no sign of it ending any time soon. Apparently Virgilius Maro never considered putting in a bit about how important it is to give the field hands plenty to drink when its hot, or else he couldnt get it to scan or something. Anyway, we got a cup of water at midday, and that was our lot till we returned to barracks at night. This was a fucking awful arrangement. Every day wed have a couple of blokes keel over in the heat, and two or three more pretending to keel over so they could skive off for an hour and go sit in the shade while the rest of us got on with it. Lucius Domitius and I couldnt do that, of course, on account of not making ourselves conspicuous. Bummer.

The next day, it was even hotter, and the day after that was hotter still. On the good side, though, we hadnt seen anything of Marcus Ventidius Gnatho, and if it was the heat that was keeping him indoors, I reckoned it was a small price to pay Not that I was really worried, of course, but itd have freaked Lucius Domitius out, and then hed start banging on about leaving again, and what with one thing and anotherwell, you can put up with having a dry throat and being all sweaty.

 

A curious thing Ive noticed about life. The longer you stay in one place, no matter how shitty it is, the harder it gets making your mind up to leave. In my experience, about the only places this rule doesnt apply to are prisons, but as luck would have it, Ive never been in a prison long enough for the effect to set in, so maybe its the same with them too. Not that Im in any tearing hurry to find out, mind.

So wed been there a month, maybe a month and a halfhard to say exactly, because each day was pretty much like the others, though some were better and some were worseand oddly enough, it was starting to get easier all round. For one thing, wed been taken off busting clods, which was good, and put on levelling the ground between the rows by sitting down hard on the newly turned earth and wriggling about (see On Farming by Virgilius Maro, book two, line three hundred and fifty-seven for details. I have an idea that whoever Virgilius Maro paid to copy out his poem for the bookseller made a spelling mistake there, and what the poet really wrote was and straining bullocks roll the earth full flat. Easy mistake to make, and all that). On balance, I reckon I preferred the ponderous hoe, but at least we werent on our feet all day long. After that we skipped down to lines three-fifty-nine to sixty, which was building trellises, and that was no bother at all.

It was late afternoon on a day that wasnt much different from any other day, and we were all in a pretty good mood, because the overseer had told us that come knocking-off time, we were finally going to get paid. He hadnt gone into details, like how much we were going to get, but we didnt mind that. Not knowing just stretched the treat out longer.

And then the bloke showed up.

I remember looking up from the vine prop Id just tied in, and there he was, just like that, sudden as a thunderbolt out of a clear blue sky, or a chamber pot emptied out of a tenth-storey window just as youre passing underneath.

He was sat on a huge black horse, and he was talking to the overseer, very quiet and discreet, like he didnt want anybody to hear what he was saying. Behind him were about a dozen men; by the looks of them they were either ex-soldiers or gladiators, big ugly bastards, all muscles and scars.

They werent the same ones hed had with him the first time I saw him, so my guess is hed hired local talent when he arrived in Italy Not that that mattered worth a damn.

By sheer fluke, Lucius Domitius was standing next to me in line. I leaned over and prodded him hard in the back. He turned round, asked what the matter was.

Over there, I whispered. No, dont turn round. Just move your head slowly, like youre stretching or something.

Oh for crying out loud, Galen, he grumbled, dont be so bloody melodramatic, it cant He stopped, froze for a moment or so, then looked back at me. Shit,

he said.

I nodded. It is him, isnt it? I said. That lunatic from Sicily The one who blocked the road when we were being taken to the quarries, and killed all those soldiers

Keep your voice down, he barked, so loud that a couple of the other men on the line turned to see what was going on. Yes, he said, thats him, all right.

Bloody hell, Galen, whats he doing here?

Search me, I replied. But something tells me he isnt here to give us large sums of money or introduce us to his daughters. Get your head down, I hissed, as the bloke on the horse looked up and started casting his eye over the line.

Could be he was stretching his neck, or wondering idly why in hells name we were building our trellises two months later than every other farm in Italy, but then again, could be he was looking for someone.

I havent got a clue how long he stayed there nattering with the overseer. I kept glancing sideways out of the corner of my eye to see if he was still there, and eventually he wasnt. I straightened up, and saw him and his blokes riding off down the track in the general direction of the house (though it was also the way back to the main road). Its all right, I said, hes gone.

Lucius Domitius stood up, and made a groaning noise as he straightened his back.

May be your idea of all right, he said, but it sure as hell isnt mine. What do you think all that was about?

I lifted my head. No idea, I said. I mean, it could all be perfectly harmless. Maybe hes on his way to the city on business and got lost, and all he was doing was asking for directions.

Dont think so, Lucius Domitius muttered. How long does it take to say, back the way you came, left and left again, then follow your nose? They were stood talking there for at least half an hour.

I frowned, trying to get my brain to work (but after however long it was, it was slow getting started). Well, I said, if he was looking for us, he didnt look very hard. Just sat there jawing with the overseer. If he was looking for us, all he had to do was ride down the line.

Lucius Domitius bit his lip. Yes, all right, he said. I dont know Unless he simply wasnt expecting to see us in a line of field hands. But if he goes up to the house and asks, have you seen two men, a big sandy-haired type and a little bloke with a face like a rat

You know what? I said. Im really not interested. All Im concerned about is being some place he isnt. Dont know about you, but as soon as works over, Im for slipping away quietly and making a run for it.

But Lucius Domitius lifted his head. Not sensible, he said. Think about it, Galen. Can you think of a better way of drawing attention to ourselves than skipping out half an hour before we finally get paid? Half an hour after, maybe, thats perfectly reasonable, but beforewell, there could only be one reason for that, couldnt there?

He had a point, the awkward bugger. Sure, I said, all right. But I really dont fancy marching back to the barracks and finding him waiting there for us, with the blacksmith standing by to rivet down the fetters on our ankles. If we push off right away, well have a half hours start on him and his muscle. And Ive got a lifetimes experience in being chased by armed men telling me that half an hours start is a perfectly good business proposition.

Lucius Domitius made a show of adjusting the lie of a vine prop. Maybe, he said. I dont know, maybe hes a lawyer and hes looking for you because your long-lost uncle just died and left you a half share in a silver mine. Although,

he added, I can think of other explanations. He scratched his chin, for all the world like he was trying to decide which evening cloak to wear, the dark green or the blue and white stripe. So what do you think we ought to do? he said.

I scowled, thinking hard. I dont know, I said. Youre right, running for it may well be as good as nailing a tablet to the barn door with Were the ones youre after on it in big bronze letters. Or we could go back to the barracks and find weve strolled right into a trap. Its a tricky one, this.

Just then the overseer called out, Time, and everybody in the line started picking up their tools, ready for going home. That was, of course, just what I hadnt wanted to hear, since it meant wed run out of time for making a decision.

Well? said Lucius Domitius.

Sometimes youve just got to trust your instincts. I hate times like that, because my instincts are about as reliable as the men who come up to you in the marketplace and ask if youre interested in buying cheap silver tableware.

Still.

We hop it, I said. We walk back with the rest of em as far as the little copse of olive trees, then we hang back like were diving in the bushes for a quick shit, double back, strike out for the main road and run like buggery.

He frowned. The main road, are you sure? Isnt that exactly where theyll head for?

No, I replied, because they know we arent dumb enough to do a stupid thing like that. Besides, if we get a move on, well be on the military road before they realise theyve missed us.

That line of reasoning seemed to convince him, which was odd, since I thought it stank. Then what? he said. Which way, Rome or Ostia?

Good question. Ostiastow away on a boat thats just about to leave, non-stop across the open sea to Greece or Spain, and wed be laughing. Or wed get there and find the weather had closed in and nothing was getting out for a week. Rome, on the other handvery big place, crowded, nobody knows anybody else. What chance would anybody have trying to find two people out of a million?

Lets go to Rome, I said. Looks like youre getting your wish after all.

Seven
Its a fair old bike from Ostia to Rome , especially if you happen to be wearing someone elses boots. If the boots are older than you are, and were made for someone who had talons for feet, its a very long walk indeed.

Its your own silly fault, Lucius Domitius told me, more than once. When we left Sicily , you had a perfectly good pair of boots, but no, you had to go and trade them in for those miserable objects, just because you thought you were getting something for nothing. Thats the trouble with you. You keep grasping at opportunities that turn out to be complete disasters.

He was always at his most annoying when he was right. Well, what about you? I said. You did exactly the same thing.

Yes. And have you seen me limping? No. Thats because I traded my clapped-out old boots for a decent pair of new ones, which fit.

Exactly, I said. You were born lucky, and I wasnt. Unfair, or what?

He frowned. You make your own luck in this life, he said, good and bad. Ive made more than my fair share of both kinds, so I know what Im talking about.

Well, I was going to say more or less the same thing, only probably not as neatly as that (but then, I never had a classical education). Thats another annoying thing he used to do. How can you insult somebody when hes forever beating you to it?

Well, anyway, I said. The point is ... I shut up. I couldnt remember what the point was going to be. We must be nearly there by now, I went on. What I was thinking was, our best plan would be to hang about till dark and slip in along with all the carts. That way, if theres anybody watching the roads for usOh, smart idea, Lucius Domitius interrupted. The first thing we do in Rome is break the curfew. On the other hand, we could just stroll in, packed in the middle of a crowd at the gate, and nobody would be able to pick us out, even if there is anybody watching. I figure the best time would be an hour before the gates close. Theres always the most terrific squash at the gates at that time.

Even if they saw us and identified us, theyd never be able to get to us through all the people.

Well, yes, he had a point there. Fine, I said, well do it your way Just dont blame me if we walk straight into a trap.

Dont worry about it, he replied, itll be fine. Back in the old days I was always wandering about the city incognito. I learned a thing or two about not being seen.

God, I thought, that old stuff again. Over the years wed been going round together, hed boasted about how he used to roam the taverns after dark and nobody recognised him, time and again. He was so proud of this master-of-disguise thing that Id never had the heart to tell him that he never fooled anybody, mostly because of the platoon of plain-clothes guardsmen that Colonel Burrus had trailing him wherever he went. Your average Roman street person can smell the guard a hundred yards away with their eyes closed, which may account for the fact that Lucius Domitius and his cronies never got their teeth smashed in when they were out making nuisances of themselves. I met a bloke once who used to do guided tour parties: two denarii a head, and you could follow round with the guards watching the emperor making an arse of himself in public. Quite a profitable line, while it lasted.

Well, I said, youre the expert. Though I still reckon we ought to take a detour and go in at the Appian gate. If theyre expecting us, the Ostian gates where theyll have put their watchers.

He shrugged. If you like, he said. Or we could be really clever and hike round to the Asinaria. Save a lot of walking uphill, too.

Made no odds to me. As far as I was concerned, the longer we put off strolling into the city, the happier Id be. Anyhow, I said, anxious to change the subject. Since were basically on a sightseeing trip, what do you want to go and look at first?

He smiled. I was just thinking about that, he said. Well, first stop, the palace, naturally No, really, he said, when I pulled a face. Its been, what, ten years. They might have got round to finishing it by now

Fair enough, I thought. After all, hed always been ridiculously proud of the palace architecture, a lot of which hed designed himselfwell, not the actual drawing lines on a piece of paper, he had Greeks who did that. His input consisted more of waving his arms in the air when they showed him the drawings and saying, Cant you make it a bit more sensuous? and crap like that. All right, I said. What next, after the palace?

He furrowed his brows, like this was some really important decision. Id like to go and see my bridge, he said. And then we can cross the river and take a look at my racetrack. And we can stop off and see my baths on the way.

Sure, I said. Good itinerary. Is there anything else you want to see, apart from the ones you built?

He grinned. Not really, he said. Oh, dont pull faces at me. Im here trying to make some kind of sense of my life. At least I can stand next to a really cute building, something thatll still be standing and looking good a thousand years from now, and say, I built that.

Fine, I said, so long as you say it quietly.

He nodded. Yes, well. Oh, and if we take a dog-leg up Scaurus promenade, we can see my arches, too.

Of course we can, I muttered. And when were through gawping at your immortal legacy, have you thought where were going to doss down for the night, with no money?

He shrugged. Theres always a doorway in the Subura, he replied. Isnt that the regular place for downandouts?

Not if you want to be still wearing your boots when you wake up, I said. Its a pretty rough neighbourhood, in case you didnt know. Full of thieves and muggers and other undesirables.

We should fit in pretty well, then.

I sighed. Ten years and still he hadnt got a clue. Talking of money, I went on, how do you propose we get hold of some? Only its bound to come in handy, for buying food and things.

He smiled patronisingly. Oh, thats easy, he said. We sit down outside a temple and look pathetic, and people will give us money Its called begging. Actually, itd be a smart plan to wrap a bit of old cloth round your leg, pretend you lost it on active service. You wouldnt believe how soft-hearted Romans are where veterans are concerned.

For pitys sake, I said, you really havent got a clue, have you? Do you really think that anybody can sit down with a hat on any street corner that happens to be free?

He looked puzzled. Well, he said, the guards are supposed to move them on, but

But they dont, I told him, because theyre organised, almost like a trade guild or something, and the members of the guild pay their dues, and the guild pays off the guard. Which is why bad things tend to happen to offcomers who try to set up on an empty pitch without joining the guild or handing over a fifth of their take. We wouldnt last a day; theyd be fishing our bodies out of the river by nightfall.

I had no idea, Lucius Domitius said. But hang on, cant we just join up, like everyone else? I happen to think trade guilds are a pretty good idea. I mean, someones got to look after the working man...

I laughed. There are lots of good ideas in the world, I said. Ever so many of them; and you look at any really shitty situation, anything thats gone so badly wrong it can never be put right, and somewhere in the background youll see the mangled remains of the good idea that caused the whole mess in the first place. Like wars, I went on. Eight hundred years your people have been fighting wars, and every single one of em started because the Romans were afraid of somebody, some bunch of woolly-backed savages who were bound to come raping and pillaging throughout the empire unless they were smacked down first. Eight centuries of pre-emptive strikes, millions of people dead and mutilated, because you Romans reckon peace is a good idea. Or take your governments, I went onIve got no idea why I suddenly felt like I had to preach a sermon, but it was as if something had been building up inside me for a long time, and it was suddenly bursting out, like a volcano. Everything thats wrong with the world is because of some idiots good idea. Like, five hundred years ago, you Romans thought it was a good idea to get rid of your kings and be a republic, and what did you get? The most corrupt regime the worlds ever seen, run as a private business by a load of aristocratic thieves and swindlers. So what happens? A hundred years ago, your great-great-great-uncle or whatever he was, Julius Caesar, thought itd be a good idea to get rid of all that shit and have good government, in the hands of one good man. And what did we get? We got Tiberius, and Caligula, and that murderous buffoon Claudius

And Nero, he muttered. Dont forget him.

Well, quite, I said, my point exactly A whole lot of people said, lets get rid of Nero, thatd be a good idea. And the result? Four civil wars in the space of a year. Dont give me your good ideas, they suck. For crying out loud, you should know that better than anybody You thought, lets stop wasting all our money on killing savages, lets spend it on cute buildings and teaching people to appreciate art and music and shit. And here you are.

He laughed. Yes, he said, but that was a bad idea. And besides, I may be reduced to wandering the streets with the likes of you, but the buildings are still there. And it may be a bad idea to try and run a farm according to a book of poetry, but the poetry still survives, and always will. And you know how that came about? Because my ancestor Augustus was a patron of the arts, and as long as people read Virgilius Maro, theyll remember Augustus. So maybe it wasnt such a bad idea after all. Mind you, he added, personally I think Virgilius Maro is completely overrated, but thats just my opinion, and who am I to argue with history? He lifted his head. Besides, he went on, whos to say that if my ancestors hadnt conquered the Gauls and the Carthaginians and the Teutones, that they wouldnt have smashed through our defences and burned down the city?

But as it is, the city and the empire will last for ever.

You say that like its a good thing, I grumbled.

Well, of course it is. Maybe not for you and me, personally, but for the benefit of the whole human race. Just imagine what the world would be like if the Empire were to fall and the Germans or the Persians were to get control. Wed sink from being humans to being animals in the space of a few generations.

You know what? he went on. Its one of the few things that keeps me going, the thought of what the empire means. Like the story of the Spartan candidate.

I frowned. Is that the one with the farmers daughter and the goat?

There was once a Spartan, said Lucius Domitius. He belonged to one of the great ruling families, and all his life itd been his ambition to be picked as one of the three hundred royal bodyguards, the best and bravest men in the land. So, every day of his life he trained at sports and combat practice till he was as fit and good at fighting as its possible to get, and the day came when he went to the palace for his interview, to see if hed be accepted. That evening, his wife and children were waiting for him at the front door, and they saw him coming down the street with a huge happy grin on his face. So they asked, Did you pass? And he beamed at them and said, No. Well, they couldnt understand why he was so happy, and they asked him, So what are you grinning for, you failed? And he said, Yes, but isnt it wonderful to know there are three hundred better men than me in Sparta?

I thought about that for a moment. On balance, I said, I prefer the one with the farmers daughter and the goat. And besides, I dont see the point.

Dont you? How odd. The point is, said Lucius Domitius, with a soupy expression on his face, I dont mind that they stopped me being emperor, not really Because, well, the empires still here, bigger and stronger than ever.

Im glad that there was someone better at the job than me, and that he eventually got to do it.

I shook my head. You know, I said, it must be really nice to be an idiot, like you. It must be really great to look at the world and honestly believe it makes sense. I wish I could, but Im not an idiot, so I cant. Great pity, but there it is.

He smiled. Nobodys perfect, he said.

I wasnt going to let it go on a cheap one-liner. Seriously, though, I said, you dont honestly believe all that crap, do you? About the empire and Rome and its all worthwhile because of the future of the human race?

Well, yes, he said.

Really? After everything youve seen these past ten years, going around with me?

He shrugged. True, going around with you for ten years does make me apprehensive about whether the human race has a future.

At this point I pulled a face, ha-ha-very-funny If you mean, has it made me cynical, well, yes. Ive seen that most public officials are corrupt or incompetent. Ive seen that law-enforcement officers all across the empire are so pathetic they couldnt even catch us, which would stop me sleeping at night if I was an honest citizen. But it hasnt changed my mind about what Rome means, not a bit, quite the opposite. You see, with you Ive had a peek under the flat stone, Ive seen what human beings are like, the sort of things they can do if they arent stopped. I tell you what; if I got my throne back tomorrow, after what Ive seen, Id be the best bloody emperor theyve ever had.

I changed the subject after that, because it was starting to get a little bit scary; it was the first time in ten years hed talked about being emperor again, even in a joke. Id always reckoned that he never even thought about that stuff, the same way as a man whos saved from the cross at the last minutelike me, for instancedoesnt go around saying, Next time they get me up on one of those things, Ill put on a better show for the crowd.

Like I said, Lucius Domitius wasnt just an idiot, he was a colossal idiot, he was an idiot the way an elephant is an animal. My old mother used to say, everybody is the best at something. I guess Lucius Domitius was the best idiot in the whole wide world.

 

Rome sucks.

Not for everyone, maybe. For your fat-cat, purple-striped senator breezing into town in his gilded ivory litter carried on the shoulders of two brace of thoroughbred Germans, I can see where Rome is the best place on Earth, what the Elysian Fields could have been if only the gods had had a bit more taste and vision. For your sharp-nosed Tyrian entrepreneur, bouncing into town on the box of a cart laden down with the finest in exclusive fabrics for the discerning society hostess, Rome is the only place to be. For the down-and-out Italian-trash peasant (assuming he hasnt got a price on his head, of course), Romes the place where you can earn a living just standing in a line outside a rich mans house, waiting for your little goody-basket of bread, wine and figs.

If youre a Spanish nouveau riche after a spot of instant dinner-party credibility, or a Calabrian artichoke magnate who wants top dollar for his wagonload of wilted greens, or a sailor off a stone barge looking for neat wine, broad-minded women and the latest cutting-edge developments in social diseases

(in which case, check out the Grand Circus district, or so my sources tell me), or a Greek hairdresser or a Syrian doctor or a Thracian masseur or a Batavian flute player or a newly fledged lawyer in a hurry to make his first million before hes thirty, the Seven Hills are where its at. No question. Just walk right in and help yourself.

Far as Im concerned, though, you can stuff it. I dont like the noise, or the fact that you have to wade ankle-deep in the contents of other peoples chamber pots (no kidding; especially when it rains and the cart ruts fill up). I dont like the crowdseverybodys tense and wary all the time, like deer in open country, and if you happen to stumble and fall theyll trample you into the mud so deep nobodyll ever know youre down thereor the darkness at noon in the narrow alleys between the tenement blocks, which are so high that a newly minted turd slung out of a top-storey window will smash your skull with the force of a fifteen-pound sledgehammer if youre unlucky enough to be walking underneath. I dont like the way the ground shakes at night as the timber-wagons and brick-wagons lumber through the streets, so close that the lead ox has his nose squashed right up against the tailgate of the cart in front. I dont like having to flatten myself against the wall every time a half-platoon of rat-arsed city guards swaggers past after a day of bludging free drinks in bars, hoping they wont trip over my toe and then beat me to a bloody pulp for obstructing police officers in the execution of their duty. I dont like the pace of life, the attitude, the priorities or the mindset. And I really really dont like the smell.

You have no idea, said Lucius Domitius, sidestepping just in time to avoid treading in an ox-pat, how great it feels being back here. All the time Ive been away, trying not to think about it, I was kidding myselfits not so hot really, all big cities are pretty much the same, that sort of bullshitand now Im here again, its like getting my eyesight back after being blind for ten years. Its amazing, really it is. I feel like Im me again.

A few yards behind us, a tile slid off a rooftop and glooped into the muck, spraying our backs with stuff I really didnt want to know about. If I had to live in Rome long-term, first thing Id do if I had the money would be go out and buy myself a nice, well-padded army-issue helmet, to guard what little brains Ive got against all the bits that fall off buildings.

Wonderful, I snarled. So long as youre happy, thats all that matters, really

I was wasting my breath, of course. One thing Ive learned over the years, its no bloody good trying to talk sense into a bloke when hes in love; and Lucius Domitius was head over heels in love with the Niffy City , you could tell from the way he was drooping along with his mouth open. Absolutely crazy, of course, but thats love for you. Personally Ive always reckoned its a really bad idea, but I know most people dont agree with me there.

When youve quite finished drooling, I went on, maybe you could give some thought to what were going to do about getting something to eat, silly little things like that. I know Im just an old fusspot, but the fact that we havent got any money whatsoever, and

I didnt finish the sentence. Lucius Domitius didnt notice, of course, because he hadnt been listening to a word Id said, not since we walked in through the city gate, so there wasnt any point in trying to get him interested in what I reckoned Id just seen.

Besides, I wasnt at all sure Id seen it. Just a glimpse through a dense tangle of arms and heads and shoulders; I could easily have been wrong. I decided to keep my face shut and make sure before I started shooting my mouth off.

If theres one thing worse than being wrong, its being right; because a while later, just when Id more or less convinced myself that Id been seeing things and there was nobody there, I caught sight of him again, and this time there wasnt any doubt at all about it. Im good at faces, and this was definitely the same man.

Here, I said, grabbing Lucius Domitius by the shoulder and shaking him. He stopped, like hed been woken up while sleepwalking, and stared down at me.

What? he said.

Bad news, I said. Theres a bloke following us.

He scowled at me. Bullshit, he said. Its a crowd. Youve probably just seen someone whos headed in the same direction as us, thats all.

Not that simple, I said. You see, I know him from somewhere.

Well, thats possible. I mean, you did live here for a few years. Probably hes just some shopkeeper you used to buy things from.

Oh no, I said. I know exactly where Ive seen him before. And I told Lucius Domitius about when I arrived in Ostia off the grain barge, and the kind gentleman whod given me the denarius.

Him? Lucius Domitius frowned. You think thats him you just saw?

I dont think its him, I know I dont ever forget faces, you know that. Basic survival instinct in our line of work.

Lucius Domitius looked unconvinced. All right, he said, lets say for arguments sake it is the same guy Now, which explanation is more reasonable:

that hes followed your trail all the way out to the Gnatho ranch and then back here again, or that its just a coincidence you seeing him again, and hes no bother to us at all? If you were making a book on it, what odds would you be giving?

I dont believe in coincidences, I told him. Its a religious thing. Tell you what, why dont we duck down an alley and see if we can shake the bastard off? I mean, if youre right and he is just some bloke who happens to be going the same way as us, it wont have done us any harm. And if he really is following us

Bloody hell! Lucius Domitius stopped dead in his tracks, like hed just seen a ghost, or his wife and his best friend making out in a doorway Galen, what in hells name is that?

He was pointing at something, but I was buggered if I could see what it was. I did look, but all I saw was a load of old buildings.

Whats up? I asked.

There. He was pointing with his arm stretched taut, and shouting so loud that people were looking round. Its gone, and theres that thing there instead.

I sighed. All right, I said, explain. Whats such a big deal? And for pitys sake keep your voice down and stop waving your arms about.

The palace, he said, and he was genuinely upset, nearly in tears. The palace. My palace, my Golden House. Its gone.

Balls, I said. Something that size, itd take twenty years just to cart the stone away

Are you blind? Look for yourself.

Truth is, I hadnt even noticed we were in that part of town. But I looked round, got my bearingsthe Grand Circus away to the southwest, Claudius

temple over on our left, the Esquiline Hill in the distance on our right, the Caelian Hill behind us, which meant that the Golden House should indeed be straight ahead, right under our noses. But it wasnt. Instead, there was a huge round thing, like a stack of cheeses.

Youre right, I said, its gone. And that hat-box things since our time, as well.

Then someone coughed behind us, and we both spun round like wed been jabbed in the bum with a branding iron. And there he was. Short, round bloke with a bald head and a scrubby white beard. Face like a full moon, with a little piggy snout for a nose. My benefactor from Ostia .

Excuse me, gentlemen, he said, but I couldnt help overhearing. Am I right in thinking youre new in town?

I was staring at him like he was the gorgon or something. Of course, Lucius Domitius hadnt seen him before, didnt know there was anything wrong. He nodded and said, Yes. Well, not new exactly, but weve been away

I see. A long time, by the sound of it.

Twelve years, Lucius Domitius said quickly What happened to the Golden House?

The round bloke smiled. Pulled down, he said. One of the first things Vespasian did, because it was so unpopular. It reminded people of Nero, you see. 

Oh. Lucius Domitius looked like his best friend had just died. Good job, too, he said. Terrible waste of money, typical of that bastard Nero. He shook his head, but I dont think he was fooling anybody So, um, whats that round building?

That? The round bloke was grinning. You are out of touch, arent you? Thats Vespasians great gift to the people of Rome , he went on. Im amazed you havent heard of it. Its the greatest sports arena in the world. The Colosseum, surely youve heard of it.

Oh, that, I said, pulling myself together with a snap they mustve heard in Naples . Of course, how stupid of me, I remember now. We heard all about it at the time. Nobody talked about anything else, not even in Bactria .

 Bactria ? The round man raised an eyebrow Good heavens, he said, what on earth were you doing out there?

Oh, trading, that sort of thing, I said. Wonderful place, but very hot. So, thats the Coliseum, is it? Ive often wondered what it looks like.

Colosseum, the round bloke corrected me, with a grin I didnt like. Yes, its a sight to see, isnt it? And just beyond its where Titus is going to build the new bathhouse, which also promises to be a sight to see, or so they reckon. Its remarkable how theyve managed to transform this whole quarter in so short a time.

Fantastic, I muttered. Sort of like healing the wounds, really Symbolic.

Quite, the round bloke said. Well now, since youre strangers in Rome , perhaps youd like to see round the new developments? It so happens Im at a loose end for an hour or so, itd give me great pleasure to

No, I yelped. Thanks, I added, but actually were in a bit of a hurry.

Business meeting, I went on, in the forum, and were late already Very kind of you to offer, but wed better be getting along.

Of course. The round bloke nodded gravely, but he was looking at our boots, and you didnt need to be a mind-reader to tell what he was thinking. Well, if youre headed for the forum Ill walk with you, Im headed in that general direction. And I can point out some of the other changes since your day as we go.

I was stuffed. The only way I could think of getting rid of him was to kill him, and it was a bit public for doing that, even in Rome . Just as well Lucius Domitius was a bit clearer-headed than mewell, of course, he could afford to be, he hadnt seen this bloke before. Wed really like that, he said, but first weve got to stop off at our bankers, and thatll take a while. Weve only just got back, you see, and theres heaps to do. New clothes and boots, for one thing. We must look like a dreadful pair of scruffs in our old travelling things.

The round bloke laughed. Of course, he said. I wont hold you up any longer, then. It was a pleasure meeting you.

Likewise, Lucius Domitius barked over his shoulder, as I hustled him off into an alley As soon as we were out of sight in the shadows, I dragged him into a run and we didnt stop until wed put four or five turnings behind us.

What the hells got into you? Lucius Domitius said, as soon as hed caught his breath. What did you want to go haring off like that for?

I was leaning forward, hands on knees. That man, I said.

What about him?

 Ostia . Its hard to talk when it feels like someones got your lungs in a screw-clamp. You remember, I told you. I was sitting against a wall feeling sorry for myself, and some perfect stranger wanders up and gives me a denarius. 

Lucius Domitius nodded. So?

That was him.

What? He stared at me. Are you sure?

Absolutely bloody positive.

But. . . He stood there for a few moments opening and closing his mouth, as if he was trying to talk but all the words had been repossessed by the bailiffs men. Youre kidding, he said.

Yeah, sure. I made the whole thing up. Fuck you, Lucius Domitius. I swear to you, thats the same man. Scraggy beard, little round pot belly and a face like a rabbit.

Must be a coincidence, he said, and it was so obvious from the way he said it that he didnt believe that either, so I didnt bother correcting him. So, he went on, who do you think he is?

No idea. But I have this lurking suspicion hes probably not our friend.

But its crazy He rubbed his chin so hard Im surprised he didnt draw blood.

Didnt seem to me like hed recognised you. I mean, if it was the same man and hed been tracking us down, surely hed have known, since hes crossed your path already, that if he walked up to us like he just did youd be bound to recognise him.

Obviously he didnt care, I said. I reckon hes doing it on purpose, so well know hes on to us. Just to torture us, scare us out of our wits before he closes in for the kill.

Lucius Domitius frowned. You say that, he said. But when alls said and done, he was only a little fat guy, we could take him out with our hands tied behind our backs.

Oh sure, I said, unless of course next time he shows up hes got two platoons of city guards trotting along at his heels.

Hes got to find us again first.

Well, he didnt make too bad a job of it this time.

Lucius Domitius sat down against the wall. I reckon its got to have been a coincidence, he said. Either that or, if he really is trailing us, hes got the most amazing luck. I mean, how on earth could he have found us? We havent been staying at any inns, or anything like that.

I shook my head. What about the Sicilian who showed up at Gnathos estate? Or was that a coincidence too?

Yes, but .. . He frowned. All right, he said, even if someone did manage to track us as far as there, howd he get the message to his buddy here in the city to look for us exactly here? It doesnt add up.

It does, I replied. Think about it. First he sees me in Ostia

Sees you, he pointed out. Sorry if this sounds rude, but who the hell would bother tracking you all the way from Sicily to Rome ?

First, I repeated, he finds me in Ostia . My guess is, hes working for the Sicilian, the nutcase who killed all the soldiershes chasing us, he figures out that we mustve been on board that particular grain freighter, so he sends his mate there ahead on a faster ship to catch us when we reach Italy, right?

But youve jumped ship, remember? So Rabbit-face is waiting for the grain boat at Ostia , he doesnt see you but he sees meAnd gives you a denarius. We could do with more mortal enemies like that.

I ignored him. He sees me, I said, but not youIm assuming youre the one theyre after, him and the Sicilianso he goes off to find out whats happened to you, probably goes and asks the grain freighter captain, who tells him youve jumped ship. By this time, the Sicilians arrived in Italy

All right, he interrupted. So why did he send Rabbit-face by the first ship, and then wait for a later ship himself?

Be quiet, will you, I cant think if youre nattering away The Sicilian arrives, finds out from Rabbit-face that you skipped before the ship got in; they split up and go round the countryside checking up on places where we couldve found work, and thats when we saw the Sicilian at Gnathos. Then we give the game away by bolting without even collecting our payI told you that was a bad idea, but you wouldnt listenso the Sicilian figures we must be heading for Rome . He sends a rider ahead to tell Rabbit-face to look out for us

And Rabbit-face just happens to bump into us in the street. In a city of a million people. Sure, right.

No, youre missing the point, I said. Its you theyre looking for, right?

They know who you are. So, of course, theyll know that the first thing youll want to do is go and take a look at your old house, the palace, like bloody Ulysses in the fairy stories. All Rabbit-face has got to do is hang around near the site of the Golden House, and hes got us. It all makes sense.

He thought about that for a while. If youre rightIm not saying I agree with you, but if youre right, were in the shit again. But the Sicilian, thats what I dont understand. If the Sicilians after me, why did he turn me loose on the way to the quarries? Why not just go to the magistrate and say, You know who youve got there, mate? Only the most evil man in history. But all that crazy business about killing the guards, and then letting us go, for crying out loud.

He even gave us money I shrugged. Maybe he didnt realise who you were till afterwards, I dont know.

Maybe he didnt want anybody else to know hed found you; maybe he wants to kill you himself, in some horribly imaginative way, and an ordinary public crucifixion simply wouldnt cut it. Or maybe he doesnt want to kill you, maybe he thinks youve got some secret information he can get out of youBloody hell. Lucius Domitius had that startled-weasel look on his face that Id come to recognise as Inspiration. Didos treasure. I looked at him. Fine time for him to start gibbering, I thought.

You what?

Didos treasure. Hed gone as white as ewes milk cheese. Oh come on, you mustve heard us talking about it, in the old days.

No, I think Id have remembered something with the word treasure in it. What are you talking about?

He shook his head. Amazing, he said. What the hell did you do all day, back in the palace?

Didos treasure, I said. Explain.

He grinned. The legendary fortune of Dido of Carthage, he said. You do know who Dido was, dont you?

Of course I do, I lied. But whats he got to do with anything?

She, Lucius Domitius said, with a really irritating smirk. She was the queen of Carthage , who fell in love with Aeneas. The founder of Rome , in case you havent

Get on with it.

Queen Dido, he said, had a huge fortune in gold and silver and precious stones, and the old stories say it was hidden somewhere and forgotten about, and never recovered. Well, he went on, I found it.

I did a double-take. You found it?

Well, as good as. There was a chap called Viniculeiusequestrian order, nouveau riche, made his money speculating in grain futuresand hed seen it, in a deep cave on a headland on the African coast, near Utica . But it was so amazingly huge he hadnt been able to take away more than he could carry, so he had to leave it there, and the very next day, as luck would have it, he got arrested on a poisoning charge; hed killed his three brothers and their sons so as to get sole control of the family firm, really nasty business. Anyhow, at his trial he sent word that he needed to see me desperately urgently, so I had him fetched in, and he told me the whole story. Said that if I let him off the murders, hed show me where the treasure was.

And you believed him? Come on, youre not that dumb.

Sure I believed him, Lucius Domitius replied, because in his baggage when they caught him was this amazing collection of ancient Phoenician gold platecups and wine jugs and dishes and God only knows what else. I had some people who know about these things take a look at them, and they all said, definitely Phoenician, and very old indeed.

I frowned. I thought you said this Dido was queen of Carthage, not Phoenicia.

The Carthaginians were Phoenicians, idiot. Which meant, he went on, that the stuff he had with him was exactly the sort of thing youd expect to find in Didos treasure. Well, I was pretty  excited, as you can imagine. For one thing, I was still finishing off the palace, and money was getting short. And beside that, nobody can resist buried treasure, its human nature.

So, you let this bloke off?

Certainly not, Lucius Domitius replied. He murdered seven people, out of sheer greed. No, I handed him back to the judges and let them get on with the trial, and he got what was coming to him. But I didnt tell him that, of course.

You didnt.

Course not. I said wed have to let the trial run its course, but then Id see to it that he was smuggled out of jail and given a new identity somewhere a long way away, so he could start a new life.

I raised an eyebrow or two. And he fell for that?

No problem. Its one of the advantages of everybody thinking youre a bit simple, they dont expect you to double-cross them. Anyway, he gave me very detailed directions how to get there, drew me a map, all the rest of it.

But you never collected? Why the hell not?

He sighed. Well, to begin with, I wanted to go myself, you know? Silly, really, but I wanted to be the one to find it. Also itd have been good publicityme finding this huge fortune, historical links to the founder himself, and then nobly handing it all over to the exchequer and not keeping any of it for myself.

The way things were at the time, I needed something good like that to stop people hating me so much. And then, of course, things started to come apart all over, and what with practically all my generals and provincial governors setting their sights on being the next emperor, obviously I couldnt trust anybody to go and fetch it for me. All Id have done was hand some wannabe emperor the money to pay his troops for seizing my throne. And then, of course, I had to leave in a hurry, and that was that.

It was quite some time before I could manage to get a word out, and when finally I did, it was Bastard!

He looked surprised. What?

Bastard, I repeated. You stupid, selfish, shit-for-brains bastard. Youre telling me that all these years weve been rattling around, starving hungry and the guard chasing us, and all along youve known where theres this vast hoard of treasure, just waiting to be scooped up.

He grinned feebly To be honest with you, he said, this is the first time Ive thought about it in years. I mean, the stuff from the old days, its got so its all like something out of fairy stories. But yes, I guess it probably is still there, unless someones beaten me to it. Whatre you puffing that strange face for?

Never mind, I groaned. You were saying.

Oh, right. All I was going to say was, you were talking about someone possibly being after me because of some secret or other, and that made me think, Didos treasure. He shrugged. That is, its possible. I cant think of anything else thatd mean someone would want to catch me alive without letting anybody else know

I didnt really want to talk to him any more, not for some time, for fear Id lose my rag completely Well, I said, there you go. Its a possibility, yes.

Did a lot of other people know about this treasure thing?

He nodded. Only people around the palace, he said, people I was sure I could trust with my life. But you know as well as I do, I was very wrong indeed about most of them. And come to think of it, of all the people who were in on it, I made sure I was the only one who knew all the details, the directions and so on. I learned them off by heart, then I burned the map. So, yes, I guess Im the only person in the world who knows, unless Viniculeius told anybody And I doubt that, he wasnt a very trusting man.

I shook my head. It was all too much for me. I told you we ought to go to Africa , I said, I bloody told you, but

You said Mauretania , he interrupted, and thats the other side of the province, nearly a thousand miles from Carthage .

Just shut up, will you?

 

We spent the rest of the day getting deliberately lost.

Logical thing to do, when you think about it. After all, if you havent got the faintest idea where you are, how can anybody else be expected to? Luckily, getting lost in Rome isnt exactly difficult. We just headed north-east till we hit the Subura, and dived into the maze of funny little streets and courtyards and whatever. No problem.

By the time wed done that, it was getting late, we were both exhausted, not to mention starving hungry. In the end, we ducked in under the portico of some horrible scruffy little shrine, lay down and went to sleep, along with about a dozen other tramps and lowlifes. I cant remember what I dreamed about, but I do remember waking up, because when I opened my eyes there was this bloke with a knife standing over me.

I hate it when that happens.

Fortunately I had the presence of mind to kick him in the nuts, which made him fall over. Then, as I was jumping up, something heavy fell off my chest onto the deck and went chink. Theres only one thing in the world that goes chink when you drop it.

The bloke started to get up, so I kicked him in the ear, and that sorted him out. By the looks of him he was just one of the tramps, anyway, he was out of it now, and I wasnt minded to hang around there till he came to again.

Talking of which, Lucius Domitius chose that moment to wake up, in mid-snore. He sat up sharpish, and I heard another chink just like the first one.

Now theres weird, and theres just plain bizarre. I picked up the thing that had gone chink and loosed off the little bit of string tied round the neck, and peered inside. There had to be at least forty denarii in there.

Which meant that during the night, while we were sleeping, surrounded by all those street people, someone had crept up nice and quiet and, without disturbing us or them, had tucked a fat purse of money inside my shirt.

Eight
A lot of stuff you can learn to cope with, such as being hounded by the authorities, or thrown out of taverns because they dont like the look of your boots, or pelted with stones because you talk funny Move around enough in this world and youll come up against something of the sort, unless youre incredibly lucky or a Roman senator. You come to expect it. You get the knack of starting to dodge even before the punch gets thrown.

But this one took me completely by surprise. I mean, what kind of sick bastard tracks you halfway across the known world, sneaks up on you while youre asleep and gives you money? You could drive a man crazy doing stuff like that. Its inhuman.

Lucius Domitius looked at me. He was holding something in his hand. You too?

he said.

I nodded. I say we get out of here, I told him. Quick.

Good idea, he replied.

Eighty denarii we had between us. Thats good money We werent used to lugging that sort of weight of coined silver around with us. The really bizarre thing was that it was eighty denarii we hadnt nicked or swindled, or even (God help us) earned. As we hurried through the streets in the general direction of the Ostia gate, I turned over in my mind the various possibilities. Like, maybe it was forged moneydeath penalty in Rome for passing off duff coinage, itd be a crafty way of getting us crucifiedonly I can sense a bad coin five hundred yards away, in a thick fog, and the stuff in our purses was the genuine article.

So, I thought, maybe the coins are marked in some way that shows theyre the loot from some robbery, maybe where a guard or a servant got killed. But I looked at the coins and I couldnt see a damn thing, they were just moneysome old ones, with Tiberius head on them, right down to shiny new jobs with Vespasians ugly mug squinting sideways at you through the Latin. All right, I thought, maybe the wise guys a Greek, and he assumes that everybody carries their money in their mouth; maybe the coins have been smeared with poison. . .

At that point, I decided Id better stop thinking, before I sprained my brain.

You realise, Lucius Domitius said to me as we passed the Bona Dea, theyre probably watching the gates for us.

I shook my head. Listen, I said, this has gone way beyond that kind of shit. If they wanted to nab us or cut our throats, they couldve done that last night. Talk about your perfect opportunities. If they wanted us dead, two more murdered tramps in the Subura, nobody would even have noticed. No, theres something else going on here, and I dont know what the hell it can be, but its making my guts pucker.

He thought about that. So you reckon itll be all right, then, he said, going through the gate?

Search me, I said. Probably not. But unless were planning on staying inside the city for the rest of our lives, weve got to go through a gate sooner or later. The way I see it, our best bet is to get on a ship going somewhere a long, long way from here, and Ostias got to be the best place for that. Theres ships leaving Ostia every day for every country in the world, and unless they see us get on board, how can they know which one weve got on and where were going?

I like that, Lucius Domitius said. Thats a smart idea.

Dont sound so bloody surprised. I do get good ideas occasionally.

So we kept going; and the further we went, the more I realised how perishing hungry I was. Now in all honesty I dont think you can blame me for that, since the last meal Id had was the usual greasy soup and wilted greens back in Gnathos barracks, and that seemed so long ago that it might as well have been cooked by Hercules, with Achilles washing the dishes. Wed gone hungry all the while simply because wed been broke, but now we werent, and I couldnt see the point in saving our skins by running away if we starved to death in the process. 

Needless to say, when I mentioned this to Lucius Domitius he was about as sympathetic as a stone adder. But I made it clear that unless he gave in and we stopped for a quick bite of something, I was going to keep on moaning at him till his eyes started popping out.

All right, he sighed eventually. Well pick up some bread or something off the next stall we come to. Will that do you?

No, I said, it bloody well wont. At the very least I want bean soup and chickpeas with a hunk of bacon and a pint of wine. God only knows where our next meals coming from after that, so wed better stock up while we can. Its basic common sense. A fat lot of escaping well be doing if were too weak to move.

He wasnt impressed by that argument, I could tell, but he also had the wit to realise that itd be quicker to give in than argue. Luckily we came across an open tavern before he had a chance to change his mind.

The house special of the day was a sort of grey slop with hard bits in it.

Unfortunately, it was also all theyd got, apart from bread with the texture of army boot soles and some dry, crumbly cheese. You wouldnt feed it to a dog. We had seconds.

The next question weve got to consider I said, with my mouth full of bread, is where we go from here. I was thinking, Africa .

He whimpered. Not again he said. Oh, I get it, youve set your heart on Didos treasure. Well, dont you think itd be a good idea to get shot of whoever this loon is whos tailing us first?

I didnt like his tone, but I couldnt be bothered to make an issue of it.

Well do both, I said, at one stroke. I mean, weve got to go somewhere, and Africa s a long way from here.

Yes. He nodded, spilling grey slop down his chin, and to get there, youve got to go via Sicily , or had you forgotten that? Theres one place I never want to go back to.

The ships got to go to Sicily , I said, but we dont have to get off it. In fact, itd be a sight better if we stayed on the ship till we get there. Less chance of being seen, and all.

He lifted his head. Forget about Africa , he said. Theres a whole world Out there, places weve never heard of, places thatve never been discovered, or where nobodys been for so long, everyones forgotten how to find them, like the land of the lotus-eaters in the Odyssey. He frowned. I was thinking of Gaul or maybe even Germany I mean, who in his right mind would ever choose to go there? Its the obvious place, really.

 Germany ? I repeated. Are you out of your tiny mind? Id rather stay here and get crucified.

Anyway, he said, I dont suppose itll be up to us. What we need to do is get on the first ship to leave, and screw where its going. I just want to get out of Rome as fast as possible.

Isnt that exactly what theyll be expecting us to do? I said craftily

Whereas if we bide our time a little, hang around the docks keeping our heads down

Theyll find us, and well be screwed. No, first ship out of here, its the only thing to do.

I thought about it for a moment or so. What the hell, I told myself, that treasures been there hundreds of years, it can hang on a bit longerassuming there really was any treasure, which I didnt believe for a moment. If all the buried treasure Ive heard rumours about over the years was to fall out of the sky, itd cover Rome like a snowdrift. And he was right, of course. Given the spooky way theyd been able to find us, even after wed gone to all the trouble of getting lost in the backstreets of the Subura, getting out of town as quickly as we could was the only way Fine, I said, well do that then. But we didnt, because immediately after Id said it, a house fell on me.

Sorry if that sounds a bit melodramatic. People tell me its one of the hazards of living in Rome, where half the buildings are so old theyre only standing up through force of habit, and the other half have been slung together in the last few years by slum landlords who dont give a damn. If that wasnt bad enough, it doesnt help to have endless processions of huge great carts rumbling past all night, every night, literally shaking the buildings to bits. Shocking, really, and if I was the emperor of Rome Id do something about it, you can bet your life. Light a bloody great fire, probably, and start again from scratch Id like to make a big thing about this, because it mustve been pretty thrilling stuff, and I love telling the tale, as youve probably gathered by now. Unfortunately, I missed the whole show, on account of being bashed on the head by a chunk of falling masonry Typical of my luck, that: something really spectacular happens, and I sleep through the whole thing.

So youll have to make do without my keenly observed eyewitness account, and do the best you can with what Lucius Domitius told me later. He said that the front wall of this buildingone of those horrible tenement blocks that are gradually filling the place upsuddenly started to bulge, like a frogs chin. He reckons he stood there watching only for a heartbeat or so, trying to figure out what on earth was going on, and then, when he finally tumbled to it, there wasnt time to yell and tell me to get out of the way I suppose Ive got to believe him, though I cant help thinking that anyone with the gumption of a small piece of stale bread couldve reached out, grabbed me by the arm and yanked me out of the way Wouldnt have taken much. After all, he was stood right next to me, and he didnt get so much as a bruised toe.

Anyhow, the wall sort of bellied out and went pop, like a mud-bubble in a swamp, whereupon whacking great big slabs of brick and stuff fell off the upper stories

which by some miracle didnt come down, it was just a patch of wall the size of the sail on a merchant ship that fell inand it was one of these slabs, rather than the wall itself that nailed me. Caught me a glancing blow on the side of the head, apparently, just above the left ear, and if itd been a finger-length over to the right itd have smashed my skull like an eggshell.

Well, some of us were just born lucky, I guess.

I know what happened next without Lucius Domitius having to tell me. I can picture him, standing there like a huge stuffed olive, in the middle of all the dust and stuff, while Im pinned down by a damn great chunk of wood (which fell on me after Id been knocked out, apparently). So much for comrades through thick and thin, it was a couple of strangers who went in and pulled me out.

Rather a brave thing to do, since obviously they had no way of knowing the rest of the building wasnt going to come down on their heads while they were at it.

But I get the impression that your long-term resident Roman learns how to handle this sort of situation, what with falling-down buildings being such a common thing. Whatever. These two men who just happen to be strolling past dive in, grab my wrists and drag me out, well clear of the building just in case it decides to finish the job, and there I am. We heard later that a couple of other people werent quite so fortunate: one killed outright, the other had his back broken, paralysed from the neck down. Horrible, really, when you think of it.

Like I said, Rome sucks.

 

Anyhow.

Back to what I remember, and the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was this gorgeous-looking bird leaning over me with a worried look on her face. That frightened me, a lot, because Im a realist, Ive got no illusions about myself, so the chances are that if I wake up out of an unexpected sleep and see a cute female looking down at me, the only probable explanation is that I have died and gone to the Elysian Fields. Andwell, Im sure its really great in paradise, youre free and clear, all your troubles are over and theres nothing to do all day but stroll about on the grass eating fruit. Me, though, Id rather be alive, thanks all the same.

But this theory of mine turned out to have a flaw in it, thank God, because it specifically says in the book of words that the blessed souls in the Elysian Fields feel no pain, and I had a headache so monumental that they were probably going to have to draw it in on all the maps. This took some of the shine off the being-stood-over-by-luscious-women thing, but it made me feel a whole lot better. If you see what I mean.

Besides, when I looked at her again, I realised she was more in the nicelooking category, rather than the classic alltime greats. Nice eyes, very big and round and dark, but she had a nose on her like one of Hannibal s elephants. Well, thats a slight exaggeration, but it was a hooter and a half, no two ways about it. Smaller than an Egyptian obelisk or the ram on a warship, but that was the most you could say for it. That aside, she was about nineteen, very pale skin, like fresh milk in the pail, wearing a plain old dress thatd probably belonged to her big sisters and her mum before that.

Hes awake, she said, and damned if I could place her accent, though usually Im sharp as a razor when it comes to voices. She spoke Greek, but with a sort of snorty croak, like she had a bad cold.

So there I was, lying on my back, admiring the view (or what I could see of it past the nose) and wishing my head didnt hurt so much, and of course Lucius Domitius has to come barging in and spoil it all. Next moment, instead of the cute girl Im looking at his crow-scarer of a face, peering down at me like I was somebodys bad handwriting. At least he looked worried, which was something. 

Are you all right? he said.

Bloody stupid question. No, I said, my head hurts. Where are we? What happened?

Youre in a room in an inn, he replied. A wall fell on you.

A what?

A wall. A building collapsed, and you got hit on the head. Luckily it doesnt seem to have done you any harm. At least, I dont think it has

Excuse me, someone I couldnt see interrupted, and I noticed he had the same accent as the nose girl. I have a small amount of expertise in these matters, perhaps if I could examine him.

Made it sound like I was a dodgy horse at an auction, the daft prick. Anyhow, Lucius Domitius got out of the way and there was this stranger looming over me.

First thing I noticedcouldnt help noticing it, reallywas that he had a nose just like the girls, if anything, even bigger. He was dark, suntanned, about twenty-five; almost certainly the girls brother.

Whos this? I mumbled.

This is the very brave man who saved your life, Lucius Domitius said, making it sound like I was an ungrateful sod for not knowing that. He and his brother went in and pulled you out of the ruins, just before a whole lot more of the building fell down. If they hadnt got you out, youd have been crushed to death.

Oh I said, right. Um, thanks, I added, since it always pays to be polite.

The nose bloke smiled, very wide, masses and masses of glowing white teeth.

Think nothing of it, he said, Im sure you wouldve done the same for me. He bent low over me and before I knew what he was up to hed pushed back my right eyelid with his forefinger. Any dizziness? he asked. Nausea?

Ive got you breathing up my nose. Does that count?

He laughed, as if Id said something really funny Hell survive, he said.

That heads going to be a bit sore for a day or so, but theres no real harm done.

Well, that was good to hear, assuming the bloke knew what he was talking about.

Are you a doctor? I asked.

For my sins, the bloke replied. Perhaps Id better introduce myself. My names Amyntas, this is my sister Myrrhine, and my brother, whos just gone to find the innkeeper, is Scamandrius. My brother and I are both doctors, with our own practice back home in Memphis , in upper Egypt.

Myrrhine, I thought, nice name. Actually its not, its a boring, droopy sort of name, and what I was really thinking was, its the same as it is with clothes. A

pretty girl can look good in anything, even a cabbage-sack with three holes cut in it, and any name can suit her, even rotten old Myrrhine. Also I was dying to ask, has your brother got an enormous nose too? But on balance I thought Id better wait till he got back, and see for myself

 Memphis , said Lucius Domitius. Youre a long way from home.

Amyntas smiled. Dont we know it, he said. Everything heres so strange, so different. So big, he added, with just the faintest hint of a shudder. But my brother and I, weve always wanted to see Rome , ever since we were little boys.

And then my aunt diedshe was the widow of a well-to-do freedman here in the city, were the only family so we had to come over and see to her estate. And here we are.

Good God, I thought, cute and an heiress too, but that couldnt possibly be of any significance to me. Not even worth thinking about. Bash on the head or no bash on the head, I didnt have any problems with my memory, and I could remember that I was a small, skinny, middle-aged Greek, wanted on capital charges in a dozen provinces (but not Egypt), not a bent copper to my name apart from whatd been given me by some lunatic assassin after my blood, and with a face like a rat into the bargain.

And then I had an idea.

What can I say? It seemed like a good one, at the time.

Fine, I said. Then I pointed at Lucius Domitius. And whos he?

Both of them stared at me like I was crazy Excuse me? Amyntas said.

Him over there, I said. The guy with the thick neck. Friend of yours? Personal slave?

But Amyntas eyes narrowed. They had a lot of scope for it. You dont recognise him.

Never seen him before in my life, I said.

Oh. Amyntas nodded slowly Excuse me asking, but can you remember your name?

Me? I acted puzzled. Well, of course IWell, no, I went on, pretending Id suddenly been struck all thoughtful. No, I cant.

Ah! Amyntas nodded twice, very quickly I know whats happened. It was the bump on the head. Im sorry to tell you, youve lost your memory.

What? I acted all panicky. But thats

Its all right. Probably he was a good doctor, he had a nice, soothing manner.

In nine cases out of ten its a purely temporary thing, only lasts a day or so, a month at the very most. Nearly all patients who lose their memories after cranial trauma make a full recovery.

I looked at him. Nearly all?

Ninety per cent, at least.

You mean theres a oneinten chance Im stuck like this? I made a show of trying to sit up. Amyntas pushed me slowly back. Thats terrible, I said.

Give me some medicine, quick.

He smiled. I can give you a soothing draught he said. Itll calm you down, relax you. Thats the best thing in your condition.

Bugger being relaxed, I said. I dont want to be relaxed, I want my memory back. Youre a doctor, give me some medicine for that.

His smile was like taking a bath in warm oil. Honestly, he said, the soothing draught is the best medicine. The loss of memory is mostly due to shock and anxiety. Calming you down and making you feel relaxed should deal with that, and youll have your memory back in no time.

Youre sure about that? Lucius Domitius interrupted. He sounded as frantic as I was pretending to be. That made me feel a bit guilty. I know, mostly he was panicking because, well, we were in enough shit as it was without me going all crazy, and besides, it was a safe bet that hed told this Amyntas the tale, how we were itinerant sardine merchants from lower Pisidia or some bullshit like that. If I suddenly got my memory back and started gabbling about how I was a fugitive con artist and he was the emperor Nero, things could get a bit tense all round. Of course, I wasnt going to do anything of the kind, but he wasnt to know that.

(And while I was at it, I thought: Why am I doing this, just out of interest?

And the answer was, no getting past it, because I thought the only way Id stand a chance with the girl was to hang around her for a while, her presumably being the nurse, shed be by my bedside mopping my brow with a damp cloth and looking concerned, and then I could be really grateful and say how wonderfully good and compassionate she was, and thats exactly the sort of thing girls like, gets their juices flowing like nothing else. Completely crazy, the whole idea; doomed to failure, right from the start. Obviously I was acting just a little bit nuts.

Probably because of the bang on my head.)

Still, Id started the caper now, so I couldnt back down. Also, it was going to be very ticklish telling Lucius Domitius, even if I managed to get him alone for long enough to explain, so on balance itd probably be better if I didnt.

Rough on him, of course, but thats what friends are for.

Here, Lucius Domitius said, Ill tell him who he is, that might jog his memory. Might that work? he asked.

Try it, by all means, Amyntas replied.

Fine. Well, said Lucius Domitius, not actually looking at me, your name is Euthydemus, youre my business partner, we deal in quality dried fish, and we live in Corinth . Thats in Greece , he added, and I thought, you prat. Im supposed to have lost my memory, not gone stupid. Besides, I couldnt help thinking, if Id really lost my memory, feeding me all this bullshit just to back up the tale youve been telling could do me permanent damage. There Id be, really believing Im a prosperous dried fish merchant, and when my real memory started creeping back, telling me I was a failed bathhouse tickler and petty swindler, Id start thinking I must be going off my rocker. And he didnt even have the excuse of wanting to get off with some big-nosed chick. Dear God, I said to myself, how bloody thoughtless can you get?

But clearly I couldnt say anything there and then, so I just looked helpless and pathetic, and said, Oh, right, or something of the sort. Amyntas peered at me down his nose and asked if that rang any bells, and I said no, not really, and he said, Well, early days yet, and now he thought I really ought to get some rest, and he took Lucius Domitius gently but firmly by the elbow and steered him out of the room.

So there I was, me and the beaky but adorable Myrrhine. She sat on the edge of the bed looking at me for a while, like I was the saddest sight shed ever seen, and then she said, How are you feeling now? Any better?

I thought, yes, right. A bit, I said. But my heads still hurting.

Of course, she said, getting up. Really, I ought to leave you in peace, so you can get some sleep.

No, I said quickly I mean, um, its all right, its not that bad.

Would it help if I bathed your forehead with a damp cloth, do you think?

You betcha, I thought, but I didnt put it quite like that. Yes, thatd be really nice, I said, trying to sound nonchalantly brave, or some such shit.

Unless youve got other things you should be doing. I mean, I dont want to be a nuisance.

She smiled. Nice smile. Oh, its no trouble, she said. Im used to this sort of thing, helping my brothers with the patients. She picked up a bowl and a bit of rag off the table and started splodging my face. A bit like being kissed by a mackerel, but its the thought that counts, as Plato said to Aristotle.

It must be interesting work, doctoring, I said.

Oh, it is, she replied, looking at me dead soulful. Its wonderful to see all those poor sick people getting better. Most of them, anyway My brothers are very good doctors, you couldnt be in better hands.

Im sure, I replied, as a bit of water dribbled down off my eyebrow into my eye. I can see that. Hes got a very good manner, your brother.

Oh, hes famous for it, back home. People come from miles around.

So, I went on, how do you like Rome ? I expect its quite different from what youre used to.

Oh, it is. Everythings so big and bright and wonderful, its like something out of a story. Though theres a lot of sad things too, all those poor people in the streets. I felt very sorry for them, sitting there with their little bowls begging for coppers.

Its tragic, I agreed. But thats life for you.

Oh yes. Life can be very sad sometimes.

Well, great, I thought, were getting along like a house on fire here. What with the being hunted like a wild animal by the law all the time and the never having any money or being able to stay in one place for more than five minutes, one way and another, Id never had much time for chatting with girls, and the kind of girls Id mostly found myself chatting to hadnt been like this at all

bar-maids, principally, and the sort of girls who hang round outside bathhouses.

Not that Im knocking them, theyre absolutely fine as far as they go (all the way very quickly in my experience), but not the type you can sit and talk to meaningfully about important issues, like Myrrhine and I were doing. Besides, a bit of fun is a bit of fun, but theres more to life than that. Id always wanted to kiss a girl without having to worry about whether her tongue in my mouth meant she was fishing about for my small change.

Still, I went on, theres lots of nice things to see in Rome too. Have you been to the Circus yet?

She frowned. Yes, she said, but I didnt like it much. All those poor gladiators and people getting eaten by lions. Actually, I think that sort of things rather horrid.

Absolutely, I said, I cant stand all that myself. Give me a good play any time.

You like plays? She clapped her little hands together, spraying me with water from the bit of rag. Oh, I love plays. We get them sometimes in Memphis , very occasionally when a touring company comes round. My favourites are the comedies. Which do you like best, Menander or Diphilus?

Never heard of either of them was the truth, but of course I wasnt going to say that. It depends what mood Im in, really, I replied (and youve got to admit, its a damn good answer, especially for a man with a bad head). Sometimes I feel like a spot of Menander, sometimes only Diphilus will do, if you see what I mean. What about you?

Oh, Im the same, she said, absolutely And the Latin writers tooI can read Latin, you know, my mother taught me. I just adore Plautus, though dont you think Terence is a better observer of human nature?

Damn straight, I said. Not much about human nature he didnt know. Just then it occurred to me that I was supposed to have lost my memory. You know, I feel sure I must have gone to the theatre quite a lot, because all this stuff sounds very familiar. Maybe my memorys coming back.

Her eyes were shining. Oh, good, she said, isnt that wonderful? Do you think its because of us talking about plays? Itd be so splendid if that helped you remember, wouldnt it?

Fantastic, I said, lets keep going. So, what other plays do you like?

Apart from comedies, you mean? She frowned. To be honest, I dont really like tragedies much, theyre all so sad and gloomy Do you like tragedies?

Not really, I replied. I always think theres enough unhappiness in the world without making up any more.

Oh, thats so true, she said. I think thats why I like comedies, theyre so bright and cheerful, and everything turns out all right in the end. Not like real life, she added, with a sigh. How about poetry? Do you like it? I do.

Very much, I said, and for what its worth, I was telling the truth. Some poetry, anyway There was this one my uncle used to do about Leda and the swan that always had us in fits. He had a filthy mind, my uncle. What sort of poems do you like?

Oh, Theocritus and Anacreon and Alcaeus, Sappho of course, and Theognis, though some of his poems are a bit difficult for me, Im not terribly bright, I know

I wouldnt say that, I said. I think anybody who likes Menander and Theocritus must be pretty clever, dont you?

She blushed, right down to the tip of her nose. Oh, I dont know, she said.

Im sure I dont understand all the complicated bits. You should hear my brothers talking about poetry They can see all  sorts of clever things that just go right over my head, Im afraid. I just like the nice, cheerful bits, myself. 

Same here, I said. After all, its there to be enjoyed, poetry. Its not like youre taking a test or something. You dont get a crown of bay leaves or a medal if you figure out all the hard bits.

She laughed. Oh, you do say some funny things, she said. Its almost as good as watching a comedy You must be very clever to be able to think of things like that.

Its just a knack Ive got, I replied modestly I guess, I added quickly since I wasnt supposed to be able to remember. I just say the first thing that comes into my head, really

You can see for yourself that things were going pretty bloody well, so it was a pity Lucius Domitius had to pick that moment to come barging in; also the brother, Amyntas, and another bloke I didnt recall having seen before. Not that it was hard to figure out who he was. One glimpse of the enormous thing jutting out of his face like the great mole in Ostia harbour was enough to tell me that this was the other brother, Scamandrius. Just in case I was blind or stupid, though, Amyntas introduced him. I remembered my manners and thanked him politely for saving my life. He just grinned shyly Not the talkative kind, I guessed.

Id just like Scamandrius to examine you, Amyntas said. Hes had rather more experience of these cases than I have.

So Scamandrius examined me, and asked me exactly the same questions his brother had (only he had one of those little tiny quiet voices that drive you spare after a while), and when hed finished he nodded a couple of times and whispered something to Amyntas, who nodded back and said, Just as I thought. Then he faced me and said, So, have we remembered anything yet?

Before I could say anything, the girl piped up Oh yes, weve been having such an interesting talk, all about theatre and poetry and things.

Now I dont know how they do things where you come from, but if your sister suddenly told you shed been nattering away about poetry to some bloke youd just dragged in off the street, I have an idea youd maybe frown a bit and possibly get a little up tight. Certainly thats whatd happen where I was brought up. But apparently not in Egypt, or anyway Memphis, because both of them beamed and said, Splendid, splendid (at least, I assume thats what Scamandrius said, because he was muttering again and I couldnt hear), and I began to think Id probably like Egypt if I ever got to go there. But, Amyntas went on, it is rather important for the patient to get plenty of rest, so I do think we ought to leave him alone for an hour or so. Come along, Myrrhine. And they all shoved off.

Well, I was sorry to see her go, when wed been doing so well, but my head was still hurting like buggery, so I closed my eyes, and I was just starting to drift off (because I was having this dream where Myrrhine and Iwell, never mind) when the door opened and Lucius Domitius came in. He waited for a moment, like he was listening out for something, then he shut the door quietly

Listen, he whispered.

Mmm?

He looked at me. I havent got much time, he said. Theyre harder to get rid of than a stone in your boot. Have you really lost your memory, or is this some scam youre working?

When I was a kid growing up in Attica, there was this old bloke who lived on the edge of our village, and I remember talking to him one time, during the olive harvest I think it was, and he told me, Son, nothing bad can ever happen to you in this life if you always do the right thing and tell the truth. He died not long after thatI cant remember if he died of some horrible disease or got murdered by thieves, it was one or the otherand Ive never forgotten that bit of advice. The crucial word, of course, is always. Doesnt work without the always. If you go through life cheating people and telling lies and then suddenly try and stop, you end up in the cowplop.

So, yes, I really wanted to tell Lucius Domitius the truth, because it was the right thing to do, but it was too late for that; Id missed out on that always part by thirty-odd years. Besides, if Id told him that I was pretending Id lost my memory so I could hang around some girl, when we were being chased by some nutcase who tracked us across the length and breadth of the empire to give us money in our sleep, hed have done his block. And quite right too; if itd been the other way round and hed been lying to me and Id found out, Id have ripped his lungs out with a soupspoon.

So I gave him my extra-special blank stare. What the hell are you talking about? I said.

Oh God. He rolled his eyes, not a pretty sight. Well, he said, this is going to sound a bit weird. Are you ready?

Depends, I said.

Fine. He took a deep breath Its like this, he said. You know I told you that your names Euthydemus, and you live in Corinth , and you and I are in the dry fish trade?

I nodded. Thats right, I said. Actually, I think bits of it are coming back to me.

I doubt it, he said, because its all lies. Its not true, any of it.

I raised my eyebrows. Really?

Really And my name isnt Pisistratus, and Im not your second cousin by marriage.

Well, nobody had told me he was, so that was all right. So why did you say?

I was lying.

Oh.

I wasnt making it easy for him, no. Dont know why, but he was stood there with this desperately serious expression on his face, and I was still buzzing after chatting up Myrrhine. No excuses. I was being a bastard. Comes of not knowing who my father was, I guess.

The truth is, Lucius Domitius went on, you and I are a pair of confidence tricksters. We swindle people, thats how we earn our living. Only, we arent trying to swindle Amyntas and his brother, and they really did save you from a collapsing building.

I see, I said. So why are we lying to them?

Ah. Well, this is the bad bit. There are some men after us.

What, chasing us, you mean? People we swindled?

Could be, Lucius Domitius said. The scary part of it is, we dont know who they are. But they followed us here from Sicilythats where we were lastand they searched us out while we were asleep, and gave us some money

I see, I said. They gave us money, and youre saying were running away from them. Why? He pulled a face. Its complicated, he said. But lets just get a few things straight. Your name, he went on, is Galen.

Galen, right.

And my namewell, you call me Lucius Domitius...

But thats not your real name?

Well, yes, he said, it is. At least, its a bit of it. My real name is Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus

Thats Roman, isnt it?

Yes. Im a Roman. I was saying, my real name is Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus Nero Claudius Germanicus Caesar Augustus.

I giggled. Thats a very long name, I said.

Isnt it? The point is, youre the only person in the world apart from me who knows that.

Do I? Well, I guess I must do, if you say so. Only I cant remember, see.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Look, he said. Do you know about the emperor Nero?

I nodded. That bastard, I said.

Quite. Well, the truth is, Im him. Thats me.

Dont be silly, I said. Neros dead. Good riddance, too, by all accounts.

No, hes not. I mean, Im not. Im very much alive. I faked my death, with your brothers help, and you and I have been going around together ever since. Ten years, in fact.

Making a living by cheating people out of money?

Yes.

And youre really the emperor of the Romans, in disguise.

Thats right.

Sorry, I said, I dont believe a word of it.

Broke my heart to do it, mind. The expression on his face was so tragic itd have made a bailiff weep. But it was much, much too late by that stage to own up, so I was more or less stuck, and if I had to play the part, I had to do it convincingly Its not easy, lying to someone youve known ten years (unless, of course, shes your wife).

Im sorry, he said, but I cant prove it. I mean, I cant show you a sworn statement countersealed by the praetors office, or anything like that. He laughed, rather grimly Dammit, Ive spent so long not being Nero as hard as I possibly can, I guess Ive lost the knack of being me. All I can say is, if Im not Nero, why in hells name would I pretend to be him? Can you think of a single good reason why someone should want to pass himself off as the most hated man in history?

He had a point there, of course. Its all very well you saying that,

I said, but it could be an elaborate counter-bluff. Like, I went on, maybe you really are a con merchant and maybe Im a rich mark youre trying to swindle. Pretty far fetched, maybe, but a damn sight more likely than you being a dead emperor.

Well, it was good enough to shut him up for a moment or so. Actually it was pretty neat, because it was just the sort of thing thatd make a reasonable scam: you get chatting in a tavern with some bloke, make it look like youve had a skinful, blurt out that really youre some desperate wanted criminal and youve got a huge stash buried somewhere, only its no use to you because you darent go back and get it, so you offer to sell the mark your map of where its hidden for a few lousy gold coins. I filed that one away for future use. Waste not, want not, as we used to say back home.

He was getting really uptight, poor bastard. Look, you stupid Greek gallows-bait, he said, if you think youre a wealthy man, just take a look at the palms of your hands, tell me if they belong on a rich man. Youve just spent a couple of months bashing dirt with a mattock, because it was either that or starve.

I looked down at my hands, just to show willing. Doesnt prove anything, I said. For all I know, I could be a hard-working yeoman farmer, with a nice little nest egg salted away for my daughters dowry.

He made a rude noise. I promise you, he said, as soon as you get your memory back, Im going to kick your arse from here to Praeneste for that. You a hardworking farmer.

Now that was unfair, because, if it hadnt been for the unfairness of Fate, thats precisely what I could have been. No more unlikely than you being the emperor of the Romans, I said. All it needs is one look at you. No, Id say youre either a retired gladiator or fresh off the galleys.

I thought he was going to lose his temper, but he managed not to. Listen, he said, with any luck and the gods blessing, youll get your head unscrambled in a day or so and then youll remember, so Im not going to waste time and breath trying to convince you. Im just telling you this so when you do remember, it wont come as too much of a shock. Also, if you could possibly avoid saying anything thatll get us both crucified, Id be much obliged. All right?

I looked him in the eye. Im a professional, but even so it wasnt easy Youre weird, I said. If you ask me, youre the one who needs a doctor. Still, if anybody asks, Ill tell them you arent the emperor Nero. After all, its the plain truth.

He was about to say something, then he didnt, and I thought I saw a little gleam in his eye. It was only some time later that I figured out what it could benamely, I was the only person in the world, except maybe Phaon, if the worthless little shit was still alive, who knew for sure that he was the emperor Nero. If Id forgotten that, it couldnt exactly hurt, could it? If I genuinely didnt remember, they could put me on the rack and stick thorns under my fingernails, and I wouldnt say a thing.

Fine, he said. Just bear that in mind, and everythingll be all right.

He left the room, and I turned over and tried to get some sleep. Fat chance. I lay there, feeling horribly guilty. Not on, I said to myself. Lucius Domitius and me, wed been through a lot together, and hadnt I promised Callistus Id look after the stupid idiot? All it takes is a pretty facea pretty face with a gigantic nose, yetand all that was going out of the window Marvellous. And leaving that on one side for a moment, what about this mysterious threat hanging over us? When that wall fell on me, wed been on the point of skipping Rome , jumping on board the first ship we came to, and getting as far away from the city as we could get. What was I planning on doing when the bad guys turned uptelling them they couldnt touch me because Id just fallen in love? Yeah, right.

But it was like arguing with a little kid. You point out all the facts, make a really good case, and the little bastard just looks at you and carries on eating the worms or drinking out of the puddle. I knew I was acting crazy and dumb, but I couldnt stop myself. Thats when it hit me, like a tile off a roof. I was in love. Shit.

Well, quite. Its all very well for your young sprigs of the nobility to go swanning round the place sighing and soppily grinning because some girls just smiled at them. Theyve got nothing better to do with their time. Theyve got money dangling off their belts, and sure as hell they havent got merciless killers or the praetors guards trailing round after them. Love is strictly for the idle and the honest; for the likes of me, its just not an option. Pity it doesnt know that, really, it could save a lot of unpleasantness.

Ill say this for being dead stupid, though, it means you can put deep thoughts right out of your mind pretty much at will. Useful survival trait, actually, given the number of condemned cells Ive been in.

So I stopped thinking about that, and tried to figure out what I could say to Myrrhine next time I saw her, and while I was doing that, I mustve fallen asleep, because the next thing I saw, apart from the insides of my eyelids, was Myrrhine herself, poised over me like a crow on roadkill with a bit of wet rag in her hand.

Oh, Im so sorry, she said. Did I wake you up?

Thats fine, really, I replied. What time is it?

Oh, just after dinnertime. My brothers and your friend are finishing off the wine, so I thought Id come and see how youre getting on. Are you feeling any better?

Well, my headache had gone, for a start. On the other hand, since it seemed likely that me being ill was the main reason for her being nice to me, I wasnt in a hurry to admit it. A bit, I said. My heads still very sore, of course. 

Oh dear. Does this help? she said, splodging me with the rag again. Actually, it was bloody annoying.

Wonderfully, I replied. If you dont mind, that is.

Oh no, its no trouble. And she stuck a corner of the rag in my eye. Ive got some good news for you, she said.

Really? What?

She smiled at me. Some friends of yours have turned up, she said.

I sat bolt upright, which meant I got her little finger up my nose. Friends of mine? I asked.

There, I thought youd be pleased, she said. Who knows, as soon as you see them, maybe your memory will come back, its often the way in these cases, according to my brother Amyntas. He was telling me, one patient he had

What sort of friends? I interrupted. I mean, what were they like? What did they say?

Well. She put down the damp rag, not a moment too soon. I went down to the front room to get some more water

When was this?

Oh, about an hour ago, while you were still asleep. Anyway, I  went down to the front room, and there were these two men, a  Greek with a lovely red cloak, frightfully expensive Id say, and a little man, probably an Italian, with a bald head and a little scrubby beard. And they were asking the innkeeper, had he seen two men: a big Italian with a thick neckthats what they saidand a Greek with a pointed face and small eyes. She paused, looking sheepish. Well, what they actually said was, a Greek with a face like a polecat. I dont think you look a bit like a polecat, but

Thats what they said, was it? Their exact words?

She nodded. So of course I said yes, theyre here in the inn, only the Greek gentlemans had a terrible accident, a wall fell on him, hes upstairs in bed.

And I was about to tell them about how Amyntas saved your life and wasnt it lucky, him being a doctor, when the men said thanks and theyd be back later.

They didnt say how long

I jumped out of bed and started looking for my boots. Myrrhine gave a little squeal and spun round, probably because I wasnt wearing any clothes. Have you seen my boots? I said.

Under the bed, she replied, without looking round. Really, you shouldnt be getting up, Amyntas said

I buggered Amyntas under my breath. Its all right, I said, Im feeling much better now. Have you told LuHave you told my friend?

I saw the back of her head lift. No, hes in having dinner with my brothers, I thought Id tell him when theyve finished.

Wonderful, I muttered. Hang on, you said this all happened an hour ago? Why didnt you tell me before?

You were asleep, she said, I didnt want to disturb you.

Stupid bitch, I thought, and then I thought, No, she was being considerate, she wasnt to know. Would you do something for me? I asked, dragging my tunic on over my head. Could you nip down and tell my friend? Im sure hell be interested.

All right, she said. Theyll have finished their wine soon, Ill tell him then.

Now! I shouted. I mean, I think itd be better if you told him now, if its all the same to you. Im sure hell want to be told as soon as possible.

Oh, she said, very well. Only Amyntas gets quite annoyed if hes interrupted before hes finished his wine.

He wont mind, I said, just this once. Please? I added, just managing not to yell at her.

She left the room, and I looked round, trying to figure out the best way to get out of there. The window was easily big enough to get through, but there was an awful lot of empty air between the window ledge and the street below, so I didnt fancy that. The only alternative was the stairs, leading down

(presumably) into the front room. Well, I thought, if I get out now, maybe itll be all right, or I could wait for Lucius Domitius, because hed be sure to wait for me if he was in my shoes.

The point is, some of us are naturally good people, and some of us are no good.

I know Im one of the second lot; people have been telling me this for many years, and they neednt have bothered, because something like that, you can feel it in your water. Its sad as hell and Id far rather be good and brave and noble, but after all this time Im resigned to it. Im not good or brave or noble, and I never will be, and thats that. Just got to face facts and make the best I can of a bad job, namely me.

But its not all guilt and wretchedness A good blokeLucius Domitius, say, and deep down he was all right, as I may have told you beforea good bloke would worry about ditching his best mate at a time like that; hed have real trouble doing something so mean and nasty. But when youre no good, like me, you dont have to beat yourself up over stuff like that. Its my nature, you say, and you just get on with it. I remember talking about it with a philosopher back in the old daysnot Seneca, one of the other philosophers, but Senecad have said exactly the same thing, Im sureand he said I was bang on the nail, because the glorious Aristotle had said pretty much the same thing, like everythings got its own nature and it cant help doing what its nature tells it to. Well, my nature was telling me to get the hell out of there, and if Aristotle says its all right, its all right. Right?

So there I am, scuttling down the narrow stairs like a very fast-moving crab, and I come out into what was obviously the front room. Theyre all the same, city inns, you can walk round them blindfold and not bump into a pillar.

Unfortunately, Id got the timing a bit wrong (probably a judgement on me for not waiting for Lucius Domitius), because standing in the middle of the room was the Sicilian bloke, the one whod had all those soldiers killed. He had a lot of men with him, a dozen at least, and they made your champion gladiators look like flower girls.

I stopped dead, like Id just walked into an invisible tree. The Sicilian looked at me and grinned.

Hello, Galen, he said.

Nine
Theres a lot of people in this world who arent particularly bothered about having their names known by strangers. Emperors, for instance, and kings, and provincial governors. Poets and singers. Artists. Gladiators. People who do running and jumping in the Olympic Games. You see one of them in the street and you call out, Hello there, Mylon, or whatever his name happens to be, he doesnt swing round and say, How the hell do you know my name? because he expects it, its part of being who he is.

But when youre someone like me, hearing your name spoken by someone you dont know is generally bad news. Granted, the Sicilian wasnt exactly a stranger. Id seen him twice before, but I hadnt precisely introduced myself either time, so if he knew my name, it was because hed taken the trouble to find it out, and it couldnt have been easy, at that. People dont tend to waste that much effort on yours truly unless they want to do something horrible to me.

Well, I couldve spun round and bolted for the stairs, I suppose, but there didnt seem to be much point. At best, wed have met up again on the flat roof, and thatd have been wonderfully convenient for chucking me off. Also, I couldnt see me outrunning the Sicilians men, they all looked horribly fit and agile. The idea of putting up any sort of a fight was just plain silly Face it, I told myself, this time youre in the shit, right up to the ankles. Actually, thats not a very clever expression. I know people use it all the time, but its not that smart. I mean, Ive been up to my ankles in shit many a time, back home on the farm or walking down the street in a big city on a rainy day, and all right, its not exactly my idea of fun, but theres worse things in life, such as having a large number of unfriendly people getting ready to grab you.

Compared to that, wading about in cowplop is no big deal, trust me.

Right, the Sicilian said, and his blokes started to come towards me. Well, I know the drill, you stand still and dont try and fight or run, dont give them any reason to get unpleasant. The thing was, did they know the drill or were they just a bunch of amateurs? Before I could find out, though, someone right behind me at the foot of the stairs said, Whats going on?

Didnt have to look round to know it was Amyntas voice. Oh dear, I thought, silly sods going to try and intervene, which means theyll probably kick the shit out of him, and that made me feel bad. I mean, it wasnt exactly a priority in the pecking order of my emotions just then, but I spared a thought for him, even so. All hed done was save my life, introduce me to his sister, and give me a whole lot of free medical treatment, and what was he about to get in return?

Pretty unfair, I thought, though it just went to show what Id always thought:

go through life being good and kind and unselfish and helping others, and youll end up getting your arse kicked, along with us deadbeats.

But the Sicilian raised his hand, and the heavies stayed where they were. I couldnt read his face very well, but something was bothering him. Hello, he said, and he mustve been talking to Amyntas, because hed already said hello to me.

I asked you, Amyntas voice said behind me, what you think youre doing.

And the Sicilian didnt say a word. He just stood there, like a war memorial or something.

Well? Amyntas said, Im waiting for an explanation.

Me too. What I wanted to know was, why was Amyntas still alive and in one piece?

Remember, Id seen this Sicilian order his slaves to murder Roman soldiers, for no readily apparent reason. Someone who had the forged steel balls for something like that wasnt going to be scared of one solitary Egyptian doctor. Hell, even I wasnt scared of Amyntas, and every bloody thing terrifies me.

I need to talk to this man, the Sicilian said eventually (and his voice was all quiet and mumbly), It wont take a moment, if youll excuse us.

Amyntas pushed past me, stood between me and the Sicilian. Im afraid I cant allow that, he said. Im this gentlemans doctor, and he needs his rest, hes not to be tired out with questions. If you want to talk to him, youll have to come back later.

The Sicilian looked at me, then at Amyntas. How much later? he asked politely

Oh, several days, Amyntas replied. Hes had a very nasty bump on the head.

Overtiring himself at this stage could be very serious indeed.

I was still reeling at the shock of hearing myself referred to as this gentleman

thoughtless bloody thing to do, people have been known to die from laughing too muchso I wasnt even trying to figure out what was going on. Something obviously was. Mob-handed psychopaths dont tend to shrivel up with terror at the sight of small Egyptian doctors unless theres a hidden subplot. But Im not one of those people who cant be confused and happy at the same time. Far from it. Give me food or money, or stop hitting me, and you can bewilder me as much as you like.

The Sicilian sighed. Fine, he said. Well come back in a few days time, then. After all, if hes as sick as you say, he wont be going anywhere in a hurry, will he?

Amyntas lifted his head. Not unless his condition deteriorates, he replied.

In that case, obviously, I may need to take him to one of my colleagues, someone with more expertise in this field than me.

I see, the Sicilian said quietly. Is that likely, do you think?

Oh, you never know, Amyntas said. They can be the very devil, head injuries. 

For some reason, the Sicilian didnt like that, or else he didnt like the way Amyntas had said it. Anyhow, he pulled a grim face. Lets hope he makes a speedy recovery, he said. After all, hes my very dear friend. Arent you Galen?

I swallowed something that appeared to be taking up valuable space in my throat.

Im sorry, I said, but I honestly dont know who you are.

Really? Thats sad. Oh well, never mind. Im sure with the doctor here taking care of you, its only a matter of time.

One of his heavies chuckled at that. Private joke, presumably. I hate those.

Well, the Sicilian said, wed better be getting along, then. He made a small gesture with his hand, and the heavies backed out of the doorway He treated Amyntas to an extra special stare, then followed after them, leaving me alone with Amyntas. He frowned at me, like Id just farted in the middle of his dinner party.

As for you, he said, I think you ought to get back to bed.

Really, I said.

Really I dont want to worry you, but perhaps you dont realise just how serious your condition is.

And thats no lie, I said to myself. Oh, I replied. Well, in that case, Ill get back upstairs again.

Good idea. Ill come with you.

No, really I can manage.

Are you sure?

Very sure, thanks.

Soon as I was back in my room, I went to shoot the bolt, only there wasnt one.

There were six nail holes in the woodwork, and a discoloured patch just where a bolt ought to have been, but no bolt. If Id been paranoid, Id have said somebody had taken the bolt off the door, and quite recently, too. But whod do a thing like that?

There was, however, a tripod. Call it a tripod, more like a watchmans brazier, but in Rome itd be a tripod, and two coppers a night extra on the price of the room because of it. Wonderful people, the Romans. You cant buy a second-hand hat in Rome , only heirloom-quality collectable headgear.

Anyhow, it had three legs and it was sturdy enough to do some good wedged diagonally against the door so I jammed it in place, lay down on the bed and did something I dont do often and am not very good at. I thought.

Mostly I thought, shit, and, Oh bugger, whatve I got myself into? and a load of stuff along those lines. In the gaps between that sort of thought, I tried to fit in something a bit more constructive. For example, down the stairs probably wasnt going to get me anywhere, but up the stairs would bring me onto the roof. Rome being the crowded place it is, the gap between rooftops is often small enough that you can jump it, if you happen to be an Olympic athlete. But I didnt feel up to that sort of thing. I knew me, Id be bound to trip over my feet as I jumped and end up in the street below, looking all flat and boneless, the way people do when they fall off very tall buildings. Or, I thought, I could go down a couple more floors, into one of the other rooms, and jump out of the window from a safe height. That had a certain specious charm to it, but I decided not to. Im not a born gambler, but I was prepared to bet money the Sicilians boys were watching the building from a discreet distance just in case anything interesting dropped out of the windows. That, unfortunately, was about as constructive as I could get, under the prevailing conditions.

I was lying there, toying with a bloody stupid idea about starting a fire as a diversion, when something went thump outside my door, followed by a curse and some unrefined language, in Greek.

Go away, I said. Ive got a sword.

Fuck you, Galen, Lucius Domitius replied through the timberwork. And open this bloody door, will you?

I jumped off the bed like a cat hit by an apple core and wrenched the tripod out of the way One of the legs came off, which tells you all you need to know about the furniture in Roman inns.

What the hell are you doing, barricading yourself in like that? Lucius Domitius grumbled as I opened the door. I walked straight into it, expecting it to open, and Ive given my nose a hell of a crack.

Serves you right, for barging in. Listen

No, he interrupted impatiently, you listen for a change. You know who Ive just seen, out of my window? That maniac of a Sicilian, thats who.

I know, I said, and I told him what had just happened. So, you see

Hold on. He lifted one hand. Got your memory back, then, I see.

What? Oh, yes, it was a miracle. Aesculapius came to me in a dream and cured me.

Handy, that.

Real stroke of luck, I agreed. Listen, whatre we going to do? We cant stay here. Its obvious nowwe werent rescued, we were captured. We just didnt know it.

Quite. Lucius Domitius nodded. Actually, Id pretty much figured that out for myself before I even saw the Sicilian. For one thing, whoever heard of a doctor whod so much as look at you without money up front? I dont know Egypt , but if theyve got doctors there who pay your inn bills for you, its a weirder place than I ever imagined. And then theres the bird, the one whos been fawning over you like a lovesick dove. Obviously that cant be genuine.

I didnt say anything. No point in getting uptight in the middle of a crisis.

Whatever, I said. The point is, how are we going to get out of this building?

He frowned. We could try walking out through the door, he said. Ive tried it before, several times, and it works.

Sure, I said. And even if Amyntas lets us go

You think that overgrown vol-au-vents going to stop us? Unlikely

Even if Amyntas lets us go, I repeated, well be strolling right into the welcoming arms of the Sicilian and his charm-school graduates. Lets not do that.

Good point. He sat down on my bed. How about the window?

Do me a favour, were ten stories up.

Oh. Roof?

Fuck the roof.

He nodded. Yes, its a stupid idea. We could always disguise ourselves as washerwomen and get past them that way

I sighed. For crying out loud, I said.

All right, all right, Im brainstorming. Just let me think aloud, cant you?

Go on, then.

Cant think of anything else. I know, he added suddenly, howd it be if we started a fire, as a diversion? Just a small one, enough to make lots of smoke, but no actual

No thanks. Burning to death is a horrible way to go.

True. Well, that more or less cleans me out of bright ideas. How about you?

I sighed. Same here. I guess well just have to wait and see what happens.

Wish I hadnt said that. Im not a religious man, God knows, but even I know that saying something like that is asking for trouble. Its like walking up to the biggest, meanest bloke in the village, spitting in his drink and betting him five drachmas he cant bust your nose with one punch.

At least, with the gods, you dont generally have to wait too long before they kick you in the nuts. Id hardly said those very stupid words, when Lucius Domitius raised his hand to shut me up, and sniffed.

Excellent nose he had. Well, excellent for smelling with, it wasnt exactly a thing of beauty or anything like that. But he could smell army-issue harness oil on a soldiers sandal ten heartbeats before the soldier came at us out of a dark corner yelling, Hey, you! (A talent thatd saved our skins on at least three occasions over the years.) So when it came to precision sniffing, I was prepared to trust his judgement. What? I asked.

Somethings burning, he replied. The buildings on fire.

Are you sure?

He looked at me. You think I dont know what burning buildings smell like? Me, of all people? Shut up, Im trying to

And then someone down the passageway started yelling, Fire! Fire! He gave me one of those smug told-you-so looks, then jumped up and yelped, Bloody hell, the inns on fire.

Well, thats the gods for you. Really sick sense of humour, if you ask me, but dont tell them I said so. Fuck, I said. Now what do we do?

Leave, said Lucius Domitius, hurrying to the door and tripping over the remains of the tripod.

So we left.

Outside in the passageway it was thick smoke. Hits you like someone punching you in the guts, smoke. Suddenly you cant breathe, and everything stops while you try and find a mouthful of air from somewhere. So there I was, gasping like a landed fish, and some lunatic running down the passageway crashes into me and knocks me backwards, right onto Lucius Domitius. He falls down, the way you do, and I land on top of him. Well, it jolted the smoke out of us all right, and down on the floor there seemed to be rather more air, so that wasnt so bad. We took on supplies, as they say in the navy, and started crawling on hands and knees towards the stairs. A couple of other blokes dashed past us, luckily not tripping over us. Down below, I thought I heard Amyntas voice yelling something, but he was the least of my worries just then. What was bothering me most of all was the thought of the Fire Brigade. Famous Roman institution: soon as theres a fire, they send out these lunatics armed with hammers and big hooks on poles, and they start puffing down the burning building so the fire wont spread to the surrounding houses. Good idea, unless you happen to be inside while theyre at it.

For Gods sake, Lucius Domitius spluttered behind me, cant you crawl any faster? I dont want the last thing I see in this life to be your wiggling arse.

I was going to reply, because theres never any call to be gratuitously offensive, when some blokes came running up behind us, dragged us to our feet by the scruff, and boosted us down the passageway at a brisk trot. Not the way Id have gone about it. I misplaced my lungful of clean air while I was being hauled up off the deck and caught a whole bunch of smoke instead. But next thing we knew we were being shoved down the stairs, into the front room (which was full of fire) and out into the street and the fresh air. Now that was good, let me tell you and I was just about to turn round and say thank you very much when someone bashed me on the head.

 

I hate getting knocked out. The getting bashed isnt so bad. It only lasts a split second and then youre fast asleep. The bummers when you wake up. It feels like a really, really bad hangover, but without the fun of the truly epic piss-up the night before. And I dont suppose for one moment that Amyntas wouldve approved of me getting clobbered, not while I was still recovering from the last lot.

But what the hell. I opened my eyes anyway, just to see if they still worked, and I saw that I was in what looked like the dining room of a big, grand house, only it was rather the worse for wear. On the walls were the remains of some cute frescos: a bunch of blokes with no clothes on chasing some girls across a flower-carpeted meadow Sadly, the panel where they caught up with them had suffered quite a bit from the damp, and all you could see was the tops of their heads and their feet. There were enough cobwebs up in the corners of the ceiling to patch up an army after a big battle, and the dust was thick on everything.

So much for the scenery, I thought, what about me? I tried to move, but found I couldnt. Well, I didnt like that at all. You can get seriously damaged, being bashed over the head. There was a bloke in our village who was stood under a tree when some clown was up in the branches doing some heavy pruning. A log fell on his head, and he was paralysed from the neck down for the rest of his life. I was just about to panic when I realised what the problem was:

I was trussed up with rope, which was why I couldnt move my arms and legs. So that was all right.

Someone next to me groaned. I managed to turn my head enough to see who it was:

Lucius Domitius, needless to say, all wound round with rope like a capstan on a ship. Bloody comical he looked too, though I suppose I was just the same.

Whats happening? I asked.

He groaned again, and said, How the hell should I know? Where is this, anyway?

And then he caught sight of the blokes-and-birds fresco and said, Hang on.

What?

I know where we are. This is Cassius Longinus house. I came to dinner here once.

Wonderful, I said. Whos Cassius Longinus, and whatre we doing in his house?

No idea. Only, its not his house any more. Hes dead.

Youre sure of that, are you?

Positive. I ordered his execution.

That wasnt what I wanted to hear. Well, it was his own fault, Lucius Domitius gabbled on. He was plotting against me, absolutely no question about it, I saw the evidence and it was clear as daylight. It was me or him, and

Listen, I said, I dont give a stuff about some dead Roman. I dont give a stuff why you had him killed. Just a pity you didnt kill the lot of em while you were at it, if you ask me. What I want to know is, did he have a large family? Lots of friends? Anybody who might bear a grudge?

He thought about it for a moment. Probably, he said. Very popular man, I suppose thats why they thought hed be a good choice for someone to overthrow me. Oh, I see, he added, youre thinking that whoever brought us here

For crying out loud, I thought, Ive seen statues who were quicker on the uptake. Thats right, I said. Which is why I asked the bloody question.

Long, awkward silence as both of us realised that, even if we had figured out who it was whod nabbed us, there was very little we could do about it, trussed up like carpets. Well, Lucius Domitius said eventually, at least we werent burned to death in the fire.

Id forgotten about the fire. Straight up. Only a short time before, wed been moments away from a horrible death trapped in a burning building, the kind of situation honest folk have nightmares about, and what with one thing and another itd slipped my mind, like a second cousins birthday Its what happens when youre having nasty adventures all the time. You get absentminded.

Sure, I said. Its like surrendering to the enemy and winding up getting fed to the lions. I mean, I went on, if this Cassius person wants to see us dead, why didnt he just leave us in there to fry? Too much time on his hands, obviously

Cassius Longinus hasnt got any time at all. Hes dead, remember.

I growled. Well, I said, when you see him on the other side of the River, any moment now, you can smash his teeth in for him. Thats if theyve got teeth in the afterlife.

I dont think so, Lucius Domitius said. At least, nobodys ever mentioned it.

Good, I said, I think Ive got an abscess coming. Itll be nice to avoid that.

Then the door at the far end of the room opened, and two of the biggest men Ive ever seen in my life walked in. Not just big, as in youd have to stand on a table to punch them on the nose. Big big.

Thought we heard you talking, said one of them cheerfully in an unexpectedly high voice. Howre you feeling, both of you?

The bloke who said that was the shorter of the two, maybe by as much as a whole fingers breadth. He had high cheekbones, arms like six fat snakes having a race up a tree, and a completely bald head, not even any eyebrows. The other bloke had a face like a vulture, with long black hair tied up in a ponytail. That aside, he could have been the bald guys big brother.

Neither of us said anything. This seemed to worry the bald man. He asked, Are you all right? and sounded like he really cared. Strange, I thought.

Of course theyre not all right, said the other one, in an accent you couldve blunted a knife on. Theyre all tied up with rope. Probably got pins and needles.

He came over and started untying my ropes, while his friend saw to Lucius Domitius. When theyd finished, and I was flexing my ankles to see if they still worked, Lucius Domitius (whod been staring at the bald man like hed seen a ghost or something) cleared his throat awkwardly and said, I know you. Youre Alexander, the gladiator.

The long-haired bloke laughed. Good memory youve got, chum. Meanwhile the bald man was looking at his feet, like he was embarrassed or something.

It is you, isnt it? Lucius Domitius went on. I saw you fighting loads of times. You were really good.

Something else I didnt want to hear. Now if hed said, You were so pathetic, even I couldve done you over with one arm in a sling, that might have cheered me up.

The bald man was blushing, would you believe. Yeah well, he said. That was a long time ago.

Ill say, put in his friend. We been retired, what, ten years? Thats right, nine going on ten. Our last fight was just before Otho got done in. He laughed.

That dates us, he said. Half the kids you meet nowadays probably dont even know who Otho was.

Is it as long as that? said Lucius Domitius. Good God, doesnt time fly?

Seems like only yesterday I saw you take down the two German brotherswhat were their names?

Something else had just occurred to me, though it probably didnt matter. Still, he shouldve known better than to let on he knew who the bald bloke was. Knowing the name of the man whos just kidnapped you isnt what youd call a survival skill.

Segibert and Runthing, said the pony-tail bloke, grinning. Dont ask him, he comes over all shy when you talk about the old days. Not me, I like remembering.

Just a moment. Lucius Domitius turned and looked at him. Of course, I recognise you as well. Youre Julianus Bolius, the two-sword man.

Shit, I said to myself, but if Pony-tail was bothered about being recognised, it didnt show. Bad, bad sign; made it look even more definite they were going to kill us.

Thats right, he said. Fancy you knowing me without my helmet on.

You were very good, Lucius Domitius said. Wasnt it you who had that amazing bout with the Spanish net-and-fork man, Nicias or Nicomedes or something like that? You remember, where he had you flat on your back with the fork-tines at your throat, and then you did this really neat little sideways roll, knocked him off his feet, skewered him with his own fork?

That wasnt me. Pony-tail shook his head. That was my brother Julianus Saphax, rest his soul.

God, yes. Lucius Domitius was nodding frantically I remember him all right. He had this move with the left arm that nobody ever seemed to be able to figure out.

Almost nobody, Pony-tail interrupted, nodding his head towards his mate.

Alexander here, he was the only one who ever managed to read it.

Of course, yes, Lucius Domitius exclaimed, I remember, I saw that one. Your brother had Alexander up against the boards, and then quite suddenl He broke off, his eyes as round as soup bowls. My God, he said.

The bald man had tears running down his cheeks. Its all right, Pony-tail said, we sorted that out years ago. He knows I dont blame him, dont you, Alexander? The bald man nodded, too upset to say anything. Thats how it goes in the arena, you dont take it personal. I mean, he went on, look at us, best mates, been together now, what, seventeen years?

Eighteen next February, Alexander snuffled.

Well, there you are, Pony-tail said. See, when youre really good mates, like we are, even stuff like him killing my brother, it doesnt matter a damn. You just put it behind you and carry on.

Alexander sat down on the floor and burst into tears. Still, Pony-tail went on, in a loud whisper, its probably best if you stay off that subject. He gets upset, see, and Im the one thats got to put up with him.

Lucius Domitius nodded, as if to say, I know what you mean. Bloody nerve. Not to mention the fact that his two heroes of the sanded arena there were the men whod snatched us out of the inn and bashed us over the head. Somehow, I wasnt convinced that they were on our side.

Maybe Pony-tail sensed my misgivings, because he looked me in the eye and said, Well, I guess I owe you two an apology. About bumping you on the head, I mean. Only, what with the crowd and the fuss and all, there wasnt time to explain.

Easier to fetch you here first and explain afterwards.

Lucius Domitius looked like he was about to say, Oh thats all right, dont worry about it, so I nipped in first. Explain what? I said.

Pony-tail shrugged. I guess thats what landslides on the slopes of Etna must look like. Not a lot I can tell you, he said. Bloke we do jobs for occasionally, he comes round to see us and he says, two friends of mine are in a spot of trouble, theyre being held prisoner in an inn down by Ostia Gate, I want you two to nip round there and get them out. Only be careful, he says, remember, theyre my friends, and you boys dont know your own strength sometimes. So, he went on, itd be really nice if you didnt say anything about the bumps on the head, right? Hed get really snotty if he knew, stop our money and all. And lets face it, times are hard. We wouldnt be doing this sort of shit if they werent.

The expression on Lucius Domitius face said he thought it was a crying shame that two famous heroes of the Grand Circus were reduced to bashing people in inns just to make ends meet. Once a pillock, always a pillock, as my old mother used to say.

This bloke, I said, the one who hired you. He wouldnt happen to be a Sicilian, by any chance?

Pony-tail frowned. Dont think so, he said. At least, I dont know where hes from originally Never known him leave the city, though.

That didnt sound right, but I carried on anyway. Tall bloke, I said, straight nose, square jaw, dark curly hair.

No, thats not our bloke, Alexander put in. Short, tubby little chap, bald, about four chins. Goes by the name of Licinius Pollio.

A short, tubby chap. Shit, I thought, him. Oh, I said, him. Well, youre right about one thing. Hell be pissed off if he hears you clobbered us.

Pony-tail pulled a face. Thats no lie, he said. Nasty temper hes got, for a bloke who looks like a fattened lamb. You wont tell him, will you?

Of course not, Lucius Domitius put in, before I could say anything. Dont worry about it. But did he say what he wanted with us?

Pony-tail shook his head. Nah. Just fetch em to the old house and wait for me to show up, thats all. Mind you, he went on, Im surprised he hasnt shown up by now We were supposed to meet him here at midnight and its well past that now. I heard the cabbage carts go by outside, and that was some time ago.

Hes a funny bloke, Licinius Pollio, said Alexander. Dont suppose I should be telling you this, but hes had us following you about for the last few days.

Bugger of a job finding you, we had. I mean, a big, good-looking ginger-haired Italian and a small, rat-faced Greeknot my words, he added quickly, thats the description he gave us, and no names, of course, thatd have been too much like your actual help. You got any idea how many people there are answering to that description in Rome ?

Not to mention misleading, I thought. Lucius Domitius, good-looking? You managed it, though, obviously, I said.

Oh, we know our way about, Pony-tail said. In our line of work, we know everybody

Not the bashing people on the head business, Alexander amended. Thats not what we really do, except when times are hard. Really you see, were cooks.

I managed to get in ahead of Lucius Domitius, though only just. So youve been trailing us, I said. Did he say why?

Alexander lifted his head, Greek-style. No. Just follow them around, was what Licinius Pollio told us; keep an eye on em, make sure they dont get into any bother.

Pony-tail was grinning, which seemed to annoy Alexander. Sorry, Pony-tail said, but weve got to tell em. I mean, its the funniest thing. You wont tell Licinius Pollio we told you, will you?

Told us what?

Alexander shrugged, and Pony-tail went on I dont know, he said. Ive known Licinius Pollio come out with some pretty weird stuff but thats got to be the weirdest. He said, follow them aroundthats youlook out for them, and when theyre asleep, he says, I want you to sneak up on them and leave this money where they can find it.

I looked up sharply Money?

Thats right, Alexander said. And then, when you dossed down for the night surrounded by all those low-lifes, I said to Julianus, we cant leave em there with all that money on em, chances are theyll never wake up again. So we had to hang around all night, just in case someone tried to rob you. Which they did, he added, or they tried to. Couple of blokes, nasty-looking types they were. But we bashed em, and they slung their hook.

Well, now at least I had a name for the vicious monster whod been playing such cruel games with my head, and I dont just mean hitting it: Licinius Pollio.

Never heard of him. Did he say anything else about us? I asked. Where he knows us from, anything like that?

Pony-tail shook his head. But that dont mean anything, I mean, we dont exactly chat heart to heart much, what do you expect? He doesnt invite us to dinner and introduce us to his teenage daughters, either. And before you ask, thats a whats-his-name, hypothetical. I dont know if hes got daughters, or if hes even married. I couldnt care less, either.

Anyway, Alexander chipped in, I thought you said you knew him.

For some bizarre reason, God only knows why, I got it into my head that I could trust these two. Anything more unlikely this side of flying elephants itd be hard to imagine, but there it is, sometimes you get these crazy notions. I think it was because, if you ignored their extreme size and savage appearance, they reminded me a lot of my aunt Callirhoe. Never heard the name Licinius Pollio before in my life, I said. I know a short, tubby bald Italian guy, like the one you described. Ive seen him at least twice. But why in hell he should be interested in us, let alone hiring people to give us money in our sleep or rescue us from burning inns

Pony-tail coughed, and he had an embarrassed look on his face, along with all the fencing scars. In case youre getting the wrong idea, he said, we didnt rescue you from the inn because it was on fire. More the other way round.

Excuse me?

He pulled a weak grin. The inn was on fire because we were rescuing you. What I mean to say is, we started the fire. Diversionary tactics, I think they call it in officers training. Well, he went on as I gave him a scowl thatd have etched bronze, we could see there was this hired muscle staking the place out, and we didnt want to make a scene fighting our way in and out. And you might have got hurt

More hurt than a heavy blow to the head, I muttered. Well, couldnt have that, could we?

Alexander made a wounded noise, like a kicked dog. I told you, didnt I, we shouldnt have bashed them. I said they wouldnt trust us if we did, and now look. You, youre always after the quick fix, thats your problem.

Dont listen to my friend, said Lucius Domitius soothingly Its just because hes short, he gets nervous around tall people. Probably Id have done exactly the same thing in your shoes.

That seemed to cheer Pony-tail up a lot. Well, he said, so long as you understand. Truth is, we arent all that clued up on this line of work. Like I said, were only doing this because times are hard. Anyhow, he went on, thats about all there is to it, really Weve been following you around, and when that building fell on your friend

Oh, so that wasnt you as well, then? I asked. I was still upset about that being-short thing. Only I did wonder. Seemed to me it fitted in quite nicely with your way of going about things.

Ignore him, Lucius Domitius said. I generally do.

Alexander grinned, while Pony-tail went on When that building fell on your friend, we were a bit stumped. You see, Licinius Pollio made a point of saying, keep out of the way, dont let em know theyre being followed. Well, its a bit bloody obvious, isnt it, saving someone from a falling building? On the other hand, he did say make sure no harm comes to them. But then those two blokes darted in and pulled you out, so we thought, well, thats all right.

But then they whisked you away like that, so we followed, and, well, you can imagine what we thought when we saw who it wasd rescued you. Didnt know what to do, did we?

Hold on, Lucius Domitius interrupted. You recognised them?

Course, Pony-tail said. Everybody in Rome knows those two.

I frowned. You mean Amyntas and whats-his-name, his brother? The Egyptian doctors? They said theyd only been in town a short while. I turned the frown into a scowl. Why are you two grinning? I said.

You tell him, said Alexander, after a pause.

Those two, said Pony-tail. What did you call them?

Amyntas, I said. And the other one, I cant remember offhand. Anyway, theyre doctors, from Memphis in Egypt . And theyve got a sister called Myrrhine.

Alexander lifted his head. They may be from Memphis originally, he said. I mean, everybodys from somewhere. Like, Im from a small village in Thessaly and Julianus is from Ecbatana , in the Persian empire . But theyve been in Rome certainly as long as me, and Ive been here twenty-two years.

Hes right about them being doctors, though, Pony-tail put in. Thats what they used to do, apparently

Fine, I said impatiently So what do they do now?

Pony-tail pulled a face. Oh, they run one of the biggest street gangs in the city, he said. The Pincian franchise, they call it. Seriously unpleasant people.

Hooligans, Alexander grunted. Into thieving and mugging and the political stuff. And receiving, too, and kidnapping. They do a lot of that. Quite a few of the blokes we used to fight withve ended up working for them over the years.

Not us, though. We dont hold with that sort of thing.

Theyre gangsters? I said.

Yeah, thats what I just said, Alexander replied. So, as soon as we realised theyd got you, we zoomed back to Licinius Pollio and told him.

Didnt he ever give us what for, Pony-tail interrupted. What the hell were you two thinking about, he said, letting those animals get their hands on them? 

And then he told us to get over there right away and have you two out of there, Alexander went on. But like we told you, when we got there we saw all these bad guys hanging round the place. Some of em were Scyphaxs people

Scyphax? Lucius Domitius said.

Thats his real name, Alexander explained, the one you called Amyntas, for sure. And his brothers called Biacrates.

What about the sister? I asked. Myrrhine. Is that her real?

Alexander lifted his head. Never heard anything about any sister, he said. I mean, they might have a sister, for all I know, but I never heard anybody mention one. Anyhow, some of them were Scyphaxs mob, we recognised a few familiar faces. But some of em were Strymons blokes, and of course Scyphax and Strymon arent exactly what youd call friends.

I sighed. Strymon?

Hes another big man in the gangs, Pony-tail said. Heads up the Esquiline faction. Theyre not as big as the Pincians, but they make up for it by being extra antisocial. There was a big turf war, year before last, between their lot and Scyphax, so I cant see where the two outfitsd be working together on anything.

Alexander nodded. And on top of that, he went on, there was a whole bunch of

em we dont know from anywhere. Either theyre new in town, or they were brought in specially God only knows whose side theyre on.

My head was starting to swim before he said that. Bloody hell, I muttered.

And all this because of us? Really, they neednt have bothered.

Anyhow, said Pony-tail, with all that lot out there, we had a Samnites chance in a brothel of just strolling in the front door and collecting you. So we snuck round the back and started the fire. Seemed like a good idea.

Well, it worked, said Lucius Domitius. I noticed hed gone all pale and thoughtful, and no wonder. One thing I felt absolutely sure of, it wasnt me that all these high-powered gangsters were after. And youve got no idea why they were after us, Lucius Domitius went on, these gang people, I mean, Scyphus and whatever the other ones called.

Scyphax, Alexander corrected him. And Strymon. Sorry, no idea. I mean, we could get hold of one of their people and see if we could squeeze it out of him, but I dont think itd get us anywhere. One of the gangs strong points is the grunts dont ever know what the bosses are up to. Security, you see.

Anyhow, Pony-tail said, you dont have to worry about them any more, or at least not for now. Licinius Polio isnt a gang boss, if thats what you were thinking.

Fine I said. So what does he do, then?

Slaves, mostly, Alexander said. All honest and above board, mind. Mostly he leases building workers to the government. Hes got half a dozen brothels as well, and he deals in the better grades as a sideline, houseboys and clerks and pages, that sort of thing. Wealthy man, by all accounts.

Somehow, that didnt make me feel any better about Licinius Pollio. But Lucius Domitius said, You know, now you say that, I think the names vaguely familiar.

Didnt he start out in a small way about twenty years ago, buying and selling gladiators?

Thats him, Pony-tail said. And thats how we got to know him, of course. It was him sold us to the tribune when we started off in the fight game.

Practically family, I muttered, but nobody took any notice of me.

Talking of Licinius Pollio, Alexander yawned, where the hells he got to? Not like him to be so late, usually hes really punctual.

Pony-tail shrugged. Got held up somewhere, he said. Busy man like that. Or I suppose Scyphax or Strymon couldve caught up to him, but I doubt that, hes too sly Got to get up with the shepherds to pull one over on Licinius Pollio.

He didnt seem particularly worried at the thought, so I decided I wouldnt worry about it either. After all, if I wanted to worry (which I didnt) I was pretty much spoiled for choice. If I felt like it, I could worry about why not one but two Roman street gangs were fighting over our worthless carcasses, or why in hell Licinius Pollio had appointed himself our personal defender and welfare bureau, or whether Lucius Domitius was too hopelessly smitten with hero-worship to take a chance to escape if one presented itself, or where our next meal was coming from. Stuff like that: ordinary, humdrum concerns. I expect you lie awake at night fretting about much the same thing. But I was buggered if I was going to worry about the well-being of some rich Roman nutcase Id seen twice, even if he had bought me a skinful of disgustingly bad wine that night in Ostia . Lifes too short.

Anyhow, Pony-tail yawned, doesnt look like hes going to show up tonight, so we might as well turn in. Afraid we didnt think to fetch along any blankets, didnt think wed be spending the night here. He glanced at Lucius Domitius.

You can have my cloak if you like, he said. I dont feel the cold much.

Lucius Domitius said he wouldnt dream of it, hed be perfectly comfortable as he was; and, since nobody seemed inclined to offer me anything, that was that.

The two uglies sort of propped themselves up against the wall, like trestle tables when dinners over, and started snoring in counterpoint. The door, I noticed, didnt seem to be locked.

Well, I thought. Mercury helps them as helps themselves, as they say in the thieves guild. Both of them looked like heavy sleepers, wed be well away by the time they woke up. Go for it, I thought. So, like a fool, I crept over to the corner, where Lucius Domitius was trying to make a pillow out of his boots, and nudged him in the ribs.

Time to go, I whispered.

He lifted his head and looked at me as if I was a mosquito whod just bitten the tip of his nose. What?

The doors open. Your two pals are asleep. Lets get the hell out of here, while we can.

He yawned. Why would we want to do that? he said.

There were times when I couldve strangled him, if only my hands werent too small to fit round his big fat neck. Dont be bloody stupid, I said. Were prisoners. Escaping is what prisoners do.

No we arent, he replied, a bit too loud for comfort. Were guests. Something like that, anyway Besides, its late and Im knackered.

You moron, I hissed, whats happened to your brain since we got here? Or did your gladiator chums knock it out your ear when they kidnapped us?

He clicked his tongue. He could click his tongue more annoyingly than anybody Ive ever met. You arent still going on about that, are you? Werent you listening when Julianus Bolius explained? It was the only way to get us out of there without attracting attention.

I couldve screamed, only I had more sense. This is crazy, I said. Just because these two bruisers were your pin-up boys back in the old days

Rubbish. He scowled at me, and even though the light from the lamps was getting dim I could see hed gone a sort of Tyrian purple colour. Just perfectly ordinary straightforward admiration for two great sportsmen. Its one of the finer things in life, so naturally you wouldnt understand.

Well, they say owners get like their pets over the years, but for the life of me I couldnt remember Lucius Domitius ever keeping a tame idiot. Lets not argue about that now, I said. The point is, were free to go. So lets go.

No

What I should have done is left him there. God knows, thats what I ought to have done. Wouldnt you? I mean, suppose you and your brother are being chased by a pack of wolves, and suddenly your brother stops dead and turns round and walks towards the wolves saying, Hooza good doggie, den? Surely thats where brotherly love and family duty stop, and you can walk away without any risk of the Furies coming and nagging at you in the wee small hours. I never got around to discussing the point with Senecapity, reallybut Im sure hed have been right behind me on this one. We all have an obligation to look after our family and our friends, but not when theyre acting like stupid arseholes.

But I didnt. Instead, I said, Why the hell not?

Because, Lucius Domitius replied, as if he was explaining something simple to a backward child, these people are on our side. I can feel it, in my bones. After all, if theyd wanted to kill us

Balls, I said. They could just as easily be taking us to be horribly tortured by some noble git who hates you from the old days. Theres enough of

em, God knows, the sort whod reckon that you burning to death or getting stabbed by mobstersd be the next best thing to giving you a free pardon.

He wrinkled his nose at me, the bastard. Bit farfetched, isnt it? he said.

I think its much more likely that this Licinius Pollios someone I did a good turn for in the old days, and hes repaying the favour. Everything Ive heard so far makes me feel sure hes a friend.

You havent got any friends, I said. Nearest thing youve got to a friend is me, and I hate you. Now stop pissing about and shift your useless bum, before you wake up the gladiators.

He sniffed. Nothing stopping you going, he said, if thats what you want to do. You bugger off out of it, and try not to get caught next time you try stealing purses, because I wont be there to rescue you.

I ask you. Why would a man, an ordinary bloke like me with no great pretensions at being good or brave or any of that shit, why would a normal bloke like me stick with such an ungrateful, mean, stupid arsehole? Because Callistus told me to, maybe. But if Callistus himself had talked to me like that (he never would have, so its a had example), Id have turned on my worn-down little heel and left him standing there. Honest, I would. Id never have forgiven him. So why

why, for crying out louddidnt I take my chance and go, right then, without another word?

Beats me. I guess I must be really, really, really, really, really stupid.

Fine, I said. Well stay here. And when theyre hanging us upside down over a roaring fire and beating us to death with thin sticks, maybe youll say youre sorry, you shouldve listened to me. Itll be something for me to look forward to.

He sighed. Really, Galen, he said. You do go on sometimes. Look, he added, in a thoroughly offensive attempt to make up the quarrel, its all very well being cautious, weve had to be very careful who we trust, I know that. But give me some credit for being able to judge human nature. These two are all right, take my word for it.

You, I said. A judge of human nature. Now Ive heard everything.

Well, he replied, I didnt want to bring this up, but Im not the one who was mooning around like a lovesick calf over some gangsters moll.

Gangsters mollwhere did he pick up an expression like that? Sure, I said.

And whose word have we got that thats what she is?

Your two bosom buddies over there, and thats all. Personally, I wouldnt believe them if they told me cowshit stinks.

He yawned, and stretched. If youre going, he said, go. If not, push off and let me get some sleep. Its been a long day

It was either clear off and leave him, or crawl away into a corner and keep my face shut. And I thought, all right then, Zeus, you made me the way I am, you sent me into this world with a face like a rat and enough brains to fill half a walnut shell. Presumably you had your reasons, and Im not going to try and guess what they were. Now its up to you, Zeus. Ive done my best. Ive been doing my best with this shit you gave me for forty bloody years. Its time for you to mind the store, Zeus, and Ill just cruise along for a while and see how well you get on, and maybe after a bit youll realise what rotten bloody hard work it is being me, and what Ive got to put up with. And maybe then youll stop emptying your chamber pot of horrible adventures over my head every time it gets full.

I dont suppose Zeus was even listening. Ive been talking to him on and off ever since I was a kid, and Ive never seen or heard anything to suggest hes listened to me even once.

So I snuck away into the opposite corner, wedged my back into the angle of the wall, drew my knees up in front of me and sort of half-closed my eyes, so I could go to sleep without taking my eyes off the door. Sounds difficult, but I mustve managed it somehow, because the next thing I remember was sunlight streaming in through a hole in the roof, and a strange smell I hadnt come across in years. A really good cooked breakfast. 

 

Ten
Straight up. Would I lie to you about a thing like that?

We didnt go in much for cooked breakfasts back when I was a kid. For one thing, for a cooked breakfast you need to have something to cook, and usually we didnt. For another, we were always up at the crack of dawn, out in the fresh air weeding the vines or leading the goats up the mountain, with a little wicker basket with the stale end of a loaf and a small onion in it, if we were lucky But they had cooked breakfasts in the Golden House, back when Callistus and I were living there as honoured guests of the emperor Nero, and I cant say as I remember them smelling anything near as good as what was wafting in through the door.

Well, I thought, if Im going to cross the River today, might as well do it on a full stomach. So I got up and wandered over to the door, limping because of the cramp and the pins and needles. You try sleeping hunched up in the corner of a derelict dining room some time, and youll see what I mean.

There you are. Lucius Domitius was standing in front of a big brass tripod, stirring something in a fat round copper pot. Just in time for the food, as usual. You must have a little voice in your head, like Socrates, to tell you about meal times.

Fuck you, I replied affably Where have your friends got to?

Alexanders fetching water from the pump, he replied, and Julianus Bolius has nipped out to the market for some fenugreek. Wont be long.

And what do you think youre doing?

Stirring the fish sauce, Lucius Domitius replied, as if it was crazy to imagine he could possibly be doing anything else.

Bizarre. No other word for it. Because the crazy fool still hadnt tumbled to the fact that wed been kidnapped by those twosnatched, abducted, taken prisoner, whatever. He seemed to be under the impression that this was some kind of house party, and that any moment now this Licinius Pollio would come tripping in through the door and ask us if we fancied joining him and the others for a quick game of handball in the courtyard. So there he was, helping the two thugs to fix breakfast. And to think, a complete shit-for-brains like that was once in charge of the entire Roman empire . Theres got to be a better way of running things than that.

Right, I said. Fish sauce. Great. And I suppose theres sweet and sour pork and honeycakes to follow

With fish sauce? For breakfast? Youre weird.

On the other hand, I thought, the fish sauce did smell rather good, and my stomach felt like I hadnt eaten since Theseus grew out of bedwetting. I guess Seneca wouldve called it pragmatism: if youre stuck with a madman cooking up a fish breakfast waiting to be horribly killed, you might as well eat the fish breakfast as not. Well, its a philosophy. Everybody needs a philosophy, after all.

Then Alexander came in with the water jug. He didnt seem to notice me, which suited me just fine, but he peered over Lucius Domitius shoulder to see how the fish sauce was getting along, and nipped a pinch of some yellow powder out of a little wooden chest lying on the floor. To see him sprinkling it over the pot, scientific as a Cretan doctor opening a blokes head, youd have thought that getting the fish sauce just right was the only thing that mattered in the whole wide world.

Pony-tail came breezing in with a basket of greens and stuff, and Lucius Domitius was relieved of duty while the two bruisers fussed over their creation.

Actually, it wasnt hard to believe that they really were cooks first and hired killers second. Ive been in enough market squares in my time to know that if youre after a cook, look around until you find the biggest, toughest, most evil-looking blokes present, and theyll be the cooks. Theres something about the profession that attracts large men with violent dispositions, apparently Its the big knives, if you ask me.

It seemed to take them for ever to get it just right; but in all fairness Ive got to say, those two were good at their job, and if Id been a senators steward organising a big dinner party, Id have had no hesitation about hiring them. Tuna steaks on wheat bread with a rich cream sauce, garnished with stuffed songbirds and crisp garden vegetables, as good as what wed been used to up at the Golden House, if not better.

Well, wed eaten the meal and were finishing up the sauce with the last of the bread, when the door opened and a girl walked in. Come on, Galen, you can do better than that. Just because something you say is more or less true, doesnt mean to say its really true, because simply reciting the facts is sometimes not enough. For instance, I could say, there was this bloke who got lost on his way home, but he got there in the end, but it wouldnt be the Odyssey. Itd be true, because thats what happened, but Id have left so much out and done so little justice to the story that itd be misleading.

Lets try that again.

The door opened. Right, thats fine, it didnt fly open or slowly drift open with a sinister creak. And yes, a girl came in. Short, dark complexion, hair piled up on top of her head, about nineteen years old. And yes, this girl wasnt spectacularly beautiful or anything like that, she was nice-looking in a cutesy sort of a way, no more than that. And she didnt come in dancing or balancing a blazing torch on the tip of her nose, she just sort of walked through the door, the way people walk, until she was about three feet from where I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, and then she stopped. Thats a pretty accurate description of what happened, but its still not really true, because you could read that and think to yourself, Well, a girls just walked in, so what, big deal. If youve been eating fried food and smudged the page with your greasy fingers, you could miss the whole thing; or maybe the rats have got into your cupboard and nibbled holes in your book. You could pass the whole incident by without really taking any notice, and then, when the important stuff starts happening later on, you wouldnt have a clue how or when or where it started.

Well. Im no artist, Im not good with words, so I cant think of a way of doing this subtly All I can do is tell you that a girl walked in, and its a really big deal, so pay attention.

There you are, she said.

Alexander looked up. Hello, Blandinia, he said. Wheres Pollio got to?

She looked at him and clicked her tongue. Hes been waiting for you all night,

she said, over at the old house, where youre supposed to be. Hes not happy

But this is the old house, Pony-tail interrupted.

She sighed. No, she said. This is the old ruined house. The old house is two doors down from the temple of Luna , five minutes north of here. Youve screwed up again, she said.

Alexander and Pony-tail looked at each other.

Fuck, said Pony-tail.

I thought so, the girl went on. Weve all been hanging around the old house like a flock of geese waiting for the spring. Theres flute-players and harpists and actors and cooks and waiters and a couple of exotic dancers, on time and a half, the lot of em, and all this time youve been here. Next time youre given your instructions for a job, you might try listening.

Im sure he said the old ruined house, Alexander said lamely, though his heart obviously wasnt in it. I guess I mustve got the wrong end of the stick.

The girl grinned spitefully Youll be lucky if thats all you get when Pollio gets hold of you, she said. And usually hes such a nice, easy-going man.

Dont know when Ive seen him so upset. Now then, she went on, turning to look at Lucius Domitius in a way that suggested that the two gladiators had suddenly ceased to exist, you must be Nero Caesar. My names Blandinia, Im Licinius Pollios freedwoman. If youre ready to leave, we really ought to be getting along.

Something hurt my toe. It was only some time later that I figured out it mustve been the heavy red earthenware dish Id been holding in both hands. And if I was poleaxed, you can guess how Lucius Domitius reacted. He sort of shimmered from head to foot, like a reflection in water when someone throws a stone in the pool. Excuse me? he said.

The girl Blandinia frowned ever so slightly Im sorry, she said. You are Nero Caesar, arent you?

There were a lot of things Lucius Domitius couldve said at that moment, but instead he chose Yes.

I thought so, Blandinia replied. Youre just how Licinius Porno described you. Then she turned her head and looked at me. And you must be Galen, she said. Are you ready?

There was something about her. You know in the fairy stories, the way that looking into the gorgons eyes was supposed to turn you to stone. Well, looking Blandinia in the eyes was a bit like that, only instead of changing you into a block of marble, it made you tell the truth. Main difference being, they had the sense to kill the gorgon, first chance they got, while this Blandinia was not only alive, but apparently allowed out in public without an armed escort.

Yes, I said.

Come along, then, she said briskly, like I was the family dog, and that seemed to be the finish of her interest in me. She turned back to Lucius Domitius and said, Well, at least youve had something to eat. I hope these two have been looking after you properly

Oh, yes, Lucius Domitius replied (which makes me wonder if the truth thing only applied to me). Theyve been really kind and helpful.

Thats all right, then, she said. Maybe we wont have them killed, after all.

To be fair, it probably was a joke. It just didnt sound anything like one, that was all.

Anyway Next thing I knew, I was hoppiting along behind, trying to keep up with this girl and Lucius Domitius as she led the way out of the house, round the back and out onto the street. Its a great shame you missed the reception, she was saying, Licinius Polliod gone to a lot of trouble to make sure everything would be nice. Never mind, though, she said, cant be helped now

Alexander and Pony-tail were following on behind me, so if the thought of making a run for it crossed my mind, it didnt hang about there long enough to take its boots off or wash its hands. We marched down an alley, through a courtyard, up another alleyby that time my sense of direction was completely fuddled, so I stopped trying to keep track of where wed been and tried to get talking with the girl hoping Id be able to get some kind of clue from her about what was going on. But she was as smart as a lawyer, and I got nothing out of her.

We hadnt been walking all that long when, quite suddenly, Blandinia stopped dead in her tracks and pushed open a little narrow door in a plain brick wall.

It looked like the entrance to some warehouse, but on the other side was a magnificent entrance hall, with mosaics on the floor and amazing painted plasterworka lion hunt in Persia, a storm at sea with ships rolling about, the wooden horse of Troy being dragged in through the city walls, and a load of other stuff, very tasteful and not long painted, judging by the damp smell of the plaster. It all seemed a bit odd, such an extravagant display of wealth tucked away behind a miserable little door in a grotty alleyway, but then I remembered something Id overheard in an inn a few years back, about how the rich Romans were getting cagey about being conspicuoussomething to do with the unusually high proportion of rich men who found themselves in court on treason charges (where the guilty partys property gets confiscated by the emperor if hes convicted). Fair enough, I thought. If flashing your money around is going to land you in the dock, theres a lot to be said for making yourself hard to notice. Of course, these trumped-up treason charges were supposed to have been one of the great evils of Neros reign, which the noble Vespasian had put a stop to, but maybe nobody had told Licinius Porno that, or maybe he was just one of those paranoid types who never trust the government.

Some people are like that, apparently A porter met us at the threshold (which was decorated with one of those beware-of-the-dog mosaics with a picture of a huge lifelike Spartan hound; a lot of people like them, though I reckon theyre too cutesy for words, almost as bad as the dinky little silver skeletons people have as centrepieces for dinner parties) and led us into the dining room. Nice place Licinius Porno had, Ill give him that. There was an enormous double lamp hanging from the ceiling on a gilded chain so you could see right around the room. The furniture wasnt very old but it was all good stuff, lots of gilding and ivory panels, and loads of cushions everywherereal Levantine purple, not the cheap imitation. One nice touch I noticed in particular: the ceiling was painted blue, with flying birds and a big yellow sun and everything. Made the place seem light and airy, like you were having your dinner outside.

And there, standing in the middle of the room fussing over something with the chief steward, was that same tubby little man Id first met in Ostia , the one whod given me a whole denarius to get zonked on. He raised his head as we walked in, looked straight past me as though I wasnt there, and started gazing at Lucius Domitius like hed seen a god or something. Welcome, welcome, he called out, scurrying across the room to meet us, do please come in, make yourself at home. And your friend, he added, as an obvious afterthought.

Tactically, we were badly placed. Alexander and Pony-tail had parked themselves in the doorway, like Horatius and his buddies getting ready to hold the bridge against the Etruscans. Aside from getting past them, which wouldve been tricky without cavalry support at the least, and probably elephants, it didnt look like there was any other way out of the room. If wed been fetched here to be horribly put to death, I couldnt see there was much we could do about it.

If he was planning on killing us, either he was going to feed us first, like farmers do with pigs before sending them to market, or else he hated us so much he was planning on eating us afterwards. The place was rigged out for a high-class dinner, little tables dotted around the floor with silver dishes of interesting little concoctions involving dead birds and sausages, two rather fancy bronze donkeys with panniers full of fresh olives, that sort of thing.

Expensive and tacky, unless they were presents from people he didnt want to offend. Not that I gave a damn. Personally I like tacky What else would you expect from someone like me? No, the only reason I even bothered looking was because you can tell so much about a person by the things he puts on display when companys expected, and at that precise moment, I wanted any hints I could get about who we were up against. All in all, the decor and effects seemed to suggest either someone whod been poor and come into money, or a man who knew what he liked and didnt give a tossthe boss of a street gang, for instance, someone like that.

I had plenty of time to look around, because the tubby little guy, Licinius Porno, was stood there in front of Lucius Domitius like hed taken root, staring. Just when I was starting to get fidgety, like you do when youve been standing in one place for a while, the tubby little guy cleared his throat and said, This is indeed an honour, or something like that. Lucius Domitius smiled feebly and said, Oh, right, and the tubby guy beamed. Honestly, you couldve snuffed out that fancy lamp of his, and wed still have been able to see.

In fact, he went on, this is a lifetimes ambition for me. He paused, like he was trying to swallow a whole apple. Im sorry, he said, that must sound very crass, but the truth is, Im rather at a loss for words. Im not usually like this, I promise you.

Thats all right, Lucius Domitius said awkwardly, dont worry about it. He gave Porno his best stuffed-frog look, and then asked, Sorry if this sounds rude, but what are we doing here?

For a moment, Porno looked like he didnt understand. Then he blinked like a lizard and said, Well, really, I just wanted to meet you, really I know, it sounds silly but its true. You see, he went on, speeding up suddenly like a cart rolling down a hill, the fact is, I happen to think that your music and your poetrywell, theyre wonderful. Ive got copies of all your poems I could find, Ive been collecting them for years, and whenever I meet someone whod been at one of your recitals, I pester them to hum me the tunes, and Ive got a slave, a Sardinian, wonderfully clever fellow, who writes them all down in little marks and squiggles on a wax tablet, and works them up so my musicians can play them. Ive got twelve full-time musicians, you know, and all they do is play your music, and I sent to Antioch specially for a very famous singer Id heard about, he wasnt cheap but I felt that only the best would be worthy of your songsDiomedes of Antioch, maybe youve heard of him? No? Well, never mind. Anyway, he sings and the musicians play for me three times a day, after breakfast, lunch and dinner, and Ive got a couple of quite decent flute-players who do medleys of your work at other times during the day when Im alone or exercising or having a bath. And also, something Im really excited about, I managed to get hold of the harp you played when you gave your first public recital at Naples; it took me ages to track it down, a captain in the guards had it and it cost me an arm and a leg, but now of course its one of my most treasured possessions. And He stopped and caught his breath, as if hed just run the foot race at the Olympic games. Well, he said, like I told you, I just wanted to meet you and, well, say thanks, for all the wonderful hours of pleasure youve given me.

Well. Ive got to give Lucius Domitius his due; he took it very well, considering. Me, in his place, either Id have strangled Licinius Porno right there on the spot for scaring us half to death and having his tame thugs bash our heads in, or else Id have burst out laughing so hard Id have split a gut.

Not Lucius Domitius. He just stood there, mouth slightly open, didnt say a word. Ive seen livelier corpses in plague pits.

Anyway, Licinius Porno went on, thats all I wanted to say And now, if youd care to join me for a bite to eat, Id be honoured. Epaphroditus, water and towels for our guest.

A little skinny kid with curly hair bounded forward with a silver bowl and started washing Lucius Domitius hands, and I dont think he noticed until the kid started trimming his fingernails with a little silver knife, he was so stunned by the whole business. Then another bloke, who for some reason was got up as Cupid or Ganymede or someone like that, steered him over to a couch and shoved him onto it in a duly obsequious manner, whereupon a whole bunch of slaves swooped down and shoved dishes of food under his nose, until he was surrounded by them and I couldnt see him any more. At this point, a rather less elegant bloke tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a smaller, plainer couch stuck behind a pillar. Well, only a mug stays standing up when he can lie down, so I went where Id been told and waited for the food to come round, which it did eventually I was still pretty well stuffed with Alexanders fish sauce, but one thing you learn when youre on the road is to eat first while its going and worry about digesting it later. Very tasty, those snacky things, though maybe a bit salty for me, and you had to eat a whole plateful of the little savoury things in pastry to fill yourself up.

Our host, meanwhile, was perched on the couch next to Lucius Domitius. He wasnt eating anything, he was too busy chattering away, about how The Fall of Troy was probably his favourite of Lucius Domitius works, either that or Orestes The Matricide, depending on what mood he was in, though he really loved that long, slow bit in The Transformation of Arachne, and why was it hed never done anything like that again, it was a pity, not that he didnt like the later stuff, dont get him wrong, but there was something special about the early works, he mustve heard Telemachus at Pylos forty times if hed heard it once, it was pure geniusI stopped listening after a while, because even a country boy like me knows its really bad manners to throw up at a posh dinner party.

Have some tripe, said a voice beside me. It was Blandinia, the girl whod fetched us. She was grinning.

Dont mind if I do, I said. Can I ask you something?

Sure. Whats on your mind?

I jerked my head at Porno. Is he for real? I said. I mean, this isnt some horrible ruse, is it, to soften us up or lull us into a false sense of security?

She lifted her head, Greek style. Hardly, she said. If you need proof, Ill hum you the whole of The Bed of Procrustes. Ive heard it so often, I know the rotten thing by heart.

More than I do, I said. In fact, I dont remember that one at all. Truth is, I wouldnt know it from a vaudeville number. Im not really musical.

Me neither. The grin softened into a smile. In this house, though, you dont get much choice. So, she went on, youre Galen.

Thats right, I said. How come youve heard of me, then?

Oh, I remember you from the old days. She laughed, though it wasnt the friendliest noise Ive ever heard, if you see what I mean. You havent got any idea who I am, have you? Well, no reason why you should, I was just a kid back then, obviously As she said that, she looked past me at Lucius Domitius, who was still listening to Porno telling him how clever he was, rather like a harbour wall listens to the sea. Hardly likely really that youd notice a slaves kid running round the kitchens. My dad was a cook, you see, and my mother worked in the laundry. Slaves arent usually noticed at the best of times. As for their kids, unless they smash a vase or make a noise when theres company in the house, theyre pretty well invisible.

Oh, I said. If Id thought itd have helped, Id have said how good the food always was and how clean the sheets were, but I got the impression that she wouldnt have been impressed. So thats how you know me, then, I said.

She nodded. You and your brother, she said. Actually, I liked him. One day, he caught me stealing grain out of a jar in the storeroom, and I thought hed tell on me for sure, but he just smiled and gave me an apple. Id never had an apple before, would you believe?

That sounded like Callistus all right, doing good deeds all over the shop, harvesting hearts and minds wherever he went. Nothing like that ever happened to me. I mean, I never caught kids thieving from jars or any of that stuff, so I never got the chance to be generous and lovable. What I always say is, if you dont get the breaks in this life, what can you achieve? Bugger all.

Ah, right, I said, or something equally memorable.

I was sorry when I heard hed died, she went on. I remembered him very well. You can imagine: you see, I was convinced the nice man whod given me the apple was Nero Caesarafter all, they looked so much alike, didnt they?and then when I told my dad he just laughed and said no, that mustve been the emperors Greek friend, Callistus. And then when I met Nero Caesar the second timewell, I realised Dad mustve been right. Anyway, thats why I remember him, and you too, for that matter. I think your brother was the first person Id ever met who was nice to me for no reasonnot being family, I mean, or a friend of my parents.

Excuse me, I interrupted, as something shed said sank in, you heard that Callistus was dead? Who from?

She looked at me for a moment, completely blank-faced. It was about five years ago, she said. I wasnt with Licinius Porno then, I was still a slave.

Actually, I was working in a brothel, but we wont go into that. Things werent very nice for Nero Caesars household after he was thrown out, people seemed to blame us for whatd happened. I suppose it was because hed gone and we were still there. Anyway, one of my clients She looked away as she said the word.

He was a soldier, and hed been one of the men who went to Phaons villa to arrest Nero Caesaronly they got there too late, of course, didnt they, and he was already dead. The soldiers all got into terrible trouble for that, needless to say The officer was cashiered, if thats the right word, and the men were posted to all sorts of horrible places, very cold or very hot, and nearly all of them were killed or fell sick and died. But this manhed been sent to the German frontier, which is the worst posting you can get, apparentlyhed survived and finished his tour and come back, which is when I met him. Often the clients get talking when theyre done, theyre often the sort of people who dont have anybody much to talk to, and when I told him in passing Id been raised in the Golden House, he started telling me the story, about going to Phaons villa and seeing the dead body, and everybody taking it for granted that it was Nero Caesar, because it looked pretty much like the face on the coins and the statues. But when they took the body back to the city and had various people examine it, just to make sure, there was this Greek doctor who was absolutely certain the body wasnt Caesar, because hed treated Callistus for a burn on his arm a few weeks earlier, a lamp that got knocked over or something, and he saw the scar.

I looked at her. I remembered; itd been me that knocked the lamp over. Go on,

I said.

Well, she continued, the Greek doctor told the sergeant whod brought the body in, and the sergeant scowled at him and said, Are you sure? And the doctor said, Positive, the scars exactly where the burn had been, and hed also examined Caesar for a strained elbow tendon, caused by too much harp practice or whatever, and there hadnt been any scar there that he might have mistaken for the one on Callistus arm. The sergeant didnt like that at all, because everybody else hed asked had sworn blind the body was Caesar, but he reckoned he couldnt keep quiet about a thing like that. So he went to his officer and told him; and the next thing they all knew, theyd got their new postings and never saw each other again. But there was another funny thing, the soldier told me: that doctor, the one who noticed the scar, he got sent to Africa as the governors personal physician, and he hadnt been there a week when he was stabbed to death in the marketplace by some robbers. Strange, really, dont you think?

Odd coincidence, I agreed. Assuming it was all true, that is. I mean, youre right, it was Callistus who got killed, not Lucius Domitius, but for all you knew your soldier couldve been making things up, him or the man he got it from.

She nodded. I wondered about that, too, she said. So a while later I asked around, people Id known in the old dayssome of us managed to keep in touch, friends of my parents mostlyand it so happens that a boy I grew up with had become a clerk at the palace; and I was talking to him about this, and he suddenly went quiet, so I asked him what the matter was, and he told me theres a whole file of letters and reports in his department, which hed been told to make copies of three or four times, all about a pair of petty criminals who keep turning up all over the empire, and they look uncannily like Nero Caesar and one of his hangers-on from the Golden House. Well, I told this clerk, theres a simple explanation for that, and didnt he remember Callistus, who looked just like Caesar, and that brother of his (meaning you); and youd disappeared the same time as Nero Caesar died, so wasnt it likely that these two petty criminals were Callistus and Galen? But my clerk friend said theyd thought of that, soon as the first reports came in, and there was a letter on file sending an officer to investigate, and a few pages on, the officers report, where he said hed been out and found the two men and talked to them

Excuse me? I said. Thats not right.

She nodded. I know, she said. Remember, I said this was a while after Id met the soldier. Well, in the meantime Id been bought from the cathouse by Licinius Porno, whod apparently been to some trouble to track me down, because Id known both Callistus and Nero Caesar. Anyhow, the name of the officer who made out the report was Licinius Macer, who just happens to be our Pornos nephew In fact, Porno had bought him his commission not long before.

I see, I lied. So it was Porno who found out

She lifted her head. He had a pretty good idea by then, she said, but it wasnt till I told him about the soldier Id met that he was absolutely sure.

Then he told me to go back and chat up my friend the clerk, and see if I couldnt get a copy of the whole file out of him. Well, he didnt like the idea, but hed always been soft on me, from way back, and I asked him very nicely, and so Porno got his copy Meanwhile, my clerk kept me up to date on further sightings of you two for about two years, and then one day he told me he couldnt help me any more, because the file had been taken away and rewritten in code. And then, not long after that, he fell ill and died.

Oh, I said.

Quite. Though, she went on, two of the other clerks in his office had the same bug, and they were very sick for a while and then got better. But Palamedesthat was my friends namehe was the only one who died of it. Bad luck, dont you think?

I nodded. So then what happened? I said. Pollio followed up the trail where itd left off, did he?

Sort of. Actually, he found another clerk, in the cipher department, the one who had the job of coding the latest entries in that file, and he gave him a lot of money Thats how he found out you were in Sicily

That shook me. He knew that?

Oh yes.

Not good, I thought; because if Pornos spy in the palace knew where we were, it was because hed read it in the official reports, so whoever those reports were written for had to know too. Probably several people, not just one. Right, I said. So then what did he do?

She frowned. Im not quite sure, she said. I was helping him with the search, me and a dozen or so others in the house, but he didnt tell us everything, only the bits we needed to know to do the jobs wed been given. I gathered that hed sent a letter by express courier to some friend or business partner of his in Sicily, asking him to rescue you from whatever mess you got into next and bring you home, but apparently it all went wrong, some soldiers got killed or something, and you sort of slipped through the net. She sighed. No, it was pure chance that we found you when you turned up at Ostia . Porno just happened to be down at the docks that daythis is what Ive been told, though I didnt have it from Porno himselfand who should he bump into but you? He thought he knew you from somewhere, so he gave you some money just in case you were an old friend fallen on hard times; it wasnt till he got home, wondering out loud who it was hed met, and I heard him describe you to someoneI know, I put in.

Scrawny little Greek bloke, I expect he said, with a face like a ferret.

Like a weasel, actually, Blandinia replied, but close enough. Anyhow, to cut a long story short, soon as wed figured out who you were, we all went scurrying down to Ostia after you, picked up the trail at Gnathos estate, followed it on to Rome , and hired half the layabouts and street people in the city to look for you.

I nodded thoughtfully So you found us, I said. So why didnt Pollio scoop us up and bring us in right away? What was all this shit about Alexander and whatsisname following us around to keep us safe, and giving us money in our sleep?

All this time, Id been feeding my face with the grub the slaves brought round, but I wasnt paying attention to it, just stuffing it into my mouth and chewing.

Typical of the way things go with me. I can truthfully say Ive had goose stuffed with partridge and honey-roast thrush wrapped in escalope of hare with fennel sauce, and I havent got a clue what it tastes like. Might as well have been bacon and beans.

Well, Blandinia replied, I wondered that, too. But Pornowell, hes basically a good man, pretty decent and considerate, not at all like your average Roman knight. A bit strange in some ways, but fundamentally all right, if you know what I mean. But when it comes to Nero Caesar, its like hes spoiled in the head or somethinglike hes been out in the rain without a hat once too often, and the damps got into his brains and turned them mouldy The way he saw it was, he couldnt go grabbing Nero Caesar off the street and having him dragged here like a runaway slave or something, itd be the most appalling liberty. What he was planning on doing was biding his time till you two started cooking up scams again, and then hed offer himself as the mark. That way, when you two were working him over, pretending to be sardine kings or parsnip barons with a lucrative trade deal up your sleeves, hed have a pretext to invite you to dinner, maybe get you to stay for a few days, and hed pretend to be taken in by your scam, whichd be his way of giving you a large sum of money without Nero Caesar feeling he was accepting charity. It was only when he found out youd fallen into the hands of gangsters, and there were rival mobs about to fight a pitched battle over who got to keep you, that he decided hed better get you out of there quick, and the hell with the proprieties. So he sent for Alexander and Julianus Boliusand, well, here you are.

My God, I said. What a devious man he is, to be sure. I tell you what, hed have done well in our line of work.

Blandinia nodded gravely He has, she said.

That shook me. What, scamming? But hes so rich. Nobody ever gets rich doing what we do. Crucified, yes, but not rich.

She lifted her head. Youre wrong there, she said. Can I be absolutely honest with you? The truth is, its quite easy to make a lot of money cheating people, provided youre good at it. Licinius Pornos good at it. You arent.

True, I said. Well, about us, anyhow But is that really what Porno

She nodded. He was a legacy hunter, she said. Back before he got tubby and lost his hair. His father was a respectable knight in the grain trade, but he got on the wrong side of Claudius Caesar and ended up broke. Licinius Porno made his pile by sneaking round rich, elderly widows and getting them to leave him all their money in their wills. He was very good at it, I gather; he was good enough looking to get their attention, and cute and funny enough to get them fond of him, and thats basically what it takes. Oh, Im not saying he didnt forge a will or two when an old bat didnt turn out as susceptible as she ought to, and theres some people wholl tell you that one or two of his old dears may have crossed the River a bit before their time, though I havent got an opinion on that point. Mostly, though, it was sheer charm and personality. If youve got those, you see, swindling peoples a piece of cake. If you haventwell, I wont make a song and dance out of it, but hes here and youre where you are, and that more or less says it all, doesnt it?

I nodded. Not a lot you could say to that, really Still, the thought that this obviously rich and respectable Roman whose venison pasties with coriander and chives Id been gobbling down all the while was really no better than us made me wonder why the world works how it does. I mean to say, cheap trash like me and Lucius Domitius, we pull a few scams, the guards get on to us, and the next thing we know is, were hiding under a cart or inside a water butt, penniless and hated by the whole world, and somehow thats sort of comforting; it shows that the gods really are watching and keeping score of whos nice and whos nasty. But if a man can go around cheating old ladies, forging their wills, maybe even murdering them, and wind up as rich and comfortable as a genuine member of the noble equestrian order, then where the hells the sense in that? I dont see how even Seneca couldve explained that one away.

Fair enough, I said. But straight up, youre telling me that Licinius Pollios gone to all this trouble and expense just because he likes the way LuciusI mean Nero Caesar sings?

Thats about the strength of it, yes.

I ask you. Dumb as cowshit, some people. All that money and time and effort just to find Lucius Domitius, when for a fraction of the cost and aggravation he could take a hike down to the slave market, or even get on a boat to Delos, and buy himself a top-flight band, flute-players and harpists and zitherbotherers and the whole bunch of them, plus a crackerjack singer, and theyd play and sing Lucius Domitius words and music just as well as he could, most likely a damn sight better. Just goes to show how weird people can be when it comes to art and music and bullshit like that.

Anyway Thats a relief, I said. Hard to believe, but if thats all he wants us for, thats fine. Absolutely great. I mean, were not proud. You tell Licinius Pollio, if he wants to hire Lucius Domitius to sing and play for him, chances are hell be delighted to work for board, lodgings and pocket money, let alone the going rate. We arent proud, Lucius Domitius and me.

She gave me a funny look. Id gathered that, she said. You know, thats a funny thing: the former emperor of the Romans, working as a field hand. Thats something Id have liked to see.

I frowned. It was better than a clown show, Ill grant you, I said, watching him trying to swing a hoe. Hes got the strength, you see, but bugger all coordination, plus he doesnt know the work. What I mean is, hes a piss-poor field hand, just as he was a piss-poor emperor of the Romans. Stick a harp in his paws, though, and hed be worth all of a drachma a day If you ask me, people are born to a particular line of work. I was born to scamming and thieving, and thats who I am. Nero Caesars a born catgut-fondlernot the best, not the worst, but then again, when the soles of your boots are peeling off, you dont insist on having the very finest cobbler in the empire see to them, anybody who can do the job is just fine. I shook my head. Sounds like your Porno was born to be a knight, and I dont suppose it really matters how he got there. And by all accounts, the late lamented Vespasian was born to be the emperor. If only people had some way of knowing what it is theyre supposed to do before they start doing it, the world would be a happier place, and no mistake.

She looked at me. Youre wrong on one score , she said. I think you were born to be a philosopher. You havent got the legs for standing about looking impressive in a short woollen gown, but otherwise Id say you were ideally suited.

She was making fun of me, but Im used to that. And then theres you, I said, turning my line like a wise general counter-attacking from a position of weakness. You were obviously born to be a rich knights confidential freedwoman. Its obvious youre good at it.

 

She turned bright pink, then said, I dont know what youre suggesting, but as a matter of fact, Licinius Pornos tastes run in a different direction. You dont believe me, come and look round our place some day and count the rosy-cheeked fifteen-year-old page boys. I work for a living. Actually I hadnt been suggesting anything of the sort, but apparently Id trodden on a corn.

Still, it got her off my back for a moment. Anyhow, I said, pressing home with my heavy infantry, as it were. Whats the plan from here on?

She frowned. Im not sure. To be honest with you, I dont think Licinius Pornos thought much beyond this. I mean, his lifes been devoted to getting to the point where he could sit Nero Caesar down and tell him how wonderful his music is. At some stage, hell probably screw up enough courage to ask for a song or two. After that, I dont know. I rather get the impression that Porno was planning on dying after that, on the grounds that anything else would be a pathetic anticlimax.

Oh, I said. Only I was hoping we could sort of spin this one out for a whiletwenty years or so, for choice. Its not like either of us has got anything better to do.

I expect that could be arranged, she said. Or if you dont want to spend the rest of your days hanging round our house, I could always have a word with him for you. Hed be far too shy to offer, for fear of giving mortal offence, but if I told him that what Nero Caesar would like best in the whole world would be four hundred thousand sesterces and a boat trip to Trapezus, Im sure hed be only too pleased to oblige.

I nearly choked on my rabbit with fruit sauce. Four hundred thousand?

All right, six, she said. Say what you like about Pallio, hes no piker, hed want to do the thing properly She smiled at me, though there was something about her expression that reminded me of a growling dog. I think its probably safe to say that all your troubles will pretty soon be over. Now isnt that nice?

Six hundred thousand sesterces, I thought, fuck a stoat six ways to Nicomedea.

And all my troubles over, too; no more sleeping in ditches or eating cheese with green fur on it or hiding from soldiers in middens. Just because a creep who swindled old ladies liked the way Lucius Domitius played the harp. Crazy

Would you mind? I said hoarsely Having a word with Licinius Porno, I mean? I think its a tremendously good idea.

Thank you, she said. Ill do that, then, as soon as hes through nattering with your friend. Meanwhile, eat up, theres still plenty of food left, and if we run out, we can always send Alexander and Julianus Bolius out to the kitchens. She sighed. Its a pity theyre so useful as hired muscle, she said, because actually theyre very good cooks. Theyre even better at beating people up, though, so by your theory thats what they ought to be doing, full time. Or is your theory flexible enough to allow for a person being really good at two things at the same time?

As it happened, I had an answer to that point, but I never got to tell it, because that was when the door flew open and the room filled up with people.

I recognised the Sicilian, of course, and a couple of his button men who Id met back at the inn. The rest of them were cut from the same cloth, as we say back in Attica , and besides, you didnt need to look further than the swords in their hands to see what they were there for.

I may not be much of a human being. Im not brave, or clever, or good-looking, or gifted with any useful skills. But Ive got a small collection of instincts that see me through when the shitrain starts to fall, and thats more than a lot of people can say By the time the boarding party was through the door, I was invisible. Id slid off the couch, landed on my knees, slithered sideways across the floor and wormed my way behind a handy floor-length curtain. Another thing I have a certain flair for is attention to detail, because I remember remembering to tuck my toes in (unlike Claudius Caesar, in very similar circumstances, who left them sticking out under the hem of the curtain and got caught straight away; and they dragged him off and made him emperor, so let that be a lesson to you). Anyhow, there I was and there I stayed, and because I had the sense not to poke my head out to see what was going on, I missed the details of what happened next. I heard a lot of shouting, which didnt last very long, some screams, and quite a bit of that sound thats not really like anything else, really sharp metal slicing into flesh and grating on bone. I suppose they could have been carving the saddle of roast mutton in a hurry, but I dont think thats what it was. In any event, it didnt last very long. About the time it takes to eat an apple, give or take a bit. Then someone spoke.

The other one, he said, and then I heard Blandinia reply What, you mean the Greek?

With a face like a rat, said the first voice, yes. Wheres he got to?

Oh, youve missed him, she said, sounding very unimpressed. He bolted off through the door like a polecat. You might just catch up with him if youre quick.

Fuck, said the first voice, and then, All right, get after him. Well come back for this lot.

Sort of a stampeding noise, then nothing. After the nothing had been going on for a good long time, I took a deep breath and stuck my nose round the edge of the curtain.

Well, the good part was, the room was empty. Apart from dead people, of course.

There were plenty of them. 

 

Eleven
When I was a kid, I used to have this nightmare. I was in our house, and there was just me, and Id go round the place for ages and ages (our house was a lot bigger, in the dream) and thered be nobody, just me. Then suddenly Id go round a corner or walk into a barn, and thered be everybody I ever knew, lying in a great big heap, dead. Sometimes theyd be all chopped up in bits, other times theyd be covered in boils, like theyd died of plague, and once or twice they were all dried up and mouldering, like theyd been dead for a year or so. It was a really horrible dream, and it usually came on after Id eaten green figs last thing.

Well, maybe it was just the figs, or maybe it was one of those prophetic dreams the gods send us, to let us know were in for a really shitty time and theres nothing we can do about it. Anyhow, if it was a prophetic dream, that was what it mustve been warning me about: the sight I saw when I came out from behind the curtain.

Ive seen dead people; who hasnt? Ive seen them lying on beds, or face down in ditches, or sat up against walls with their heads drooping down on their knees.

Ive seen them carved up and smashed in, or bent and twisted in the wreckage of carts, or bobbing just under the water like huge white carp waiting to be fed breadcrumbs. Ive seen them hanging off wooden crosses beside the road, with their bones poking through their skin. Ive seen glimpses of them under a blanket of feeding crows, Ive seen them dry and crispy and brittle like duck crackling where theyve been turfed out of ancient tombs and stacked outside like trash, Ive seen them in bundles of bits, jumbled up and mismatched, where someones ploughed up an old graveyard. Ive seen them carried on doors with everybody crying their eyes out, or stepped over in the marketplace because its nobody-in-particulars job to clear them away I know dead people from nothing, and most of the time they dont bother me at all.

But there was something about this mess. Im not soft-hearted or sentimental. So long as its not me whos dead I generally dont give a damn. But that was pretty bad. It upset me. You know what it reminded me of most? Well imagine a little rich kid, a spoilt brat who goes in for temper tantrums and throwing things about the roomeverything just chucked on the floor or against the wall, or left lying and trodden on, dolls bashed against the doorframe till theyre busted, good clothes torn, nice things spoiled just for spiteand you look at it and you think how wicked it is, such a waste, how unpleasant. And it wasnt just the dead people, either; oddly enough, it was the wonderful food and the gorgeous silverware and everything of the very best, carefully chosen with love for a really special occasion, and some bunch of bastards had come in and smashed it all up, like big bad boys spoiling a little kids birthday It was all rather nasty Porno wasnt hard to find; whoeverd taken him out had given him an almighty chop with a sword, starting at the collarbone and going right through to the middle of his chest, through all that bone and gristle. It takes a strong man in a temper to do that, even with a Spanish-pattern sword. I was looking for Lucius Domitius, of course, so I didnt pay him much heed (though I distinctly remember thinking as I stepped over him, Well, there go my six hundred thousand sesterces; fuck, fuck, fuck). But Lucius Domitius wasnt there, not even under a fallen table or in bits. That had to be a good thing, I told myself, he wasnt dead, or at any rate he wasnt dead yet (and, when you think about it, thats the most any of us can say about anybody).

All your troubles will be over, I thought. Yeah, right.

And then I thought, well, she didnt see me running out the door, because I havent, yet. And then I thought, they sounded awfully pally, Blandinia and that voice, like they knew each other from somewhere. And then I thought, All your troubles will be over pretty soon. The bitch, I thought.

So there I was.

It was time for a decision. I could get out of the room, or I could stay where I was. I could go looking for Lucius Domitius, maybe make some sort of effort to save his life, or I could piss off out of there and out of Rome and out of Italy, and keep going until I fell off the edge of the world or stubbed my toes on the pillars of Hercules, like Ulysses but in reverse. My decision. Nobody to say, Dont be a bloody fool, Galen, or, You cant do that, Galen. Nobody else to stick their oar in or talk me into doing something Id rather not do. Just me, on my ownsome.

Just me.

Fuck it, I thought. Because, I know me. I know Im not a hero, or a good man, or very much of a man at all. Im a little Greek thief with a face like a rat.

People know what to expect from me. I know what to expect from me, and what Im capable of. Oh, I knew what Callistus wouldve done. Hed have gone off and found them, found Lucius Domitius, got himself killed trying to rescue him. I knew what Lucius Domitius wouldve done, if itd been the other way round and I was the one whod been dragged off. Hed have gone off and found me, got himself killed. But I knew me, and I knew exactly what I was going to do. I was going to run away So thats what I did.

It was a good plan, too, one of my better ideas. Shame it didnt work out.

I got as far as the main gate. I stopped, looked round, listened carefully

attention to detail, seeand then I took one step into the street, at which point someone grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me up against the wall.

Right, he said. Name.

That was an odd question. Either they already knew who I was or they had no reason to care, so long as they had me. Name, the voice repeated impatiently, and it occurred to me that maybe I was in the shit but in some different shit, not the shit Id been expecting.

Hyacinthus, I replied, picking a name at random.

Fine, said the voice. Now, what were you doing in that house?

And then, of course, I knew who it was pushing me up against the wall. Only the bloody watch. I could have wet myself laughing, if I hadnt widdled it all down my leg out of sheer terror when I was hiding behind the curtain. Oh, didnt I mention that? Well, it didnt seem the sort of thing youd want to know.

What house? I said, stupidly

The house you just came out of, the voice said. Turn round, slowly, and lets have a look at you.

Yes, it was a watch sergeant. Typical specimen of the breed: big, craggy-faced Italian with a hard, round paunch under his coat of rings. Behind him, five bored-looking troopers, with spears and swords. And where were you bastards when we needed you?

Only, the sergeant went on, I know for a fact that house is empty. Been empty for years, ever since Philippus Maro was put to death for treason. So what were you doing in there?

And then it dawned on me, like a beautiful sunrise. All right, I said, you got me. I was looking for something to steal, only the place is empty, like you said. Nothing in there but cobwebs and dead birds.

The sergeant laughed. You arent from round here, he said, or youd have known that. God, youre pathetic. Theres thousands of houses in this city, and you get done trying to rob an empty one. The gods must hate you.

Yes, I said. Still, they cant hate me that much, or theyd have had you catch me coming out of a house that wasnt empty, with half a dozen silver plates stuffed up my shirt. Then Id really have been in the cowplop.

The sergeant frowned. He hadnt seen it that way Because, you see, I hadnt stolen anything, so he couldnt have me for thieving. I hadnt busted in, the door was obviously open and the lock wasnt damaged, so he couldnt do me for housebreaking. In fact, I was innocent as fresh green oil, straight from the press, and he knew it.

Yeah, he said. Maybe the gods like you after all. He let go of my shoulder, but he hadnt said anything about being free to go. Its best to wait for them to spell it out, in my experience. It saves you from getting a spear in the back, for one thing.

Actually, I went on, its a bloody good job I ran into you, because I was just on my way to find you.

That took him by surprise. Get away, he said.

Straight up, I said. You see, the house isnt all that empty. In fact, its full of dead bodies.

He blinked. Dead bodies?

Couple of dozen, Id say, I said, though I didnt count them. Murdered, by the look of it. That or they had a really good fight among themselves and there was no one left standing at the end. But thats for you to say, isnt it? After all, thats your department, dead people.

He mustve been an old hand, that sergeant, because he didnt turn a hair when he saw all the blood and bodies. One of his squaddies took one look at the scene and rushed out to throw up, but that sergeant didnt seem bothered at all.

Well, he said at last, poking at Licinius Pornos corpse with his toe. At least I can be sure you didnt do this, youre far too skinny and weedy to go cutting people in half. Besides, whoever chopped this one, hed have been sprayed up and down with blood when he went through the poor fuckers neck artery. He looked round at me, with an expression on his face that told me hed just thought of something. So, he said, if you didnt kill them and you dont know who didIm assuming you dont know, he added meaningfully

What, me? Havent a clue, sorry.

Thats all right then, the sergeant said, frowning, because if you did know and you werent telling me, thatd make you an accessory after the fact, and you wouldnt like that one bit.

He was lying, actually I know a bit about the law, the same way mice know a bit about cats. But I wasnt going to tell him that.

Anyhow, he went on, so youre innocent and you dont know who did it and its nothing to do with you. So why tell me about it?

Good question, in the circumstances. Hardly the way youd expect an incompetent thief to carry on. Just being a good citizen, I guess, I said feebly

Oh, youre a citizen, are you? He looked at me. Funny Id have had you down for a Greek, myself.

He was wrong there, too, because as it happens I actually am a fully fledged, genuine, no-messing Roman citizen, with rights and everything. I got made one by the emperor himself, whats morewell, by Lucius Domitius, back in the old days, he made Callistus a citizen, and made me one too so Callistus wouldnt moan about me being left out. But that, of course, was another thing I wasnt going to let on to a sergeant of the watch, who might not approve of bosom buddies of the late Nero Caesar. Just a figure of speech, I said. What I meant was, I considered it my duty. Like I told you, I was just on my way to find you when you found me.

Right, he said, as if Id just told him he was really a girl. Well, you can feel very proud, Im sure. Meanwhile, Im arresting you as a material witness.

Since youre such a dutiful bloke, you wont mind a bit.

Fuck, I thought. Still, as far as he was concerned I was Hyacinthus the feckless housebreaker. There was a better than even chance that I might end up in the galleys or the mines, but a threat like that hanging over you is cuckoospit when youve been in as many condemned cells as I have. Only too pleased to help, I said, forcing a grin. Meanwhile, youve got a mass murder to investigate.

Yes, havent I ever, he grunted. Well, its out of my league, so were going back to the watch house, fetch the prefect. Maybe even the city aedile, for something like this. Here, he called over his shoulder to his men, any of you lot recognise any of these? Dead silence. I guess his squaddies didnt mix with high society very much, for some reason.

So we went to the watchhouse, and on the way, since nobody seemed to want to talk to me, I turned over a few things in my mind: things Id seen back there in the house, and a few things I hadnt. Youd have thought Id done enough thinking for one day, but apparently not. With a brain like mine, I can keep it up all day if I have to.

The sergeanthis name was Marcus Trebonianus, for what little thats worth

had been right; the watch captain called the prefect, and the prefect called the aedile, and while we were waiting for him to tear himself away from whatever dinner party he was at, they parked me in a little cell out the back where they wouldnt have to see me and be offended by my unprepossessing features. So there I was, back in the cooler again, just me, four walls, a low ceding with things growing out of it, and a heavy wooden door. I propped my back against a wall, stretched out my legs and tried to relax.

Fat chance. Oh, it wasnt the being in the coop that had me all nervous and edgy. One cell is pretty much like another, and theres bugger all you can do in them, so after a while you learn to sit still and conserve your energy, like a lizard on a warm rock. Generally when Im locked up on my tod, I close my eyes and imagine sea battles. I can do that for hours and not get bored, not that Im much of a military buff No, what was making me antsy was not knowing whatd become of Lucius Domitius; was he dead yet, or were they slowly torturing him to death, or what? It made me itch all over to think he might still be alive, even if only just. Any of the moments dripping away from me could have been the moment when he closed his eyes and breathed out the long sigh that empties the chest of the last remaining air; and here I was stuck in a cell, unable to do a damn thing. It was stupid, of course, my being there; it wouldnt help solve anything, even if the idiot watch had a fleas chance in an oven of catching the killers, which they didnt, of course. Honestly, I wonder why the hell cities bother with watchmen and guards. Theyre no bloody good. Think about itif they were even a tiny bit competent, Id have been dangling off a cross years ago. They dont keep the streets safe, they dont catch thieves and murderers, all they do is make life miserable for people like me, who never did them any harm personally And sometimes, like then, for instance, they make it impossible for honest, decent folk to rush off saving their friends lives and stuff like that. If ever I get to he emperor, first thing Ill do is send them all home, without severance pay I was thinking about that, and a whole bunch of related issues that were keeping my mind so fully occupied that I hadnt had to imagine so much as a rowing boat, when the door swung open and the sergeant came in. He had the same rather confused look on his face, only more so.

Visitors for you, he said.

Really?

Apparently Your sister and your cousins.

What? I mean, great, thanks. Show them in.

The sergeant gave me a look you couldve started a fire with if youd had a flint handy Beats me how they knew you were here, he went on. You got any ideas about that?

Intuition, I replied. Always been very close, my sister and me.

Oh. Well, here you go, then. He stepped back into the passage and beckoned to someone, and who should walk in but my brave rescuers from a day or so back:

Amyntas, Scamandrius and the girl, Myrrhine.

Heres your the sergeant started to say, then there was a blur and a scurrying sound, and something shot past him and landed on my chest. Oh, thank God, it said, sounding very much like Myrrhine, thank God youre all right, we were so worried.

Thanks, I said, as the other two squatted down on either side of me, looking grave and solemn. Um, how did you find me, out of interest?

Yeah, Id like to know that, the sergeant put in, but Myrrhine gave him a nasty look, and he shut the door behind him.

Amyntas waited to hear his footsteps before he said anything. Right, he said, this is what youve got to do. Myrrhine, give him the knife.

At once Myrrhine stood up and lifted her skirt in a most unladylike fashion. I wont tell you how shed managed to smuggle a dagger into the cell, but if I hadnt seen it for myself Id have said it wasnt possible; at any rate, not without doing yourself a nasty injury.

Hang on, I said, what is all this?

Its a jailbreak, you clown, muttered the other one, Scamandrius. Now, you take the knife and as soon as weve gone, you get the guard in here on some pretext or other, and

I lifted my head sharply No way, I said. I wont do it.

Amyntas sighed. Dont be such a chickenshit, he said. So long as you pick the right moment, when hes looking the other way, itll be a piece of piss. Just under the ears a good place; or you can grab his head with one hand, give it a little twist, and

No ! I said. Look, I dont know whats going on, but if you think Im going to murder a Roman soldier, youre out of your minds. The trouble Im in at the moment is sparrowshit compared to something like that.

Amyntas smiled. Thats what you think, he said. Actually, your case is so absolutely fucking desperate, its probably just as well you didnt know, or youd be a nervous wreck by now You see, he went on, in an hour or sos time, a bloke is going to show up here and tell the prefect that the little Greek thief hes got in the cells is actually an intimate crony of Nero Caesars, from the old days.

Furthermore, he went on, before I could say a word, roughly the same messagell go out to a number of prominent citizens in this  town, all of whom have urgent reasons of their own from back in the old days for wanting to get hold of you. I may be wrong, but I think thats about as much trouble as its possible to be in, short of being halfway down the throat of a lion. Of course,

he went on, if by some chance you happen not to be here at that time, there wont be much point in sending all those messages. Have you got the picture?

I looked at the dagger. It was short and thin-bladed and looked like it was everything a top quality functional dagger should be. You could kill somebody with a thing like that. Look, I said, you still havent said what you want me for. Maybe I can do whatever it is you want without leaving this cell, and no need to go around scragging watchmen.

Nice thought, said Amyntas, but no dice. Now, soon as youre out of here, I want you to go down the street, like youre heading for the river, and youll see a couple of guys carrying a small closed sedan chair. Get in the chair, and everythingll be fine. You got that, or shall I run through it for you one more time?

I frowned. How did you know I was here? I asked. And why are you here, anyway?

Never you mind about that. Therell be plenty of time to go into all that later.

But I lifted my head. For pitys sake, I said, youve got to tell me something; not the whole deal, maybe, but at least you can tell me if you know whats happened to I nearly said, Lucius Domitius, but I didnt. My friend, I said.

Amyntas laughed. Lets not kid around, he said, we all know the score. You mean, your brother Callistus. Well, of course youre worried. But dont be, weve got all that in hand. Now, lets run though the drill one more time.

Knife; out the door; head for the river; sedan chair. All clear?

Perfectly, I said.

Yeah, well, I said that, but it was just to get rid of them. Id have laughed like a drain, only I didnt want to make him suspicious. Fine, Amyntas said.

See you soon. Good luck, not that youre going to need it.

He banged on the door, and the guard opened up and let them out. I waited for a good long time, then banged on the door myself. The guard opened it a crack and stuck his head through.

Excuse me, I said, and held out the knife, its point pinched between my thumb and forefinger, like a cook adding ground cumin to a stew. My visitors seem to have dropped this. I thought Id better hand it in.

The guard stared at me like Id grown a tail where my legs should have been.

Whered you get that? he rasped.

Like I just said, one of my cousins dropped it. Careless bugger, I couldve cut myself on it.

But I searched him myself He scowled. All right, he said. Stay there, dont fucking well move. Ill be right back.

He wasnt long, and when he reappeared he had two other guards with him. They hung back in the doorway, swords drawn, while he crept forward at me, like a dog stalking a partridge. Right, he said, when he was just over an arms length from the knife, drop it on the floor, then get back against the wall. And if youre up to something, God have mercy on you.

I shrugged and relaxed my fingers, letting the knife drop. He sidled up to it like a nervous crab and kicked it across the floor to the doorway, where one of his buddies picked it up. All right, he said, relaxing a little but not much.

You two, search the cell, Ill see to this bastard.

I hate being searched, its undignified. One of the advantages of being small and ratlike, as opposed to tall, willowy and slim or big and muscular, is that soldiers and the like only tend to search me when theyre actually looking for something, but even so, it happens to me rather more often than I like. Still, at least on this occasion I was clean as snow and pure as milk, as they say in Attica. Likewise the cell, as the other two proved after a short, pointless display of energy.

Fine, the guard said eventually, so thats all right. But Im warning you,

he added, with a bewildered look on his face. Just dont try anything, thats all.

The door slammed behind them, and I went back to lying against the wall, like Id been doing before Id been disturbed. Now, though, I had a lot more to think about.

Your brother, hed said. Your brother Gallistus.

Its a bugger, being human. Birds and deer and mice and foxes, they dont have to put up with the kind of shit people do, their lives are simple and straightforward. You watch where youre going, sniff three times before breaking cover, spend your days trying to eat without getting eaten. If a predator shows up, at least you know what hes after, and you can run or fly or do what you have to do. And if your sister or your uncle or whatever is a bit slow off the mark one day and ends up as a link in the food chain, well, thats. the luck of the draw At least you know where you crouch, so to speak. Being human is much more difficult, because your enemies dont wear bushy red tails or grey fur overcoats to let you know which side theyre on. Youve got to figure it out as you go along, try and keep track of whos who, youve got to think all the damn time. Oh, I suppose you could go up into the hills and live in a cave and throw rocks at anybody who comes within a hundred yards, but then youd have nobody to talk to (and for a Greek, thatd be worse than being dead). I dont know, theres got to be a way of figuring all this stuff out, but Im buggered if I know what it is.

Your brother Callistus, hed said. Crazy Did that mean that Licinius Pollio and all his people had been slashed to death over the venison crpes just because someone thought Lucius Domitius was my dead brother? And why, for pitys sake; what for? It was hard to imagine anybody, let alone two Roman gang bosses, spending the last ten years muttering, So help me, Im going to get that bastard Callistus, into their pillows every night for ten years, because hed never actually done anything to anybody, apart from steal a few tunics and help Lucius Domitius escape. Now a tunics just a tunic, and it couldnt have been the helping Lucius Domitius thatd got them riled up, because if they knew about that, they had to know Callistus was dead. Assuming he was, of course. Maybe

well, maybe at the last moment, when I wasnt looking, Callistus and Nero Caesar had swapped back, just to make a monkey out of me, and it hadnt been my brother Id killed after all.

Well, I wasnt in the mood to write off any possible explanation, but that one did seem just a trifle far-fetched. Other than that, though, I couldnt think of anything. Proving nothing, mind. After all, I hadnt dogged Callistus footsteps all round the Golden House every hour of every day we were there. Its possible hed done something to piss off somebody at some time when I wasnt around, and so I never got to hear about it. But Callistus, for Gods sake. He wouldnt knowingly have done anybody down, except a mark in the course of business, and of course wed been retired from all that all the time we were Caesars guests.

I could just conceive that at some stage, purely by accident, Id done something horrible to somebody, enough so hed bear a grudge. But Callistus? No, not possible.

Anyhow, there was no way I was going to murder any prison guards, not even if Amyntas was serious about telling everybody who I wasand I couldnt see that, not in a hundred years. For a start, whod believe him? He couldnt very well offer any proof, not in his line of work, for fear of drawing attention to himself. Furthermore, if Id made sense of any of what seemed to be going on, the last thing hed want to do is put the idea into anyones head that Galen was alive and in town, with the implication that if Galen was here, Callistus couldnt be far behind. No, I said to myself, right now, the only safe place for me is right here, behind a nice stout door in a tight stone cell with armed men outside to protect me. God bless the watch, I thought, Romes finest.

As I arrived at that conclusion, the door swung open again, and the guard came in. He looked like a man with a bad headache.

Guess what, he said. Youve got visitors again.

I looked at him. Really?

No kidding, he replied wearily And fancy whos here to see you. Your sister,

he said, with a flogged-out ghost of a smile, and your two cousins from out of town.

What, the ones who were here just now? He shook his head. Different ones.

Oh, I said.

Large family, is it?

Huge, I answered.

Right. He clicked his tongue. Ill show them in. Thats after weve searched them, he said nastily Thoroughly, he added, so it may be a while.

Take your time, I told him. Im not planning on going anywhere.

He looked at me as if hed just found me in his salad. You can bet the rent on that, he said, and he stomped out, leaving me to wonder what Id said to offend him. Well, some people are just sensitive, I guess.

When hed said it could take a while, he wasnt kidding. In fact, Id made up my mind that whoever it was had been put off by the searching and the attitude, and had buggered off. Id just started a chariot race in my head, as a change from sea battles (Greens leading the Blues by a nose coming into the turn, with the Blue favourite coming up fast on the outside), when the door swung open, and there was my pal the guard once again.

Ive been thinking, he said. If this bird out heres really your sister, whats her name?

I frowned. I dont know, I said. It depends which of my sisters youve got out there. Want me to go through the whole list? Could take some time.

He sighed. Large family Yeah, you said. All right, which sister would be about nineteen or twenty, short, sort of dark skin, hair piled up in one of them beehive jobs? Or are they all identical twins?

That sounded familiar, and I thought, Shit. Except, she might be able to answer a question for me, and I was fairly safe in my cell, and, as Id just proved, I didnt have to leave it if I didnt want to.

Sounds like my kid sister Blandinia, I replied. Fancy that, I didnt even know she was in town.

Blandinia, he repeated. Youre sure about that.

Sure Im sure.

Fuck. All right. He turned and called into the passageway In here, he said.

There was a blur and a whirring noise, and guess who was kneeling down beside me, making an awful fusswas I all right, what had that horrid man been doing to me, it was all right, theyd sent for Uncle Thrasymedes, hed have me out of there in two shakes. I looked under her armpit towards the door and nearly shouted for the guard, who was just on his way out. Standing on either side of the door were my two least favourite gladiators, Alexander and Pony-tail.

Shout out if you want anything, the guard grumbled. Wine, biscuits, little cheesy things on sticks. Were here to please.

He slammed the door, just as I was about to call him back. Its true what they say, never one about when you need one.

You, I said.

Oh be quiet, Blandinia said, turning off the worried sister like a tap in a barrel. God, how feckless can you get? Cant even walk out of a house without getting arrested.

You betrayed us, I snarled. I heard you, talking to that bastard; he knew you. It mustve been you who told him where we were.

Sure, she replied. Big deal.

I crawled backwards an inch or so till I was flat up to the wall. And now youve come to clean up the loose ends, right?

Yes, she replied. Oh, dont start slobbering, I didnt mean that, we arent going to hurt you. If Id wanted you killed, Id have told Strymon you were behind the curtain, instead of covering up for you. Even a nitwit like you should be able to figure that one out.

Well, she had a point there, I suppose. So what are they doing here? I asked.

Or did you fetch them along just to cook something?

Dont be silly Theyre going to get you out of here.

That seemed to be news to Alexander and Pony-tail. You what? Alexander said.

Dont you start, she said over her shoulder, without looking round. Now listen to me, this is how were going to play it. You start screaming, like youre in mortal pain. The guard comes in. The boys thump him

Just a moment, Pony-tail objected, but I dont think she was listening.

and we make a run for it. Weve got a sedan chair waiting out in the street, so we havent got far to go.

Another one? I said. She ignored me, too.

Right, got that? she went on. Fine. So, on the count of three

Hold it. I raised my hands. If you want me to leave here, youll have to drag me. I may not be very smart, but I know when Im well off. Im not going.

She frowned at me. Fine, she said. Alexander, come here a minute. Now, grab his ankle and when I say twist

When youre trying to sound like youre in mortal pain, it always helps to be in mortal pain. I was pretty convincing. In fact, it was probably the best agonised scream of my screaming career. Sure enough, in came the guard; a heartbeat later, down fell the guard on his nose, fast asleep. Alexander lifted me over his shoulder like he was a shepherd and I was a poor little orphan lamb, and we were out in the passage. I couldnt see much from where I was, but I heard a sound like an apple getting run over by a cartwheel, so I guess Pony-tail mustve hit someone else. Then we were out in the street, and I remember shooting through the air and finding out what a sack of onions feels like when it gets loaded on a farm cart. Then it got dark, as youd expect inside a closed chair. I couldnt move, probably because Blandinia was sitting on me.

Short, fast, bumpy ride, and then the weight eased off my neck and a huge hairy arm grabbed me and fished me out into the light again. I landed on my feet and the arm pulled me upright.

We were in a courtyard, in what mustve been a big, grand house. Alexander was on one side of me, Pony-tail on the other, and Blandinia was marching across the yard towards the cloister. I didnt say anything as they frogmarched me along. I may be a Greek, but I can keep from talking if I make a real effort.

Right, Blandinia said, and they pushed me into a chair, their enormous hands on my shoulders. You two, clear off and fix something to eat. Im starving.

So there I was, in some rich bastards house, sitting on the grass with a beautiful girl while two extremely skilful cooks whipped up dinner. Strange how things turn out; for most of my life, Id have reckoned that was a good deal.

Pity, isnt it, that when you eventually get what you wish for, it usually turns out to be a horseshit omelette.

Now then, Blandinia said. I expect youd like to know whats going on.

I had one question to ask her. I asked it. Wheres Lucius Domitius?

She raised an eyebrow, then: Oh, you mean Nero Caesar, she said. Im not totally sure. But hes safe. Mores the pity, she added.

Whats that supposed to mean?

Do be quiet, she replied, or well never get anywhere. Do you want me to explain, or dont you?

You cant argue with women. Its like trying to put a fire out with oil, the more you argue, the worse it gets. An old bloke I knew once said theres only three ways of dealing with them when they get argumentative: kiss them, bash them or walk away Probably very good advice, if any of the three had been on the cards, which they werent.

Go ahead, I sighed.

Thank you so much. Right, said Blandinia, this is the house of Lucius Regalianus. Hes in Crete at the moment, buying and selling things, but his steward is an old friend of mine, from the Golden House. You may even recognise him, though I dont suppose you will. Guests dont notice footmen, and thats what he was back then. All clear so far?

I nodded.

Splendid, she said. You see? I knew youd got enough intelligence to follow a simple story. Now, you want to know exactly what all that was about with Licinius Porno.

Yes, I said.

Its like this. She yawned. Just as you guessed, I set it all up, with Strymon, the gangster. As soon as he heard Id got a lead on Callistus

Just a moment, I said. You know perfectly well Callistus is dead.

Sure, she replied, but they dont. They think hes alive, that Nero Caesar is in fact your dear departed brother. So does Scyphax and his mob, for that matter.

Why would they think that?

Because thats what I told them, Blandinia replied. When they all found out that Pornos people and I were taking an interest in two men who were thought to be the infamous companions of Nero Caesaractually, they knew about the intelligence reports my friend the clerk saw, but they hadnt read the reports themselves, so they were pretty much in the dark. Anyhow Strymon came to see me and asked if it was true I was on the trail of Callistus and Galen. I said yes, what of it? And he offered mewell, quite a lot of money, if I kept him up to date. Then Scyphax came and made me the same offer. She sighed. Whats a poor ex-slave girl to do? I said yes please, to both of them. Then, when we heard youd been seen in Sicily, I told Strymon, and he zoomed off after you. But sad to say, hes not the brightest lamp in the temple, if you follow me, he found you all right, on your way to the slate quarries, and he killed the guards to get hold of you

That was Strymon, I interrupted. The Sicilian bandit.

Thats right, she said. Oddly enough, he was born in Sicily, though nowadays hes as Roman as any other Greek who happens to live in the city. Anyhow, he had you right there, but the idiot didnt recognise you, even though he had a good description Id sent him, plus youd have thought anybody wouldve been able to tell Nero Caesar from the face on the coins. But there you go. He thought a couple of other men were you and Callistus, and he turned you two loose. He found out his mistake soon enough thanks to your idiot friend Nero Caesar, managing to get himself recognised by the provincial governor, no less. Honestly When you two screw something up, you dont do things by halves.

He recognised us, I repeated.

She nodded. Not straight away, of course, she said. He thought hed seen a face he knew, and then he got to the governors office, and there on his desk in with the official despatches was an all-points bulletin from Rome telling all provincial officials to be on the watch for two men, believed to be intimate friends of Nero Caesar and wanted for questioning, and one of them the spitting image of Nero himself

Ah, I said. So the governor thought Lucius Domitius was Callistus, too.

She nodded. Anyway she went on, as soon as hed made the connection in his mind, he sent his soldiers looking for you, but by that time youd managed to kid your way onto that ship. Luckily, Strymons people were a step or two ahead of him. They asked around and figured out which ship you had to be on, then they got a fast yacht and zoomed back to Ostia to be ready for you when you arrived.

Only, she continued with a sigh, your clown of a chum messed all that up by jumping ship, of course.

How thoughtless, I muttered.

Quite. And then Strymon got it wrong again. Hed briefed his men to watch for Nero Caesaror Callistus, as he thoughtbecause hed be the easy one to spot.

So Strymons men were looking for two strangers off the boat, one of whom would look like the face on the coins. When you strolled off the boat on your ownsome, they didnt look twice at you. Even Pornohed got the same news, of course, from meeven Porno was expecting the two of you, and when he bumped into you in the street he really wasnt sure if you were one of the men he was after or not. Still, he gave you some money, so you cant complain.

Cant I? Oh dear.

Anyhow, Blandinia carried on, Strymon realised whatd happened, and he went tearing up and down the country looking for you. He nearly caught up on you at that farm, only he missed you yet again and didnt realise until you helpfully bunked off without waiting to claim your wages. Stupid thing to do.

Seemed like a good idea at the time, I said.

Really? What funny minds you two must have. So there you were, strolling up to Rome . Pornowho had more brains than Strymon, bless him, though he was terribly naive, especially when you think how he made his moneyPorno figured out that you must be headed for the city, so he concentrated his efforts on picking you out when you came in through the gates. Thats where Alexander and Julianus came in, and they did a good job.

I take it, I said, theyve been working for this Strymon all along.

She shook her head. Dont be silly, she said. Theyre working for me. Oh, they probably dont know it, but they are. If youre a girl trying to make something of yourself in a mans world, its ever so helpful to have the two biggest, meanest fighters in the city to look after the primitive side of things. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Porno was watching the gates for you; so, by this time, was Scyphax. Hes clever, Scyphax, we underestimated him. Thats how he managed to get hold of you both, thanks to that stroke of luck, with the wall falling on you. And that, she said, is about it, really As soon as I knew Id got you at last, I sent word to Strymon to come and pick you up. He had to dispose of Licinius Porno, of course, since Porno knew about you. Also from my point of view, she added blithely, since Pornos the only one apart from you and meand maybe a few people in the government, but we arent sure about that

who knew that your friend is actually Nero Caesar and not Callistus the Greek, he had to go. Pity, I quite liked him, in spite of everything.

She didnt explain that everything, but I didnt ask. Actually, I was a trifle shocked; shed had that man, her master, murdered just like that, because he was inconvenient. Him and his entire household. Well, you expect that sort of thing from gods, and kings and emperors as well, I guess, but not from pretty little girls young enough to be your daughter. Nice world, isnt it?

So Lucius Domitius is with this Strymon, I said.

She nodded. Unless hes contrived to lose him again, she said mournfully And theres Scyphax to consider, too. Trouble is, Strymon has the delicacy of touch of a bull elephant. Like when he tried to barge into that inn and grab you.

Scyphax could outsmart him easily, only Strymons got me on his team, and Im brighter than Scyphax.

Thats right, is it? Youre working for Strymon?

She lifted her head. No, she said, Im working for me, silly Im just using Strymon to do the heavy lifting, if you follow me. With Scyphax in reserve, if I need him for anything. Not bad, really, for a girl from the kitchens. Of course, she added, with a little shake of her head, it could all go horribly wrong and I could end up being fished out of the river on a long hook, with my face just starting to flake off the bone. But there you are. Cant ford a river without getting your feet wet, as they say There was something about the way she said that, all flippant and devil-may-care, that made me think that maybe, deep down where it didnt show, she was almost as shit-scared as me. In which case, served her right. Of course I may have been kidding myself. We do a lot of that, us Greeks, particularly if theres nobody else around we can kid. We talk to ourselves as well, though I expect youve noticed that.

All right, I said. So, since were being all frightfully civilised and chatting away like this, maybe you can tell me whats going to happen to Lucius Domitius. And, I added, remembering something vitally important, me. Are we as good as dead, or is there some way we can possibly get out of this alive?

She considered the question gravely, which frightened me so much I nearly pissed down my leg. I think your friend isnt long for this world, she said eventually You, on the other hand, Im not sure about. You might make it, you might not. I dont want to build your hopes up, of course, but really, its too early to say

Oh, I said. Any idea when you might know for sure?

It all depends, she said, wrinkling her nose. Theres a long way to go yet.

If it was up to me, Id probably let you go. Im not sure why, maybe its because youre so patheticand I dont mean that in a nasty way, but lets face it, you are what you are. Unfortunately, theres only so much I can do.

I thought, Big of you, Im sure. Now, what if I were to jump up suddenly, grab you round the throat and tickle you under the chin with that dinky little bone-handled knife youve got hanging off your belt? Would that make it easier for me to get out of this house, or would it guarantee Id never reach the street alive? And this is where Ive got a bone to pick with the gods. They ought to tell you stuff like that. You listen to the old poems, your Wrath of Achilles and your Man of Many Wies, and the gods are always stopping by to whisper good advice in peoples ears. But where were they when I really needed them? Well, exactly. If you ask me, the gods are just another lot of rich bastards who happen to live for ever and know how to do conjuring tricks. Screw the lot of em, I say

Well, I said, thanks for that, I appreciate it. Now, another question for you. What the fuck do you and this Strymon and Scyphax want with Lucius Domitius and me? Particularly if they dont know who he is.

Ah. She grinned. And I had you figured for a clever man. Never mind. Come to think of it, clever man is one of those figures of speech they teach you about in law school; like hot snow or cold fire. You really dont know, do you?

Me? Nah, Im just a dumb peasant. Youre going to have to tell me. Otherwise,

I added, how can I do what you want, if I dont know what it is?

She looked at me as if I was a sea bass she was thinking of buying. I believe you when you say you dont know, she said. And besides, it doesnt cost me anything. Does the name Dido, queen of Carthage , ring any bells?

Bloody hell, I thought, so thats what all this is about. Its a damn fool bloody stupid treasure hunt. That huge fortune in gold and stuff that was supposed to be sitting there in a cave somewhere on the African coastjust as well Lucius Domitius had seen fit to mention it, or Id have been screwed.

I thought quickly No, I said, trying to sound like I was lying through my teeth. Sorry, havent got a clue what youre on about.

Really? She smirked at me. What a pity, because that makes you far less valuable than you were a moment ago.

Fine, I said. No reason to keep me, then.

Nice of you to see it that way Ill call Alexander and have you killed.

The way she said it, I got this picture in my mind of Alexander wringing my neck like a chicken and filleting me neatly with a sharp knife for escalopes of Greek, marinaded in garlic butter. You can if you like, I replied, wanting to sound like I didnt believe shed do any such thing, though of course I knew she would, if she believed I didnt really know (and of course I didnt, not the details anyway). But honestly and truthfully, I dont know anything about any Queen of Carthage.

She frowned. Dont be silly, Galen, she said. Both of us know Nero Caesar found out where Didos treasures buried from that knight he had tortured. Why else do you think youve been allowed to wander round the empire for the last ten years, miraculously not getting strung up on a cross every time you bungle a scam? Its because the whole worlds been watching you, waiting for you to lead them to where the treasure is. To be honest, the one thing we havent been able to figure out is why the hell youve waited all this time. All we could think of is youve realised that as soon as you make a move for it, well have you, while as long as youre drifting aimlessly around, its in the interest of the government to let you stay alive and loose. Of course, she went on, that doesnt explain why the government hasnt scooped you in and loosened your tongues with the rack and the hot irons, but I suppose they were afraid youd die under torture or something idiotic like that. Anyway, they may have the patience of camels, but I dont. What scares me is the thought that some clown of a mule driver might stumble on it quite by accident, and then all our workd be floating down the river, along with yesterdays wilted greens. Or else youre perfectly capable of dying of starvation or the plague, just to be insufferably difficult. She leaned forward, like a cat crouching down before it jumps on some poor little furry bugger. Go on, she said, why dont you tell me where it is? Just me, and then Id be able to get it for myself, and thered be nobody else involved. Then I could let you go. Why not? You havent got anything to lose.

Tread carefully, I told myself, youre crossing a plank bridge over a lake of ripe shit here. What about Lucius Domitius? I said. Will he be all right, too?

She scowled at me out of a pure sunny grin. No, she said, hes not included in my good nature, Im afraid. This is just you and me. So, how about it? Deal? 

I could tell she was getting excitedone up to me in the sparring match. Why dont you tell me why youre so down on Lucius Domitius? I asked her. I get the feeling you really dont like him at all.

She laughed, all dry and brittle. Youre quite right, she said, I dont like him. If it wasnt for Didos treasure, Id have seen him dead a long time ago, one way or another. But I dont want to talk about that.

Sorry, I said, but I want to know Else, how can I tell what youre serious about and whats just salad?

Very well, she said, and youd have sworn the gorgon had just turned her heart to stone. Shed gone as white as a statue thats been out in the sun and wind a long time, and all the paints flaked off the marble. Ill tell you, though really you should be able to figure it out from what youve heard already You know I was brought up in the Golden House, and my parents were slaves.

I nodded. Is that it? I said. Just a grudge?

Just a grudge. She sighed. You clown, Galen. You were there in the Golden House, you obviously knew what went on there. You must know the sort of games Nero Caesar liked to play with little girls and little boys. For Gods sake,

she said shrilly, I was seven years old. I still have the most horrible dreams, even now And my parents knew, and there was nothing at all they could do about it because of what we were, slaves, just bits of property. Oh, I was lucky, Im still alive. I suppose thats lucky, she added, though there are times Im not sure. Why are you looking at me like that? Are you seriously trying to tell me you didnt know?

Yes, I said. I mean, I didnt know, this is all news to me. But I was just a hanger-on, Callistus brother, nobody ever told me anything.

Really So you never knew what sort of man youve been going round with these last ten years. Youre really that stupid.

I shrugged. I never said I wasnt, I told her. I didnt know, really I believe you, because why would you bother lying to me? But its just sort of gone in my ear, I cant make any sense of it. I mean, I know Lucius Domitius has got his faults, God knows. ButWell, I said. I believe you. I guess.

She looked at me for a while. Who cares what you believe, anyway? she said, cold as a dead body Id have had them kill you at the dinner party, only youre Callistus brother. Oh, hed have been able to tell you all right. Thats why I loved Callistus more than anybody Ive ever known. He rescued me, you see. He got me out of there. She stood up suddenly Im going in now, she said. Youd better stay there. If you try and leave, they wont kill you but they will break your arms and legs. If I were you, while youre waiting, you might care to think about what Ive just told you. Yeah, I thought. Right.

Twelve
You may remember a while back I told you about the time I met the worlds cleverest man, the great Seneca. We got chatting about Stoic philosophy and stuff, and I was able to fill him in on some things he didnt know about my line of work, thieving and swindling and so on.

Well, sorry to bang on about it, like Im name-dropping or whatever, but the truth is, that conversation mustve made a real impression on me because I can remember pretty much all of it, even now, including all the long words. I gave you the gist of some of it earlier, but I left out the interesting bit because it wasnt really anything to do with what I was telling you about, then. But youre going to hear the rest of it now; partly because, as I sat in Blandinias garden with bugger all else to do but think about what shed told me about Lucius Domitius, not to mention me being about to die, I went over it all in my mind and thought, Yes, well; partly because Ive been lugging it round in my head all these years because its too good to waste, and its cracking stuff, really. Besides, youve put up with me chattering away all this time, you deserve a bit of quality as a reward.

Like I said just now, old Seneca and me, wed been talking about good and evil and lies and truth and all that, and I think Seneca had pretty much forgotten I was there, or who I washe was getting on a bit, after all. The other day I figured it out on my fingers. It was the same year he died when we had our chat, so he cant have been a day under sixty, and even the best of us gets a bit blurry round the edges at that age.

AnyhowI dont know how exactly, but the conversation had somehow worked its way round to the Great Fire, which had happened the previous year. I think Seneca brought it up as an example of some point he was making, and I mustve said something like, Yeah, what about that? or, That was really something else, wasnt it? Doesnt matter what I said; point is, after a while Seneca went all thoughtful, or else he had an attack of heartburn from eating crunchy snacky things out of a finger bowl, because he went dead quiet and stared past me, and then he started talking about history.

Great, I thought, getting my moneys worth here, and I hadnt even had to pay for my seat, so I pinned my ears back and opened my mind up like a rabbit-catchers net, hoping that at least some of the good stuffd stick in it.

Unfortunately my left leg chose that time to go to sleep on me, and its bloody difficult concentrating on the sublime and the profound when youve got pins and needles shooting through your toes and right up into your bollocks; so I missed a load of what was probably really good stuff, and by the time I caught up again hed made at least one extremely telling point, probably two or three, because the first thing I remember him saying was: And for an example of this, of course, we need look no further than His Majesty, Caesar himself. I do believe his own circumstances illustrate my point exactly Dont you agree?

Well, naturally I said yes, of course, because a scruff like me cant go saying, Sorry, I missed that bit, would you mind going over it again? Absolutely, I added, wiggling my toes about. Couldnt agree more.

I remember him smilingnot at me, more sort of past me, like when the archers in a battle shoot high over the heads of their own side to drop the arrows down on the enemy Its rather sad, actually, he was saying. History will remember Nero Caesar as a bad man, quite probably as some kind of monster; or else theyll say he was mad, which saves the difficulty of trying to understand. And theyll remember me, ironically enough, as a good man, a wise and humane man born tragically out of his time, a flower blooming in desolation. The injustice of it all disgusts me so much, Im delighted I wont live to see it.

You bet, I said awkwardly Um, how do you mean? I added.

Oh, come now He frowned a little. Surely its obvious. He looked at me. Or not, he added, with a slight click of the tongue, or you wouldnt be scowling at me like that. Very well. Lets set out the facts in the daylight, like honest lawyersprosecution and defence. Only well let the defence open, shall we, just for a change? What do you think?

Of course, I wasnt thinking anything, except what an idiot Im making of myself and my foot hurts. So I said, Good idea, why not?, and he grinned, then went on.

The case for the defence, he said, sitting up straight like he had a javelin up his bum, is that Nero Caesar, on ascending the throne in his sixteenth year, immediately set about sweeping away the notorious corruptions and vicious practices that so marred the last years of his uncles reign; the evil men whod secretly controlled the empire during Claudius dotage were winkled out of power, disgraced and punished; misappropriated public funds went back into the treasury where they belonged; corrupt colonial governors were brought to trial; even his motherquite the worst of the parasitescouldnt escape what can only be described as justice. Meanwhile, the battered economy was nursed back to health, taxes cut, Rome s food supply secured, the vital interests of Italian agriculture safeguarded. In political life, all traces of Claudius reign of terror were swept away, free speech was restored in the senate, the power of the army curbed, pointless wars of aggression abandoned, while at the same time genuine foreign threats to national security were promptly and efficiently dealt withthe Parthians, Armenians and the rebel British, to name but three. At home, of course, conditions are better than at any time in living memory, and even disasters, like last years catastrophic fire, have been turned to good use

in place of appalling slums, clogged streets and derelict tenements, we now have a city whose beauty at last truly reflects the worth of her people.

Accordingly, we live in a city where the rich and powerful no longer oppress the common man, where the foreigner can at last claim redress for his wrongs against the citizen, where the senate and people of Rome have taken back the reins of government from nameless, corrupt Greek bureaucrats and court favourites, where crumbling brick has been replaced with shining marbleand all of this in a mere eleven years since Nero Caesar came to power, and all this because Nero Caesar came to power, spurned the temptations of power, turned power against those who would abuse it, for the benefit of the entire commonwealth. Surely

and Seneca pulled a funny face, like hed just swallowed a wriggly snail

surely we live in the best of times, and the age of gold has come again.

He stopped talking and looked at me, like he was expecting me to say something.

Me, I was sat there with my face open, thinking, Stuff me, hes right, this is a wonderful time to be alive, and all thanks to Lucius Domitius; well, whod have thought it?

You see? Seneca went on. All facts; all true; you can go and read the edicts, or sit in the library and look up the figures for corn supplies and public expenditure. All trueas true as the facts presented by the prosecution, which would go, I fancy, something like this ...

He paused, changed his expression, tightened his eyebrows, made his mouth thinner. Quite scary, he looked, and not nice and affable at all. We live, he said, in a cursed city, in unspeakable times, ground under the heel of a monster whose name will ever after be a byword for savagery and wickedness. A murdererthe word is hopelessly inadequate, we must invent another to describe the sort of man who kills, first his uncle, then his uncles trusted advisers, then the flower of our nations noblest familiesLepida, Silanus, Rubellius Plautus, Cornelius Sullathen his cousin, the innocent Britannicus, then on through a torrent of blood to his own wife, his own mother. A freakwhat other word can describe a nobleman, a senator, an emperor who daubs his face with paint, curls his hair, dresses in the disgusting attire of a common actor and makes an exhibition of himself in front of the entire world, playing at poetry and music and theatre while the senate and people of Rome are forced to sit still and watch, yearning to look away from the degrading spectacle, but not daring to do so for fear of the stone quarries or the executioners sword? A

common fire-raiserare you so pathetically naive that you can bring yourself to believe that the murderous inferno that consumed our beloved city was an accident, or the work of heathens or cannibal Christians, when the ashes were barely cool before the tyrants Greek architects and Greek sculptors and Greek landscapers and design consultants were scuttling among the ruins, kicking aside the charred bones of murdered innocents as they pegged out the foundations of the tyrants obscene palace, his blasphemous temple to his own evil megalomania? As to the other chargesthe bestial perversions, the insatiable lusts, the reckless extravagance, the callous crueltywords fail me, all words fail me, the golden voice of Apollo himself fails to convey in mere words what the eye witnesses infallibly for itself, in every alley, on every street corner poisoned by the monsters filth.

Well, you couldve knocked me down with a stick of celery. All those poor people hed had killed, and starting the Great Fire, too because, when you think about it, theres coincidence and theres the screaming bloody obvious, right?all that and the bestial per-versions and insatiable lusts too. Bloody hell, I thought. The bastard.

All true, actually, Seneca went on, quietly, helping himself to a handful of spicy crunches from a finger bowl. And all lies, just like the statement for the defencethe facts are the same, but the interpretation differs slightly, and the golden age becomes the reign of terror, simple as choosing adjectives. And counsel for the defence will smile, admit the murders, point out that by any criteria the worlds a better place without Lepida, Silanus, Rubellius Plautus, Cornelius Sulla, Narcissus, Pallas, Britannicus, Octavia, Agrippina. Even if a few of them were innocent, or as innocent as Roman nobility could ever be, if theyd been spared theyd have been used as figureheads of rebellion; thousands of lives wouldve been lost because Nero Caesar allowed himself the luxury, the self-indulgence of mercy Quite true. And counsel for the prosecution will brush aside the corn supply and justice for the provinces and corruption stamped out and peace on the frontiers: That wasnt Nero Caesar, that was all Senecas doing, Seneca and Burrus, two honest men who had the misfortune to serve the tyrant, who eventually paid for their wisdom and courage with their lives

Then Seneca stopped suddenly and grinned at me, and said, Oh, didnt I tell you? Im going to die soon. Suicide, itll be, the decent way, without all the nastiness of a trial and execution. I got found out, you see, after all these yearsstealing from the exchequer, manipulating policy to feather my own nest

(I didnt get to be the fourth richest man in the world by writing philosophy, oddly enough) and, eventually, plotting with the indescribably awful Calpurnius Piso to murder the emperor. Actually, he added with a wink, its my sixth plot in five years, but that buffoon Tigellinus couldnt see an elephant if it was crawling up his nose; which is why I had him made chief of police, it goes without saying. You see? he went on, with a rather graceful gesture. All true, and all lies; because I did do some rather fine thingsno, Nero Caesar and I together did some very fine things for our fellow citizens, and Nero Caesar and I together and separately did some other things youll have to make your own mind up about, if you can be bothered. Calpurius Piso, for examplePiso will tell you we plotted to rid Rome of the monster, were liberators like Brutus and Cassius. I might tell you I did it because of the power and the money; Im absurdly pleased with my own profile, and I know itd look simply wonderful on a ten-pence piece, looking down its aristocratic nose at all the fishmongers and garlic-sellers in the Market Square. He sighed, stood up, paused to rub his foot (cramp, probably). The one thing that neither prosecution nor defence will allow you to believe is that its all trueall the good things, all the bad things togetherand that men can be bad and good at the same time, and switch backwards and forwards between the two like a messenger running errands. And that, my young stealer of cloaks from bathhouses, is more philosophy than you could buy anywhere in this city for a gold sovereign, even a genuine one; and even so, its mostly horseshit. The only truth and he stopped smiling and just looked at me, if you see what I mean. One of those looks. The only truth is what you stand up in on the beach after a shipwreck, and which of yous still standing after a fight on your own doorstep, and what your dog thinks of you when you come home. And now, he added, I think Ill go and take a leak, then, pinching a last handful of spicy crunches, he limped away towards the lavatories.

 

So there I was, sat in some garden in some house, all on my tod. Just me and my thoughts. You know by now Ive been in some pretty dodgy places in my time

condemned cells and up on crosses and God knows what elsebut that garden was one of my all-time least favourites.

For a long time I tried to tell myself, So what? So what, if Lucius Domitius got up to stuff back in the old days? I hardly knew him then, he was just the man whod saved me from the cross because hed taken a fancy to my brother. On balance I approved of him, back then. Yes, he was a rich bastardthe rich bastard of all rich bastards, emperor of the Romans, no lessand surely that says it all; you expect that mob to do every nasty rotten thing that its possible to do, because thats who they are, rich bastards, and thats what rich bastards do. But, on the other hand, hed got me down off that cross, which I richly deserved to be up on, because I was a thief and Id got caught. He got me down off there, and it was my fault, not his, that I was up there in the first place. So, on balance, I reckoned he was all right, or at least, all right for a rich bastard.

And then all that stuff had happened. Wed escaped from the palace, Callistus

(fuck me, I thought, it always ended up back with him, doesnt it?)Callistus had given his life for Lucius Domitius, and Callistus couldnt possibly have been wrong about a person. If he reckoned Lucius Domitius was worth dying for, I wasnt going to argue, was I? Not me, the thick one in our family And then wed gone around together all those years, starving and running together; and all that time, he wasnt a rich bastard any more, he was just a poor bastard and a thief, like me, no better and no worseso yes, Id come to the conclusion he was all right, because Callistus reckoned so, and because I reckoned so, judging him as I found him. Now you could say: Of course Lucius Domitius didnt get up to anything nasty while you and he were on the road together because he never got the chance to carry on his old tricks, because the two of you were too busy dodging guards and trying to stay alive on a thimbleful of sprouting grain and there wasnt time or opportunities for that sort of shit. Well, I cant argue with that. Cant be bothered to, either. Its like if you were a magistrate and I got hauled up in front of you for hooking sandals at a bathhouse, and I was to say, Actually Im not guilty, because really Id have been an honest, hard working farmer and never screwed anybody, only I never got the opportunity. Youd laugh till you bruised a rib, and then youd send me to the mines, of course you would. Id do the same ff1 was up on the curule chair, not stood in front of it. So, rightwheres your argument now?

And I tried to tell myself: Look, youre a pathetic little Greek swindler and everybody in the world is out to kill you, and the only person in the universe who might be on your side is Lucius Domitius, so who cares a screaming fuck what he may have done? If you were drowning, youd take his hand. And besides, its none of your business what other people do, so long as they dont do it to you.

If the whole worlds against you, screw the lot of them. And this Blandinia, this murdering thief bitch who might consider letting you live if she feels like itwhose side are you on, hers or your only friend in the whole world?

Just a pity she got out alive, and lived to be the death of you.

And that was a bugger, too; because Callistus saved her, and Callistus couldnt have been wrong about a person, could he? If he figured she was worth saving, who the hell are you to call her a murdering bitch or whatever? Cant have it both ways.

So now do you see what I mean about the gods? Surely, if theyre there for any other purpose besides being our rich bastard landlords, shouldnt they be there to tell us this is whats right, this is whats wrong, learn it off by heart because therell be a test later? But I tell you, I sat in that garden, all alone, and I listened; and they didnt say a word. They didnt even fart. I think all the gods must be Romans. Thatd explain a lot, if you ask me.

AndGod forgive meI started thinking to myself: if thats what gods are like, maybe Callistus was a god. You know how they get their jollies prowling about among us poor mortals, pretending to be one of us, like some low-life swindler, telling the tale; like me, even, and Lucius Domitius. Just suppose Callistus was a god in disguise; and Id loved him, and Lucius Domitius had loved him, and the murdering bitch Blandinia had loved him, because thats how mortals react to gods, they cant help it, just like cats with catnip. And so this rich bastard of a god comes down and he sets us all this wonderful riddle, and once were all tangled up in it like sheep in briars, he fucks off back to Olympus and settles down to see what kind of a mess we make of trying to get ourselves free. Maybe thats what love is, a nasty game that gods like to play on poor mortal, innocent and vulnerable as children. Maybe Callistus was a god, and then wed all be in the clear. We could load all the bad things wed done on him, and he could take the blame. In that sense, maybe hed save us all. Again.

By this stage my brain was starting to hurt, so it was probably just as well that I was interrupted before it had a chance to boil over like porridge and come dripping out my ears.

Alexander and Pony-tail came out into the courtyard, carrying a couple of small tables with covered dishes on them. When I saw who it was, my first thought was, Oh shit, shes changed her mind and theyre going to kill me, but then I thought, Yes, but the tables, and the nosh. Why bother to poison me, when a bash on the head is so much quicker and cheaper? And if they were going to kill me by feeding me to death with potted hare tartletswell, there are worse ways to go, at that. The likelier explanation was shed said, Youd better see to the prisoner, or something along those lines, and theyd taken that as licence to go and cook something.

Its just a snack, Alexander said, lifting the lid on shoulder of mutton Etruscan style, with creamed leeks and beans in gravy Something to help you keep your strength up, thats all.

Fine, except what would I be needing my strength for? Didnt say anything, of course, just, Thanks, thats really thoughtful of you, or words to that effect.

Pony-tail said not to mention it, and I got the impression he was upset about something. Guilty, almost. A moment later, Alexander confirmed that by adding, Really, it was the least we could do. That was interesting.

Oh? I said. How do you mean?

They looked at each other, like a couple of embarrassed mountains. Truth is,

Pony-tail said, we feel a bit bad aboutwell, you know

It wasnt right, Alexander said. I mean, he was so nice to us. Not a lot of people are, you know

So which one was he talking about, Pollio or Lucius Domitius? Couldve been either, except if they were feeling bad about Pollio, why be nice to me? I took a chance. Yes, I said, well. Does you credit, Im sure, but where I come from we have a saying, fine words oil no greens. He trusted you.

You know, even though they were so big and mean-looking, I almost wished I hadnt had to say that, because it obviously hurt. Alexander turned away; Pony-tail stood there staring at his toes. They didnt come across as angry or anything, just ashamed. This went on for some time (and all the while my shoulder of mutton Etruscan style was going cold, but I didnt want to spoil the mood; bitter reproaches dont come across so well when spoken through a mouthful of creamed leek). Then Alexander said, You know what makes it worse? Pony-tail put a hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off. What makes it really, really bad? he went on. He was my hero, you know? I worshipped him; all those wonderful songs and poems, and that voiceI went to all his public recitals, I even dressed up as a senator, purple stripe and everything, so I could sneak in to the closed concerts. People think that just because youre a gladiator and you were born in some village you havent got any finer feelings, you cant appreciate music and poetry Balls, he spat angrily Back then, Id have cut off my right hand just for a chance to meet him and say how much I loved his music.

Well, I say that. Someone said hed introduce me once, back in the old days, but I couldnt, I was too shy I mean, itd have been like meeting Phoebus Apollo, what could I possibly have said? And then I actually do get to meet him

Bashed him on the head, I muttered. You mustve felt so proud.

Dont. Alexander shuddered. Look, youve got to believe me, we didnt know, either of us. Oh, we knew she was pretty much running the show, but we thought she was just doing what Pollio told her to. We didnt know she was involved with Strymon and his mob. Otherwise

Really, I interrupted. So where were you when they burst in and started killing people? You couldve stopped them, you two. Or were you afraid?

Pony-tail twitched when I said that, but Alexander just looked very sad. We were in the kitchens, werent we? he said. We were slicing onions, and suddenly these blokes came in, with swords and clubs and all. We had no idea. We thought it must be a robbery, only they said, stay right where you are and nobodyll get hurt. Look, we got through the arena without getting killed or carved up, weve done our share. The two of us, take on a dozen armed men without even knowing what its about? No, we stood there, and they stood there, and then someone called them and they pissed off and left us, then we heard screams, so we ran to the dining room, but by then it was all over. Just dead people everywhere. We still didnt have a clue what was happening, but then Blandinia came in and told us

We should have killed her, Pony-tail muttered. Only it wouldnt have solved anything, would it? And we dont want to get murdered by Strymons men, thank you very much.

And then, Alexander went on, she told us she was going to fetch you, and then we found out youd been arrested, so we went with her to get you out. And thats all weve done, really

I sighed. Actually, I couldnt blame them, but I couldnt very well admit that.

Too bloody right, I said. Thats all you did. Not very impressive, was it?

And while I was saying that, some god whispered an idea in my ear, and I went on. Now if I was a really famous gladiator, the best in the world like you were, and I had a loyal fan, someone who worshipped the ground I trod on

Alexander made a little whimpering noise, like a hungry dog, but I carried on.

If he was in terrible danger and I was there, I think Id have taken the trouble to save him, rather than just standing around like a prune. He believed in you two. He talked about you all the time, you know; how you were the best hed ever seen, how he wished hed had a chance to meet you, all that stuff. I bet he was thinking as they dragged him away, Its all right, Alexander and Julianusll rescue meThat was too much for Alexander; he was crying, dripping huge fat tears into my bean casserole. I know, he said. God, Im so ashamed.

Its true, we were scared. Youre away from the arena so long, you forget what its like, how scared you are at the sight of sharp metal. Back then, when I was fighting, every time I went out on the sand Id be shivering so much I could hardly hold my sword. But you get used to it, something cuts in and takes over and you get through it somehow, till the next time. But its been ten years, for Gods sake, and thumping people from behind in dark alleys doesnt count; its not the same thing at all as looking down a newly honed edge at some bastard who wants to kill you. When they came in our kitchen with swords, we were scared, and thats all there is to it.

Shit, I thought, Im in serious danger of liking these two nut-cases. But I was still busy thinking. I was telling myself, Blandinias made a mistake here with these two; shes got them down in her mind as just a pair of thugs. Only theyre not, theyre more like Lucius Domitius than anybody else Ive come across. Under that muscle and scar tissue theyre all delicate and sensitive, theyre artistes. So who are they going to listen to, when the screws are on: her, or me?

Its all right, I said, and they looked at me like they were drowning and Id chucked them a rope. I understand. Its not your fault.

Gratitudes not something Ive had a lot to do with, certainly not gratitude pointed at me. Funny feeling, makes you pleased with yourself and a bit guilty, like youre really just a big fraud, both at the same time. Thank you,

Alexander said. Thank you for saying that.

I nodded. Dont worry about it, I said. Everythings fine. Now, are you going to help me, or not?

That made them go a bit thoughtful, but only for a second. How do you mean?

Pony-tail said.

Id have thought that was obvious, I replied. Weve got to get out of here and rescue Lucius Domitius.

Pony-tail looked puzzled. Whos he? he asked.

Nero Caesar, you idiot, Alexander snapped without looking round. But just a moment. We dont even know where he is.

I looked at him all stern and hard. You could find out, I said.

Could we? How?

Well, I said, you could try getting a hold of that bitch round the neck and squeezing till she tells you. That ought to do the trick.

They didnt like the sound of that for some reason, so I went on:

Or you could go round and ask Strymon, if you think thatll be any easier.

Personally, though, Id rather take my chances with Blandinia.

They thought about it, but not for long. Yes, all right, said Pony-tail. You wait here, well be right back. They went off the way theyd come, and, since there was nothing else for me to do, I had a bit of the shoulder of mutton Etruscan style. It wasnt bad, at that, though it couldve done with warming through.

Blandinia didnt look quite so cocky as she had the last time wed talked; she was spitting-angry, no question about that, but she was also very scared. I think she realised they werent kidding around. What gave her that impression, Im not sure, though probably Pony-tails enormous fingers on either side of her windpipe might have put her on the right track.

Youre crazy, she said, in a rather strained voice, all of you. Youre also three dead men, unless you pack this in immediately.

Well, she had me worried, right enough, so it was just as well that Alexander and Pony-tail werent chickenshits like me. But then, I never said I was brave.

Quite the reverse.

Tell us where he is, Alexander said, or well pull your head off.

You know, we all say stuff like thatIll tear your head off, Ill smash your teeth down your neck, Ill kick your spine up out the back of your neckand all we really mean is, I might possibly hurt you, or then again I might not. But when Alexander said that, it was rather obvious that he was just telling it straight, no melodrama. Hed nod his head, and Julianus would squeeze hard, snap her spine and give her neck a twist and a yank, and off her head would come, like a stopper out of a jar. It made me feel sick, but thats what I get for having a top-of-the-range imagination.

Anyhow, she got the message. No, listen, she said, with rather less attitude, Id tell you if I knew, but I dont. Really I dont. I mean, why would he bother telling me? I dont need to know; and it stands to reason, in this line of work, the fewer people know something, the better. Strymon may be dumb, but hes smart enough for that.

It sounded like she was telling the truth, but it wasnt what I wanted to hear.

Shes lying, I said. Of course she knows, shes the sort who wants to know everything, all the details, just in case theres somethingll give her an edge.

Squeeze her a bit more and shell tell us, trust me. Pony-tail looked doubtful, but he shrugged and tightened his grip; and for a moment I was afraid hed overdone it, because her eyes started bulging out of her face and she made a revolting gurgling noise and twitched all over. All right, she said, all right. Let go, for Gods sake.

I noddedjust think of it, me giving orders like a generaland Pony-tail eased off a bit, so she could breathe. Now, then, I said.

Im just guessing, Blandinia gasped, but Strymons got a place on Long Lane, just past the tanners yard. Thats all I can think of.

Pony-tail frowned. Which tanners yard? he asked. Theres two.

What? She struggled to drag air down her bruised throat. I dont know, Ive never been there, just heard other people talking about it. A place on Long Lane, just past the tanners yard, thats all I know Really

I nearly burst out laughing. Thats the best you can do, is it? I asked.

Please, let go. Make him let go, I cant breathe.

She was going a funny colour, and I decided that shed have to be cooler than the Alps in winter to keep up a good lie when she was that close to dying. Let her go, I said, shes telling the truth. Its bloody useless, but thats all she knows.

Alexander scowled, and nodded at Pony-tail (where did the chain of command suddenly appear from, I wondered in passing), and he relaxed his vast blood-sausage fingers by a certain carefully-regulated amount. Well, I said, so what do we do with her?

Pretty obvious I wasnt going to get any sensible suggestions out of those two.

Born followers, the both of them. It was up to me to come up with a brilliant idea. I hate that.

Well have to take her with us, I said.

Alexander looked dubious about that. What if she squeals and makes a racket?

he said. Peoplell stare; we dont want any trouble.

And then Apollo shot me with a stroke of genius. Well, thats simple, I said.

You know what to do. And I rubbed the back of my head, like it still hurt.

They werent as slow on the uptake as all that. Alexander closed his fist and clubbed her on the base of the skull, and she went out like a snuffed lamp. Fast asleep in Pony-tails arms, like a girl flaked out after a nights partying.

Sweet, really

Brilliant, Pony-tail moaned. Have I got to lug her all the way to Long Lane? 

The sedan chair, I said. The one I was fetched here in. Its still about the place, isnt it?

Confession time. I love riding in sedan chairs. Bloody stupid, really I guess its because sedan chairs are the all-time essential rich bastard thing. I mean, you see them swaying through the streets on the shoulders of a couple of enormous Germans or Libyans, up so high theyre clipping the ears of the poor people as they jostle byits everything that being a rich bastard is about, if you follow me. Now I dont much care for rich people, but thats never stopped me getting a real thrill out of being one, just for a little while, peeking out through the curtains of a closed chair at the bald patches on the little folks

heads. And, well, if ever I get taken rich, which is about as likely as my old mother getting swept up to heaven and put among the stars as the constellation of the Drunk Old Bag, first thing Ill buy myself is a really swish sedan chair and six porters, all Thracians or Lusitanians, a matched set. And of course, when I ride through the streets in my chair, therell be a beautiful young girl reclining at my side, because if a things worth doing, its worth doing right, only, in this daydream of mine, the beautiful young girl wont be fast asleep, and we wont be on our way to rescue Lucius Domitius from the meanest street gang in the world, always assuming we can find their hideout. Its little things like that that fuck up a nice bit of wish-fulfilment.

Finding a tanners yard in Long Lane wasnt hard at all. All that took was going to Long Lane and breathing in. Beats me why they allowed something that smelt that bad in a posh neighbourhood, but thats Rome for you: the grand houses stand up out of the slums and the trash like a man standing in a gutter. Anyhow, we found a tannery, and there were houses on either side that looked like they could be a gangs hideout, not that any of us had a clue what a gangs hideout looks like.

So what do we do now? I heard Alexander say, down below on street level.

Start knocking on doors?

I tweaked the curtain aside. All right, I said. Now lets find the other one.

Beats me why theyd decided to take orders from me, but they did. The other tannery was down the other end of the lane, and it had almost identical houses up and down the street. I was just about to give up, when I saw someone I recognised.

Very handy knack, a gift for faces. Of course, its something you have to pick up if youre going to last more than a month in the scamming trade: youve got to be able to recognise a face immediately, out of the corner of your eye at fifty paces, and remember that that bloke was in the crowd when you pulled such and such a scam at such and such a place, which means itd be a very bad idea to try the same scam again where hed be likely to see it. Anyway, I saw this face, just for a split second, and I knew where Id seen it beforenamely, in the inn where Amyntas had taken me, and the bloke had been one of the Sicilians boys.

Stop, I called down, were here.

I pinched back the curtain and watched where the bloke was headed. I saw him cross the street to the gate of a big old house, pause for a moment to look round, then knock on the door four times, rat-at-at-TAT. The door opened, he ducked inside, the door swung shut again; all over in the time youd take to eat a grape. Theres lucky, I said to myself.

What about Blandinia? Pony-tail said, once Id got down from my floating eagles nest and explained what Id seen. We cant just park her in the chair.

What if she wakes up?

I sighed. Cant you bash her again? I said.

Not really, Alexander replied, sounding like an expensive doctor. Its not, whats the word, cumulative, bashing people; I mean, you cant sort of top up a bash with a smart tap every two hours to keep it fresh.

So I thought; and what I came up with was pretty thin, but lets see you do better on the fly, when most of your brainpowers taken up with being very scared.

Imagine youre the porter, right? Youre sat in your little cubby hole, thinking about whatever porters think about, and theres this frantic banging on your door. You wake up, snap, and pull back the little slide; whos making that fucking awful row, you ask.

Through your little hole in the door, you can see this pointy-faced Greek bloke, and behind him theres two uglies, holding up a girl who doesnt look too chipper. In fact, shes slumping, and the two bruisers are holding her up.

Open the goddamn door, hisses the pointy-faced type. Come on, people are staring.

You feel a bit panicky, because of the urgency in his voice, but theres such a thing as standing orders, including, Dont let anybody in unless you know them, or theyve got a pass. Whore you, then? you ask nervously Pointy-face spits a string of Greek names at you. They dont mean spit as far as youre concerned. You dont know what to do for the best. A porter can get the skin flayed off his back for letting strangers in, and the same for keeping important visitors standing out in the street. Whos she, then? you ask.

One of the thugs in the background is asking what in hell the hold-up is; he doesnt sound happy The Greek looks at you and says, None of your damn business, now open the bloody door. Of course, this is turning into a porters worst nightmarebuggered if you do or buggered if you dont, and no way of knowing which. You start to say youre sorry, butYou bloody well will be sorry in a minute, says Pointy-face, if you dont open the damn gate. Youll be off to the farm, with your hoe in your moist little hand, if our Strymon hears you made his little honey-apple stand out in the street, running a fever so bad shes fit to fall over.

At that point, the girl groans pitifully (you arent to know its the first helpful thing shes done in her whole life, and shes only doing it because shes fast asleep on her feet and hasnt got the foggiest idea whats going on), and a helpful little voice says to you, Come on, theyve got to be on the level; I mean, whod be crazy enough to try and kid their way into our house, of all places? So you shoot back the bolts as fast as you can and haul the gate open, and soon as you do, one of the uglies shoves the droopy girl in your arms and says, Catch hold of this a moment, will you? And you grab her to stop her falling over, and then the back of your head hurts, and next thing you know

well, you dont want to imagine that, itd give you nightmares. Anyway, you get the idea. Corny as Egypt and crazy as a tubful of polecats, but who gives a shit? More by luck than judgement, sure, but it worked.

So there we were: inside the walls all right, but feeling very conspicuous and terribly terribly lonely Youve heard of the Seven against Thebes , I expect.

Well, we were the Two against Strymon (Im not counting me, for obvious reasons)

and the odds on the Seven had to be better. Also, didnt all the Seven get killed? I dont know, I wasnt paying attention when our mother told us the story.

Just as well one of us had his wits about him. Say what you like about Alexander, he was like the hedgehog in the sayingyou know, how the fox knows many tricks, but the hedgehog knows one good one. He only knew one scheme for situations like this, but he gave it a go. FIRE! he started yellingand he could yell, believe me; I was nearly blown overand to make it a bit more convincing, he picked up the porters brazier in one hand and pitched it across the yard. Pure fluke it happened to land on a stack of jars lined up against the wall. Even flukier that they happened to be full of lamp-oil. Fools luck, you could call it, only if there is such a thing, how come I never get any?

If there hadnt been a fire before, there was a honey of one now, in fact, I remember thinking as I stood there watching the whole yard blossom into orange flames, looks like Alexander may have overdone the diversionary tactics this time. Not entirely his fault, mind you, because a sensible bloke wouldnt have stacked the months supply of oil up against the stables, with all that hay and straw inside.

Thats another thing I dont like about Rome . Bloody place is a fire trap.

I guess there was a sort of wonderfully stupid irony about the whole situation.

A fire starts. Thanks to a stiff breeze which scoops up fistfuls of glowing embers and scatters them over the neighbouring rooftops like a man sowing barley in the time it takes to eat an apple the entire block is up in flames, with people running around yelling and pushing and shoving and panicking, the way people do, some poor fools trying to be sensible and organise bucket chains, others running screaming in the wrong direction, or struggling to get back inside the burning buildings to get children or crippled relatives, not to mention the looters. When theres a fire, you get a wonderful display of pretty well everything thats right and wrong with human nature: courage and cowardice and greed and cool common sense under stress and a hundred subtly different strains of stupiditythe pity of it is, it all happens so fast right in front of your nose, with three or four absolutely fascinating exhibitions going on at the same time; doesnt matter how observant you are, youre bound to miss a gem or two, an inspiring display of selfless bravery or a collectors item in the way of sheer unparalleled selfishness. Its as good as the theatre for distilling what mortal humans are all about down into a ninety-nine-parts-pure essence. Pity about all the smoke and shit, but I guess you need that for ambience.

Well, there was this incredible show going on right under my noseRome Burns, a tragi-comic extravaganza in twelve simultaneous actsand I wasnt paying attention, as bloody usual. No, I wasnt even thinking of myself as a member of the audience; nothing would do me but I had to clamber up on stage, so to speak, and gatecrash my way into the play. Thinking about it with the fabulous alchemy of hindsight, I can see now why the true-blood Roman gentry get so uptight about respectable people getting mixed up in theatricals and performing on a stage. Heres Rome burning, say, a tragedy of catastrophic proportions, ruining the lives of dozens, hundreds of miserable bastards, rich and poor; and heres me, an insignificant little Greek, whos so up himself hes got to use this terrible thing as the background to his own trivial drama, his own worthless private subplot. Worse still, in this case, because Id gone one step further. Id caused the damn fire, by bringing on as a plot device the moron Alexander, with his penchant for setting light to the scenery every time he runs into a minor difficulty in his work. You know how lots of people are firmly convinced that Lucius Domitius Nero Caesar started the Great Fire just so he could have a truly spectacular backdrop for his Fall of Troy, with harp accompaniment? Well, that happens not to be true; but its a stone-cold fact that Galen the Athenian, an artiste in a wholly different genre of make-believe and performance arts, deliberately started the Long Lane Fire as a mise en scne

(I think thats the right term) for his ballet for three idiots and a stunned girl, The Rescue of Lucius Domitius. No harp accompaniment, Im afraid, but what do you expect if you engage a bunch of cheapskates?

Im not quite sure what Im trying to say here. I mean, theres a point to this, and your Senecas and Petronius Arbiters and Caius Juvenalisesd be on it like a snake, but instead youve got me. Maybe you can figure it out for yourselves

in which case, maybe youd drop me a line and let me know what it is. Assuming Im still alive when you read this, and you can find me.

Anyhow, there I was, standing in a courtyard with burning buildings all round me, people running hither and yon, bashing into me and treading on my feet, and theres Alexander and Pony-tail, not to mention the poisonous bitch Blandinia, whos sleeping through the whole show like your elderly aunt when youve been to great pains to fight your way to the front rows and get seats so shell be able to see the sword fighting and hear the screams. And I was thinking, Shit.

Well, wouldnt you have done? Because we were there to save Lucius Domitius

life, and he was somewhere in that big house, moments away from burning to death. Not smart. Could do better.

Dont just stand there, I screamed at them. Do something.

They looked at me like I was the captain of a ship becalmed in the middle of the sea, and Id pointed straight up in the air and said, That way Well, they had a point, it wasnt the most helpful suggestion Id ever made. But I couldnt think what to do, I was too bewildered by how fast it had all happened, not to mention the sheer unspeakable scale of the fuck-up Id just perpetrated. I mean, its not every day a provincial farm boy like me sets fire to the biggest city in the world. Call it stage fright, if you like.

Then a little bit of burning cinder lit on Blandinias forehead, and she woke up with a shriek. She got up; stumbled forwards, staggered like a vaudeville drunk, found her feet, looked round and said something very unladylike.

You idiots, she said, proving she was plenty quick on the uptake. Whatve you done?

Seemed to me shed got it all plumb right at the first guess; womans intuition, they call it. Anyhow, we werent in the mood to explain, so we didnt say anything.

Right, she said, and you could almost hear her brain snapping into place, like one of those great big Molossian padlocks when you turn the key Five gets you ten hes in the dining room, which ought to be there. She pointed at a door vaguely opposite; it was outlined in fire, like on a wall painting, and rather graceful plumes of smoke were feathering up under it.

You sure? I asked.

You can take it to the bank, she said. Go on, move. So we moved, for no reason I can see other than that she was telling us to, and she sounded like she was in charge. I guess its like soldiers are trained to obey the words of command without thinking. Anyway, Alexanders side-of-beef shoulder crashed into that door, and the poor wooden bugger never stood a chance. It exploded into a mess of splinters and we were through, into a cloud of smoke so thick you couldve spread it on bread with a knife.

I didnt get much further than that, because I tripped over something and went down on my nose, crack on the mosaic floor, ouch.

Turned out what Id tripped on was a dead body and I wish I knew who he was, because he saved my life, though I dont suppose he did it on purpose. Alexander and Pony-tail sprinted past me into the smoke, and a moment later there was a horrible crash as something fell in, a wall or a ceiling, something like that.

Something heavy any rate, and instantly fatal.

And that was the last I saw of them. One moment there they were, two enormous bouncy dangerous idiots but all right, fundamentally because they were on my side, even if they did go around setting light to cities. The next moment, they were gone; and whether the falling masonry and roof-timbers got them clean, or they were pinned down and suffocated in the smoke, or whether they were still awake when the flames got to them, Im sorry but I simply dont know. They charged out of my life as abruptly as theyd burst into it, and that was the end of them.

Bugger, I thought, as I scrambled up and shot out of there like a rabbit with its scut on fire. I couldnt see Blandinia eitherit was entirely possible that shed been under that roof or wall or whatever it was, but somehow I doubted that, because her sort dont die unless theyre specifically killed.

Didnt matter. Wed tried to save Lucius Domitius, but it was all doomed to failure from the very start, and I really, really wished I hadnt made the effort to begin with. A good idea at the times the best you can say for it, and I dont know to this day how many lives it cost. All my fault. Sorry.

At any rate, that was palpably the end of that. Lucius Domitius, the two gladiator cooks, probably the bitch Blandinia, pretty well everybody I knew in the City of Rome was now dead, and there was me, on my own, at a loose end once more. I trudged across that courtyard, couldnt even be bothered to run. Where was the point? Wouldnt have bothered me unduly if a burning chunk of building had fallen smack on my stupid head and tidied me away out of the story.

Galen? said a voice behind me. What the fuck are you doing here?

I spun round. Guess who. Not that anybody else but me wouldve recognised him, probably He was covered in blood, for one thing; also he was wringing wet, his hair plastered down onto his head, and he was filthy with ash and plaster and God knows what else. In his right hand he had a sword, a German pattern with a long blade, bent almost to right angles.

Galen? he repeated. Whatre you staring at like that?

Oh, nothing, I thought. Just you, thats all, the dead bloke who keeps on coming back to life. Are you all right? I said. You look bloody awful.

So do you, he replied. Look, is there any reason why youre standing there like the last leek in the patch? Waiting for someone, anything like that?

I shook my head.

Fine, he said. Lets get out of here, shall we?

Well, why not? He made it sound like dodging out of some boring family gathering or harvest festival; lets you and me slip round the corner to this great little wine shop I know The others can sort out the fire and clear away the dead bodies, while we have a couple of quick ones. Absolutely, I thought, what a really good idea. Shame I didnt think of that.

The street was crowded with people, all of them getting under each others feet in their hurry to get out of the way We didnt rush (thats one of the good things about having a charmed life, you dont have to worry about getting accidentally killedlike having a wall fall on you, for instance, or being pinned down by a burning roof-beam. You just saunter past the scurrying little people, because everythings just fine, really). As we put the fire behind us, a large cart thundered past, with a gang of hefty-looking men crammed in the back, clutching long hooks and big hammers: the fire brigade, on its way to pull down enough houses to clear a firebreak. Lucius Domitius idea originally, though it was Vespasian who put it through and took all the credit.

Right, I said. So what the hell happened to you?

What? Hed been thinking of something else, by the look of it. Oh, not much to tell, really One moment I was stuck there being talked at by that Pollio manwas he for real, do you know? Only I cant believe anybody could be that obsessed with anything I ever wrote, not even me. Anyway, I remember this crashing noise and I looked round, and then wham! and everything went black on me. When I woke up I was in this barn or stable, just a wooden shed sort of place with straw on the deck and a powerful smell of live stock. Some bastard had tied me to a beam, so I woke up with the most appalling cramp in my legs and my back; and before I could open my eyes properly and say, Hello, where is this?

some big bugger started hitting me round the face and saying, Well, where is it, wheres it hidden? God knows what he was on about. I assumed either he was crazy as a magpie or hed mistaken me for someone else. But every time I tried to say anything, hed just whack me again. Anyhow, hed been at this for what felt like a very long time when guess who showed up? Youll never guessThe Sicilian, I said.

What? Oh, you knew.

Hes a gang boss, I said. His names Strymon.

Strymon, he repeated. Come to think of it, that does ring a bell, I think he was in business back in my time. Fancy that. But anyhow, he turns up and gives the bloke whod been knocking me around a fearful telling-off for starting before he was ready Quite startled him; the bloke whod been thumping me, I mean. I think he expected to be told well done for using his initiative. So he shrugs and pushes off, and this Strymon takes over, but all he does is ask me over and over again, Where is it, wheres the secret hiding place, and every time I ask him whats he talking about, I dont understand, he bashes me. Better at it than the first bloke, too, though to do him credit he was taking care not to hit me where there was any danger of doing permanent damage. Like I was a valuable slave or something. Just when all this was starting to get on my nerves, theres this loud yell, Fire! and sure enough, we can all smell burning.

The Sicilian, Strymon, if thats who he was, first thing he says is, Cut him down quick, get him out of here; then he pushes off to see whats going on. His two heavies cut me down, but while theyre doing that, the fires taken hold bloody quick in our stable, the roofs starting to burn through and theres bits of glowing cinder dropping down, setting light to the straw; also, the smokes getting a bit much. One of the heavies says something like, Screw this, leave him, lets get out of here. The other one says, No, master wants this one safe, its important, you come back here. But its too late, his mates slung his hook, so hes left to finish cutting me down. Serves them right for making such a thorough job of it, I guess. Anyway, as luck would have it, just when Im about loose, a chunk of timber falls down and nuts the bloke, he falls over and just lies there. I get myself free, and so help me, I did my best to drag him out of there, but after all that getting knocked around I just wasnt up to it.

And hes all-over blood from a nasty scalp wound, poor bugger, which makes him horribly slippery so I keep losing my grip, and the smokes got so thick Im choking my lungs up, so in the end I give it up andwell, Im ashamed to say I just left him there and hopped it. And a few moments later, I saw you, and here we are.

(And I thought to myself, Curious, isnt it, the number of people who die saving Lucius Domitius life? All the way from Callistus, right down to Alexander and Pony-tail, and some nameless thug trying to cut him loose from a beam in a burning barn. Death must love him, I thought. The Black Kings heart must leap up at the sight of him, like a shepherds dog in the early morning, when he hears the door scrape.)

I nodded. You had it easy, then, I said, and I told him whatd happened to me, including Didos treasure and all aboutwell, most aboutthe unspeakable Blandinia, and how all the time we thought we were free and clear (except when we were m condemned cells, or the guards were after us) and nobody had a clue who we really were, in fact we were being carefully tracked by the government and at least two teams of private enterprise snoopers. He didnt like that one bit. Oddly enough, I left out what happened to Alexander and Pony-tail; and I didnt say anything about why Blandinia hated him so much, just made it sound like she was a greedy vicious bitchwhich she was, of course, so no harm done.

I guess.

Well, he said, as we carried on sauntering through the streets of Rome like two gentlemen, the way things have turned out, its not so bad, after all. I mean, whos to know I got out of there alive? Nobody, except you and me. Theyll assume I died in the fire, and they wont be looking for me any more. But honestly, do you really believe they were only after me because of Didos treasure? Well, not after me, even; after Callistus. Thats weird.

Cuts both ways, I reasoned. If Callistus looked just like you, stands to reason you look just like Callistus. Only youre the one still walking and talking, if theres any sense in that.

He pulled a face. Not really, he said. But its crazy, all the same. Heres me, the most hated emperor of the Romans theres ever been, and all these people are trying to catch me because they think Im a Greek tall-tale merchant who never did any real harm in his life. Just goes to show, its not what you are or what you do that matters, its what people believe about you.

Well, I wasnt going to argue with that. It wasnt clever or profound enough to be worth arguing with, and besides, he was trampling on a great big bundle of raw nerve-ends in that area (though I dont suppose he realised that) and I just wanted to change the subject.

So, I said, here we are, genuinely free and clear for a change. What now?

He shrugged. Well, he said, if we werent broke and destitute, we could do any damn thing we likedgo lion-hunting in Mesopotamia, or tour the Aegean looking at the cities, or retire to our country villa and spend the rest of our lives translating the Odyssey into Latin iambics. Trouble is, with no money and no way of getting any, were still pretty well anchored in the shit. The only difference is, were no worse off than the fifty thousand other broke, helpless buggers in this city. When you look at it like that, free and clears not necessarily the be-all and end-all.

It looked like it was his big day for stating the screamingly obvious. What now? I repeated. Do we stick around here, or do we go somewhere else? If you want to know what I think, Ive had enough of the big city for a while. Too many undesirable elements, in my opinion.

He sighed. If we go anywhere else, were going to have to walk, he said.

Which rules out most of the more attractive options, such as ranching in Bithynia or a pilgrimage to Athens to study moral philosophy

I dont know, I said. Theres always ships.

He lifted his head. Ive had it with stowing away, he replied. Asking for trouble.

Ah, but we dont have to stow away We could work our passage, like normal people. Both of us know the ropes, after that grain freighter.

True, he admitted. But why bother? If were officially dead, theres nothing to keep us from stopping in Italy Weve done farm work as well as crewing a ship. If you recall, we only cleared off out of that because Strymon was after us.

Come off it, I said. You couldnt stand field work. I was there, remember?

Only because of that clown of a landowner, him and his ponderous hoes. On a normal farm

I stopped him. On a normal farm, I said, thered be a normal bailiff. You wouldnt like him, I promise you. Hed work you to death and feed you pigs

scraps while he pocketed the hired helps food allowance. The trouble with farms large enough to hire casual labour, I went on, is that theyre owned by rich Roman bastards who think theyre the lords of all creation. Probably, I added fair-mindedly, because they are. Take it from me, youd hate it.

He raised an eyebrow. Youre basing this on all the years you spent day-labouring in Italy  he said, presumably while I was asleep or looking the other way. But I guess youre right, he sighed. Pastoral idylls are strictly for the poets, like Virgilius Maro; and we both know how much harm that stuff does, if you take it seriously Shame Im a poet, really

Agreed, I said. Hang on, though, Ive just thought of something.

Oh dear. Well?

I thought for a moment. Youre dead, right?

You could say that, I suppose.

As far as everybody else is concerned, I mean youre officially dead, you and Callistus. Nobodys going to be looking for us any more. Right?

Lets hope so, anyway

Fine. So, whats there to stop you earning us a living by doing the one thing youre sort of half-way competent at?

He frowned. Making trouble for people? Dont think thats a sound commercial proposition.

Singing, I said irritably Playing the harp, all that shit. You always said the only reason you wouldnt do that was because you were afraid someoned recognise you. Well, thats not a problem now, is it? Like, just suppose somebody does think you sound strangely familiarI dont reckon theres any risk at all, but just for arguments sake. Somebody hears you and starts thinking, God, that sounds just like Nero Caesar, I wonder if it could actually be him. So he trots off to the prefects office and says, Guess what, Nero Caesar didnt die after all, hes alive and playing the harp in a roadside wine shop in Calabria . Now, lets suppose, also for arguments sake, that the prefect doesnt have this clown slung in the cells till he sobers up; suppose he takes it seriously He sends off to headquarters, and they send back saying, Dont be ridiculous, its here on file, Nero Caesars dead, and sos the Greek look-alike we were keeping an eye on for ten years. Prefects happy, tells busybody to fuck off. Like I said, free and clear. And we can go around earning an honest living for a change, instead of being chased down alleys by the market patrol.

He lifted his head. Im not doing it, he said. Too dangerous. I mean, you heard that Pollio bloke; and the gladiators, Alexander and JulianusI wish Id had time to say goodbye and thank them, by the way Seems like I owe them a hell of a debt.

Dont change the subject, I said quickly

All right. Like I was saying, you heard them. Mad keen fans, they were. Suppose theyd heard me playing in some tavern courtyard or in someones house, at a party. Theyd have recognised me, you can bet; and they wouldnt have been put off by some blather from the prefects office, theyd have known.

All right, I said. But they wouldnt have done us any harm, either. Bought us a drink, probably That sort of risk I could live with.

Youre missing the point, he growled. Theyd go around telling people, guess who I saw at Pellegrinus bar the other day

And whoever they told would tell them to wear a hat next time they went out in hot sunlight. Even if these mythical fans of yours believed, nobody else would. Come on, I said. Look at it sensibly, for Gods sake. Which do you reckon is the bigger risk: the outside chance of tripping over some loon who really liked your music, or doing the hundred-yard dash against twenty soldiers next time we bugger up a scam and have to run for it? Oh, weve been lucky so far, but as far as luck s concerned, were about due to start seeing the bottom of the jar. And apart from scamming, and you singing and harp-playing, what the fuck else is there we can do? Nothing.

He was quiet for a very long time. Then he looked past me, sort of over my shoulder. I suppose, he said, if I stick to just harp-playing, and dont play any of my own compositionsnow that Im quite definitely dead, as you say

it might not be such a terrible risk, at that.

I sighed with relief Well done, I said. I was sure wed get there in the end.

And it is what Im good at, he went on, starting to sound more than a little bit keen. And its got to be better than swindling and cheating for a livelihood.

I smiled. Safer, too.

Yes, all right, safer. And better than farm work, as you pointed out.

Most things are, I said. After all, a job in the dry; board and lodging thrown in free, like as not. Beats all sorts of trades, if you ask me: house-building and making barrels and shoeing horses and fishing

Not to mention giving pleasure to people, he said enthusiastically Bringing a little happiness into their dull and wretched lives.

I wasnt so sure about that, but I wasnt going to spoil the mood. Its like weve said over and over again, I told him, its what you were born for, and now at last youve got the chance. You should be thrilled, I said persuasively

You know what? It means youre freer now than youve ever been. Like, when you were emperor of the Romans, you still werent really allowed to play music, so much so that it got you slung out on your ear, nearly killed. Im telling you, this is going to turn out to be the first day of your life. Everything thats gone befores just been wasted time and having to pretend you were someone else.

Put like that, it sounds pretty reasonable, he said. Then he pulled a terrible face, like hed just remembered that yesterday was his wifes birthday Theres just one problem.

Oh? Whats that?

I havent got a harp.

Thirteen
Hadnt thought of that, had I?

Bloody musicians, you see. Most people with a trade, its not the sort of problem that causes much grief Youre a stonemason? If you go for a job in a quarry and you dont happen to have your own hammer and chisels, thats fine, therell be tools you can borrow. Shipwright? No problem, borrow what you need from your mates till youve got a few bob saved up, then you nip across to the smithy and have a set made for you, or hang around the auctions till what youre after comes up for sale. Tools arent cheap, exactly; nothings cheap, especially when youre broke. But in any trade you care to name, theres ways round the problem, and skilled tradesmen face it every day of the year, so how you go about dealing with its tolerably well known.

Every trade you care to name, that is, besides harp-playing.

All right, I said, lets think about this calmly. Youre a harp-player. Where do harps come from?

Easy From the harp-maker.

I scowled. Yes, I said, but he doesnt just pluck them off the branches of the harp tree when the Pleiades are rising. He makes them. Cant you make one? I dont suppose its all that difficult.

No, he said. Actually, its extremely difficult. Youve got to get everything just right, or the thing sounds like a fight between two cats.

I sighed. I see, I said. So, how much do they cost, then?

He shrugged. Search me, he said. Never bought one in my life. I just said to someone, Fetch me a harp, and a few heartbeats later, a harp appeared, on a red silk cushion.

He was being feeble at me. All right, I said, but you must have some idea what they cost. More than a plough? Less than a warship?

No idea. Please bear in mind, before I went on the road with you, I didnt know the price of a loaf of bread, let alone a harp. A war in Bithynia or a harbour or boots for twenty thousand infantry, yes, I could tell you more or less what thatd cost. But not little things.

This was getting silly Fine, I said. We cant make one, chances are we cant buy one. That leaves stealing. I paused. We can do stealing, I said.

Fine. Who were you planning on stealing one from?

Good point. You dont see many harps in the course of a days walk. Yes, but were in Rome , I pointed out. Biggest city in the world. Stands to reason, there must be more harp-players to the square foot here than anywhere else. We just go where harp-players hang out, I guess. The market square, probably

I dont know He was coming over all foggy again. I thought the whole idea of this was so that we wouldnt have to do stuff like that any more.

Itd just be one last time, I said.

No

Fine. I shrugged. Youll just have to sing for a living, then, instead of harp-playing. Broad as its long, really

So we set off to steal a harp. Now it sounds like something you ought to be able to do if you set your mind to it. After all, when you think of all the things human beings have managed to achieve over the centuriesbuilding the pyramids, say, or melting glass out of sandstealing harps should be a piece of cake for two grown men on a warm day Well, it probably is, in Platos Republic or some such place, where everythings as it should be and all is for the best. In the cesspit where the sons of Romulus hang out, on the other hand, its almost impossibly difficult. I mean, you remember the old stories, where the hero wants to marry the wicked kings daughter, and the wicked king sets him three apparently impossible tasks, which he manages without breaking into a sweat.

Just goes to show how dumb those wicked kings really were. Instead of all that buggering about with killing dragons and fetching three-headed dogs from the Underworld, all they had to do was say, Go steal a harp, and the hero wouldve have died an elderly bachelor, if he was that lucky Well, eventually we found some harp-players, after wed tramped round the squares and the temple yards and all the other places where day-labourers hang out in the city: about a dozen of them, to be precise, along with twenty-odd flute-girls, eight or nine drummers and two rather alarming-looking Cilicians who did noisy things with bells. Presumably they were waiting for someone to hire them, though they didnt seem to be in any hurry; not like the poor sods at the hiring fairs we used to have out our way when I was a kid, where youd find thirty or forty sad-looking blokes scrambling all over you if you hinted you might have a days trench-digging to bestow on some worthy candidate. Maybe its a musician thing, I dont know; anyhow, they were sprawled all over the paved court in front of Juno-on-the-Subura, passing round jugs of toothstripper wine and combing each others hair, and when we strolled up and sat down on the temple steps, a few of them turned round and smiled, while the rest ignored us.

I guess they could tell by our appearance that we werent hiring, and they had us down as either fellow songbirds or general loungers.

The harp-players were easy enough to spot, because they had harps.

Unfortunately, separating them from same looked like it was going to be beyond us. For one thing, carefree and bohemian they might have been, but every one of them kept his pride and joy right up close, either with his hand resting on it or tucked under the crook of his knee, so there wasnt any chance of just sidling off with one. Even if wed had the brass balls to snatch a harp, we wouldnt have got two paces, since the musicians were bunched so up tight youd have had trouble threading your way past them at the best of times. Lucius Domitius looked at me and sighed, and we were about to get up and walk away when we noticed that there was a game of dice going on.

Clearly, we were in no position to start gambling, since we didnt have any money, or very much of anything else, except dust and fleas. On the other hand, what could they do to us if we lost and couldnt pay up? Well, they could smash our faces in, but whats mere physical pain when youre down and out anyway?

Besides, Lucius Domitius was no slug when it came to rolling dice; hed learned from one of the finest dice-players of his age, his uncle, the late Claudius Caesarit was the one thing they had in common, and the only time old Claudius could stand to have Lucius Domitius in the same room with him was when they were throwing the bones. Now, for all that he had this wonderful gift, we tended to shy away from games of chance after a nasty experience we had after wed been together on the road for about six months; I wont bore you with the details, but it involved a disputed throw of Venus, two very large Cypriot market porters, and a cesspit. Wed learned our lesson after that, and got into the habit of being somewhere else whenever a game started up. But here we were, with nothing to lose except our teeth, where a lucky fall of the dice might result in money, or a harp, or both. I nudged Lucius Domitius in the ribs, and for once he seemed to be on the same wavelength as me; he gestured to me to stay put, then got up and wandered over to where the game was.

Excuse me, he said, but that looks like fun.

A harp-player looked up, and said, Fun? like it was the last possible word hed have thought of in that context.

That game youre playing, Lucius Domitius said. I seem to remember we used to play a game something like that when I was a boy, and we went down the mountain to visit my aunt and uncle.

All the gamblers were looking at him now Is that so? said one of them, in a nice, clear, pissoffwerebusy voice. Small world, isnt it?

Mind if I watch for a moment? Lucius Domitius went on. Id like to see if I can remember the rules.

Sure, said one of them. Just keep your face shut, all right? Were trying to concentrate.

So he sat down on his haunches and watched them for a while. Then, in a break between points, he said, Sorry to butt in again, but where does the money come into it?

A drummer craned his neck and frowned at him. You what? he said.

I couldnt help noticing, Lucius Domitius said, you keep handing round coins while youre playing. Is it like counters, so you know whose turn it is? Or is it something to do with keeping score?

Me telling you what he said, it must sound pathetically corny, and youre thinking, what kind of nitwit would fall for an obvious spiel like that? Well, thats because youre not getting the deliverywhich, all credit to him, was superb. Pure genius. It was so good, even I was ready to believe that here was some buffoon up from the country whod never heard of playing dice for money If they had their doubts, my guess is that greed overrode them, they wanted him to be what he seemed, the biggest natural mark in the history of the world, so much that they refused to listen to the nagging little voices in their heads.

Amazing.

Well, said a harp-player, after a short silence. Its like this.

Now obviously, there was a problem, and Im sure youre way ahead of me and youve figured it out for yourselves. Just in case you havent: before theyd let him play, mug or no mug, he was going to have to ante up the price of a call, and of course he didnt have any money, not one solitary copper farthing.

I wasnt sure what Id been expecting him to do. In his place, I expect Id have tried to palm a few coins off the pot when I thought nobody was watching (and Id have got caught, sure as winter, and thered have been a nasty scene and quite probably violence). What Lucius Domitius did was far smarter. He listened patiently while the bloke explained the basic theory and practice of gambling, then he said, Thank you, thats very interesting, and stood up to leave.

Where are you off to? one of them said in dismay Arent you going to stay and try your luck for a point or two?

Lucius Domitius looked terribly, terribly sad. Id love to, he said, but I cant. You see, I havent got any money General despair; all the worse because theyd all got their hopes up so. Oh,

one of them said. Pity, that.

Lucius Domitius nodded. All Ive got is five donkeys loaded with salt, down at the cooks marketthats what we do, my brother and me, we pan for it down on the coast this time of year, when theres not much doing on the land. Its an interesting sideline and we make quite a good thing of it, especially when the price holds up, like this year. I think

The gamblers didnt actually want an insight into the workings of the salt trade right then. What they wanted was to fleece a sucker. Five donkeys, one of them interrupted. So, how much salt can a donkey carry, then?

Lucius Domitius shrugged. Depends, he said. We dont like to overload them, theyre getting on a bit, like we all are. So we keep it down to somewhere round one and a half hundredweight.

You could see them all doing the figuring in their heads; five by a hundred and fifty, times five sesterces. The click when they all arrived at the same answer at more or less the same moment was so loud they probably heard it at Veii .

Tell you what, one of them said, trying not to quiver, why dont you bet us some of your salt against cash money? We dont mind, itd be like the army Lucius Domitius shook his head. Oh, I couldnt do that, he said. Whatd happen if I lost? My brotherd get upset if I go giving away our salt.

Ah yes, said a harp-player, but think how pleased hed be if you won.

Not much chance of that, Lucius Domitius said. After all, its the first time Ive played in a long, long while. And thisgambling, did you call it? Funny wordthis gamblings all new to me. I know, he went on. Howd it be if we just played for stuff that isnt worth anything? Bits of gravel, or beans? That way, we could have all the fun, and I wont have to worry about my brother shouting at me.

They werent happy, but the thought of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity slipping away was too much for them. Good idea, one of them said mournfully

Well play a point or two like that, until youve had a chance to see how easy it is. Then maybe youll change your mind.

Dont get the impression that Im a great expert on dice-playing, because Im not. But a child of three couldve spotted they were cheating, doing every damn thing they could think of to make sure they lost. Goes to show how completely Lucius Domitius had em foxed, because they were concentrating so much on losing to him that they didnt notice the pretty raw strokes he was pulling to make sure he lost to them. No; all they saw was that in spite of the very best they could do, the mug was such a dead loss dice-roller that he couldnt help losing every third point. So, when finally Lucius Domitius (eyes shining like a bride on her wedding-day, cheeks rosy with excitement at this wonderful new game)

said, All right, then, I think Ive got the hang of this, lets play for stakes, they were hard put to it not to bust out grinning, like dogs whove slipped into a sausage shop when the owners forgotten to put the catch on the door.

Wait there, Lucius Domitius said, getting up off his knees, Ill go and fetch some salt. I wont be more than an hour.

That panicked them. An awful lot can happen in an hour, they were thinking. You could see them picturing the scene in their mindsHere, brother, where are you going with all that salt? Oh, I met some people over on the Subura, and were going to do gambling. Not with our salt you arent, you gullible clown ...

Thats all right, one of them called out in a rather hoarse voice, well trust you for it. Sit down and lets get on with the game, while youre on a lucky streak.

Since Lucius Domitius had lost four out of the last seven points, lucky streak

was taking poetic licence a bit far, but he said, Oh, all right then, in a cheerful voice and sat down again. They handed him the dice, and he proceeded to lose.

Boy, did he lose. By the time theyd been playing for an hour, he was down a nominal one thousand sesterces, or nearly a third of our mythical stash of salt.

Then it was as if hed just woken up out of a dream, to find hed wet the bed.

This is dreadful, he said. Whats my brother going to say? We were going to use that money to dedicate an altar to our stepmother, rest her soul. Hell kill me.

Genuinely distressing to hear him, so much so that all the gamblers but one looked away and didnt say a word. But the one whod been doing all the winning, and held most of Lucius Domitius markers, grinned hungrily and said, Tell you what. Ill give you one chance to win it all back. The whole lot. What do you say?

Lucius Domitius bit his lip. I dont know, he said. I think Ive done enough damage for one day

The gambler wasnt having that. Heres the deal, he said.

Double or quits. One point. You could get it all back. Go on, its a wonderful chance.

Lucius Domitius handled it well. At first he wouldnt hear of it. Then, as the gambler upped the stakes, he let himself get talked into it, one step at a time, until finally they reached a deal: the markers plus another five hundred sesterces worth, against what was in the pottwo hundred sesterces, and Ill even throw in my harp. There, I cant say fairer than that, can I?

Lucius Domitius went through all the torments of Sisyphus before he finally nodded and said, Go on, then. The gambler beamed like sunrise over the Adriatic , and handed him the dice. There was dead silence. Lucius Domitius scrunched the dice together in his hand, and then he threw He lost.

Oh well, the gambler said, never mind. Better luck next time. Lucius Domitius was staring at the dice like he was Orestes facing the Furies. All right, he said, one more throw All the rest of the salt, against what youve won already Just one more point, he added pitifully Please.

But the gambler shook his head. Sorry, he said, I cant do that. Itd be tempting Fate, and Im very religious.

There was a moment of dead silence; everybody staring. Then Lucius Domitius nodded, once. Fair enough, he said. You wait there, Ill get the salt.

The gambler scowled mustard at him. Oh no, he said. Not likely Im coming with you.

Please yourself, Lucius Domitius said with a shrug. Doesnt matter to me, one way or the other. Follow me.

So off he went, with the gambler tight at his heels, like a well-trained hound.

As they passed me, I waited a moment or so, then quietly got up and followed. As luck would have it, there was a dark, narrow alley quite close by I tried not to hit the gambler harder than necessary; he was a greedy bastard, but it was us who set him up, not the other way round.

Fine, I said, straightening my back, now weve got a harp. Lets get out of here, before his mates come looking for him.

We dragged him over to a handy midden and dumped him, then set off for the Praenestine Gate. We ought to remember that one for another time, I said, jogging along to keep up with Lucius Domitius, who was putting in big, long strides. I mean, theres other things beside harps.

But he lifted his head. Were giving up on all that, he said, thats the whole point. Now Ive got this, and he hugged the harp like it was his baby son, we wont have to do this stuff any more. Free and clear; isnt that how you put it?

If there was anybody watching out for us at the gate, they were subtle about it; we didnt get that hairs-curling-on-the-back-of-the-neck feeling as we left the city (though thats not a reliable warning sign, believe me; one of these days Ill tell you about that time in Noricum, when the bloke wed spent an evening bragging to, thinking he was the head of the local thieves guild, turned out to be the military prefects batman).

The plan was to stroll the thirty-odd miles to Praeneste along the straight, level military road. Praenestes the sort of place where a jobbing harp-player has his pick of engagementsplenty of knights and businessmen trying to act like knights have houses or villas there, handy for the city but countrified enough to play at being Cincinnatus in; failing which, there were inns and taverns where we could pass the hat round and be likely to find something in it afterwards, aside from apple cores and a few stray hairs. Comfortable, affluent Middle Italy Gods own country As we walked along, feeling those precision-cut military cobbles under our thin-soled feet at every step and dodging out of the way of speeding chariots and huge rumbling cabbage wagons, Lucius Domitius got in some serious harp practice. Itd been ten years, he said, and he hadnt so much as picked up a harp in all that time. Not that it was something you could forget, he was at pains to point out; but the fingertips get soft and the muscles get complacent.

He was right, at that. To begin with, the only noises he could get out of the thing were tinny plunks, like the sound of a silversmith working over a cracked anvil. But he fiddled with the strings and the pegs for a bit, and eventually produced something that a deaf man might mistake for music, if he wasnt paying attention.

Right, he said (plunk, plink). So what do you think I ought to include in my repertoire? Nothing too grand or fancy, enough for an hours set, with encores.

I scratched my chin. How about The Spanish Centurions Daughter? I suggested. We always used to laugh at that when I was a kid.

He frowned at me down his nose. I dont think I know that one, he said. And anyway, I was thinking of something a bit more upmarket than taproom ballads. Some Heliodorus to start with, perhaps, and then maybe something a bit more meaty: Phrixus or Strepsiades. The Tears of Niobe always goes down well in the provinces.

I yawned. Do me a favour, I said. People dont want culture when theyre sitting all cosy at home in the country, they want something they can sing along to, or hum. The old favourites, you know: Such A Man or Ill Hide My Sword. 

Oh, please. He looked as if Id just farted in his face. All right, if the only gig we can get is in an Egyptian brothel, where they want something to drown out the screams. But if Im going to be playing for gentlemen... He frowned. Well, rich people, anyway I mean to say, if youre entertaining a few friends over a quiet dinner, you want something a bit refined, to set the tone. 

Balls, I argued. What theyll want is something with a bit of a beat to it, not all that long-haired stuff. Tell you what, I added, when I saw him puffing himself up like a bullfrog. Practice a bit of both. Then when we get there, you can gauge the mood of the house and adapt accordingly

He pulled a face, but it made obvious sense, so thats what he did:

For every precious little hendecasyllabic moreau, a good old-fashioned vaudeville number with lots of choruses. By the time we stopped for the night at a nice-looking roadhouse, I felt a bit like Ulysses and the sirens, when his men tied him to the mast while the nasty women sang at him. Well, at least Lucius Domitius didnt sing. Just as well, or thered have been blood on the cobbles before we reached the eighth milestone.

The roadhouse was doing good business: stables full, people in travelling clothes lounging about on the porch, potboys and kitchenmaids scurrying across the yard fetching wood and water and stuff. A quick glance at the tariff painted up on the outside wall gave me a reasonable idea of what sort of place it was:

Bread                        1a Relishes                    2a Hay: per mule          2a per horse         3a Wine: Falernian       4a/6th House                       2a/6th

         Ordinary          la/6th

 

Well, quite: fancy prices for the carriage trade. Good sign, I thought; someone wholl cough up twopence for a pint of drinking wine wouldnt think twice about flipping a farthing or two into a hat if hed happened to like the tune.

Actually, it always amazes me how people who wouldnt normally give you the dirt between their toes will happily throw away good copper money on a snatch of a song in a public place. Nearly everyone puts in something, apart from the very poor and the very rich. If I had my time over again, Id be a harpist.

Obviously, it was good manners and common sense to ask the landlord before setting up a pitch. As wed expected, he didnt mind; a nice cheerful tune would entertain his customers, he said, maybe pull one or two passers-by in off the road. Just so long as we didnt get under anybodys feet, that was fine. In fact, if we were good for business, hed send the girl over with some of yesterdays bread when the rush was over, and we could doss down in the hayloft over the traphouse for free.

Lucius Domitius might have talked like an idiot half the time, but he had the common sense to lay off the Heliodorus and the Strepsiades and stick to ballads and showtunes. As a result, we did all right, which pleased us both, me because I like money, Lucius Domitius because (as he put it) theres no better accompaniment for instrumental harp, musically speaking, than the rhythmical clinking of copper in a felt or leather receptacle. A small crowd gathered after a while and asked if he did requests. Most of them were for Gone For A Soldier

or Agrippinas Dwarf or the-one-that-goes tum-tumpty-tum; but one old toothless git of an ex-soldier hobbled up and asked for Banks of Scamander. If you dont know that oneand most people dontits a catchy little number by one Lucius Domitius Nero Claudius Caesar Germanicus, about the only thing he ever wrote thats got a tune you can whistle. Of course, the old soldier didnt put anything in the hat; in fact, after a moment or so he wandered off to the bar to cadge drinks. He made Lucius Domitius day, even so, and I think if hed tried to touch us for money, Lucius Domitius wouldve given him the whole hatful out of sheer gratitude.

Luckily, though, it didnt come to that; and, by the time we retired to our hayloft with our basket of stale bread (with some ancient watercress and a wedge of hard cheese thrown in out of sheer naked benevolence), we were only a farthing short of four sesterces. Not just good money, practically wealth.

I told you, I told him, we shouldve done this years ago. Sixteen pence, just for tickling a few strips of gut. It beats work, thats for sure.

Lucius Domitius frowned. You cant have been paying attention, he said. That was work. Bloody hard work. On my feet playing, four hours without a break

Thats not work, I pointed out, thats what you used to do for fun. Dammit, you used to bribe people to come and listen to you. And even if it does count as work, three weeks money for four hours graftnext best thing to being a senator, I reckon.

Whatever. He made a show of being tired, yawning, stretching, all that. Now would you mind shutting your face, please? I want to eat this garbage theyve given us and go to sleep, if its all the same to you.

I wasnt offended, or at least not much. All right, I said. Well divvy up the takings, and then we can turn in

He scowled at me. What do you mean, divvy up? he asked unpleasantly

Divvy up, I repeated. You get your half, I get mine, same as weve always done.

He laughed. You can forget that, he said. I earned it, Im keeping it. You be grateful youve got a feed and a roof over your head.

I couldnt believe my ears. You what? I said.

You heard me. I work, I get paid. Or were you accompanying me on the flute, and I didnt notice?

You bastard, I pointed out. Here, give me my share, before I lose my temper. 

Youd have thought hed have apologised, said he was sorry for trying it on. Not a bit of it. He actually seemed upset at me. You thieving little Greek, he snapped at me. What the hell do you mean, your share? You didnt do a damn thing, just sat there with your feet up. You didnt even take the hat round.

I was telling myself, Stay calm, put up with it, losing your rag never helped anything. Arsehole, I said, and I was starting to get all shrill and speechless. Whose idea was it in the first place, for fucks sake? Who had to talk you into this gig, when you were saying, Oh no, we dont dare, someonell recognise me? Who was it said we could steal a harp? Who was it bashed that bloke on the head? Come to that, who was it saved you from Strymon, when anybody else wouldve just left you there? Youd be dead right now if it wasnt for me. 

I like that, he sneered. All right, if were playing that game, who rescued you from the prefects men in Alexandria ? Who went back and got you out of that prison in Damascus , when they werent even looking for me?

Oh, right, I said. And I suppose you got away from that tallow-chandler and his men in Istria all by yourself, I had nothing to do with it.

You got me into that mess to begin with, Ill give you that, he said. But all I remember about that is how you nearly got us both killed, saying we could jump to the ground from the window

Screw you, I said. All right, what about the fishmonger in Halicarnassus ? He was going to chop your hands off with his cleaver.

Balls. And since you started this, what about that time you were up on a cross, and I told them to let you go? Cant trump that, can you?

Yes, but that was only because of Callistus stopped short; we both knew that was far enough. Otherwise Id have to say What about the time my brother died to save you? and that wouldnt do either of us any good.

He stared down at the straw Well, he said, I guess you did help me choose the music. And getting the harp was your idea And

I lifted my head. Halfs too much, I said. I think we should change the split. How about three to one?

Straight down the middle, like weve always done, he insisted.

Otherwise its too complicated. Well only end up arguing over half a farthing.

Better still, I said, you be treasurer, hang on to the money, and when we need stuff, we pay for it. I mean, wheres the point splitting it up? Its not like were going our separate ways or anything.

No, thats right, he said, not looking at me. Thats not likely to happen, not after all this time. If youd rather carry the moneyWhat, get lumbered with all that extra weight? No fear. Youre the big, strong one, you can do the heavy lifting. I clicked my tongue. Im sorry, I said. I shouldnt have yelled at you like that. Wasnt called for.

Forget it. Eat your dinner before it rots.

Always the same; its not what you say that really buggers things up, its what you dont say Worse still is when you dont say it so loud that even a deaf man with his head down a hole cant help hearing it. Its not like were going our separate ways, no, thats not likely to happen, not after all this time. What he didnt say was, well, this is what Ive come to, even when Ive had my second chance, my fresh start: busking outside taverns, stuck with you. I guess it was playing the harp again that started him off. So long as he hadnt done that, hadnt played music, sung, any of that shit, hed been able to keep himself buried deep down inside. Hed concentrated on the running away and not getting caughteasy enough when youre starving and on the run, you have to pay attention, you cant let your mind wander off into the places youd rather it didnt go. Youve got an excuse. But when youre free and clear, and the noveltys starting to wear off, like the silver wash on a dud coin, you stop and think, Hang on; so Im still alive and they havent got me, but where in hell is this place, and how did I ever get here? And then you start thinking, and how exactly am I going to get home? A bit like Ulysses, really; you survive the Cyclops and the clashing rocks and the sirens and the kingdom of the dead and the witch who turns men into pigs and the shipwreck and God knows what else, and you come to an empty beach, where you stand up and find youve lost everything. All your ships sunk, your men dead, your treasure and weapons dumped or at the bottom of the sea, your clothes ripped off you in the reefs. You stand up on that beach naked in a strange country, and you say to the gods, Thank you very much, thanks for nothing; I did all that, I was a fucking hero, and look where its got me. You stand there on the beach, and youve got nothing left but yourself, who you are. Only Lucius Domitius didnt even have that. On the one hand, he had a harp; on the other hand, he had me. Poor, unlucky bastard.

(And then I thought, yes, but when Ulysses told them who he was they gave him a ship full of treasure, more than hed robbed off the Trojans, far more than hed lost along the way; and they gave him a lift home and unloaded his going-away presents on the beach, and all his troubles were practically over. He was free and clear, and in the end he got back everything hed lost, and lived happily ever after. Lucius Domitiuswell, hed got a harp again, he was playing music and people were listening, enjoying it, even; was that a shipful of treasure to him, far more than hed lost along the way? Wouldnt be surprised if he saw it like that. Never did have much sense, my friend Lucius Domitius.

And then I thought, what about what Blandinia had told me, the things hed done, the things he used to be. Suppose, when he stood up on the beach after the shipwreck, it turned out that that was what was left. Suppose that was the real Lucius Domitius, and the only reason he hadnt done any of that stuff in our ten years together was because he hadnt had the opportunity? You think you know someone. You think you can judge character, but you cant, and thats how frauds and swindlers and bastards like me make our living, pretending to be good when were bad to the core. Now Ive never been any good at that gamenot because Im a good man, but because Im not even good at being bad; if either of us had any talent in that line, it was him. He could tell a tale, put on a character, make you believe he was something he wasnt. You think you know someone, but all you ever get to see is bits and pieces, and thats at the best of times. Except Callistus, of course. But he was different

And besides, Ive always wondered about Ulysses. I mean, heres this bloke, so were meant to believe, who gets dumped on by every god in the sky For ten years, its just one ghastly, horrible adventure after another. No sooner has he managed to slither out of one certain-death scenario but he slides into the next one, nastier and even more certain-death than the last one, chased by monsters and soldiers and probably market commissioners and pork butchers with big cleavers, though the poet doesnt mention them. All this time, hes scheming and scamming and lying to everybody he meets, tricking and cheating, ducking and dodging his way, right across the known world, from Troy to Sicily Even when finally he gets home, against all the odds, its not as if theyre pleased to see him or anything. Oh noits still more lies and tricks and schemes, ending up with the most appalling bloodbath right there in his own dining room, him against the whole senate and people of Ithaca, and what for? All this heroism, all these amazing deeds that will live for ever in the memories of generations yet unborn; what does he get out of it at the end? Gold, silver, prizes, purple tapestries, a triumphal arch and a procession down main street, followed by the hand of the beautiful teenage princess in marriage? Like hell. All he gets out of it is the privilege of going to sleep in his own little room again, next to a faded old bag with a face like a prune who he hasnt seen in twenty years. I ask youwhy bother? Stupid fool shouldve stayed in Phaeacia and got a job.

Still, I cant talk. Been there, done that; only I was never a king or a prince or an emperor of the Romans to begin with, and if I went home and started picking off my enemies there with a bow and arrow, Id get nailed to the nearest tree, and quite right too. When Ive stood up on that beach, naked and destitute, with nothing but me left, theyve arrested me for vagrancy and slung me in the lock-up. I could roll up at the palace gate on Scheria wearing nothing but an embarrassed grin and say I was the long-lost king of Ithaca till I was blue in the face, but no one would ever believe me. I guess telling the tale only works if the tale is true, or if you can make them believe it is.)

 

We spent the day lounging about. We realised that we werent in any hurry to get to Praeneste. In fact, wed only told ourselves we were going there because people as a rule need to believe theyre going somewhere, rather than just wandering aimlessly about. But it seemed silly to leave this safe, comfortable billet, where we had food to eat and a place to sleep, money to pick up by the hatful, and where the guy in charge didnt seem to mind us being there. Youd have to be as thick as army bacon to walk out on all that on the off chance of finding something almost as good twenty miles down a hard, dusty road.

Sooner or later, I told Lucius Domitius, theyll get sick of the sight of us and set the dogs on us, and then we can go to Praeneste. Meanwhile...

He yawned. Sure, he said, why not? Crazy, isnt it? He laughed. It must be weird, stopping in one spot your whole life. People do it, though, so it must be possible. I mean, take this place. You can bet the innkeeper took over from his dad, who got it from his dad, and so on back to Aeneas and Lars Porsena. A bit like an empire, really, only its smaller. And, he added, chewing a straw, not nearly as much pain and effort. Itd be fun, running an inn.

I laughed. Dont you believe it, I said. I grew up in one, remember? Its bloody hard work, all hours of the day and night; and its bad enough in regular jobs where youve got one or two bosses ordering you about. In the tavern business, every bugger who walks in through the doors your boss, and you spend your whole life being told what to do by strangers. Fuck that for a swim in a cesspit.

He shrugged. Thats just you, Galen, he said. Its like every place weve ever been. Soon as we move on, suddenly it becomes a dump, the last place the gods made, the armpit of the universe; at least, until we go on somewhere else, and then that takes over as the most dismal spot on earth. In all the years weve been together, I cant remember you ever saying anything nice about a place.

Yes, but thats not me being miserable. Its just that all the places weve been were horrible.

Really? He looked at me. You dont think theres a simpler explanation, maybe. Well, who knows? Perhaps youre right. What about here, then? Is this a horrible dump, or have we finally broken our ten-year bad patch and stumbled on somewhere thats slightly decent?

Its all right, I said. I mean, theres nothing actually bad about it. Just a roadhouse, thats all; not bad, not good, not anything, really If you were a regular citizen, like a trader or something, and you stopped here on your way somewhere, I dont suppose youd even notice it.

True, he replied. Extremely telling point you just made there, only its not a point about this place, or even wayside inns in general. Its a point about people. Oh, I know; if Id had to spend the night here in the old days, Id have been furious at whoever was in charge of planning itineraries for stranding me for a whole night in a poxy little inn. Someone wouldve ended up in the stone quarries for that. But, like I said, thats a comment about me, about the way I was back then. Doesnt tell you anything important about this inn.

The way he was then .. . Interesting, I thought. Sure, I replied, but you were hardly a regular citizen. Im talking about ordinary people. Not emperors of the Romans, and not poor unfortunate buggers like us with empty bellies and boot soles as thin as onion skins. You cant go by what the very rich think, or the very poor. Theyre always different.

Funny way you have of seeing things, he said. Of course, by that way of reckoning, I never was ordinary people. An emperor and a tramp, the opposite ends, but never the in-between. You know, I probably have a very strange view of the world. Unique, even.

I was getting bored with this discussionjust think of that, will you? A Greek, fed up with talking. If youd told me such a thing could exist, Id have laughed in your face. I expect so, I said. Unique, and no bloody good to any body else. Sounds about right, for us.

That evening, Lucius Domitius played and the hat went round. The take was rather less, three and a half sesterces as against a gnats nibble under four, it was still more money than either of us had ever earned by honest work in our whole lives before. Good money, just for picking at a few bits of sheeps innards. If only, I kept saying to myself, if only wed known about this racket earlier, like maybe nine years and nine months ago. For one thing, wed both be rich by now; or at least, wed have earned enough to buy a few acres, a little farm on a hillside with barley interplanted between the vine rows so as not to waste space. Onlyback then, mindif youd said to us, work hard for ten years and, if youre lucky eventually you might get to be small-time peasantswell, its not the sort of offer that sets you quivering like a bird dog, is it?

The landlord was pleased, anyhow According to him, bar takings were up, either because we cheered people up and so they spent more, or else because they came in the bar instead of sitting outside in the yard because of the godawful racket. Either way was good enough for him, and to mark his grateful thanks, he saw to it that we each got a raw onion with our stale bread and leftovers that night. Fantastic.

Wait, it gets better. The fourth night, we got pigs trotters, and the seventh night we were invited to move our stuff from the hayloft down into the coachhouse. I did some rough figuring and reckoned that at that rate, after a year wed be running the place. Five years, and wed be provincial governors.

So what does he do? the landlord asked my harp-player, as we munched our onion on the tenth night. I mean, you play the harp, pretty well if you ask me, and the customers like it. But I havent seen him do anything, except sit around.

Hes my manager, Lucius Domitius answered, with his mouth full. Manager, personal trainer, harp coach. If it wasnt for him, I wouldnt be where I am today

Is that right? The innkeeper shrugged. Well, you wouldnt think it to look at him. Still, whatever works for you guys. Anyway, I was thinking. Instead of playing out in the yard, why not come in the bar? At least, we could try it out for a day or so, and if it doesnt work out, you can go back to how you were, no harm done.

Lucius Domitius lifted his head. I like it in the yard, he said. Good acoustics. A bit like the theatre at Tarentum. You ever been there?

Me? The innkeeper looked mildly shocked. I dont go anywhere, he said. Too much to do here. Never been further than the village in my life.

Really? Lucius Domitius raised an eyebrow Youve never been to Rome ?

 Rome ? God, no.

But its only a day or so down the road. Less, if you ride.

When can I spare a day or so, busy man like me? This place doesnt run itself, you know

Lucius Domitius clicked his tongue. The greatest city in the world, on your doorstep, and youve never been. Arent you even curious?

No.

That seemed to settle that. Fine, Lucius Domitius said. Why should you be, after all? Its just a lot of houses and shops, and a few temples and things. No big deal, at all.

The innkeeper nodded. Thats just how I see it, he said. And anyway, if ever I want to see the world, I just look in my bar. Everybody comes here, see. Ive had all sorts stay here. Merchants, business people, knights, foreigners even.

Had a senator, once. I dont have to travel, they all come to me sooner or later.

Quite. Lucius Domitius smiled gravely You never know, one day you might have the emperor of the Romans, right here in your bar.

Wouldnt that be something, the innkeeper said. Though I dont know as Id fancy that. Good for trade, people coming to see where Caesar himself stopped the night; but hed want everything the very best, and I dont suppose he ever pays for anything. When we had that senator, he made me send out for vintage Falernian and Hymettus honey and we never saw any money off him. Bastard, he added sadly This whole place wouldnt keep his boyfriend in white lead for a week. Still, there you go. Doesnt do any good complaining.

So there we were; and to tell you the truth, Ive been in worse places. After a while it got a bit boring, with nothing to do all day but sit around. There were plenty of people to talk to, of course, and that helped. Found out a few things, too. The new emperor, Titus Caesar, was doing a grand job; likely to turn out better than his old man, they reckoned, him having been born a gentleman, while Vespasian Caesar had been nobody when he started out. There had been a lot of excitement in the city lately: open war between two street gangs, with a whole neighbourhood set on fire, loads of people killeda fine gentleman hacked to death in his own house, even, though obviously he mustve been involved with the rackets in some way Of course, the guards had been down on the lot of them like a ton of bricks after that, and thatd put them in their place, because you cant have pitched baffles in the street and fires and stuff, and Titus Caesar wasnt the sort of man whod stand for that sort of thing. By all accounts, the biggest of the gangs, Strymons lot, had been rooted out like bindweed, though they hadnt got the man himself (still, it was just a matter of time); and the other one, Scyphax, nobodyd seen him for a while, so chances were hed done the sensible thing and got out of town. Anyhow, it was a good thing, cracking down hard on crime, and it just went to show how important it was, having a strong man for an emperor. Not like the bad old days, they all agreed.

I had mixed feelings about that. All in all, I reckoned, it was just as well Lucius Domitius and I were dead because otherwise, if I was Strymon or Amyntas, I might be feeling a bit hard done by, and in the mood to share my bad luck with someone. In fact, if I was still alive, Id be thinking seriously about moving on, maybe heading for India or Hiberia or the Island of the Lotuseaters, instead of loafing around the yard of an inn no more than a days ride from the city. But when youve died and been burnt to ashes, probably had a building or two fall in on top of your charred embers, you dont have to fret about stuff like that. You could say it was probably the smartest move I ever made, dying.

Couple of times, I caught myself thinking about Didos treasure. Well, quite; but I had loads of time on my hands and not much else to do. I thought, sure, it sounds like a load of centaurs feathers, but men like Strymon and Amyntas dont go around believing in dumb old tales. If they set so much store by it, there had to be something to it, maybe something Lucius Domitius or his knight who told him about it didnt know Maybe there was a huge pile of gold and silver parked in a cave somewhere, at that; and if so, it wasnt doing anybody any good just sitting there. Of all things, it set me to thinking about Ulysses again, how hed been washed ashore on that old beach, and come away with more gold and silver and treasure than hed had when he left Troy with all his plunder. I thought about what Lucius Domitius had said, how if hed found this Didos treasure, itd have paid all the debts of the empire, put him right back in the black, and all his troubles wouldve been over. And I thought, What if Lucius Domitius and I happened to get washed up on that beach, with nothing but our skins and the dirt under our nails, and we happened to find that treasure? At one stroke hed be every bit as rich as hed been in the old days; more so, even. I thought, What if we were to happen to find Scheria and that lucky beach?

(Only wed have more sense than to go home after that. I may not be the sharpest razor in the case, but Im not dumb, like Ulysses. Wed stay in Cloud Cuckoo City , between this world and the other one, like men whove died but not stopped living. Yes, I thought, I could get used to that. I mean, whats the point of travelling around, or even going home, when all the places I go to are horrible anyhow?)

The morning of the fourteenth day, I was sat on the mounting block in the yard, trying to figure out how two men would set about shifting a thousand tons of gold ingots out of a cave and up a cliff (I was thinking: block and tackle, mule-powered winches, how about those swinging crane jobs they use in Mesopotamia for pumping water?), when I heard a voice I recognised. Im good at voiceshad to be, over the years, for obvious reasons connected with my professionand besides, this one wasnt hard. It was distinctive, you could say; and not so long ago Id been putting myself out to get chances to listen to it.

I thought, as I slid backwards over the mounting block and cowered behind it, not daring to move, that maybe Lucius Domitius wasnt so dumb after all, with his endless fretting about people hearing him sing and recognising him. Voices are easier to tell apart than faces, if you ask me.

It was that bloody woman, Myrrhine; you remember, the sweet, caring, angel-of-mercy sister of Amyntas, aka Scyphax, the gangster. She was talking to one of the grooms, a nice enough bloke by the name of Marcus Mezentius. Id played a few games of knuckle-bones with him over the past few days, he was pleasant company and a good loser. Anyhow, Myrrhine was asking him to take special care of her horse, because the poor thing hadnt been well lately; at least, there didnt seem to be anything wrong with him that she could put her finger on, but he hadnt been eating as well as he usually did, and sometimes when he looked at her, she got the feeling something was bothering him. Straight up, Im not exaggerating, thats what she said. My pal Marcus was playing along, because it doesnt do to go telling guests theyre off their rollers; he said hed keep a special eye on Honeysuckle (that being the name shed seen fit to lumber the poor creature with) and yes, hed make sure he remembered to comb his mane from the left, the way he liked it.

Weird, how quickly your opinion of someone can change. Not so long ago, Id have wanted to knock Marcus eye out with a stone for daring to talk to her. Now, I just hoped hed be able to put up with her idiotic babbling long enough to give me time to sneak across the yard and warn Lucius Domitius. I guess the way you see people depends on where you are, when you are, and what their brothers really do for a living.

My luck was in. Either Marcus liked listening to drivel, or he was so used to being polite to guests that he couldnt break the habit, or he reckoned a pretty girl is worth spending time with, even if she wont stop talking and youre unlucky enough not to have been born deaf. Whatever; I didnt know, didnt care.

I was too busy pretending to be a tiny little mouse scuttling across the courtyard, and I did it pretty well, at that. Once I was inside the coachhouse, of course, I quit scuttling and went storming through the place like a drunken German, till I found Lucius Domitius, darning a hole in his shirt.

Get up, I snapped. Theyre here.

He looked at me. Whos they?

Amyntas, I said, and he did the sitting high-jump, stabbing himself with his needle and not noticing. At least, his filthy bitch sisters outside, nattering at Marcus the groom.

You sure its her?

I didnt bother answering that.

Lucius Domitius shuddered from head to foot, like a wet dog. Its just not fair, he said. You know what? Im getting sick of this. Everywhere we look, theres some creep after us, and we havent even done anything wrong, for once, apart from stealing the harp. All right, whats the plan?

Plan? I havent got any damn plan. You think of something for a change.

All right. He stood up, looking round for something. Well climb up in the loft, swing down on the bale hoist into that overgrown culvert down the other side, and cut across the paddock to the road. If we get a move on, we can be in Praeneste in a couple of hours.

Sounded good to me. Lets go, I said.

Just a bloody minute, will you? He was still looking for whatever it was. Did she look like she knew we were here? I mean, was she asking that groom if hed seen us, or anything?

I shook my head. She was talking about her horse, I said.

I could see him deciding not to bother thinking about that; then an idea plopped into his mind, like birdshit dropping in your drinkingwater barrel. Horses,

he said.

What about them?

Well steal their horses, he replied, pulling his shirt on over his head. The needle and thread were still dangling off his shoulder, where hed forgotten all about them, but I couldnt be bothered to mention it. Two birds, one stone. We get to ride, they have to walk. Got it. He picked up a little home-made satchel hed been sewing out of unwanted sacking. Come on, follow me.

He didnt give me a chance to say what I thought about that for a plan of action. As I followed him up the ladder into the hayloft, I could see all the things thatd be bound to go wrong, like I was watching the gladiators from the top row of the circus: theyd see us crossing the yard; while we were wasting time saddling and bridling, Amyntas and his men would catch us; the horses would bolt and get loose, and wed be trapped in the stable while the whole household rounded them up; my horse would throw a shoe two miles down the road, and Id be leading it along when Amyntas and his thugs rode up in a hired cart and caught us. I could see all these disasters happening right there before my very eyes. I wanted to warn myself not to be so bloody stupid, but I was too far back to make myself heard. Too bad.

We made the culvert without breaking any serious bones, and scampered across the yard like hares clearing out of the corn when the men start cutting it. Nobody about that we could see, so we headed for the stables. There were five horses standing in the stalls; no clue, goes without saying, as to which ones belonged to Amyntas and his party. Didnt think of that, did we?

Bugger, said Lucius Domitius. I know Well take the two best, and turn the others loose.

You ever tried turning horses loose when they dont want to go? Cant blame them, really Probably theyd all had a long day, clomping along the paved military road; all they wanted to do was stand still and eat. They were like elderly house-slaves, they didnt want to be set free; too much like hard work.

We tried hitting them with brooms, but that just got them good and mad, neighing and kicking the partitions and carrying on generally Too much noise.

Screw this, Lucius Domitius said. Lets just

He didnt get any further, probably because Amyntas walked up behind him and put a razor under his chin. 

 

Fourteen
Hello, lads, said Amyntas. Not dead, then?

Time to run away, I thought, but I didnt. Partly because I wasnt going to leave my friend in deadly danger, partly because some bastard was sticking a knife in my back. Couldnt be bothered to look round and find out who it was.

Once youve seen one bastard, youve seen em all.

Just as well my sister isnt here, Amyntas went on. Thats her horse you were clobbering with that broom handle. If theres one thing she cant be doing with, its cruelty to animals.

I remembered Seneca telling me once that, according to Plato, man is just a two-legged animal that cant fly I suppose I could have mentioned this point, but I didnt. Slipped my mind, I guess.

I dont know, Amyntas went on. You people, youre something else. You start a fire, burn down six blocks, just to make us think youre dead; and then what do you do? You come out here and start passing your hat round, in public, on the main road, in an inn owned by me. Short of hiring men to walk up and down the streets shouting out your new address, I dont see how you couldve made yourselves easier to find.

Oh well, I thought. At least weve given the gods a good laugh, so maybe theyll go easy on us. Or maybe not. I reckon the gods are like the audience in the circus: they enjoy a bit of comic relief, but what they really get off on is the sight of blood. You know, a lot of the time, the gods remind me of Roman senators. Or the other way around. Whatever.

You arent going to kill us, Lucius Domitius said, and if I hadnt known better Id have reckoned he meant it. You know perfectly well my brother and I are the only ones who know where the treasure is.

Amyntas laughed. Do me a favour, please, he said. Do I look like the sort of moron whod go for some kids story about buried treasure? And as for that dogshit about you being rat-faces brother, dont insult my intelligence. I know perfectly well who you are, he said. Your majesty, he added.

He let that sink in for a moment. No point arguing, of course. As the old country proverb has it, when theyve got your nuts in a vice, its better not to struggle. All right, Lucius Domitius said. So what are you going to do?

Actually, said Amyntas, Im not sure. Its difficult to know what to do for the best. Selling you to the senate and people of Rome ought to be the obvious course, but for that Ive got to make them believe you really are Nero Caesar, and the truth is, Im not sure how to go about that. On the other hand, I could get a small fortune for you from Strymon. Hed be really pleased to see you both, I know that for a fact. But, he went on, I dont think Ill go down that road just now, even though its tempting. The point is, why settle for a small fortune when you can get a big one? From, say, his excellency the governor of Sicily .

Bugger me, I thought. There were so many people after our blood, Id clean forgotten about him. In case youve forgotten too (though you havent got the same excuse), he was the poor bastard Lucius Domitius had sent to the stone quarries back in the old days, for falling asleep during one of his recitals; the same man whose sons clothes we stole, that day we escaped from the quarry cart, and the same man we ran into on the road, the one who was sure he knew me from somewhere. Well, yes, I thought; he might well want to see us, too. So many people keen to get a piece of us; definitely a sellers market. Pity there werent a few more of Lucius Domitius and me, really. We could have taken Amyntas into partnership and madewell, a killing.

So there we were, Lucius Domitius and me; trussed up like the goat at a society sacrifice, slung in the back of a cart under a load of smelly old blankets, on our way to make one man happy and another man rich. At least Lucius Domitius didnt moan at me as we bumped along the road back to Rome, but I think that was mostly because Amyntas people had gagged him with a strip of old rag soaked in stale vinegar. Back in the shit again; it was almost like coming home, after being away for rather too long. What with all the earning an honest living and not having to hide from soldiers, wed got soft, both of us. A few more days, and wed have been spoiled rotten.

I think the idea was to take us to Ostia and charter a ship for Sicily Well, we got as far as Ostia , because that was where we were turfed out of the cart and stacked up against a wall in some warehouse like so many bundles of vine props.

But then the plan changed.

I mustve been asleep when the debate started, because it was the sound of their voices that woke me up: Amyntas, that brother of hisScamandrius, or something of the sortand Myrrhine, sounding just the same as ever and starting off every sentence with Oh, but this time she was chattering away quite cheerfully about how to dispose of us for the best possible return.

After all, she was saying, if it doesnt work out and theres nothing there, we dont have to kill them. We can just get back on the boat and go to Sicily , like wed planned. Its virtually on our way there.

Its not, Scamandrius objected. Three or four days out of our way, at the least.

Well, there you are, then, Myrrhine said. I mean, whats three or four days?

Its not like theyll go off or anything. And just think, if there really is anything there

It isnt just the time, Amyntas said. Theyre slippery as eels, those two. I know they look like idiots, but theyve been slithering out of trouble for ten years, somehow or other; and just look what they did to Strymon. Now you wouldnt call me the timid sort, but I wont feel easy in my mind till theyre safely delivered and paid for and off our hands. Besides, theyre a damned liability, with Strymon and the governor after them. I dont want to get my throat cut because His Excellencyd rather get em for free than pay money.

Hold on, put in Scamandrius. He doesnt even know weve got them yet.

Dont you believe it. Amyntas again. We cant keep secrets in a set-up like ours. I mean, just look what happened to that clown Pollio. I expect he thought he was the only one who knew what hed got hold of. And we know for a fact that Strymons got his eyes and ears in our outfit, same as weve got ours in his

same as the Romansve got their spies on both our payrolls, come to that. Ill bet you a gold talent both of em know exactly what were up to right now Which is why we cant afford to muck about chasing buried treasure along the way

Oh, but thats the point, surely, Myrrhine cut in, in that simpering little-girl voice of hers. You said it yourself. The governor knows were bringing Nero Caesar to him. Strymon knows were taking Nero Caesar to Sicily Whats the riskiest thing we can possibly do right now? Go to Sicily , of course. No, what we ought to do is head somewhere they wont expect us to go.

Like Africa .

Short pause; danger, brains at work. Yes, Scamandrius said eventually, but we know Strymon believes in this treasure bullshit. Wont he be expecting us to try for it?

Not if his spies have told him were taking them to the governor, Myrrhine said, sweetly patient. Think about it. If youre the governor, and youre planning to ambush us and take Nero Caesar without having to pay, whered you do it? Here in Ostia , where youve got to explain what youre about if things go wrong? Or in your own province, where you can do anything you like?

Fair enough, Amyntas sighed; I got the impression this wasnt the first time hed had to put up with his sisters good advice. But the opposite goes for Strymon. Hed want to ambush us here, on his own turf.

So, the sooner we get out of here, the better, Myrrhine said triumphantly

Whichever way we go, theres no earthly point hanging around here a moment longer than we have to. We push off; Strymon gets here and finds weve gone, so he hires the fastest boat he can find and chases off after us, in the direction hed be expecting us to go. But meanwhile, weve gone in the opposite direction, to Africa .

You said it was practically on our way, Scamandrius said, but I could tell his heart wasnt in it; he knew the debate had gone against him, and he was just going through the motions of a withdrawal in good order. Never had a sister myself; never had the plague, either, but I know what it can do to people.

I said its only two or three days out of our way, she replied calmly, for the benefit of any members of the class who hadnt been paying attention earlier.

Just long enough to throw both Strymon and the governor off the scent. Thenassuming we havent found the treasure, of coursewe dart across from Africa to Selinus or Lilybaeum, where they wont be watching for us, and take them by cart across the middle to Syracuse. Easy as anything.

I dont know, Amyntas said wearily God only knows what Dadd say, if he knew we were trolling off on a jaunt hunting for fairy gold with the two most wanted men in the empire along for the ride. Hed kick our bums from here to Puteoli.

No, he wouldnt, Myrrhine chimed in promptly Hed say we were using a bit of savvy for a change, sending a bucket down the well instead of jumping down it ourselves. He wouldnt have turned his back on thousands of talents of clean money just for the sake of clipping a couple of days off a journeys

Yes, butOh, screw it, Amyntas said. You win, well do it your way I just wish the old foold had the sense to keep you out of the business. You always did have the knack of making us do things we dont want to do.

Exactly You could hear the smirk. And thats why he made you make me a partner. Theres got to be someone in this firm with a bit of imagination.

I could almost have felt sorry for them. In a couple of hours time, theyd be asking themselves, how the hell did she ever manage to talk us into this? And by then, of course, wed be on our way to Africa . Just goes to show how important it is to keep women out of business; same reason you keep the cat out of the fish pond.

Still. Their bad luck, our good luck. Not that I was getting my hopes up or anything, but three or four days more before we had to say hello nicely to the governor of Sicily had to be a good thing, surely Every extra day was another twenty-four chances of wriggling out of it (and of course, wriggling out of certain death was something Lucius Domitius and I knew a thing or two about; but even a master craftsman needs tools and materials). There were all sorts of possibilities, if the gods were minded to give us a break, everything from sneaking quietly over the side in the middle of the night to dodging off in some nice dark cave. The more I thought about it, the happier I felt about Amyntas

old man making the boys play nicely with their kid sister. If Id thought about it much longer, I might even have considered taking back some of the things Id said about her under my breath.

Well, the debate broke up and we were left alone for a short while. Then a couple of hands showed up and started hauling us about like we were barrels of whitebait. The long and the short of it is, they dumped us in big sacks, like the ones you take piglets to market in, and that was all I saw of the proceedings. I had to work out what happened next by what I heard and felt and smelled, though it wouldnt have taken Archimedes to figure it out from first principles. Onto handcarts, up the ramp, and down into the hold. Not the way Id choose to travel, I have to say Better than walking, and thats about as positive as I can manage to be about it.

Well, I was the one whod been dead keen to go to Africa . Good example of why you should be careful what you wish for, I guess. It raised a fine philosophical point in my mind, which Id have been happy to discuss with Seneca himself, if hed happened to be lying there beside me all bundled up in ropes and wed somehow managed to spit the gags out of our mouths: is it worth it getting an extra three or four days of life, if you spend them in the dark, suffering agonies from hunger and cramp and seasickness, with rats nibbling the lobes of your ears? Is there anything about life that makes it worth hanging on to by your fingernails when youd be far more comfortable dead, or is it just fear of the unknown, force of habit? Take it a bit further (I did, I had the time and piss-all else to do): suppose you were the luckiest, richest, most privileged man in the whole world, and the day came when either you could die, or you could go on living, but your life would be thoroughly miserable, trudging down dusty roads or hiding behind olive jars as the soldiers came looking for you. Or suppose you were the greatest hero ever, and youd just plundered the wealthiest city in the world, and on your way home youre shipwrecked and washed up on a desert island, with nothing but the skin you were born with? As I lay there trying to scare off the rats by wiggling my ears (it didnt work), I made my imaginary friend Seneca reply, Yes, its worth it, because you never know whats just around the corner. Your shipwrecked hero might find a great treasure buried on the island, and then get picked up by a passing ship. Your once-fortunate man might discover hes happier herding pigs or busking on street corners than he ever was in his fine house with his Chinese table-linen. And your poor sod tied up in the hold of a ship might wriggle free, or a rat might chew through the ropes thinking they were a particularly muscular ear, and hed be able to jump off the ship and swim to shore. Yes, I told him, but I cant swim.

Thats not the point, replied my imaginary friend. Listen. When Pandora opened the jar, and all the evils flew out to plague mortal men, the gods took pity on them and put blind, shivering Hope in the very bottom of the jar, to keep men from giving up and dying where they stood. Hope pulls us through, keeps us going when were absolutely sure were done for. The beating of the heart and the action of the lungs are a useful exercise in prevarication, keeping our options open.

I asked my imaginary friend what prevarication meant. When hed explained, I said, Yes, thats all very well, but lets go back to that Pandora story for a moment. Leaving the gods out of it for now, I said to him, havent you ever stopped to wonder, if Hopes such a wonderful bloody thing, what was it doing in the jar in the first place, along with all the other evils? Oh sure, it popped up its little fuzzy head and told Pandora it was her friend, the gods had sent it to help make everything all right, but thats what youd expect Hope to say, and it proves jack shit about what it was really up to. I reckon (I said) that it was in the jar from the very start, and it stayed behind to kid us poor bloody mortals into hanging around and suffering all the other evils, instead of legging it across the River to where its quiet and safe and all our troubles would be over. I think, I told him, that were going to roll around in this shitheap of a boat till we get to Africa , and either well die there or in Sicily , but sooner rather than later. And no great loss, either.

Then my imaginary friend started getting snottytypical, really, even people who arent actually there lose their rag with me sooner or later. He said, Listen, Galen, while I tell you about death; because Ive been dead a good few years now, and take it from me, you can stuff it. Oh, its all right for you, you goddamned sightseer. You come here, to the very gates of the palace of death, and you look around, like youre some hick from the country hitting the big city for the first time, and you think you know, you think you understand.

Like hell you do. This is what death is like. I used to be a Roman senator, adviser to the emperor, supreme power behind the throne, wisest and most respected man of my generation, loved and admired by everyone who read my books or heard me lecture. Id rather be a fullers slave, dragging round the streets from dawn to dusk collecting other peoples shit and piss in a bucket, sleeping on a stone floor and eating stale bread with the blue mould all over it, than be the purple-gowned Caesar of all the glorious dead. Look round you, Galen; theyve all come to see you, all the heroes and kings, the rich and the wise and the beautiful when they were alive. See how theyre crowding round youyou, of all people, petty thief, son of a whore, bosom buddy of the most evil man who ever livedand theyre reaching out their hands, trying desperately to warm their chilled fingers over the little glow of your fading, guttering life. Its not much life, God knows, but down here among the dead it shines like the sun and blazes like Rome burning, and all these ghosts of your elders and betters would trade you all their glory and honour for one poxy little flicker of it. If you want to know about life, youre in the right place, here where there isnt any Now go back, to your week or your three days or your three hours or your three heartbeats, go back to your shining palace and your roaring hearth and leave us poor people in peace.

Well, that was me told. Of course I wasnt convinced, but I had enough to put up with without getting yelled at by make-believe philosophers, so I quit thinking and tried to spook off the rats by banging my head on the deck. That didnt work either, but it did feel good when I stopped doing it.

At some point, some bugger came round and fed us. Well, he yanked down the gag, stuffed a ladle of something in my face (cream of grease soup, I think it was), then stuffed the gag back in before I could throw up and went away again. I guess it was enough to keep me alive, and at any rate it was better than mothers home cooking. Still.

So I guess we mustve got to where we were supposed to be, because suddenly the hatch opened and this sharp painful stuff got in my eyes and made my head hurt

(light, I seemed to remember it was called) and some bastard grabbed me and hauled me up out of my snug little nest into the salt air, where it didnt smell of pisssoaked sacking. And somewhere on the ship, someone called out to somebody else, Are you sure this is Africa ?, and whoever it was called back, Dont ask me, Ive never been this far before. And I thought, Well, here we are, this is as far as I get to go. Call it a pattern emerging, if you like.

Short, timeless interlude on a boat, and then straight off the gangplank into the deep shit. Last time, if you remember, the late Licinius Porno gave me a denarius to get rat-arsed on. This time, no money and no booze, but otherwise not much difference, except that this time we were on our way back to Sicily I have to say, Africa s not one of my favourite places. For one thing, its too hot. We have hot back where I was raised, in Attica ; we have so much hot, we dont know what to do with it. But Attica hots different; it makes you sweaty and itchy and bad-tempered, but it doesnt crackle up the skin on your face or make your eyeballs dry out. Also theres the sunlight. Its way too bright. Its so bright you cant see a damn thing, and what sort of service is that? Theres other things I didnt like about Africa , but Im just giving you those two as an example of what a complete dump the place was.

They dug Lucius Domitius out of the hold and slapped him awake, and then they started asking him for directions. Naturally, he didnt have a clue where he was

(and if you dont know where you are, how can you be expected to show anybody where anything else is?). Amyntas got all up tight when the treasure wasnt there on the beach waiting for him, all neatly packed up in jars with the necks sealed with red wax; he was stomping around muttering and asking his brother if he was sure this was the right place, though how Scamandrius was supposed to know that (since all he had to go on was what Lucius Domitius had told him, namely nothing), I have no idea. Myrrhine was the only calm one, and she was floating around like some kind of big-nosed woodnymph, smelling flowers and acting like she was on a picnic at the seaside. Id have wet myself laughing, except I was about to die.

You said Africa , Scamandrius was saying, this is Africa , what more do you want? And dont go snarling at me. If you want directions, go ask Nero Caesar.

Thats why we brought him, isnt it?

So they asked Lucius Domitius; and he told them, without needing to be hit hardly at all, that to the best of his knowledge, the treasure was in a cave under a ruined Carthaginian temple at a place called Oudepopote, on the coast five miles due east of Utica, wherever Utica was. And then he spat out a tooth and added, If you want to know how far we are from Utica , why dont you ask the captain of your ship? If anybody knows where we are, its probably him.

Well, Amyntas made a sort of Oh-for-Gods-sake gesture and stormed off up the beach. He came back a few moments later, and the bloke he had with him was someone I knew, though I hadnt reckoned on seeing him again. It was the skipper of our grain freighter, the one thatd brought us from Sicily to Ostia . I was so surprised, I nearly fell over.

Couldve gone any bloody way, at that point. For a start, Lucius Domitius was his slave, properly speaking; Id sold him to him, if you remember, to pay for our passage, and Lucius Domitius had jumped ship and swam to the shore, leaving the captain feeling distinctly pissed off and hard done by But at that moment, Lucius Domitius was on his knees in the sand with blood all over his face and Scamandrius standing behind him with a big wooden club. Me? I was standing very still, with my arms roped behind my back, looking as sorry for myself as I possibly could. Well, you never know. Most people are nicer than me, they go in for sympathy and compassion and stuff like that. I did manage to shake my head and mime shushing noises at him when he caught my eye, but I had no way of knowing if he got what I was trying to tell him, or whether he assumed I was just plain crazy

Well, Amyntas was saying, where the hell is this place?

The captain went all thoughtful, which seemed to annoy Amyntas even more. You said Africa, the captain said, and then wed be heading on to Sicily Thats all you said, so I thought, best thingd be to put in between Hippo and Utica, so we wouldnt have to bugger about rounding Fair Point, and we could just nip back across to Lilybaeum and carry on round the coast from there.

Amyntas had been acting very antsy while the captain said his bit. Fine, he said Are we east or west of Utica ?

East, the captain said, about five miles. I made for here because I know this little bay I got blown in here once when I was a lad, on my uncles ship.

Theres an old fallen-down temple just round that headland, or was when I was here last. They mayve bust it up and carted it away for stone, for all I know

Scamandrius looked up, and Myrrhine suddenly took an interest. This temple,

Amyntas said, youd be able to find it again?

The captain shrugged. Dont see why not, he said. My uncle knew it, said it was put there to mark the shortest distance between Africa and Sicily, back in the old days, by the Carthaginians. You know, Hannibal s lot, the ones who beat the shit out of you Romans.

I dont know what ticked Amyntas off more: the captains chattering on when he was in a hurry, or being accused of being a Roman. Actually, Im Egyptian, he said quietly, and youd better find this temple, or Ill cut your liver out.

Understood?

Now that was probably Amyntas mistake, threatening the captain.

Understandable, I guess. He was in a foul mood, because of being nagged into this jaunt by his sister, and then being told that theyd come all this way with nobody actually bothering to find out where they were meant to be headed (I suppose Amyntas assumed Scamandrius had sorted all that out, and Scamandrius had thought Amyntas was going to do it), then discovering that quite by chance theyd pitched up in more or less the right spot, but having to put up with the captain telling him his life story when he wanted to get cracking before nightfall. A bloke like Amyntas, a professional hard case with an image to keep up, I expect he was used to threatening people when he wanted something done, most likely did it out of habit, without thinking. But captains of ships are funny bastards, Ive noticed. They think a lot of themselves, and they dont like having to deal with landlubbers who come all high and mighty with them just because they happen to own the boat or theyre paying for the charter. You go around making threats, like youre talking to a slave or something, they can get very touchy indeed; and I guess this was what mustve happened in this case.

Also, there was Lucius Domitius, who as far as he was concerned was his property, not to mention a good ships cook, kneeling there drooling blood and spit; and if anybody was entitled to knock Lucius Domitius around, hed have said to himself, its me, and not some snot-faced civilian. So hed made up his mind, I reckon, that he didnt like Amyntas much; and if hed been going to be helpful and cooperative, for example by letting on hed seen us before, stuff like that, he was now firmly resolved that he was buggered if hed tell Amyntas anything unless he was asked a straight question, and maybe not even then. Just goes to prove what I always say: it doesnt pay to beat up on the little people; one day youll be sorry. Actually, of course, nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a thousand you can kick shit out of the little people and nobodyll give a damn, but its a saying Im fond of, nevertheless.

Anyhow The captain sort of looked sideways at Amyntas and said that if he wasnt mistaken, the temple was somewhere this way, and if they all cared to follow him, hed see if he couldnt find it. So Scamandrius grabbed a handful of Lucius Domitius hair and pulled him to his feet; I trotted up eagerly like a good dog, no need to kick me, look, Im even carrying my lead in my mouth. Myrrhine brought up the rear, still bending down now and again to pick a flower or two, and off we went.

Turned out we werent more than ten minutes fast walk from that temple, or what was left of it. Hadnt been much to begin with, I dare say; not a proper temple, like the ones in Rome or back home in Athens . More like a biggish barn, only it was built out of rather boring-looking grey stone blocks, with a couple of straight pillars out front. At least half of it was just plain missingyoud have found the stones in the walls of the local farmhouses, I guess, if you couldve been bothered to lookand the rest of it was slumped sideways, like a man whos come home with a skinful and stands there in the doorway, leaning on the frame because he knows hell fall over if he tries to move. Dont suppose any of our gods and goddesses wouldve been seen dead in a place like that, but I guess the old Carthaginian gods werent so fussy

Thats it, is it? Amyntas said doubtfully The captain shrugged. Thats it, he replied, pretty much where it was when I saw it last.

Fine Amyntas said. Right, you go back to the ship and wait for us. Dont go wandering off or tell anybody where weve gone. Understood?

The captain nodded, once; I could tell he was getting more and more uptight, but either Amyntas didnt notice or he didnt care.

Anyhow, the captain strolled off back the way wed just come. Amyntas waited till he was out of sight, then led the way up a zigzaggy old sheep track to the temple.

Youre absolutely sure this is it? he barked at Lucius Domitius. Of course he wasnt, but he had the wit to reply, Well, it certainly fits the description,

or some such thing. In a cave under the temple, thats what the knight told me.

Fine, Amyntas said, as we walked in through where the doorway would have been if it hadnt fallen in years ago and been carted off to make pig sheds. How do we get into the cave from here?

Bloody stupid question, of course. I suppose there must be some sort of trapdoor, Lucius Domitius said, though it cant be too obvious. People mustve been coming up here poking about for centuries. If it was plain to see, theyd have found the treasure.

Oh. Amyntas obviously hadnt thought of that, which goes to show how stressed out he was. Normally I expect hed have been way ahead, figuring out stuff like that well in advance, without needing to be told. Then I guess well just have to spread out and search for it.

Heres something else hed got wrong. He hadnt brought any of his button men with him, presumably because he wasnt prepared to trust them if there did turn out to be a whole bunch of buried treasure. Sensible, knowing the sort of people he had to work with, but dumb in another sense, since it left him short-handed for searching for the trapdoor. Of course, he couldve told Scamandrius to leave us be and help him look, but thatd have been an even bigger cock-up, since wed have been out of there like rats up a conduit. So he and Myrrhine had to do the spreading out and searching, while Lucius Domitius and I stood there and watched, with Scamandrius right behind us, digging us in the back with a knife.

Did me good to see them scrabbling down there in the dirt and finding nothing but spiders and a few rats bones. Trouble was, Amyntas soon got it into his head that either Lucius Domitius was holding out on him, or hed deliberately brought him to the wrong place. Ill give you a count of fifty, he yelled, grabbing Lucius Domitius by the ear like he was a naughty kid, and pushing him down on the ground. If you havent found it by then, your mate here gets it.

That meant me, of course, and quite suddenly my attitude changed somewhat. Now I started wondering if maybe Lucius Domitius knew more than he was letting on, and he was keeping it to himself so he wouldnt have to let Amyntas take the treasure, and to hell with whether I got my neck broken. Bastard, I thought, the treasure means more to him than I do; and then I thought, well, what do you expect? Rat-faced little Greeks you can get anywhere, but a fortune in gold is something else. That was just me panicking, of course, because I knew perfectly well that Lucius Domitius didnt have a clue where the trapdoor was, if there was one at all. Truth is, I dont suppose he ever really believed the knights story about Didos treasure; and if he did, he was planning on sending someone else to go fetch it, not looking for it himself. So if the knight did tell him how to find the cave (assuming the knight actually knew), I dont suppose Lucius Domitius paid any attention to the details.

Actually, it was me that found the cave, and I wasnt even trying. I was more interested in what Amyntas had just said, about me getting hurt, and Id started to edge backwards, since Scamandrius happened to be prodding Lucius Domitius with his stupid knife at that moment. Anyhow, I took a step back and found Id just put my weight on something that wasnt really there. Bloody stupid you feel, when you do that; and all your instincts tell you to wave your arms around, which is supposed to help you get your balance, though I dont see how. But I couldnt even do that, because my arms were tied up with ropes and all I could do was wiggle my fingers, which doesnt count, apparently Whatever; a heartbeat or so later I wasnt standing on anything at all, and I sure as hell wasnt flying.

Turned out Id stepped back onto a rotten old floorboard or somethingmaybe it was a trapdoor after all, Im not actually interestedand itd given way under my weight. If that makes me sound like I was a bit of a porkchop back in those days, forget it, Ive always been the scraggy, wiry sort; it mustve been a very rotten floorboard. Anyhow, I fell through it, landed badly, felt something go twang in my leg, and flumped down on my bum, only to find I was sat on something unpleasantly sharp. I howled, the way you do. Scamandrius was kneeling down beside the hole trying to slash me with his knife. I guess he thought Id found some cunning way to escape. What with trying to get off the sharp thing and keep out of the way of Scamandrius knife, and all this with a buggered ankle, I wasnt doing too well. Then Amyntas came over with the lamp; he peered down the hole at me, and then started swearing.

Myrrhine joined him a moment later, and looked over his shoulder. Told you so, she said.

Fifteen
Course, I hadnt the faintest idea what they were on about; not till my good foot slipped on something hard and round, and I crashed over on my elbow. That hurt like buggery, so it was a moment or so before I could be bothered to look up, see what Id fallen on.

Tableware. Gold tableware: cups and dishes and jugs and goblets and God knows what all, glowing amber in the light from Amyntas poxy little lamp. Im not talking about a few pesky little trinkets here, think of how a cornfield looks, just before they start cutting, and the orange-yellow blaze stretches so far in every direction it makes your eyes go funny. Or think of what its like when you get a word in your head and catch yourself saying it over and over again, till it doesnt make sense or mean anything any more. Thats how I felt, staring at all that stuff, it couldnt all be gold, because there wasnt that much gold in the whole world. Stood to reason; golds only valuable because its scarce, and there was so much of it down there, you could have roofed over every house in Attica with the stuff and still had enough left over to make a dozen large cisterns.

See? Myrrhine was saying. I said itd be worth going out of our way for, but nobody ever listens to me. Well, Dad always used to say...

She was right about one thing: nobody was listening to her, except me, of course, and I dont suppose I count. Scamandrius had stopped trying to scalp me with his baby cleaver and was squatting on the edge of the hole with his mouth wide open. Lucius Domitius was standing behind him, looking like the gorgon had just winked at him. Only goes to show he was a born idiot, because he could have snuck out of there and been a mile away before anybody noticed he was gone.

Anyway, long silence; everybody gawping like idiots, and me sitting on more wealth than the average senator spends in a week. Amazing. Then Amyntas sort of shook himself, and said, How the bloody hell are we going to get this lot out of here?

Well, good question. Furthermore, it gave me an idea, but I hustled it away into the back of my mind, for fear itd show on my face. Then Myrrhine said; Well, we cant shift it all ourselves, thats for sure. Well have to get the captain and his men in here.

Amyntas didnt like the thought of that. Funny thing: the more money there is at stake, the less people are inclined to share it. I mean, if theres a group of you and you find a drachma in the road, you dont have to think twice about it; off you all go to the nearest tavern, drinks all round in the name of Our Lady of Good Fortune. Find a hundred million sesterces, and the first thought that crosses your mind is, How do I get rid of the others so they wont want their share? Youd think that the more there was to go round, the less youd be worried about keeping it all for yourself; apparently not.

But facts are facts. Itd have taken one man on his own a month of hard slog just to haul all that stuff out of the hole and stack it on the temple floor.

Well have to give them a cut, he said. Cant expect them to lift this lot on day-labourers wages.

Myrrhine and Scamandrius looked very sad, but they nodded their heads. Unless

Myrrhine piped up, we leave it here, go back and fetch some of our people. I mean, its been here this long without anybody finding it...

You could tell from her tone of voice she didnt like the idea; and her brothers pulled faces like theyd just bitten into something rotten. Even if we did that, Scamandrius said, wed have to share with our lot, theyre only human. I say if weve got to do a deal with somebody, it might just as well be these sailors as anyone else. If you ask me, weve got a wolf by the ears here.

Well, quite. Instead of making them happy, all that treasure had really ruined their day. Thats people for you.

All right, Amyntas said slowly Heres what well do. You two, stay here and make a start shifting the stuff. Ill go back to the ship and negotiate. Its still going to take a long time, even with the sailors, so the sooner we start, the sooner well be done.

Scamandrius idea of making a start was grabbing hold of Lucius Domitius and putting his knife across his throat. You, he said to me, get up and start shifting the gold, or your friend here gets cut. And dont even think about playing me up. You too, he added, nodding at Myrrhine, get weaving, theres a lot to do.

Myrrhine pulled a face. You give me the knife and Ill guard the fat boy, she said. You can shift a lot more than me.

He lifted his head. Do as youre told, for once, he said, and dont argue.

So Myrrhine had to get down in the hole with me and do some actual work, which didnt please her very much. There wasnt a lot of room, and standing on a pile of gold crockery wasnt easy; both of us kept slipping and sliding about, at least till wed cleared a space to stand on. Myrrhine was sulking and didnt say anything, which was fine by me; Id had enough of her to last me a long time.

I dont know what took Amyntas so long; it was hours before he came back with the sailors. But they brought lamps and torches and ropes and lumber and all sorts of useful stuff, and once they got started we were able to make some serious progress. Did they ever work, those sailors. You could tell by the look on their faces, they couldnt believe what they were seeing. Of course, they all recognised Lucius Domitius and me, but they couldnt figure out whether they were supposed to say anything, so they just looked at us all bewildered and kept their faces shut.

One thing we didnt have was anything in the way of a cart; not even a wheelbarrow. That was bad news, because it meant that we were going to have to carry every single bit of gold from the temple back to the ship. If getting it up out of the cave was a big job, lugging it from the cave to the shipwell, it didnt bear thinking about. So the captain told the ships carpenter to take a couple of men and go find some timber and fix something up; didnt have to be fancy, he said, just so long as it worked. That pissed Amyntas off straight away; he was giving the orders round here, he said, and he hadnt said anybody could go wandering off while there was all this stuff to shift. The captain stayed calm, which just seemed to rile Amyntas up even more; he pointed out that carrying a load like that on our backs was just plain foolishness, whereas we could spare three men out of twenty-five for a few hours, if it meant saving three or four days hard slog. For one thing, he said, there was the little matter of food and water; what he had on board for the journey wasnt going to last more than a week, and we still had the return journey to make. So, one thing we were short on was time, whatever way you looked at it. He was all in favour of sending some men off to the nearest town to buy three or four big wagons and some horses or oxen, along with food and wine and a load of tools and stuff he reckoned wed need. Amyntas wasnt having that. Nobody was going out of his sight, he said. Or else what, was the obvious question; after all, there were only two of them and twenty of the sailors. The captain didnt press the issue, but none of them were stupid, they all had the same idea, though nobody said it out loud. Amyntas started to look very thoughtful indeed, like hed realised that he was probably in more trouble than hed ever been in before in his whole life.

Anyhow, the captain got his way over building a makeshift cart, and Amyntas left him and his people alone, keeping out of their way as much as possible, though that wasnt easy in such a tiny space with so many people working. What with that, and trying to keep an eye on everybody all the time, I guess it didnt take him long to reach the end of his rope. Each time I saw him he was looking sicker and sicker; which suited me just fine, of course.

I think the captain was as keen to have a private word with me as I was with him. It wasnt easy, with Amyntas watching him like a hawk, but eventually we got our chance, when Amyntas went off to see what the carpentry detail was up to. Scamandrius and Myrrhine both took the opportunity to skive off and sit down for a breatherthey werent used to hard work, obviously, and Amyntas had been keeping them at it. The captain made sure they werent watching, then came across and grinned at me.

Im not going to ask, he said. You can tell me later how you two fit into all this. But Ive got to say, I dont like your friend much.

Amyntas? Hes no friend of mine, I said.

Really? The captain nodded. Im glad about that, because when he comes back Im going to kill him. That all right with you?

Fine, I replied. And the other two, while youre at it.

The girl, too? He looked at me.

Sure, why not? Shell only make trouble if you dont. I mean to say, all this gold and stuff, its the chance of a lifetime. If I was you, I wouldnt take any risks whatsoever.

He looked at me funny Theres a case for saying you and your mate are a risk,

he said, especially since youre neither of you exactly reliable. Do you think we ought to kill you as well?

I thought about that for a moment. Oh, I wouldnt think so, I said. Me and Lucius Domitius, were no bother to anybody. I mean, were practically members of the crew

He was still and quiet for a moment, then he nodded. Thats the way I see it, too, he said. Right, leave the unpleasant stuff to me and my boys. Thats unless you

I lifted my head. No, thats fine, I said, you crack on, its not our line of work anyhow Not that Im suggesting its yours either, I added, so as not to sound rude, but Im sure youll figure out what needs to be done. Dont mind us, is what Im saying.

He nodded and turned to go; then he hesitated and looked back at me. One thing, he said. Just to settle a bet between me and some of the lads. Your mate there, and he nodded towards Lucius Domitius.

What about him? I said.

Hes Nero Caesar, isnt he?

You couldve nailed wheels to my ankles and used me for a trolley Thats right, I said. But how did you?

He grinned. Do me a favour, he said. Im not blind, and neither are the lads. Seen his face often enough on the backs of the money, not to mention all the statues of him there used to be everywhere, in the old days.

Yes, but... I didnt know what to say

Dont worry about it, the captain said. Doesnt bother us, were not fussy who we go around with. We were just curious, thats all. Once this is all over, maybe you two can tell us the story. I expect its worth hearing, at that.

I shrugged. Its nothing much, I said. But yes, by all means, if youre interested.

Thanks. He smiled. Well, fancy that, Nero Caesar. And my old dad said Id never amount to anything.

He looked over his shoulder, then moved away; and I saw him talking quietly to the first mate, and then moving on round the rest of his people, nice and relaxed and unobtrusive. I guess you have to be a lot of things in order to manage a ship; you need to be smart and practical, good with people, calm and sensible, good at getting things done without a lot of fuss and argument. I guess you have to be the sort of person who can take a decision like that

these three people, two men Ive only just met, who may not be the nicest people in the world but they never did me any harm, these two men and a pretty girl are in our way and theyve got to die. Youve got to be the sort of person who makes that decision straight off, no messing, and when youve done that youve got to look round at your crew, the nineteen people you spend most of your life with, and youve got to choose which five of them are going to be the killing squad, while the other fourteen get on with the job in hand. Then, when youve made that decision, youve got to figure out the quickest and safest way to do the killing, with the least risk of them getting away or doing any harm to your people. Youve got to be the sort of person who can make all those choices in the time itd take you and me to eat a dried fig, and all your choices have got to be right, and the way youve chosen has got to be the best, most efficient way, and youve got to know how to tell the five men youve chosen what theyve got to do quietly and without drawing attention to yourself, and youve got to be able to make them do what theyve been told at once, no questions, no mucking about. If you arent that sort of person, I guess you arent fit to skipper a ship, or run a farm, or rule an empire. Our captain took it all in his stride, like he was telling the helmsman to come about on such and such a course, because the wind was getting up and he didnt like the look of those clouds. All life and death stuff, you see; the greatest good of the greatest number, the main issue always being to get your boys home safe and get the cargo from here to there unspoilt and on time. I could never do that job; neither could Lucius Domitius, goes without saying. Show me one man in ten thousand who could. Odd, isnt it, how we choose the people who steer the ship of state? (I know, it makes me want to puke too; but every time a Roman senator gets up on his hind legs and makes a speech, youll hear all about there may be storms ahead, but with a firm hand on the tiller we can cast our eyes on the safe harbour ahead.

Well, if they can say that kind of stuff, why not me?) There was our captain, and Id have voted for him for consul designate like a rat up a drain, but he could never stand, being a foreigner and common as pigshit. And theres Lucius Domitius, pitchforked onto the curule chair by his bitch mother, allowed to stay there a while becausewell, basically because everybody else was dead and he was the only one left who hadnt been murdered or sentenced to life exile on a rock in the sea no bigger than our kitchen table. Crazy way of going about things, though I cant say as Ive ever heard anybody suggest a better one.

So the captain shuffled over and said a few words to some of the lads: Tityrus the helmsman, and Ofellinus the boatswain and Speusippus the forecastle-hand, and two blokes I recognised but I cant remember their names; and they nodded once, as if to say, Yes, skip, right away, and they picked up the stuff they were supposed to be carrying, big gold mixing bowls filled up with gold cups and plates and brooches and necklaces and vambraces and the gods only know what else, and they set off towards the door; but before they get there they stop and put their stuff down and quietly walk back, not making any fuss, and Tityrus grabs Amyntas from behind, palm of his left hand up sharp under his chin, right hand takes a firm grip on the shoulder, one smart twist and theres a crack like a charioteers whip. Scamandrius looks round, wondering whats going on, not worried, because he doesnt realise theres anything to worry about, just curious, is alland Ofellinus and one of the other two whose names escape me are suddenly there at his sides, taking a firm hold of his arms so he cant move them, and the other bloke whose name Ive forgotten reaches down, twists the knife out of his hand and draws it across his throat, like hes carving cheese.

Blood squirts out, splashes the bloke right in the face. Myrrhine hasnt turned round yet; she didnt hear the crack over the clanking of the goldware shes carrying. Speusippus nips in behind her, gets his long fingers round her slim neck, holds on tight like a carpenter holding two pieces together till the glue starts to take. She drops all the gold junk with a clatter and starts shaking and jerking and dancing, trying to kick backwards with her heels, thrashing with her arms like her hands are flails, arching her back and acting crazy, like a fish on a line when its lifted out of the water, and then, quite suddenly she stops and just hangs there off Speusippus hands; then he drops her and she flops on the deck, and the metalwork underneath her graunches and creaks. All very quick, very neat. Job done.

(But thats the exception, not the rule. Mostly when people are murdered, something goes wrong or somebody screws up, you can bet your life. Like, when Lucius Domitius gave orders for his mother to be killed, it wasnt all swift and sure, crack-slashcrunch and no messing. Oh no. First they had to have a council of war, with all the trusted advisers and their people and their peoples aides and their peoples aides hangers-on; and they sat around for hours what-iffing and how about if we did this or maybe we could try that; and they tried poison, but she was too ornery for that and ate it up like jam; and then some genius figured out a contraption thatd bring the ceiling of her bedroom down on top of her while she was asleep, but they installed it without bothering to test it first, and it didnt work; and then they called in a consulting engineer, who went away and came back with blueprints and sections and elevations for a collapsing ship, with a sliding panel in the bottom that opened up, operated by a brilliant system of weights and pulleys and counterbalances and cantilevers and gearwheels and bits of string, and the collapsing ship worked like a charm, went straight to the bottom of the Bay of Baiae with all hands, only Lucius Domitius old mum happened to be a really good swimmer, and she doggy-paddled ashore and stormed off to her villa down the road, squelch-squelch in her fancy heels, cursing and swearing like a platoon of cavalry on latrine duty; and then I guess they mustve said the hell with it, because they sent a soldier with a Spanish-pattern sword to sort her out, and he had the job done quick as farting, and back home to the barracks in time for evening roll-call. Theres a nice story about how she told the soldier to plunge his sword into the breast that had suckled such a monster, but I dont credit that for a moment. I expect she looked round, said, Who the hell are you? and next thing she knew about was the Ferryman, holding out his hand for his twopence halfpenny.)

So that was that. The captain said the best thing to do would be to stick the bodies down the hole once wed finished getting the gold out, stuff the hole full of bits of wood and stone and rubbish, and nobodyd ever know a thing about it, since nobody except us knew where theyd been headed, or even that theyd decided to stop off in Africa on the way to Sicily Neat as a key in a lock. But, like I was telling you just now, it takes a special sort of person; not me, and not Lucius Domitius. We couldnt organise a donkey race at a country fair.

Youre asking me, did I feel sorry for them, Amyntas and Scamandrius and Myrrhine? Well, yes, I suppose I did. Amyntas, mostly His mistake was, he never ever expected to find Didos treasure, or so much as a plated drachma, so he didnt plan ahead, figure out what hed do and what hed need and then suddenly there it was, enough wealth to pay off the Roman national debt, just lying there like turnips waiting to be pulled. Then things started happening so fast, before he even knew he was in trouble it was all over with him, and it could only end one way I can sympathise with that, because my whole lifes been like it; and when alls said and done, only a lunatic would think thered be buried treasure where buried treasures supposed to be. If you went around believing in tales like that, youd fry your brain. I guess the gods had their fun with him, drowning him in honey, and you cant argue the toss with Heaven. Scamandrius; well, he was the younger brother and did as he was told, so you cant blame him really He saved the Romans the cost of two bits of lumber and three penny nails.

Myrrhine well, I see her face in my sleep sometimes, all purple and bursting, with her eyes popping out; or I get this weird dream where weve been married for years, and I wake up one morning, sunlight streaming in through the window, birds singing, and shes there next to me dead, strangled, the bed sopping with piss where she wet herself as she died, and my hands are stiff and sore, and the joints of my fingers ache like hell. I generally wake up at that point.

Right, the captain said, thats better. Now, what the hell are we going to do?

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him, waiting to hear the orders for the day; apart from Ofellinus mate, the one whose name I cant remember, who was still wiping blood out of his eyes. Then I realised the captain was looking at me; and my insides sort of went all runny because after all, we were in the way too, in a sense.

You two, the captain said, whats going on here? Who are you, and who the hell were those idiots?

Well, you dont even bother trying to lie to someone like that. Lucius Domitius was standing there like someone had flayed him and stretched the skin out over a statue, so I reckoned it was up to me. I tried to keep it short, figuring he didnt want all the fiddly details, just the basic facts. I said that my friend there was Nero Caesar, and him and me had been dodging around the place for the last ten years trying to make a living; but this Amyntas, who was a big gangster back in Rome, had got hold of us and was going to turn us in to the governor of Sicily, for good money; but then it turned out Myrrhine had heard about this treasure, which only we knew about, so theyd decided to stop off here just in case it really existed. As for the other time: we were desperate to get out of Sicily because the governor was after us, and his ship just happened to be passing. I said I was very sorry about conning him over Lucius Domitius being my slave, but we didnt have any money and if we didnt get off Sicily we were dead, and it was the first thing that came into my head; anyhow, I said, I hoped that all this gold and stuff would make up for that.

The captain stared at me for a very long time; then he said, Well, bugger me,

and I could see him shoving it all to the back of his mind, because whether or not it was true, it didnt have any bearing on the job in hand, which was getting a million tons of gold out of the temple and down to his ship. Was I ever relieved, because it meant that Lucius Domitius and me werent going to go the same way as Amyntas, or at least not right away Doesnt take much to make my day Let me off being killed, and Im as happy as a pig in shit.

 

All right. So how would you have gone about it?

And its not a fair contest, either. You can sit there and think about it, take your time, maybe mull it over in your mind for a day or so, or draw little plans in the dust with a bit of stick. And you can say to yourself, sod this; so I cant figure out a way, so what? Quite; Im never going to hear about it if you chicken out of my challenge, or give up in disgust, or cant be bothered to try The captain, now, he didnt have that luxury. Hed got to come up with an idea, one thatd work, using the stuff we had to hand and the people who happened to be there;, he had to do it fast, and he couldnt afford to screw up. That last bit was the most important. Probably you had to be there. I cant put over to you what the atmosphere was like: nineteen blokes who were suddenly looking at more wealth than youll ever see in your whole life, and it was theirs, free and clear; theyd be richer than Roman senators or kings of Bithynia, them and their children for a hundred generations, all their troubles would be overif only they could get the stuff out of there and onto the ship. And figuring out how to do it wasnt up to them, they had no say in the matter. It was the captains job, his alone. Talk about a matter of life and deaththeir lives, his death

(no question about that) if he didnt deliver. And he wasnt trained or qualified, he wasnt an architect or one of those blokes who makes his living shifting huge blocks of stone down rivers on rafts; he couldnt just send for a consulting engineer, like Lucius Domitius murdering his mother. There were nineteen people standing there, all dead quiet, holding their breath, waiting for him to say All right, this is what were going to do. He had to say those words, or sooner or later theyd have ripped him into shreds and hed have gone to the Ferryman in a scent bottle; but when he said them, he had to mean it.

Bummer, dont you think? Id like to see what sort of a fist Alexander the Great or Hannibal or Vespasian Caesar wouldve made of it (and they were great leaders of men, they reckon) our captain was the skipper of a grain transport, did all his figuring on his fingers, wiped his fingers in his hair when he blew his nose. Times like that, Im glad Im pond-life. Nobodys ever going to lay something like that on me.

All right, the captain said. Heres what were going to do.

It was really very simple. Forget about carts, or carrying the stuff down the winding cliff path on our backs, or any of that shit. Forget about cranes and lifts and ropes and blocks and tackle. The temple was perched on top of a cliff, right? Down the bottom was a nice flat sandy beach. No tides in the Mediterranean . So, bring the ship in as close as they could get it, and simply chuck the stuff off the edge of the cliff. Golds heavy, it falls in a straight line. Chuck it off the cliff, go down the path, pick it up and load it onto the ship. Easy Crazy as a barrelful of angry polecats; but nobody argued. Wasnt up to us, see.

We may have said to ourselves, This is bloody stupid, itll never work, somethings bound to go wrong; but that was his problem, not ours. All we had to do was what wed been told. So we did.

It may have been simple, but it wasnt easy, if you see what I mean. It was starting to get dark by then; we fired up all the lamps wed got and made torches out of bits of old rag soaked in olive oil and wrapped round sticks, and got stuck in. Sleeping or stopping for a rest wasnt going to enter into it, we had work to do. Eight down in the cave, scooping the stuff up and pitching it up onto the temple floor. Nine blokes to carry it from the edge of the hole to the edge of the cliff. Five more to grab hold of it and throw it into the darkness, as far out as they could get it to go. Lucius Domitius got put on that job, along with Tityrus the helmsman and the three strongest men in the crew; the idea being that nobody wanted stuff getting snagged up on the side of the cliff.

It had to go straight from the top to the bottom. I was put on getting stuff up out of the hole, because Im small and suited to working in tight places. That didnt bother me. I dont think I couldve done Lucius Domitius job, standing on the edge of a cliff flinging armfuls of pure gold out into the night, not even being able to see where it went to. Youd have to be a nutcase to do that.

Itd be like heaping up your whole inheritance, live and dead stock, furniture, clothes, tools and seed-corn, and setting fire to it. I wish Seneca couldve seen it, because itd have freaked him out; because he once told me, the only way to be truly wealthy is to be poor, the only way to truly own anything is to throw it away (otherwise it owns you, rather than the other way round; and the miser whos got a million but cant bring himself to spend fourpence is poorer than the man with just fourpence who buys himself fourpennyworth of bread when hes hungry. Whatever. Sounded better when he said it). Id have liked to hear what hed have made of that: twenty-odd blokes who could only get to keep this amazingly huge fortune by throwing it off a cliff.

We kept it up all bloody night, and by the time dawn came, we were barely half done; but now at least, Lucius Domitius crew could peer down at the beach below and tell the rest of us, Yes, its still there, we can see it down below, shining in the sun. That made us feel a whole lot better, and we stopped feeling so tired we couldve curled up and died, and kept up the pace. Not that it wasnt killing me, all that bending down and straightening up. It was even worse than smashing clods of baked dust with the ponderous hoe. Not quite the same, though; not when we had a dream of limitless riches hovering an inch from the tips of our noses, every moment of the time. That sort of thing keeps you going, the way a cup of water and a bowl of greasy soup doesnt.

We worked at it all that day We were still at it when it got dark the second time, and the lamp oil had only just lasted us through the previous night; there was none left now, not if we offered to pay a pound of gold for a pint of it.

But buggered if we were going to stop; no, we kept going in the dark, by feel, until our gang down in the cave were down on our knees groping in the dust with our fingertips for the last straggling bits and bobs. Came the moment, round about midnight , when we couldnt seem to find any more, and there was nothing for it but to stop. We didnt bother to shift, just lay down on our backs where we were. And could we sleep? Are you kidding? Couldnt sleep, didnt have anything to say to each other; we just lay there in the dark waiting for the dawn, like a young lad waiting for his girl to show up at the orchard gate, and she doesnt show and doesnt show, and time crawls past so slow you imagine you died and rotted and your bones crumbled into dust; and you glance up at the sundial, and its not half an hour since you last looked.

Have you ever lain there staring at a patch of dark sky, trying to see it turn from darkness into light? It changes so slowly you cant see it, but theres a point where its still as black as ten yards down a wellshaft, and another point where its a sort of middle blue, and then another where you can see things, just about; and youve been watching all the time, and never noticed it change.

Well, soon as we were able to kid ourselves it was starting to get light, we were up on our feetGod, how my back hurt, and my arms and legs and thighs and shoulders, about the only bit of me that wasnt aching was the hair on my chest

and we were ready to go, poised like the chariots on the start line in the Grand Circus. Finally, the light seeped down into the cave, and we foundI think it was two small cups and a pair of earringsand that was all wed missed. The rest of it, that whole incredible treasure, was down the bottom of the cliff, where wed slung it.

At least, we bloody well hoped it was.

Only one way to find out. I couldnt tell you how we managed to get down the cliff path without breaking our necks; it was a miracle, thats all I can say about it. We didnt run and we tried very hard not to push and shove, because we knew without anybody saying anything that we were a hairs breadth away from smashing each others heads in with rocks at the very slightest provocation.

Also, we werent looking where we were going; we were all peering and craning our necks as we went down, trying to see the gold, if it was still there.

It was. Bloody hell, it was there, a damn great pile of it, like King Midas

shitheap. It was pretty well scattered, of course, and all those lovely cups and graceful vases and ewers and whatever you call them were bent and squashed and bowed all out of shape, where theyd bounced off rocks or had heavy stuff fall on them from a great height. Fat lot we cared, since it was all going in the melt anyhow The main thing was, it was a cliffs worth nearer the ship than it had been, and as far as we were concerned, thatd do us.

Now maybe youve already asked yourself, if theres so much of this stuff, is it all going to fit on one ship? We hadnt; thought hadnt crossed our minds, or if it had, wed shooed it away, like you chase crows off a sown field. Now, though, we couldnt hide from it any more. On the one hand, there was a hell of a lot of the stuff. On the other hand, the ship wasnt some poxy little cutter or a slim, pared-to-the-bone warship. It was a big, fat, broad-beamed grain freighter, with an enormous arse and round, chubby sides. We looked at the heap of gold, and we looked at the ship; and one moment we thought, well never manage it, and the next we thought, get out of here, itll go in there with room left over, no problem. Then we figured the only way to find out was to give it a try.

Closest they could get the ship in was about a hundred and twenty yards; the rest wed have to do the hard way No more shortcuts, it was a simple matter of bending our backs and trudging, down the beach, dump a load, up the beach, over and over again. Talk about your rotten jobs. I dont think any of us was thinking about riches and luxury and troubles being over by that point; there was just the job, which had to be got done, one load at a time, one step at a time. Wed stripped off our tunics to use as sacks; the sun was hot, and I could feel it cooking my back and neck, like I was a slice of prime veal in Alexander and Pony-tails best frying pan. By this stage, wed forgotten what tired meant.

You can get to that point, where every bit of you is screaming so loud you cant hear any one part, and so you keep going, numb from your neck to your toes, simply because you know that if you stop now, youll never ever be able to start again. But we got there.

Well, sort of. We filled the ship. There was still gold left over, but not very much, hardly enough to buy a medium-sized island ( Sicily for example) and the ship was riding painfully low in the water. Thatll do, the captain said, and we dropped what we were carrying, stepped over it and stumbled like the walking dead towards the ship.

Piece of cake, the captain said. Right, lets get out of here. Anybody got any place they particularly want to go?

Hadnt thought of that, of course. Where do you go, with a ship full of gold?

Not back to Rome ; show up at Ostia , and as soon as the customs saw what wed got in the hold, wed be in the prison, trying to think of some tale for the city aedile. Wed be luckier than we deserved if we got off with our lives, and as for the goldforget it. Nearest land was Sicily , but Lucius Domitius and I didnt want to go there, obviously I guess the captain realised that, and (bless him) reckoned we had some say in the matter. On the other hand, we couldnt go very far, not with that much dead weight on board. We could sail up or down the coast. West; wed be headed for Hippo, or Rusicade or Igilgilis, and just the sound of them was enough to put us off. East; well, there was Carthage , but thatd mean rounding Fair Cape . Neapolis, or one of the Greek cities of Byzacium, wed have to get round Fair Cape and Cape Mercury as well. Catch us doing that. Otherwise, our only other options meant crossing open sea

northeast to Sardinia, to Nora or Sulci. The food would just about hold up, if we ate like bridesmaids, but what the hell were we going to do in Sardinia with thirty tons of gold?

All right, the captain said, after wed discussed the various options to the edge of hysteria. How about this? Theres an island north-east of here, Calatha. I landed there once years ago, when my dad and me used to work crew on a freighter. We got blown off course out of Lilybaeum, a freak squall turned us over, Dad and me hung on to a barrel and a fishing boat out of Calatha picked us up the next day They took us home with them and we hung about there for a day or so till a ship called in for water, on its way from Spain to Sicily They gave us a lift, and they were in a hurry, so they didnt hug the coast round to Utica, they headed straight for Selinus across the open seaand Ill say this for them, they werent out more than a mile or so, which I think was a bloody good bit of navigation. Point is, a few hours from Calatha we passed by a little island, just a rock sticking out of the water with a few trees on top. I asked one of the men. He said nobody lived there, it didnt even have a name; no water, so nobody ever had any call to stop there. Now I reckon I could find that island again, and it seems to me that we could do worse than go there, dump the gold, backtrack to Calatha for water and food, back again to this island of mine, and do what weve got to do to turn all this shit into something useful.

Strikes me well stand a better chance if we build a furnace and melt this lot down into ingots; that way, itll be easier to haul and there wont be so many questions about where it came from. After that, off the top of my head Id say Massilia. Its a regular Greek town, I never heard they were fussy about who they do business with there.

Now it seemed to me that all wed achieve that way would be to move the gold from one secret cave to another; but I wasnt about to call attention to myself, so I didnt say anything. The bit about melting it all down struck me as sensible, anyhow Massilia I wasnt so sure about; never been there, but Id heard a few things, like it was the sort of place where you can get your throat cut for spitting out the wrong side of your mouth. Then again, Ive heard that about a whole lot of places, and ninety-nine times in a hundred its turned out to be true. Fact was, wherever we went we were going to be in a great deal of trouble, human nature being what it is. The sort of people wholl buy a huge consignment of gold off you, no questions asked, are by definition the kind of people you wouldnt ever want to do business with, at least not unless you happen to have a couple of legions to back you up. We had a wolf by the ears, all right. In a way, it was a bit like being a king or an emperor. You know, without even having to look, that at any given time, everyone you come across is probably out to get you.

Long story short; we set sail and headed for this island of the captains. We all knew it was a crappy idea, but we also knew that none of us could think of anything better, probably because there werent any better ideas out there for us to think of. We found it all right; it was just where the captain said it would be, though why that shouldve been a surprise I dont know Islands dont just get up and move away when they get to feeling lonely Hed said it was nothing but a lump of rock, and he was right about that. There was a little apron of sandy beach, a couple of caves, and the rest of it was a single tall, sheer mountain. Now Im from Attica , where we know a bit about barren, rocky hillsides. After all, we spend our lives trying to grow stuff on the sides of them, which just goes to show that we arent nearly as smart as we think we are, or wed all have packed up and moved somewhere else when Theseus was still a little boy Phyle, where I grew up, is tucked away under the armpit of a great big mountain ridge that keeps on going up and up until youre almost over the border into Boeotia. So we take mountains in our stride, down our way; folks from other cities say were born with one leg shorter than the other, for spending our whole lives standing on a gradient. Be that as it may You wouldnt have got me up the side of that mountain, not for a half-share in Didos treasure. No wonder nobody ever bothered with that island. It was completely useless. You could count every blade of grass growing on it, and not run out of fingers.

Ideal place, in other words, for a stash. We explored a couple of the caves, and found one that could have been dug out for us specially The entrance was narrow, you had to duck down and scramble through. Once you were inside, you sort of half-crawled down a short, narrowish passageway and then you found yourself in a big, airy gallery. It reminded me a lot of the main receiving room at the Golden House, in fact, except that it was rather more comfortable: airy and pleasantly cool, but it didnt get cold at night. Anyhow, it was plenty big enough to hide Didos treasure in, so thats what we did. We were well used to lugging it around by now; it was like we were taking it for walks, as if it was a dog or something. We did the human-chain thing to pass the stuff through the cramped gateway and down the passageway, and that worked out pretty well: two days and a night, this time stopping for a breather every five hours or so. We couldnt be any more leisurely than that; we were short of time because we were low on food and especially water, if you see what I mean, and we had to allow a little over to get us across to Calatha. By this stage, none of us needed telling what to do. We worked together as easily as the hands work with the arms. It was a good feeling, actually, being part of that outfit. It was as though wed all been together for years and years, like wed all grown up in the same village. It wasnt so much that we all liked each other or got on particularly well. Rather, you didnt have to think when you were with those guys, you just knew automatically what they were going to do or say It felt right, somehow, is what Im trying to tell you.

We finished unloading mid-afternoon on the second day; and, in spite of everything, we decided to spend the rest of the day and the night in the cave, and push on for Calatha first thing in the morning. Basically, this meant no dinner and no more than a cupful of water each, but that wasnt such a hardship in the nice, cool cave. We parked our backs up against the nice, smooth walls, snuffed out the pine-resin torches to save fuel, and were all fast asleep in next to no time.

Now, Im not one of your big dreamers. In fact, I dont dream very often, and when I do, its usually one of a fairly limited and unimaginative selection of nightmares, like the repertoire of a little touring theatre in up-country Italy Theres the running-away dreams, where Im being chased by soldiers or wild animals. Theres the drowning dreams, and the trapped-in-burning-buildings dreams, the buried-alive dreams, the condemned-cell dreams, the ones where Im a gladiator in the Grand Circus, unarmed facing a legion of huge blond Germans, and the ones where Im nailed up on the tallest cross you can possibly imagine, so high up that I can see the whole world, from Spain to India, stuff like that, and most of it rather gloomy and depressing. That night, though, for some reason I chose to have a completely new and original dream, and it wasnt even particularly nasty or scary, by my standards at least.

I dreamed, would you credit it, that I was Lucius Domitius, back in the old days. Thats right. I was Nero Caesar, emperor of the Romans, and I was standing on the balcony of the Golden House looking down on the crowded market square

(there wasnt any such balcony, of course, but its like that in dreams, as Im sure you know) and in my hand I had Lucius Domitius harp, the one wed been at such pains to nick off the musicians back in Rome. Actually, for some reason I cant fathom, we still had the damned thing with us; Amyntas had fetched it along, God only knows why, and it was tucked away on board the ship inside a coil of rope at the back of the hold. Anyway, that harp was in my hand. I was playing it, in fact, pretty well too, and every now and again Id stop, and the crowd down below me would go wild, cheering and clapping and shouting for more; so Id play something elseweird thing was, Im sure I was playing actual tunes, good ones, only Im sure I was making them up as I went along and when I finished, all the people would start up cheering again. This seemed to go on for ever such a long time, and in the little bit of the back of my mind where I knew it was only a dream, I remember thinking how unfair it was that I should be getting this dream and not Lucius Domitius, except that if hed been dreaming it instead of me, wed never have managed to wake the bugger up. Then, in this dream of mine, Seneca was standing next to me, and this woman who was Agrippina, Lucius Domitius mother, and next to her the Lady Poppaea, Lucius Domitius

second, or was it third, wife; anyhow, the only one he ever cared a damn for.

Next to her was this doddery old git with a nervous twitch, and next to him was a little boy, who coughed all the time, they could only be Claudius Caesar and his son, Prince Britannicus. A respectful distance behind them, I could see a big mob of senators, all wearing their dress whites with the flashy purple stripe, which only the Roman nobility are allowed to wear. Behind them (only now we were all at ground level, in the street, staring up at me on the balcony) was a thick crush of Roman knights, all of them ostentatiously flashing their big gold finger-rings. Out beyond them, stretching away pretty much as far as the eye could see, there was a huge assembly of ordinary people, farmers and soldiers and townspeople and even some riff-raff like me; also, for some reason, I could see Licinius Pollio and Amyntas and Myrrhine and Alexander and Pony-tail, even though they were just tiny specks in the vast crowd; and Callistus, he was there as well holding a towel to the slashes in his neck.

Then, while I stood there on the balcony, still being Lucius Domitius and playing the harp, it suddenly struck me who all these people were, and what they had in common. They were all the people Lucius Domitius had killed.

Well, when I say killed, been the death ofd be closer to the mark. Even so, there were ever such a lot of them; but they didnt seem angry or bad-tempered.

Quite the reverse, in fact; they all seemed to be listening to the music, enjoying it, too. You know what people are like when a song or a good tune on the harp gets their attention; they dont fidget or cough or scratch themselves, like they would if they were listening to a boring speech or a lecture. Some of themll have their eyes closed, the rest will be staring into space, some of them with soft grins on their faces, some of them keeping time with little twitches of their hands and feet. All these peoplethese dead people, who got that way because of my friend Nero Caesarwere like that, and I was the one playing for them; me, mark you, and not him, which was a bit odd in itself, except that in dream-logic (which at the best of times is as screwy as an Egyptian accountants second set of books) I was him, and me as well. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen, if you follow me (and if you do, see a doctor and have your piss tested).

Well, I kept on playing for a very long time, like I was afraid of whatd happen to me when I stopped. You remember the story of Orpheus, who could calm down wild animals and sozzled women with his music? A bit like that, I guess, only Orpheus ended up in small pieces, so he cant have been all that good at it. But eventually I got to the end, and I held the last note five beats, took my hand off the strings and waited to see whatd happen.

To my great surprise, not to mention relief, they all began clapping and cheering and shouting, Encore! to the point where I got the impression that they might cut up rough after all if I didnt give them something else. So I grabbed a handful of strings and started to play, and then realised that I was playing the intro to a song, which meant Id have to sing.

Now Galen the Athenian doesnt sing, not if you pull out his toenails and stretch him on a rack, because pretty well any torture you can put him through is going to be a summer picnic compared with what youre likely to do to him to make him shut up. Galen the Athenian cant sing worth a tanners snot, and the best that can be said for him is that he appreciates this, and never ever tries.

But there I was, warbling away like some girls caged bird left out in the sunlight, and I tell you whatit wasnt bad singing, at that. A trifle reedy maybe, on the high notes, but a pleasant, lightish tenor voice, with good phrasing and all the other tricks singers use to make up for what they lack in the natural talent department. By an odd coincidence, Lucius Domitius had a pleasant, lightish tenor voice, a tad on the reedy side but excellent phrasing, so I guess it mustve been him, singing through me.

I was so surprised to hear myself making a noise that didnt sound like a camel trapped in the works of a waterwheel that Id sung two or three stanzas before it occurred to me to listen to what I was singing and find out what the song was about. Stone me if it wasnt the tragic history of Orpheus Caesar, the tormented artiste who strove to quell the uncouth violence of mankind with his divine music, and ended up dying, alone and betrayed by all, in a dingy cellar full of rats. Soon as I realised what I was singing I tried to stop, but I couldnt.

Nothing I could do seemed to have any effect, the ludicrous shit just kept on coming, verse after unspeakable verse of the horrible thing, and the audience, bless their deceased hearts, were lapping it up, hanging on my every word, transfixed with the essential beauty of it all, or some such crap. I felt awful; I mean, quite apart from everything else, Callistus was down there in the audience, I could see him plain as a boil on a pigs bumbut he was stood there with this dumb grin on his chops, nodding his head gently in time to the music; in fact, if I didnt know better, Id have sworn he was humming along, like he already knew the words.

Well, by this point I really wanted to wake up. Crazy part of it was, I really did know it was just a dream, but at the same time I knew it was actually happening, and that I was Lucius Domitius every bit as much as I was Galenwho featured in the song, by the way in a totally unfair and inaccurate light, and it was only knowing I was dreaming that stopped me jumping out of the crowd and yelling for a lawyer. On and on it went; the sensitive, misunderstood, enormously talented youth, hated and spurned by everybody around him because he dared to sing and play the harp; the rival poets and musicians, mad with jealousy urging on the corrupt senators to plot a coup; the gormless, shit-for-brains petty swindler Greek hanger-on

And then I heard a familiar voice, shrill and loud enough to be heard above my caterwauling and the sudden eruption of applause from the victims reunion: of all the weird things, it was my mother, calling me in for dinner. Just a minute, Mum, I was yelling back, Im in the middle of a concert. Its on the table, she shouted back. Get in here this instant or it goes on the back of the fire. I sighed, right down to my toenails. Coming, Mum, I answered sadly and I took my hand off the strings and turned to go. The audience werent having that. They were booing and hissing, telling me to get on with it and finish the song, but I knew whatd happen to me if I didnt come in when dinner was on the table, and it didnt bear thinking about.

So we went in, Lucius Domitius and me; we washed our faces and hands in the big stone basin and sat down at the table, me opposite Mum and Lucius Domitius opposite Grandad. There wasnt any dinner after all, because as Mum explained, times were hard; if we reckoned we wanted to eat, then why didnt we get up off our bums and do some work, especially since Grandad had bought Lucius Domitius that beautiful harp, so there really wasnt any excuse. We sat there quietly while Mum and Grandad ate their nothing (we didnt get any because wed been late, and itd gone on the back of the fire, along with the city of Rome, twice), and then Callistus leaned across and whispered in my ear, I thought I told you to look after your brother; and I said, Well, I did my best; and he replied, Well, that clearly wasnt good enough; look at him, for crying out loud, hes dead. He wouldnt have got in that state if youd done as you were told. And then Mum brought in Didos treasure in a brown pottery dish for pudding, and said that since Id been bad I couldnt have any, served me right, and shed given my share to the dead people. And then (about bloody time, too) I woke up.

Never thought Id live to see the day when Id be happy to wake up and find I was in a cave along with a load of pirates. They were all starting to wake up, and there was the captain, walking up and down with the last torch in his hand, kicking feet and telling us to get up and get a move on, we had work to do. I guess there were still bits of dream stuck in my head, because I muttered, Coming, Mum, and closed my eyes, ready to go back to sleep; only Lucius Domitius elbowed me in the ribs, the cruel bastard.

As I told you just now, the plan was that wed all go over to Calatha to pick up food and water for our long haul out to Massilia. Someone, it couldve been Tityrus the helmsman, not that it matters a damn who it was, said he reckoned we ought to leave a couple of blokes here, to guard the treasure. The captain wasnt having any of that. Two blokes couldnt defend a pot of onion soup, he said, let alone a cave full of gold; furthermore, though he was prepared to trust each and every one of us with his life, that was beside the point, since his life was worth something in the region of a hundred and seventy denarii, with his tunic and boots thrown in; he wouldnt trust his own mother on her own with Didos treasure in case a ship happened to call at the island while we were away and some half-baked notion of screwing the rest of us out of our shares happened to float into her addled old head. No; the treasure was well hidden, there was Sisyphus chance of anybody stumbling over it who didnt know it was there, and if we all stuck together, there wouldnt be any risk of misunderstandings and temptation, which tend to be serious problems where theres large sums of money involved. Like I said, he was smart, that captain.

Maybe the prospect of ending up like Amyntas if he put a foot wrong was making him act smarter than usual, but that doesnt take anything away from him, if you ask me.

So we piled back on board the ship, all eager to be off, because the sooner we left, the sooner we could get back and make a start on the long job of melting all that fancy artwork down into boring old ingots. A stiff wind got up almost as soon as we were under way and that pleased all of us, at first. Better still, it was shoving us along in exactly the direction we wanted to go, as though the gods were mucking in to help us out. Good feeling, that.

But the wind kept on blowing. Now I havent got a clue when it comes to boat stuff, which can get pretty technical and complicated; its all tacking into the leeward souwesterly and taking in sail to bring her about when you see Sirius rising on the starboard bow Nautical types understand all that kind of thing, but you might just as well stand there barking at me like a dog for all the sense I can make of it. So when the crew started muttering about the wind, I couldnt figure out what the hell the problem was; whether we were going the wrong way, or the wind was slowing us down, or whether the boat was about to tip over and drown the lot of us. Besides, I was too busy trying to keep down what little there was in my stomachsince we were so short on supplies, it struck me itd be a criminal waste if I puked everything Id eaten recently over the side. Lucius Domitius was looking pretty green as well, so we decided the best thing for us to do would be to crawl away somewhere we wouldnt get under the feet of the professionals, and hope the wind blew itself out before it turned us over or sent us to India .

Ive got to say, I dont like the Mediterranean very much. Most of the time its all right, as seas go, but when it has one of its temper tantrums, it can be a real pain in the bum. Pretty soon it was scooping the water up into big fat waves and dropping them all over us, soaking us to the skin and giving the crew something else technical to jabber about. To begin with, though I was worried

(and anybody who goes out on the sea in a boat and doesnt worry is either simple in the head or asleep), I kept telling myself that this was probably the sort of thing sailors have to put up with all the time, just another day at the office as far as they were concerned, and there wasnt any danger, just a certain amount of discomfort; and anyway, I wasnt made of salt, so getting drenched wasnt going to kill me. But it did seem to be going on for rather a long time, and the crew were sliding and falling about all over the place and shouting, and quite a bit of sea was coming up through the bottom of the ship, and we didnt seem to be going sideways much, just up and down in the air, like kids on a see-saw Then I saw a great big wave swell up and come rushing at us, like an angry pig in the yard.

It gave the ship a ferocious shove, which sent me sprawling against a rail, and when I looked up, I saw Tityrus the helmsman sliding on his face across the deck and over the side into the water. I shoutedI believe the right thing to say is, Man overboard, but at the time I couldnt remember that, so I yelled, Here, Tityrus just went in the sea. Nobody answered or did anything, so I yelled it again. I knew theyd heard me, because one or two of them turned their heads and looked at me, but they just carried on with what they were doing, which was mostly hanging on to ropes and rails, or skating about the deck. Then it sunk in that we were in real trouble, and that scared the shit out of me.

Dont ask me to tell you what happened next, because I wasnt paying attention to the big picture, just my small, desperate corner. Either the ship hit something, or something hit us; anyhow, it was like when youre walking along in the dark and you march straight into a tree or something you didnt know was there. Id hooked my elbow round a post, but I guess it mustve given way, because I found myself slithering across the deck on my right thigh. My shoulder slammed into something hard, and then I felt that something snap off too, and I was in the air, and then the surface of the water hit me, and I was under it, flailing and kicking with my hands and feet. Part of me was saying, stay calm, they wont just leave you in the sea to drown, theyll turn round and come back for you, or lower the boat or something. But I knew perfectly well they werent going to do any such thing, because when their colleague and friend Tityrus went over the side they hadnt been able to do a damn thing, just glower at me for pointing it out.

So there I was.

I wonder what they say about me, down there in the kingdom of the dead. As you might have noticed, Im no stranger to what you might call certain-death situationscondemned cells, crosses, tumbrils, armed escorts en route to gallows, gibbets, prisons and the like, the wrong end of other peoples weapons, burning buildings, all that kind of stuff. So whats the deal, I ask myself, as far as King Pluto and his people are concerned? Each time I find myself on the spot, do they rub their hands together and mutter, This time weve got the bugger, for sure? Or do they fly into a panic, terrified that if I weasel my way past the Ferryman and the three-headed dog, Ill lower the whole tone of the neighbourhood and drive them up the wall with my incessant chatter? That might be it, you know They might be saying, Fuck, not him again, do something quick; and suddenly theres the unexpected amnesty, the cell door left carelessly ajar, the inexplicable massacre of a platoon of cavalry by someone who later turns out to be a notorious city gang boss, or the personal intercession by the emperor of the Romans. The way I look at it, Ive never been exactly what youd call the welcome guest anywhere Ive been, so why should it be any different in the palace of Tartarus ? Stands to reason, really Most people freak out at the prospect of having to put up with me for a day; once Im down there, theyll have me on their hands for ever. Doesnt bear thinking about, really So anyhow, there I was in the water, trying to work out how to swim. I managed to scoop-and-kick my way back up to the surface, just in tune to see a massive great wave hitting the side of our poor old ship. It was like watching a man in a bar fight getting punched on the chin by someone he hasnt even seen; one moment, the ship was upright and sort of level, and the next it was sprawling and rolling in the water, tipped over just that little bit too far, to the point where its never going to be able to bob up straight again. Then another wave crashed down on it, and I got the feeling that King Neptune, having knocked it over, was getting in close to kick the shit out of it now it was down. That was when I changed my mind and decided I was probably better off where I was.

Oh well, I thought, thats that, then. Not just for me, but the crew and Lucius Domitius. Seemed silly, really After all, wed just found Didos treasure, every single one of us was now officially richnot just comfortably set up for life, but seriously Roman senator rich. A cock-eyed way of carrying on, I thought. I mean, why go to all that trouble of letting us find all that gold, and then snuff us all out five minutes later? It wasnt even as if the gods were using us to send humankind an eloquent message about presumption and greed and the vanity of worldly possessions, since we were the only living creatures on earth who knew the story That was all very well, but theres a time and a place for everything, and I had a lot of rather urgent swimming to attend to. First things first. I spat out about a gallon and a half of sea, which Id swallowed at some point. Then, remembering to keep my little froglike legs kicking so I wouldnt sink, I looked round just in case there was something I could grab hold ofa bit of busted mast or a plank or whatever. No chance; and I was on the point of giving up

(because my arms and legs were so weary I couldnt move them any more to save my life, quite literally) when something bashed into the back of my head, and under I went again.

Odd, how youve always got a little bit of effort left in you, even when youre sure youre completely played out. I scrabbled my way back into the air, and when I came up, there bobbing along next to me was, of all the crazy things you ever saw in your life, a coffin. 

 

Sixteen
I have my faults, but Im not picky Even though this coffin was obviously some gods idea of a really funny joke, not to mention the fact that the bloody thing had just belted me over the back of the head and damned near killed me, I made a grab for the side and hauled myself up on to it. Thinking about it, I dont know why I was surprised to find there was a dead body in it; after all, what else would you expect to find in a coffin, apart from dead people? Very dead, this one was, with skin like dried leaves and bones the colour of pottery, poking out through the remains of some old bandages, and as a rule Im a bit squeamish when it comes to such things. This time, though, I managed to get over it pretty quick, in roughly the time itd take you to sneeze, in fact; I clamped both hands on the side of the coffin, lined myself up as best I could and sort of jumped-flolloped in, landing with my nose in the dead guys mouth.

Something in the way the coffin lurched and wobbled told me that there wasnt room for both of us on board; so I got my fingers under his shoulder and ribs, and boosted him overboard into the sea. He went quietly bless him, leaving nothing but a few toes and some bandage behind, and I snuggled down in my beautiful cedar-wood ark and threw up with extreme force over the side.

About that coffin. You probably dont need me to tell you that crating people up for their journey to the Other Side isnt the Roman way or the Greek way, either. For choice, we like our dead cooked, not raw But other people see these things differently, and it wouldnt do if we were all alike, I guess. Anyway, this coffin was rather a splendid thing, once I had a chance to give it the attention it deserved. For a start, it was painted, inside and out, and in places there were patches of gold leaf, about the size of my hand. Whoever made it was a damned good carpenter; the boards were lovingly grooved together, close enough to make the thing watertight. Furthermore, it was sort of rounded underneath, which made it a pretty efficient boat on stormy waters, rather better suited to rolling with the waves than our poor old flat-bottomed grain freighter. On one side you could see where hinges had been, so my guess is it was made with a lid, like a fine ladys jewellery box. Im only telling you this because Id actually seen something quite like it once before, when Lucius Domitius and I were in Halicarnassus . In one of the temples there, theyve got a coffin just like my one, set up on trestles. Its a real work of art, with the lid carved like a mans body, with a head wearing a great big wig, and a face and everything. The one I saw in Halicarnassus was painted and gilded, too; and I seem to remember someone telling me it came from Egyptitd been fetched out to Asia by a Persian governor, hundreds of years ago, and hed robbed it out of a kings tomb, along with a whole load of gold and treasure. Hed planned on taking it back home to Persia when his term was up, but he died and the family mustve decided to leave it there. Anyhow, I think my coffin was Egyptian, just like that other one. Dont ask me how it came to be floating about in the sea, because I havent got the faintest idea. Nor, to be honest, do I care. Im just grateful it happened along when I needed it most; and if it really was an Egyptian king I rolled out into the sea, Im grateful to him too, and I hope hes happy and contented in wherever Egyptian kings go to, because he did me a good turn.

Well, that solved one of my problems, in the short term. Even so, I was still comprehensively flicked, as far as I could see. True, I wasnt in the water; but I was being swept along in a storm in a small wooden box, bouncing up and down on the crests of huge waves, surrounded on all sides by water, with the nearest land I knew anything about being a very long way away, in an unspecified direction. It still added up to certain death, whatever way you looked at it, and the best you could really say was that if the bloody thing kept from turning over or springing a leak, Id enjoy the privilege of crossing over to the next world stylishly, in a mode of transport that was uniquely appropriate and genuinely fit for a king. Probably this should have cheered me up; but guess what, it didnt.

One thing I will say for being adrift in a coffin in the middle of a terrible storm, its relatively undemanding. You dont have to do very much, because theres nothing you can do, apart from cowering, and prayer, if youre so inclined. Ill be honest with you; Im not really very religious. Seems to me that a god who gets his jollies from beating up on a poor, miserable little sod like me isnt the sort wholl be likely to stop just because I ask him nicely; and Ive never been rich enough to be in a position to bribe the gods with offerings and sacrifices and statues and shrines and all. Now, you might say that this probably accounts for why I keep landing in mortal peril; or you could look at it another way, and argue that its why I keep landing in mortal peril and surviving, depending on whether you think the gods like listening to a whole lot of snivelling humans all day long. Be that as it may; I lay there on my back in the coffin with my eyes shut, on the grounds that anything I did was more than likely to make things worse, and I waited to see whatd happen.

I waited a very long time, and it was no fun at all, but eventually I got the impression that I wasnt heaving and diving about nearly as much as I had been, and so I risked opening my eyes and taking a look.

What I saw was stars. That, I felt, had to be good, because if I could see the stars, chances were that the storm was over. I closed my eyes again, and believe it or not, I think I fell asleep, in spite of everything, because the next time I opened them I found myself staring up at a cloudless blue sky, and listening to the distant thunder of waves on rocks.

That was good, and bad. You dont get rocks out in the middle of the sea, only close to land. On the other hand, rocks do horrible things to boats, and most likely coffins as well. I remember thinking, itd be a bloody shame if Id come all this way, kept company for ten years with the emperor of the Romans, found Didos treasure, been miraculously saved from a watery grave by some god with a coffin, all that, just to get smashed into sausage meat on some rocks. Any fool could do that, I thought, without going though any of the preliminary stages.

You ever tried steering a floating coffin? Not easy All you can do is trail your hands in the water, and for all the good it does, you may as well not bother. I could see the rocks quite clearly They made up a reef (I think thats the right word) round an island, and I was being shunted along straight at them at a hell of a lick. It wasnt looking good. Beyond the rocks, which stuck out of the sea like teeth out of an old mans jaw, I could see an ugly great big cliff, with the waves pounding against it; so even if I missed the rocks, I wasnt going to be much better off. I could only think of one thing I to do, though it struck me as bloody stupid: hop out of the coffin and see if I could swim for it. So thats what I did. Of course I went straight underonly just missed being brained by the coffin as it rushed past mebut when I came up again, I was just in time to see my coffin slamming full tilt into a rock and flying apart, like chaff blown upwards from the threshing floor. Well, its nice to be proved right once in a while.

So much for the getting out of the coffin part; the swimming for it bit proved to have been just a trifle ambitious. I froglegged and scooped as hard as I could, but it didnt seem to make any odds, I was still headed straight for that ugly old rock. Id just about given up hope when I saw it looming up in front of me, then dodging off to the leftin other words, Id been carried past it.

That was great, absolutely wonderful, except that I was headed for another, even bigger and uglier rock behind it. Screw this, I thought; but somehow I managed to fend off that second rock with the palms of my hands, so that I glanced off it rather than going into it, splat. Then I had a bright idea, and grabbed for a chunk of stone sticking up out of the side. Caught it, too, and contrived to hang on and drag myself up onto it, both feet out of the water.

So there I was, crouching on a breaker surrounded by white foam and nasty, bad-tempered waves. It meant I was back on dry land, up to a point; but I couldnt get round the fact that my new dominion, of which I was emperor and sole tenant, was slightly smaller than the seat of my bum, so there didnt seem much point in making myself at home, building a city, dreaming up a model constitution or issuing decrees. Not that Id have had the chance, because a moment later another wave sloshed up round me and hooked me off my rock like it was picking a bogey out of its nose.

So ended my reign as king of my own little island, which was so short I think I even managed to beat Othos record for how quickly an absolute monarch can be slung out on his ear.

That left me back in the water again; but for some reason I can only guess at

(assuming I could be bothered, which I cant) the current behind the rock wasnt nearly as ferocious as itd been when I was in front of it. I swam like crazy, and found I was actually making headway, cutting across the current. It was still wavehandling me in the general direction of the cliff, but for every yard forward I went, I reckon I mustve gone four feet sideways. So I kept going, even though my arms and legs felt like they belonged to someone else, with the result that I missed the cliff and found myself heading for a narrow apron of shingle and pebbles between two vicious-looking rock spurs. By now Id given up on the swimming, because the current was stronger than ever, but that was fine, the waves were bundling me right at the scrap of shingle, which was the direction Id have been heading in anyhow I was saying to myself, if only I could wind up on that little beach, all my troubles would be over. I was dead wrong, of course. The sea carried me to the beach all right, but then it started dragging me up it on my stomach. This was awful, becausewell, have you ever watched a carpenter finishing a piece of wood by rubbing it down with a bit of sharkskin? Im here to tell you, it hurts.

I could feel my clothes ripping away, and I also had an idea that the backwash would haul me back out again, so as to give the pebbles another chance to grind me down. I didnt fancy that; so, when the backwash started pulling at me, I dug my fingers and toes into the shingle and tried to hang on. Result was, for a second or so I turned myself into a human rake, dragging a furrow of gravel and small pebbles down the beach. Then the force acting on me slackened up, and I knew, that was my one and only chance. I scrabbled up the beach on all fours, racing the tide, and contrived to get two or three yards higher up the beach than Id been when the raking business started, before the backwash began hauling me back again. When that happened, I dug in once again, and repeated the whole business; and again, and again, with the seas grip on me getting a little bit less each timeand then at some point, I was free and clear. I dont know what changed exactly Either the storm finally ran out of puff, or I simply made enough ground to get free; in any event, I was lying on my face in the shingle, with an ache in the bones of my hands and legs like you cant begin to imagine, but I couldnt feel the sea dragging at me any more. If Id wanted to, I couldve stood up and walked.

Just then, though, it was simply too much bother, itd have meant too much effort and pain. Instead, I lobster-crawled about ten yards before flaking out, and if you ask me, that was quite an achievement in itself. Maybe not up there with the Labours of Hercules, and I dont suppose itd have inspired Lucius Domitius or any of his brother poets to write a twenty-book epic poem, but it was enough to be going on with, for a little rat-faced Greek with no particular reason for fighting so hard to stay alive. And then, you may ask, what did I do with this freedom Id fought so hard to win; now that Id torn myself out of Neptunes grasp and cheated the Ferryman yet again? Well, of all the things to do, lay there with my nose in the gravel, and fell asleep.

No idea how long I was out for. I just remember coming round, and it was starting to get dark, and what woke me up was the horrible pain in pretty well every part of me, except possibly my hair. Id have given anything to go back to sleep, but that was no good; it was as if it was my ninth birthday, and all I wanted in the whole world was to go back to being eight againcouldnt be done. So I made an effort and got to my knees, then tried to stand up. No way; my legs werent having that, my bodyd suddenly got much too heavy, and I sort of toppled slowly forwards, like a rickety old building collapsing. I gave it a while before trying againnot too long, just in case the tide made up its mind to come back looking for me. Also, it occurred to me that itd probably be a good idea, now that Id made up my mind to stay alive a bit longer, not to be stuck on that little snippet of beach once it was too dark to see. Four goes it took me before I managed to get on my feet and stay there; then I began walking. 

It wasnt a cliff, not like the ones on either side. It was just a bloody steep bill where a cliff had used to be until at some point it had collapsed and fallen into the sea, leaving an untidy mess of huge squarish boulders. The only way to tackle them was piecemeal, one rock at a time, like climbing a whole series of tiny mountains.

When the light gave out I was still at it, and I had to finish the job in the dark, by feel. Finally, though, I felt grass under my hands instead of rock, and so I made a sort of unilateral declaration of having got up the hill, and passed out again. Next thing I knew was daylight, and warm sun, and some horribly loud birds yelling their stupid heads off at me.

So there I was, cast up alone and naked on a strange, deserted shore, rather like someone or other famous, only just then I couldnt remember the buggers name. I say naked; actually, thats a slight exaggeration. My clothes had been well and truly shredded, to the point where you couldnt really call them clothes any more, but I did still have my belt. I wouldnt bother you with this minor detail, except thatmaybe I should have mentioned this beforewhen we were back in the cave under the temple in Africa, shifting the treasure, my trusty old leather belt, which had done me sterling service for a dozen years or more, been my faithful companion in all my adventures (condemned cells, guardhouses, hiding in empty oil jars, the lot) had finally given up the ghost and disintegrated. Well, a bloke needs something to keep his shirt from flapping about in the breeze, and it just so happened that in the treasure heap there was this rather fancy, actually pretty vulgar and tacky, solid gold belt, made up of linked plates as thick as your pinky finger with jewels and stuff set in it. Well, beggars cant be choosers, and I really did need a belt, so I wrapped some old sacking round it so it wouldnt chafe and put it on (pretty good fit, actually) and I guess it mustve slipped my mind after that, because instead of leaving it in the cave on the captains secret island along with all the rest of the loot, I just sort of kept on wearing it. Please dont get the idea that there was anything dishonest about it, like Id intended to steal that belt from my new friendsI ask you, would I do a thing like that? No, it was an honest oversight. Really Anyway, after all that, the only thing I had left to me was that stupid belt, that stupid solid-gold-and-gemstones belt, which was probably only worth the price of a medium-sized farm, or at most a very small country estate. Still, a man with nothing but a splinter in his bum is better off than a man with nothing at all, as my old mother used to say So I wrapped the few last tatters of my clothes round the belt (to stop it chafing), chose a direction at random, and started to walk.

It was only then that it occurred to me to wonder where the bloody hell I was.

Im no great shakes at geography, believe me, but even so, I felt sure that if there was a country, or even a fair-sized island, parked in the sea between Africa and Sicily, someone would probably have mentioned it at some stage, and Ive had got to hear about it. But apparently not. The further I went, the more obvious it became that this wasnt just some pimple of rock, like the captains secret island. This was a proper island, with mountains and valleys and forests, as big as Aegina , say, or Salamis , or Elba . But there didnt seem to be any people on it; no fields or vineyards or terraces or boundary stones, no houses, no smoke to be seen rising from chimneys, no light flashing off the bronze cladding of a temple roof.

Bloody marvellous, I thought. Old-timers back home used to say that a man could feed himself perfectly well in Attica off nuts and berries and wild onions and easily trapped animals, such as stoats and rats and the like, but that was as far as they went; they didnt actually explain how Besides, Ive never been any good at roughing it. Ill eat stale bread and the grease stuck to the side of the soup pot, but thats about as far as Ill go. Dump me down in the wilderness, with no bakers shops or sausagemongers booths, and Im fucked. I got myself thoroughly miserable thinking like this, and after a bit I couldnt really see any point in going on. Might as well sit down under this nice shady tree, I said to myself, and wait for the inevitable end.

So I did; and maybe I closed my eyes for a couple of heartbeats, because next thing I knew, there was this bloke standing over me, looking down at me with a daft grin on his face.

He was a sight, no doubt about it. Tall bugger, he was, thin and stringy like a vine thats outgrown its strength; you could see the bones and veins in his arms and legs as clear as anything. He couldve been anything between fifty and a hundred years old; his hair had all fallen out, apart from a little sprinkle of white stubble on his chin, and his skin was the colour of new dark honey His teeth had gone the way of his hair, and he had only the one eye; at least, his left eye was more or less normal, but the right one was half-closed and there was just a bit of the white showing, as though that side of his face was staring straight up at the sun. He was wearing a newish shirt, bright purple, the colour that only Roman senators are supposed to be allowed to wear, and a pair of smart pigskin sandals.

I looked at him, and he looked at me. Really weird way of looking, he had, like I was some strange object thatd just fallen out of the sky, curious and unusual but perfectly safe and unlikely to be worth anything. For some reason I was so shaken up that it took me a long time to pull myself togetherwhich was bad, because this old scarecrow was the first indication Id seen since I fell in the sea that I might actually get out of this whole horrible adventure alive.

Eventually, though, I got a grip on myself and squeezed out a smile. Good morning, I said.

He frowned, like he was thinking it over. Reckon so, he said, in Greek. Beans want rain.

I didnt want to talk about beans. Excuse me, I said, but can you tell me where this is?

What?

I said, I repeated, can you possibly tell me where this is?

Youll have to speak up, he said. Im a bit deaf.

Exactly what I needed, I said to myself. Can you tell me, I roared, where this is?

He looked puzzled, like he didnt understand the question. This here is Long Meadow, he said. Five Firs Copse is away down over... He waggled his left hand in a vague circle. And down there in the dip is Blackwater.

Thank you, I said, but what I actually meant was, what country is this?

He looked at me. Youre foreign, he said. From the shipwreck.

I nodded. Thats right.

Reckoned so. Watched you last night, coming up the beach over to Needles Cove. Reckoned you were going to be drowned, for sure.

I didnt know whether to thank him for the compliment or apologise. Have you seen anybody else from the shipwreck? I said. He lifted his head.

Reckon not, he replied. Just you, and a whole parcel of driftwood and stuff, washed up on North Point. Where you from, then?

 Athens , I replied. Fortunately, he seemed to have heard of Athens . Is there a town near here, or a village, somewhere I could get some clothes and something to eat?

Pretty bad storm, he went on. Its a wonder you wasnt drowned, or all busted up on the rocks. Terrible bad, they can be, sometimes.

Dont I know it, I said. I was wondering, is this Africa ? Only I dont really see how it could be anywhere else, there arent any big islands between Carthage and Sicily 

Two or three times a year we get a wreck on the Needles, the man went on, and pretty nigh every time theyre all drowned, or cut up on the reef. Less you know the way through, you dont have much of a chance in these waters.

On balance, I said to myself, I think Id rather starve. Well, arent I the lucky one, then, I said. Here, is there some reason why I shouldnt know where this is? Like, is this a secret military base, or a pirate hideaway or something? I was kidding, of course. It was only when I said the bit about the pirates that I realised Id said a stupid thing. But the old man just kept looking at me. Really, I said, losing my grip just a little, all I want is something to eat and somewhere I can get some clothes, I dont want to be any bother to anyone, and if you dont want to tell me where this is, then thats just fine. Only Ive just spent a day in a floating coffin, all my clothes have gone, and my best friend, and unless somebody helps me, I might just as well die. You do understand what Im saying, dont you?

The old man looked at me for a long time, didnt say a word; and while he was doing that, I was just starting to wonder where on earth an old goat-chivvier would have come by a luxury-grade purple tunic. Then he leaned forward, put his hand on my shoulder and said, Youd better come on up to the big house.

Fine, I said. Thank you.

Well, my excuse is that I was tired out and hadnt had anything to eat for a while, stuff like that. Truth is, I dont suppose Id have been able to keep up with the old bugger even if Id spent a month at a training camp for the Olympic games. He charged ahead, didnt matter whether we were going uphill or down, and all I could do was trot behind him like a little dog. We went up one mountain, then down it and up another, round a third, sideways across the face of a fourth, till Id lost my bearings altogether. My knees and calves were aching like the muscles were about to bust out of the skin, and I was breathing like Id been diving for pearls. Sad thing is, when I was a kid back on the farm, walking all day backwards and forwards to the fields or up the mountain after the stock, I could have gone on like that and never felt it. Still, thats the penalty you pay for leaving home to go gadding about.

When we reached the top of the fifth mountain, at last I saw where we were headed. Could easily have missed it, even so: just one building, snuggled away in a deep combe between two mountain ridges, next to a sparse little trickle of water. It looked tiny from right up there, but as we went down into the valley, I realised it was quite a big place, long and narrow, no courtyard or anything, more like a huge shed than a house, with a thatched roof like a barn. I didnt see any people, or animals, or growing crops or vines, and I was wondering if the old fool lived here on his own, just him in that enormous shed. It was only when we were right up close that people started to come out of the house, a whole mob of them, two or three dozen, standing there watching us like we were a comet or something.

Talk about the old boy and his purple tunic, they were all dressed like princes or senators, in fine wool and linen, purple and military scarlet and God knows what else. There was one bloke I took to be the leader, he was stood out slightly in front, as if he was waiting to receive us with a prayer and a speech. He looked like he was in charge; you can tell, once youve got your eye in. He was a big man, thick-set, a bit on the chubby side, with hair the colour of tarnished bronze just before it starts going green. He didnt look Greek, or Italian, certainly not like an African or an Arab; in fact, none of them looked like anything Id ever seen before, though you had to look twice to realise the difference. I cant quite place what it was, something about the nose and the cheekbones.

I found this one, the old boy sang out. Off of the shipwreck.

The big man didnt seem surprised. Just the one? he said. The old boy nodded, and quite suddenly, I feltThere was this neighbour of ours back home, and one day he was up on the mountain carting a load of big old boulders to shore up his terraces. Something went wrong; either a busted spoke, or his axle pin dropped out. Anyhow he hopped down from the box and knelt beside the wheel, having a look to see what the trouble was. Rotten bad luck on him, the wheel or the axle gave way while he was knelt there, and you can guess what happened. The whole load of stone slid off the bed of the cart, squashed his legs like youd crush a fly He mustve passed out from the shock, because the next thing he knew was waking up in bed back home, with a circle of anxious faces round him. His first thought is, the cart, were you able to fix it, can you arrange for the wheelwright and the smith to get it sorted out, because were going to need it next month for the vintage. But nobody says anything, theyre just looking at him with these really tragic expressions, and that was when he realised he couldnt feel his legs. So he asks what the matter is, and they explain, the only way they were able to get him out without killing him or shifting the stone so it rolled him over the edge down into the valley was to cut his legs off just above the knee; in fact, if a neighbour and his son hadnt been passing with a big crosscut saw to fell a new mast for their fishing boat, hed probably have been dead before anything could be done. Well, the bloke just lay there, completely wiped out, like the facts were a huge dumpling hed tried to swallow thatd got jammed in his throat.

And thats more or less how I felt, I guess; because that was when it dawned on me that Lucius Domitius was most likely dead, drowned, lying somewhere at the bottom of the sea. Everything hed been, everything he was, all his education and upbringing and experiences, all the bloody aggravating things he used to do, the way he could be so stupid and so gullible, the way that sometimes he could be brilliant, but never quite got anything right, the way hed at least always been there, surviving one horrible mess after another, getting so farbut not, apparently, any further. It didnt make sense to me, because why would the gods fish him out of deaths mouth so many times, like those birds in Egypt who live by picking the teeth of crocodiles, just to let him drown in a sudden, unexpected storm on the way to buy groceries? I could see them snuffing me like that, because damn it, Ive never mattered; but to save me, send a bloody floating coffin to save me, and let him drown, itd be like setting fire to your house and taking nothing out of it but one odd slipper.

So, after Id been shown into the house and sat down in a very posh-looking chair on the high table in this one enormous long room. Excuse me, I said, but does that mean Im the only one who escaped? You havent found any more of us, from the shipwreck?

The boss-man looked very grave. Im afraid not, he said. Lets say, our reef is very thorough; its the main reason were here, in fact. Unless you know where the gap is, youll never find it, and your chances of getting through the rockswell, youre only the fifth man to be washed up alive in two hundred years, to my certain knowledge. Thats why nobody knows about us, see, he went on, though I wasnt really interested, not then; I couldnt feel what he was saying, like you cant feel a needle stuck in a numb toe. Ships do come this way from time to time, but once theyre close enough m to see the island its too late, theyre in the current that draws down onto the reef, and thats the end of them. For what its worth, he continued, the name of this island is Scheria. Ring any bells?

I tried to think, because the name was vaguely familiar. But it was so unimportant; like I was a carpenter, and someone had called me away from my wifes funeral to see to a stiff hinge.

Well, the man went on, if you have, its because were mentioned in the Odysseynot us, of course, weve only been here a few generations, but the people who lived here before us, or strictly speaking, the people who were here before the people before the people before the people before usHomer calls them the Phaeacians, and he says Ulysses got washed up here after his ship was wrecked and he was nearly killed getting through the reef. Anyhow, he finished, because he could see I wasnt in the mood for literary history, thats us, and thats where you are. And, he added, taking a deep breath, like a doctor breaking bad news, heres where youre going to have to stay, Im afraid; either that, or were going to have to knock you on the head, because we do rather value our privacy, in our line of work.

So Id been right after all. Youre pirates, I said.

The man grinned lopsidedly Best in the trade, he said. In fact, were about all thats left of a fine and noble tradition, thanks to the Romans. They dont like pirates, see. Never have. My family came here first back in the time of Pompey the Great, when he chased us out of Cyrenaica; and the Romansve been trying to wipe out the profession ever since, on and off. Its getting so bad, we have to hide ourselves away here, darent even live up on the coast for fear of being seen, just in case a ship did manage to get through the reef in one piece. In fact, were seriously considering giving the whole thing up and taking up farming instead; itd be less work, easier living, and we wouldnt feel like we were hiding under a table while the soldiers run by all the time.

I shrugged. Didnt matter, did it? Besides, who knew more about running and hiding than me? Living here, itd be next best thing to normal. All right, I said. Only Id better tell you, I know fuck all about ships and sailing and stuff, so I dont suppose Ill be any use to you. Truth is, there isnt anything I can do, except maybe mend sails, if someone shows me how to do it.

The man smiled. Dont worry about that, he said, well find a way for you to make yourself useful, youll see. Fact is, we dont get to pick and choose the people who join us here. We take them on because theyre all we can get, and weve got to keep our numbers up somehow. Theres two hundred and seventy-nine men on Scheria, and five womenand you wouldnt fancy any of them if their fathers were senators, if you see what I mean. No, you crack on and make yourself at home, well be glad to have you.

And then they brought me stuff to eat and drink: some very nice soft wheat bread, sausage and cheese and two apples, and a jug of pretty drinkable Greek red wine sweetened with honey and nutmeg; and they looked at me for size and fetched me a virtually new wool tunic and probably the best pair of boots Ive ever worn in my life, and someone knelt beside me and washed out all the cuts and scratches in my hands and knees, and put some sort of ointment on them that stopped them hurting, and dressed them up as neat as you like with clean wool bandage. Ive got to say this for them, they had no need to go doing that, all they knew about me was what Id told them, and they didnt seem in any hurry to ask anything more. At any other time Id have sworn I mustve drowned after all and got into the Blessed Islands by mistake. You could say it was typical of my stinking bloody luck. First time in my life anybodys been really nice to me, just for myself, not because they were after anything from me, and Im too wrapped up in other stuff to enjoy it or pay proper attention.

I dont know how long I was sat there, being waited on and tended to, but by the time they were through with me, people had started coming in for dinner.

Apparently they all ate together in this one huge roomit was long and narrow, with a row of tables and benches running the length of each wall, and this extraordinary fireplace that went all the way up the middle. They laid a place for me right where I was sat, on the top table, which was at right angles to everybody else, on a little raised platform. I guessed that this was a great honour, me being a new recruit and all. Excellent food and wineplain and simple, but all good stuff and masses of it, bread and cheese and a whole lot of different dried and preserved meat. Anyhow, when wed been eating for a while, I thought it was about time I told them something about who I was, because otherwise it was just going to be embarrassing when they found out. So I nudged the boss-mans arm and just came right out with it, the whole deal (only I didnt say anything about Lucius Domitius being who he was, or how Id come to be with him). While I was talking, I was expecting any moment for them to grab me by the scruff and sling me outside, or bar me up in a pigshed or something, but not a bit of it. You hear people talking about someone hanging on a blokes every word; well, thats what the head man did while I was telling him the tale

(only I told it pretty well straight). He sat there with his mouth open, staring at me like I was something wonderful, except for when he interrupted me to ask for details of some point or otherhow many soldiers did Strymon kill on the mountain road in Sicily, what was it Alexander and Pony-tail cooked us for breakfast, excuse him but why did I keep talking about the ponderous hoe, is that some special sort of hoe they use in that part of Italywhich only went to show how closely he was following what I was saying. Well, naturally, once I realised he was interested, I spun it out a bit, put in bits of talking, made a performance of it generally By this time, pretty well everybody in the building was crowded round where we were sitting. Theyd finished their food, and crouched on the floor or craned over each others shoulders, with their big silver-gilt winecups in their hands; and when I got to the part about the coffin, you could have heard a gnat fart. Youd have thought I was two dozen performing monkeys and a pantomime act, but all I did was tell the truth. If Id known people liked it so much, I guess Id have tried it years ago.

When Id finished, there was this eerie long silence, with nobody hardly even breathing. Then the boss-man sort of shook himself, and said, Well, if that doesnt beat cock-fighting. And to think, you said just now that youre just an ordinary bloke, nothing special, not particularly good at anything.

I frowned. Well, thats right, I said. I am, and Im not.

The boss-man lifted his head. Oh, sure, he said. I dont think. Why, if only a third of that lots true, youre the biggest hero weve had in these parts since Ulysses himself.

Hed lost me. Im sorry, I said, but I dont follow Whats heroic about what I just said? Im a thief, and a pretty crummy one at that.

Boss-man gawped at me for a moment, like he couldnt believe I was serious, then burst out laughing. Dear God, man, he said, youre the very essence of hero.

I mean, what makes a hero, if its not resourcefulness, enduring endless desperate trials, leaping from fire to frying pan to fire like someone crossing a river on stepping stones? And if youre seriously asking us to believe that you managed all that without at least one god guarding you night and day, snatching you out of the snares of death and pitching you into something even more terrifying and demandingwell, were simple folk here, but not that simple. No, its plain as snot on your beard that youre the darling of the gods, and theyre taking extra-special trouble with your thread, spinning it out long and thick. Just getting through the reef proves that. Didnt we tell you, nobody gets through the reef alive, not even if Neptune s sleeping with his sister? He shook his head, and sighed. Sorry, he said, but whether you like it or not, clearly youre a very special and important person indeed; a hero, theres no other word for it, and its an honour and a privilege to have you here with us.

Well, I thought, fuck me; but I couldnt let it pass, somehow, not with Lucius Domitius lying in the mud on the seabed. Yes, but it wasnt me, I said. What I mean is, even if there really was anything special about all that stuff, I couldnt have done it on my own, I wouldnt have lasted an hour.

The boss-man smiled. Youre thinking about your friend, he said. Well, thats understandable. He was obviously a fairly exceptional person too, no doubt about that. But when push comes to shove theres only one way to decide these matters, and its really very simple. Which one of you made it, and which one of you didnt? Answer me that, and Ill tell you whos the hero of the story, and whos just the sidekick.

He made it sound so straightforward. But of course he was wrong. Any fool could see the flaw in his argument, because the best of us, the only one out of the trio who was worth a days feed, was the one who died first, my brother Callistus. Only, I realised, I hadnt mentioned him at all, so how was the boss-man to know? Still, I knew; and that was why I couldnt go along with what he said. I mean, suppose everybodys life was an adventure, a fairy tale, an epic poem. You tell me, how would you pick out whos supposed to be the hero?

The way Id told it, Lucius Domitius, emperor of the Romans, most hated man in history, was just some bloke I went around with. But I hadnt explained to boss-man why he was important, so once again, how was he supposed to know?

Thats one of the reasons Life sucks. Unless someone tells you, you dont know all this important behind-the-scenes stuff, and you can end up thinking the shepherds daughter is the princess, through no fault of your own.

Even so, I thought Id have one more stab at explaining. Maybe I told it badly, I said. Because really, it was him, my friend, who .. . I was stuck; what I wanted to say was, all the adventures were because of him, who he was, or who people thought he was. Id sort of muffed round this when I was telling the story. Id said we were the only ones who knew where Didos treasure was, and Id sort of given him the impression wed got the lowdown from that old knight, the one who told Lucius Domitius. Maybe thats where he went wrong, and as I said just now, you cant blame him for it.

I know what youre thinking, boss-man said. Its becausewell, Im going to be blunt about it, because sooner or later youve got to face up to it. Your friend is dead. Naturally enough, but wrongly, you feel guilty about ityoure thinking, you should have been the one to die, and he should have survived. And youre laying this feeling over the way youre remembering the things you did together. But the facts speak for themselves. Ill say it again. Hes at the bottom of the sea. Youre here. That tells me all I need to know about whos who in this story.

I was getting fed up with this conversation. Well, anyway, I said, thats who I am, and how I got here, so now you know, and you can make up your mind what you want to do about me. I know this sounds pretty bad, but Im not really bothered one way or the other. Ill join your gang if you want me to, or if you like you can tie a rock to my ankle and chuck me back in the sea. Id rather you didnt do that, I added, but I wont make a fuss, if thats what you decide.

Once again, boss-man was peering at me like he thought I was kidding him around.

But its obvious what were going to do now, he said, surely After all, weve got ships, we know the way in and out of the reef, and youre the only living soul on earth who knows where to find this island where the treasures buried.

As far as I can see, the only thing left to sort out is how we divide it up once weve recovered it.

The treasure, I thought; that old thing. Im really sorry, I told him, but I couldnt find that island again if my life depended on it. I dont know spit about sailing and navigation and stuff, and I spent the time while we were getting there from Africa hanging over the rail puking. And if you think Im just saying that because I want all the treasure for myself, and Im planning on sneaking back there on my own to get it, then it strikes me you werent listening when I told you what happened to Amyntas and his family The treasures completely useless to one bloke on his own, andno offencethe only man Id have trusted enough to help me go and get it was AhenobarbusId nearly said Lucius Domitius; remembered just in time that Id been calling him by his family nameand he knew about it anyhow, and hes dead. Im sorry, I repeated, but thats how it is.

Dead silence. Boss-man was looking at me like Id just risen naked from the sea foam with a sprig of holly stuffed up my nose. Just a moment, he said. Youre saying that you know about a vast fortune in gold and jewels, nobody else in the whole world knows where it is, and you cant be bothered to go back and look for it?

I nodded. Yes, I said.

That threw him. Really, he said. Thatswell, please dont take this the wrong way, but Im having trouble believing it. I mean, youve actually seen all this stuff

Seen it. I grinned. Ive helped shift it, twice. Three tunes, if you count loading it off the beach.

Fine, boss-man said, a bit nettled at being interrupted. And its all there, for the taking; its just a matter of finding this little island and showing up with enough ships and men to cart it away Please, he said, rather more urgently, think what youre saying.

Oh, I know it sounds crazy, I told him. But I thinkin fact, I know, its got a jinx on it. Everybody whos had anything to do with it is deadthe Roman knight, the gangsters in the city who wanted to know where it was hidden, Amyntas and his brother, the grain-freighter crew, my friend; all of them, dead, except for me. Wouldnt you call that a jinx?

He lifted his head. Id call that inheritance, he said. You know, what happens to property when everyone else with a claim to it has snuffed it. Look,

he went on before I could say anything, I know its hard to expect you to trust us. Weve only just met, and besides, he added gravely, were pirates. But be practical. Where are you going to get ships and men from? You said it yourself, a man on his ownll never be able to get it home. Tell you what, well split it with you, straight down the middle, half for you and half for us.

I lifted my head. No fear, I said. No disrespect, but thatd be like sealing my own death warrant. Look, heres the deal. Ive told you absolutely everything I know about where that island is. If you want to go sailing around looking for it, you bloody well carry on, and good luck to you. But dont ask me to come along. He narrowed his eyes at me, as though he was trying to figure out whether I was crazy, lying, or both. First, I told him, I havent got the faintest idea about navigation, and even if I had, I wasnt looking where we were going. Second, Im too scared. Ive seen what that stuffll do to people.

Im quite happy to have got out of its way with my life, I concluded, fingering my rag-wrapped belt under the table. If this experience has taught me anything, its that all the good things in the world wont help you if youre dead. Now, if you want me to stay here, have you got a job scrubbing floors or mucking out horses? I might be able to manage that, so long as you arent particularly fussy But if you want to help me, put me on the next ship you send out, and dump me on the first inhabited bit of dry land you come to. I swear by the River and any twenty gods youd like to name that I wont tell anybody about this place. And so what if I cant be trusted to keep my word, Id never be able to find it again or tell anybody where it is, and nobodyd believe a low-life like me if I told them fire was hot. In return, I solemnly bequeath you all my share and interestgood, stuff, that; I remembered it out of an old legal document, from my very brief career as a forgerin Didos treasure, free and clear of all encumbrances, in front of the witnesses here present. Cant say fairer than that, can I?

Long, long silence. Then the boss-man stood up. Deal, he said; then he spat in his palm and grabbed my hand with a grip thatd have cracked walnuts. God forgive me for taking advantage of a lunatic, and God forgive you for giving away your birthright, like the man who swapped Cyrene for a bowl of bean soup. Now, you go with Niceratus here, hell find you a blanket and a place to sleep, and in the morning well go over everything you remember about this island, while were getting a ship ready He paused, like hed just remembered something. Any place in particular you want to go? he asked. You name it: Britain, India, the Clashing Rocks, Thule? Least we can do, in the circumstances.

It hit me like a thunderbolt. Anywhere I wanted to go; my own floating sedan chair, door to door. It was the most wonderful offer, and I hadnt got a clue.

After all, where the hell would someone like me want to go? Wherever I end up, any place on earth, when I get there Id still be me, so where in the gods names is the point?

Athens, I said. I think Id like to go home, please. 

Seventeen
So there I wasActually, I was fast asleep when we got there. I hadnt been able to sleep the previous night, because wed anchored off Salamis when it got too dark to sail, and I could feel home in my bones like the itch youre supposed to be able to feel in an amputated toe. Finally I dropped off just before dawn, and was still sleeping like a kiddie when the ship made Eleusis Bay, which was where Id asked them to drop me offnot Piraeus, because I didnt want to go to the city, I wanted to go home; to Phyle, and our crummy little village, with the dogs fast asleep in the thick road dust at midday Well, the nearest spot on the coast to Phyle where you can put in a ship is Eleusis; four hours walk and youre there.

Whether it was a practical joke or they just couldnt bear the thought of disturbing me, they carried me off the ship, still snoring blithely, and propped me up against the trunk of a small fig tree, so I wouldnt burn in the sun. Next to me they put a new pair of boots, a purse with thirty denarii in it, a skin of good wine mixed two to one, and a little wicker basket of bread, cheese and olives, and then they mustve got back on their ship and sailed away, back to Scheria or off to look for the gold or whatever. I never saw or heard of them again, never mentioned them to anybody Its like they were a dream, except most dreams dont carry you halfway across the world for free, and give you money while youre asleep.

So I opened my eyes, and instead of seeing the mast and sailors fooling about with ropes and buckets, and the sea bobbing up and down in the background, I saw the incredibly familiar shape of the north-east Attic mountains, looming up in the distance on the far side of the plain, with the Cephisus sparkling in the sun in the foreground. I was stunned. It was all still there, exactly how I remembered it. They hadnt dug up Mount Parnes while Id been gone, or built a new city on the plain, or flooded the whole thing to make an artificial lake for rearing table swans.

Well, I said to myself as I stood up and yawned (pins and needles in both feet; nothings ever bloody perfect), here I am, then; what in Gods name possessed me to want to come back here? Offhand, I couldnt think of a reason; seemed like a good idea at the time, or something of the sort.

Then I remembered something fairly important, and felt my waist. It was still there: a bloody fortune in gold and jewels, wrapped up in bits of old rag, my salvation, my future, all my troubles over. Just to make absolutely sure, I untwisted the rag just a wee bit and peeked down. There it was, gold, glinting between the coils of cloth like a pretty girl winking. Yes! I thought. Just for once, Ive walked away from the game and taken something with me. True, Id managed to lose everything else, my brother, my best friend whod been just like a brother, twenty-four years of my life, and the few bits of me thatd been decent and good; but on the other hand, I had a fucking great big gold belt with gemstones the size of camels balls. It was a better deal than Id ever managed to strike before. Was I complaining? Well, what do you think?

I shuffled my feet a bit till they stopped hurting, and said to myself, Well, its no good hanging around here, time I was on my way I felt like I had an appointment up there on the hill, and if I didnt get a move on I was going to be late, and the opportunity would slither by So I picked up my feet, and off I went.

Its not in my nature to complain, as you know, but those Attic hills are steep.

Trust my shitfor-brains ancestors to settle in Phyle, right up in the mountains. If my old mother was to be believed, wed once been rich noblemen, with estates all over Attica, but time and inheritance and bad luck and lawsuits had all taken their toll, until all we had left was the one poxy little bit of dirt; and we couldnt have clung on to the land in the Mesogaia or the Paralia, or the nice fat, flat stuff in Acharnae. Oh no, it had to be bloody Phyle, the roof of the world.

But I had a new pair of boots, I was rested after my luxury boat ride, well fed, Roman money in my purse. There are worse things than walking uphill hour after hour after hour on a searingly hot day. And I was going home.

If you remember (no reason why you should) Callistus and I left home when Grandad died. My cousin Therion got the farm, my cousin Plutus got the inn, and we were slung out with our inheritance, which you could fit in a scent bottle without taking the scent out. Id never exactly got along with Therion and Plutus, the way rats dont get on with ferrets; the chances of them running out to greet me and killing the best goat for a celebration dinner were as thin as a day-labourers dog. But so what? The point about an inn is, theyre obliged to feed and shelter you so long as youve got the money to pay, and Id be lying if told you I wasnt looking forward to seeing the expression on Plutus ugly face when I plonked down a silver denarius on the table and said, Sorry, I havent got anything smaller. Petty, I know, but Im a petty sort of guy What I was going to do after thathadnt though that far, to be honest. Sooner or later, I was going to have to take my courage in both hands (assuming I could find it again after so long) and go into the city, find a goldsmith who didnt ask irrelevant questions and turn my wonderful belt into clinking money Once Id done that, I supposed Id take my time, look around for some land to buy, build a house, hire or buy some workers, settle down, make a start on my life

(twenty-four years late, but better late than never); and then Id really have come home, Id finally be free and clear, and all my troubles would at last be over.

I trudged up the last mile of the road thinking, well, one thing for sure, Im not going to buy any land thats up a fucking hill, and while my mind was elsewhere, suddenly I arrived. There it was, my home village. Itd sort of snuck up on me, and pounced.

Years ago, Lucius Domitius and me, we were stranded in some ghastly garrison town out in Asia, and because there was absolutely nothing else to do, we wandered along to the old Greek theatre to watch a bunch of local actors putting on a play It was one of the classicsthat means the writers been dead for centuries, so he doesnt want payingThe Bad-tempered Man, by Menander. It was billed as a comedy, though Ive seen funnier hunger riots. The point is, Id just snuggled myself down on a hired cushion and was peeling an apple when this bloke came on in a mask and said the first line of the play, which happens to be:

 

Imagine this place is Phyle, in Attica

 

I remember, I jumped so much I cut my thumb with the paring knife. Bloody nerve, I said to myself If Im going to pay three copper pennies to imagine Im some place, it sure as hell wouldnt be Phyle. Its not a lovely place. In fact, its a dump. Now its perfectly true to say, I grew up there, of all people I should have known it was a dump, so what was I cribbing about? But somehow after everything Id been through, all my horrible adventures, crowned by my amazing run of inexplicable, amazing good luck, Id been expecting it to be different; lets face it, better. Not sure how better; burned to the ground and grown over with bindweed wouldve done. But it was just how itd been when I left it, and for some reason I felt that wasnt good enough, as if Id come home after a hard day and the dirty dishes from breakfast had still been on the table. Still. I was here, the place Id chosen out of the whole world. I walked down the street, and there it was, inevitably, exactly the same. Our inn. One long stone building, rounded at the far end, flat roof, crumbling plaster; stables at right angles to the square end, across a scruffy-looking yard. Itd been there since Theseus was a kid, and nobodyd got around to giving it a name. There was the gate, probably the same bit of mouldy old string holding it on to the post as when Id left; there was the mounting block, half crumbled away, with weeds growing up though the cracks. There was the well, and the staked-off rectangle of gravel we tried to grow beans in, and right next to the back door, the midden

maybe a tad taller and nastier-smelling than itd been in my day, but you cant really call that progress. And thereI blinked. It couldnt be. Dogs live

what, fifteen years, if theyre really lucky? I never heard of a dog living to be twenty-four. But just before I left home, the old thee-legged bitch had had puppies, and one of them, scrawny little thing with four black socks and one ear bigger than the other, had this disgusting habit of sprawling all over the side of the shitheap during the day, then treading muck all through the house at night. Speedy, we called him, because if you tried to catch him to give him a dip in the rain butt, hed be off like a shot from a catapult. And there on the side of the midden was this incredibly old, blind, decrepit excuse for a dog, with four black socks and one ear bigger than the other.

Speedy? I said.

He lifted his head, and barked feebly For some unfathomable reason, I was in floods of tears. I sort of stumbled across the yard, and reached out my hand to pat his head. He bit me.

Yes, I thought. Im home.

Nothing for it but to knock at the door, so thats what I did. No reply; the dog growled uneasily, but no voices or footsteps. So I knocked again, louder; I didnt call out, just in case Plutus recognised my voice. I wanted to give him a surprise.

Well, I was standing there thinking it had all gone wrong, nobody was at home, when I heard rushing footsteps behind me, and there was this short round man with a shiny bald head. Not Plutus, not even after twenty-four years. All right, he puffed, just a moment, hold your water, Ill be there in a tick.

Just the one night, is it?

I looked at him. Excuse me, I said, but Im looking for someone.

Oh. The expression on his face changed, as he reclassified me under

time-waster. Whod that be, then?

My cousin Plutus, I replied. He owns this place.

The fat man lifted his head. Not any more, he said. Sorry to have to tell you, he died.

Oh. That came as a bigger blow than Id anticipated. God knows why, since Id always hated Plutus, possibly even more than I hated Therion. I guess I thought he was cheating, skipping out on me like that and not being there to see my triumphant local-boy-makes-good homecoming.

Porkchop nodded. Mustve been, what, ten years since. Fever, there was quite an epidemic. Of course, keeping the inn, he was one of the first to catch it.

Sorry. I guess you were close.

I didnt answer that. How long have you been here? I asked.

Me? He looked surprised that I was interested in him. Oh, it must be, what, six or seven years now His brother inherited, you see

Therion. I read the look in his eyes. Hes dead too, isnt he?

Afraid so. Heart, they reckoned.

That didnt sound right, or it was news to me that Therion had one. I see, I said.

Well, the fat man went on, after he died, which was, I dont know, nine years back; after he passed over, of course, it went to his aunt. He stopped, looking awkward. Would that be your mother? Sosistrata?

Thats her, I said. Her too?

What? Oh, no, shes still alive. Oh, I thought. Anyhow, she got the farm and the inn, but she couldnt make anything of either of em, so she sold up, and I bought this place, with my retirement from the army He stopped, as it occurred to him that, if I was Mums son, I should have inherited, not her, which meant his purchase might be invalid. Suddenly he didnt like me any more. Not one bit.

Go on, I said.

Thats all there is to it, really Mate of mine had the farm, if you can call it that. I had this place.

You arent from round here, I said.

Too right. Were from the city. Did twenty-four years in the army, took the cash instead of land when we came outwanted to come back to Athens, see, and the land they offered us was some godforsaken swamp on the German border.

Twenty years, I said. Its a long time. Then an idea hit me, and I added, Isnt it?

He looked at me again. Right, he said. So youre ex-service too, are you?

I nodded. Pretorians, I added. I dont know what possessed me to say that, because they only take the biggest, strongest, meanest blokes for the imperial guard; but then, it was practically the truth, since hadnt I just spent ten years guarding the emperor of the Romans?

Get on, he said. You too? Oh fuck, I thought. I was in the Guards eight years.

Small world, I said. I was in for four. Who were you with before that?

Tenth.

Ah, right. I was with the Twenty-First. Started as quartermasters clerk, worked my way up to QMS. You?

Mules, he replied. Well, if that doesnt beat bull-wrestling. Was old Lasher still CSM when you were with the squad?

I lifted my head. CSM in my time was a bloke called Barbillus. Spaniard, filthy temper.

Barbillus. He scratched his nose. You know, that rings a bell. Im sure I was billeted with a Spaniard called Barbillus. In fact, Im positive.

Theres a coincidence, I said; and it was, since Id just made Barbillus up.

Well, whod have thought it?

He didnt hate me quite so much now, though he was still a bit wary of me. Odd how things turn out, he said. So, he went on, how longve you been out?

Few months, I replied. I dossed about for a while, but Im like you, I guess, I always figured on coming home.

Well, it beats getting shunted off to Germany , he said. So youre back looking for a place, then? Retirement burning a hole in your purse?

I nodded. Most of it, anyways, I told him. Ill be honest, Ive pissed some of it up against the wall, who doesnt? But Ive got a tidy bit left, so thats all right.

He hesitated; then I suppose he decided that since we were old comrades in arms, followed the dear old eagles together and all that shit, he could probably trust me with the truth. He said: Strictly speaking, I suppose, you might have a claim on this place. In law, I mean. Like, if youre the oldif youre Sosistratas son, by rights this place shouldve come to you...

I tried to make it look like the idea had only just hit me. Good God, no, I said. Well, maybe in law, I went on, but who gives a shit for all that lawyers stuff? No, if you paid my mother good money for this place, then as far as Im concerned its yours; and if you want to go along to the prefects office, Ill swear to that, no worries.

Poor fool looked at me like theyd cut him down off a cross and said, Sorry, just kidding. Oh, we dont want to go bothering with any of that crap, not a couple of old boys like us. So. He breathed out, a bit ragged. Youre looking for a place to buy, then?

I nodded. Well, first things first. Before that, I want a bed for the night and a bite to eat, not to mention a jug or two of half-and-half

Oh, I think we can manage that, he said, just a shade too cheerfully On the house, naturally, he added, and I sort of got the impression that he didnt say those words all that often; they seemed to hurt his throat coming out, like he was puking up thistles.

Thats very kind of you, I said.

Least I can do, for an old boy, he replied, grinning lopsidedly So we went inside; and if anything had changed, I couldnt see what (except that Plutus was dead, and so was Therion; and Callistus too, of course, which left me. And mother too, I reminded myself). My old army buddy, whose name turned out to be Apollodorus, parked me at a table, then went stomping and yelling for food and wine. Ill say this for him, he turned on all the taps for me. Bacon and bean stew with leeks and fresh bread, good domestic wine half-and-half, with honey, oatmeal and grated cheese; he even turfed his old dad out of the second-back loft room so I could sleep there (strange coincidence, since that had been mine and Callistus when we were kids, and the big ugly damp patch on the wall was exactly like itd been as far back as I could remember). At any rate, when the sun woke me up the next morning, I was feeling extraordinarily bright and breezy and cheerful. So, first order of business for the day was to change all that. I went down into the yard and found Apollodorus on his way to the stables with a big jar of horses barley

I think Id better go and see my mother, I said. Where can I find her?

Speedy the dog, curled up on the dungheap as usual, put his ears back and snarled at me. I could see his point. Still, if the gods had meant us to be happy, they wouldnt have given us family

Right, Apollodorus said. Turn left out of here, down the street about two hundred yards till you come to an old house with a double door

I nodded. You mean Telecleides place?

Of course, I forgot, you were raised here. Yes, thats the one; only, the old boy who used to live there

He didnt have to say any more. Pity. Id liked Telecleides. Joined the majority? I said.

About ten years ago, so I was told. Your mothers got it now; at least, it belongs to the Roman bailiff, but he lets her live there.

I frowned. If shed sold the inn and the farm, how come she was living on grace and favour? But I could ask her that; no need to discuss family stuff with an outsider. Thanks, I said. I think Ill wander down there now After that, Ive got to walk down to the city

No you dont, Apollodorus said. You take my mare, she needs the exercise anyhow

Thanks, I said, a bit taken aback. Thats very generous of you.

He shrugged. Why walk when you can ride? Anyway, if you want something to eat or a drink when you get back, give me a shout, dont worry if its late. Well, obviously I mean, I dont suppose I could tell you anything about running an inn.

I thanked him. He said not to mention it. If wed been any friendlier, wed have had to get married, if only for the sake of the children.

Well, you cant put off horrible jobs for ever, so I strolled down to road to Telecleides old house to see my old mum.

Now if youve been paying close attention, you may have got it into your head that I didnt like my mother terribly much. Youd be right, too. Truth is, wed never got on, not since I can remember. Id never quite been sure why she didnt seem to like me very much. Now, thatd have been understandable if it was just me. But it wasnt. She never seemed to like Callistus much, either, and how anybody could not like him, I could never figure out. He was the original model childgood, obedient, clever, good-looking, you name itbut she was always yelling it him, same as at me, only in his case he never did anything to deserve it. Nothing either of us did was ever right, and a lot of the time shed just look at us like we gave her a pain. Well, sixteen years of that sort of thing, and are you surprised I wasnt looking forward to seeing her again? Also, she always did like a drink or twelve, and working in an inn, there was always spare booze around, though generally not for long when she was about. One of my earliest memories is Mum in the common room, going round gathering up the winecups and swilling down the last knockings and the dregs before stacking them in the tub. Id often wondered how she got that way, and over the years Id explored every possible explanation, from a tragic experience when she was a girl down to liking the way the stuff tastes. Of course, I never asked her, never said anything, in fact, simply did my best to keep out of her way, drunk or sober. Well, thats as may be. They say there are Furies whose job it is to punish people who dont do right by their mothers, and if its true, I guess thatd explain a lot about the way my lifes been. But even a Fury would have to be pretty hard-hearted, or worried about losing her job, to punish me for my bad attitude. Still, I suppose thats the way Furies are, meaner than a bailiffs dog and as keen on rules as a tax collector.

So I stepped up to the door and knocked. No answer. Could be she was out, could be she was pissed out of her head and sleeping it off face down on the floor like when we were kids, or maybe shed died last week, and nobodyd noticed. I knocked again, and secretly I was hoping the door would stay shut. If I could say Id tried, itd keep the Furies off my back, and I wouldnt have to see her. 

So there I was, stood out in the road like a kid serenading his girl, when someone walked past me, stopped dead, turned round and stared at me; an old boy under a huge wide-brimmed leather hat that made him look like a giant field mushroom.

Galen? he said. Is that you?

Im good at voices. Hello, Mnesicrates, I replied.

Galen? Id known him all my life, on and off, not close, he wasnt family or anything.

Once when I was about thirteen hed caught me stealing figs off his tree and chased me halfway to Thebes before he put his foot down a pothole and twisted his ankle. Well, bugger me, he said. Didnt think wed ever see you again.

He came back down the road towards me. When I saw his face under that daft hat, I was shocked. Hed turned old since I last saw him, his eyes had sunk back into his head, his cheeks had caved in and his skin seemed to have grown too big for his face. Well, here I am, I said stupidly So, howve you been keeping?

He stared at me. What? Oh, not so bad. Leastways, my wife died, about ten years ago, my son Polycharmusyou remember him, you had a real nasty fight with him once, over some girl

I grinned. If you can call it a fight, I said. More like a massacre, if you ask me. Still, shed have been wasted on me.

He shrugged. Well, anyhow, he said, he died about this time, year before last. My other boy, Polycitus, he passed on beginning of this yearfell out a tree, of all the damned things, bust his neck.

Im sorry to hear that, I said.

Yeah, well. Lost most of my flock, four years ago come pruning season; scab, they reckoned it was, though I aint so sure. Then I had a landslip on my terraces, lost my best two-acre of vines. Well went bad on me eighteen months back; I dug a new one but its barely a trickle, dries up altogether in the hot season. Long barn burned down, year before last, and that was all my seedcorn gone into the bargain, so I had to borrow; dont suppose Ill pay that debt back before I die. Then my eldest grandsonCharmus boyhe ran off to join the legion, so its just me and Eutychides, though hes no more than a kid still, and he lost an eye in the spring, infected, had to get a barber up from the city to cut it out. How about you?

Me? Oh, cant grumble, I said. Tell me, whos got our place now? The farm, I mean.

He scowled. Some damned soldier, he said. But he doesnt work it hardly, just stays in the house and drinks himself into a state, then comes out roaring and bashing on trees with a sword. Your grandad, itd break his heart to see it, rest his soul.

Ah, I said. So you reckon he might sell, then?

Mnesicrates looked blank. Might do, he said, as though the idea of buying and selling land had come as a bit of a shock. Cant say as Ive talked to him much, him being drunk all the time. Dont reckon hes took to farming. I guess you could ask him, anyway

Thanks, I said, I might just do that. Well, I wont keep you, I added hopefully

Oh, I aint in any hurry, he replied. Just been to look at my beans, but dont reckon theyre going to come to anything. Not worth the sweat fetching them in, hardly Soil took sick a while back, cant grow a damn thing in that parcel any more. Reckon Ill just plough em under and have done with it. Well, dont know if youre planning on sticking around, but welcome back. Didnt I hear you and your brother went off and joined the legion or something?

Thats right, I said. Just got my demob, and now Im home.

He scratched his ear thoughtfully Homes best, thats what they say, he said.

See you around, in that case.

I wasnt sure if that was a greeting or a threat, but I made nice and said, See you around, take care. He shrugged and walked away, taking his personal black cloud with him. At least I knew now what people in the neighbourhood thought had become of me. As far as Phyle was concerned, Id gone for a soldier. That suited me just fine.

All the time Id been talking to old Miseryguts, there hadnt been any sign of life inside the house, and I was just about to walk on when I saw someone else coming down the road towards me. This time it was a little tiny old Woman, bent almost double over a thin walking stick. It didnt occur to me until she brushed past me and went into the house that it could possibly be my mother. Surely not.

Last time Id seen her, shed been almost the same height as me, a big woman with a round boozers face, plump stuffed-looking arms like giant sausages.

Besides, shed glanced up at me as she went by Surely shed have recognised her own son? After all, I hadnt changed a bit (mores the pity). Couldnt have been. The old soldier back at the inn mustve got his reins tangled.

But it was no good trying to kid myself. I knew, in spite of everything, it was her all right. I sighed, gritted my teeth, and banged on the door.

Seeing her face close up, I knew, there wasnt any doubt in the matter. It was as if someone had put her out to dry, along with the figs and the raisins, and then forgotten to fetch her in again. Her cheeks had slipped down under her chin, and her nose stuck out like a rock when the sea goes out; apart from that, she was pretty much the same. What do you want? she said, like shed just bitten an apple and found me in it.

Well, I couldnt think of a single thing to say, so I said, Hello.

She looked at me, and I knew shed recognised me. I dont know you, she said, get lost.

That was a bit hard. Its me, I said. Galen. Your son.

She always had that habit of staring just to your left when you caught her out in a lie. Whatre you doing here? she said. I had word you were dead.

No, I said, still alive, more or less. Can I come in?

She clicked her teeth; she still had practically the whole set, the only gap being an old one, from before I was born, where someone had knocked out one of the lower fronts. Yes, all right, she said. And you know what? I was scared.

Well, youre saying, so whats unusual about that? Fair point. Im a born coward, Ill happily admit that; no point in denying the screamingly obvious.

Ive been scared all my lifescared of being caught, mostly, scared of what theyll do to me after theyve caught me, scared of going anywhere, scared of staying where I am, scared of death, illness, hunger, cold, heat, old age, spiders, snakes, big dogs, small dogs, middling-sized dogs, cows, thunder, birds of ill omen, the gods, justice, fate, boats, bridges, heights, confined spaces, open spaces, chickens, soldiers, the numbers three, four, seven and twelve, left-handed women, tall men, weapons, bats, chariots, clifftops, wells, cripples, fire, snow, the dark, change, any food thats bright red or moves, strangers, pigs, you name it, Im scared of it. Wouldnt have it any other way, because Ive always reckoned that the dumbest last words a man can ever say are, I thought it was safe. I think the gods gave us fear to protect us from all the dangerous things there are in the world, and Im truly thankful, believe me.

But whod have thought a grown man would ever be scared of his own mother?

Still. They say that true courage is facing up to something that frightens the shit out of you, though Ive always thought that was a pretty fair working definition of stupidity. Anyway, I followed her into the house.

First thing that hit me was the smell. The place stank of shit, with accents of stale pee, rotting food and vomit. It was as dark as a bag, and the floor crunched when you walked on it. When I got used to the dark, I could see it was a shambles in there. Funny, because when we were kids, shed always been on at us about tidying up. There were pigs bones and shrivelled apple cores all over the deck, jars stacked against the wall, cups with furry green mould growing in them, flies everywhere. She sat down on a little wooden stool. I stayed standing up, for fear of catching something.

Well, she said, youre back, then.

I nodded. Yes, I said.

She tutted. Wheres Callistus? He with you?

Hes dead.

Hadnt meant to tell her like that, of course. Of all the ignorant things to say to a mother. But she shrugged her thin shoulders a little and said, Well, then. What was I supposed to make of that?

Hes been dead for ten years, I went on. In Italy , I added, like that somehow made it better. Then I remembered something Id heard once. He died well, I said. It sounded really, really stupid after Id said it.

She thought so too. Whats that supposed to mean? she said.

He died saving someones life, I told her.

She tutted again, like somebody had told her wed been stealing apples. Yours? 

I lifted my head. His friend, I said.

She sighed. Stupid bloody fool. You werent there, then.

Actually, I was, I said. I tried to stop him

Didnt try very hard, I dont suppose. She shook her head, to show that the subject was closed. You just passing through?

No, I said. At least, I was planning

You cant stay here, she interrupted. I dont want you stopping here, I havent got the room. Well, that was no lie. Its all right, I said, Im staying at the inn. You know, our old place.

She looked up at me sharply Got any money? she said quickly

Yes, I said. Ive got plenty of that.

She looked at me. It was the sort of look a polecat would give a rabbit. You done all right for yourself, then?

I nodded. I had some good luck, I said, and left it at that. No point telling her about Amyntas just happening to hire my friends on the grain freighter, or the floating coffin. I could tell she wouldnt be interested.

You could do me a favour, she said, assessing me like she was buying livestock. You always were a good boy, kind to your poor old mother.

Sure, I said.

You could go down the inn, she said, and bring me up ajar of wine. Neednt be anything fancy, just the plain stuff.

Of course, I said, no expression. And how about something to eat? Are you all right for flour?

Dont fuss me about that, she said irritably Just get me a jar. Go on, you can do a little thing for me, after all I done for you.

For some reason I said, Such as what? She didnt like that at all, she gave me a look you could have picked out whelks with, and sort of arched her neck, like a cat spitting. But what she said was, Dont be mean, darling. A little jar, thats not so much to ask for your old mum, is it? Only, I been working, up at my veggie plother hands and the knees of her skirt told a different tale, unless there wasnt any soil in her gardenand its given me such a thirst, on a hot day Wont take you a moment just to run up to the inn, fetch down a little jar.

So I left the house and walked back down the road, shaking like it was perishing cold; and most of all, I wished I never had to go back in there again, with that terrible old woman. But I found the landlord, mending the sole of his boot outside in the yard with a strip of parchment and a little pot of newly boiled glue, and I bought a two-gallon jar and hoisted it on my shoulder. He didnt ask what I wanted it for, and I didnt tell him. As I trudged back up the street, I felt like that giant in the fairy tale who carried the sky on his neck for the gods, as a punishment for something or other.

That you, Galen darling? she sang out as I nudged the door open with my foot, like I was a kid again, back from fetching the goats in off the hill. Youre a good boy, she went on, didnt I always say you were? You bring that here, and Ill mix us both a nice drink.

Not for me, I said, thinking of all the green stuff in the cups. She didnt press the point.

After a while (she drank off the first cup neat, didnt touch the sides; the next one she mixed half and half, with water from a little coiled jug I remembered from the old days), she seemed to loosen up, like a tired man in a hot bath. Its good to see you again, my little darling, she said, though she was looking at the jar. I been ever so worried, not knowing whatd become of you. But you never came to see me, you never sent word how you were fixed, might as well have been dead for all I knew And things havent been easy I had to sell the inn, thats been in our family for generations, and the farm, itd have broken poor Grandpas heart. But what was I supposed to do, on my own like that, not knowing if Id ever see my darling boy ever again?

If that was a roundabout way of saying she was sorry for pissing my inheritance up against the wall, I didnt think a whole lot of it. Still, thats mothers for you, always making it sound like its your fault, but of course they forgive you. She went on and on like that for God knows how long, and never a mention of Callistus, or a question about him; it was as though Id been an only child. I told her, when I could get a word in edgeways, that Id been in the armya cook, I told her, just in case she was listening, because even in her state shed never believe Id been a fighting man, and now Id got my demob and my retirement, and I was back looking to settle down and farm. Thats nice, dear,

she said, mixing some more half-and-half, though it was more three-quarters-quarter, as if it was a dry season and water was scarce. Always knew youd do well for yourself in the world, you always were a good boy Itll be nice to live up at the farm again. I miss the old place. I was so sad, letting it go.

Fuck, I thought; did I say anything about having her up there to live with me?

But I didnt say anything, of course. And maybe, if she came to live with me, we could get her straightened out a bit, or at least itd be cheaper, when I had my own vines. I thought about that, and doubled the amount of ground Id planned to put down to vineyards.

Halfway down the jar she fell asleep, and I tiptoed out and left her. Back at the inn, I found my pal the landlord again, still mending his rotten old boot, and asked him to send up another jar next time his boy went up the village. Then I set out for the city to sell my beautiful gold belt.

Nice thing about going from Phyle into town is its downhill. I was a bit preoccupied along the way and didnt really pay any mind to looking about me; Id done the coming-home bit to death, I reckoned, and I had the rotten bloody uphill to look forward to on the way back (one look made me change my mind about the innkeepers mare: wonderful set of bones it had, and you could see the lot of them through its skin). Athens is a small place compared to some of the cities Ive seen, but theres plenty of money about, what with all the rich Romans coming here for their bit of culture, which they gobble down like medicine, fast and with their eyes shut. Thats good if youre after an upmarket goldsmith whos looking to buy I had my pick, chose one up by the Tower of the Winds who looked a bit left-handed and shifty, rather like me. I think he nearly pissed down his leg when he saw the belt; didnt ask where Id got it from, just how much I wanted for it. I grinned, and said it was a legacy from my old aunt, I hadnt got a clue how much it was worth, but I was sure hed give me a fair price for it. We spent a little while play-actingme pretending to walk out the shop, him pretending to let me go, all that tedious old game. In the end, I left him with the belt and toddled away with about as third as much again as Id been expecting, knowing Id been screwed rotten. Didnt care; after all, it wasnt as if it was mine to sell, not really It did cross my mind that if one poxy little belt was worth more money than my familys seen since Alexanders time, maybe I shouldve taken the jolly pirates of Scheria up on their kind offer. But Im not as stupid as that. They were nice people, some of the incest Ive ever met, genuinely so. But if Id gone into partnership with them like they wanted me to, right now Id be a few bits of bone three foot down in the sea-bottom sludge, and youd never have heard of me or known Id ever been born. 

Athens is a quiet place, except at night when the drunks are about, but even so, it doesnt do to wander about the streets buckling at the knees under the weight of your coined money I wasnt quite sure what to do at first, but then I thought, Well, why not? And I couldnt think of a good answer. So I headed for the Market Square , where the bankers have their tables. Athens is a great place for banks, because of all those Roman visitors needing money from home to buy up old statues and the like. I never thought Id see the day when Id be leaning up against the table of Gnaeus Laberius and partners, offices in Rome , Athens , Lyons , Alexandria . Certainly never thought Id see the day when the senior manager, having seen the big fat bag of coins sat on his table, suddenly noticed I was having to stand up on a hot day, and sent his clerk scurrying for a stool for me to sit on. He gave me a drink too, several drinksFalerian, all the way from Italyand said it was a pleasure doing business with me. Another first, goes without saying. Mind you, its easy to be a pleasure to do business with when youre rich.

Which I was, apparently; and as I walked home, I was asking myself, Well, how in Gods name did that happen? I hadnt really noticed at the timethe belt was there, I stole it, it was sheer instinct, like scratching an itch. From that moment on, though, it appears I stopped being low-life, scum of the earth, and suddenly transformed into a splendid, godlike person who it was a pleasure to have dealings with, someone who gets given Falerian and has stools fetched for him, just for doing a spot of business. I hadnt felt terribly splendid or godlike when I was bobbing about in the sea, mind you, or when I was alone and naked on the beach. But then I suddenly understood, and it all made sense to me

the kind and generous Scherians, their lavish hospitality, everything going right for once, even the gods sending the floating coffin to see me safe to shore. All that good fortune had started only after Id pinched the belt; and once Id done that, of course, I was rich. It was clear as mountain water after Id figured that out. Once Id become rich, it goes without saying everything would be different. Of course the gods would take care of me and send floating coffins for me and arrange for me to be taken straight home on a private yacht.

Only goes to show how thick I am that I hadnt figured that out at the time.

Well, I took on a dozen gold pieces and some silver, just for walking-around money, and left the rest of it safe in the hands of Gnaeus Laberius and partners. First thing I did after that was to stroll down to the horsefair and buy a nice little mare, complete with harness, so I wouldnt have to walk home up that bastard hill. Hardly seemed to take any time getting back to Phyle with my four-footed pal doing all the work. I parked her in the stable at the inn for the grooms to take care of, and lit out for the farm. I thought, no time like the present, while Im in this firm, confident, heroic-Achilles frame of mind.

Long story short: I found my landlords old army buddy asleep under the pear tree out the back with a jar next to him. I prodded him awake with my toe and came straight out with it: would he consider selling the farm? He blinked at me, like I was the leftovers of some really weird dream hed been having, and I said it again, only more slowlywas he interested in selling the farm? Id give him what he paid for it, I went on, and a quarter again on top for luck and goodwill, provided he could be out inside the month.

He looked at me like I had snakes growing out of my nose, and said, Yes.

Good, I replied; and then we sorted out the details, dates and terms and what hed be taking with him and what had to stay, live and dead stock, felled timber and standing crops, all that stuff; and then I said thank you, all gracious like a gentleman, and walked away Simple as that, all very pleasant and no shouting or bad feeling or blood spilt in the dust, and I remember thinking, old Ulysses, instead of all that business of drawing the great bow that only he could draw and shooting down a hundred men in cold bloodall he needed to do was haul out the big fat purse of gold coins he got off the Scherians and buy the old place back, and everybody wouldve been happy as lambs, nobody dead, and no great deeds to make a song and dance over. All I could think of was, hed been poor and on the hog so long hed forgotten he was rich and didnt need to do all that heroic striving and suffering. Silly bugger.

Then I went back to the inn and ordered a big meal, with good wine; actually managed to make it sound like I meant it, instead of it being me playing at being a rich bastard, as part of some scam. Well, I thought, if Lucius Domitius could learn to be a toerag like me, I could learn to be a rich bastard, it comes with practice in the end, like playing the harp or singing.

 

Well, Ive been poor, and Ive been rich; and Im here to tell you, rich is better. Rich is waking up in the morning and wondering what youre going to have for breakfast, rather than whether theres any chance of you getting a meal today Rich is standing in your porch looking up at the sky when its burning hot or freezing cold, and saying to yourself, Screw it, Im not going to go to work today, let the hired men do it all. Rich is not having to patch the patches in your cloak, its being able to ride rather than walk, its having choices, being able to do what you want and not do what you dont want. Compared with rich, poor sucks.

Now I dont want you thinking I was throwing money around like two drunk sailors on shore leave. You cant just paint over the habits of forty years; and besides, it didnt take long to find out that lots of rich food gave me heartburn and set me off farting all day long, or that more than a couple of cups of wine in the middle of the day left me useless for anything. I had a woman in the village make me up three tunics and two cloaks out of decent quality wool cloth, and I bought two pairs of good boots from a shoemaker in the city. Soon as I was moved in to the farm, I hired a carpenter to build me a proper bed and a table for the house, and I took on a couple of lads to help me get the place back in order, mending the barn roof and refitting the house door so it shut. I rode into town and bought two slaves. I chose middle-aged men, Syrians, who turned out to be quiet, hard-working types, who knew what had to be done around a farm and could be left to get on with it. I gave them the small barn to live in, let them do it up in their off time so theyd be reasonably comfortable. Ptolemy and Smicro, their names were, and I never had any trouble with either of them.

Needless to say, Grandads little farm wasnt going to be enough to keep me and two hands in the style I was hoping to become accustomed to, but that was all right. Its a wonderful thing, the Roman army Not only do they keep us safe from all the hordes of savage Germans and Parthians (not that theyve ever done me any harm, especially compared to, say, the Romans), and they do a bang-up job of patrolling the streets and chasing unscrupulous thieves and conmen down narrow alleys; best of all, the army lures gullible young men away from the farm and either kills them or gives them money to settle down in a distant land when theyve done their time. The upshot of this is, the small farmers end up with nobody to leave the old place to when they go on, and more and more land comes up for sale every year. This mostly benefits the Roman senators and their kind, who buy it up and put in slaves and stewards to run it; but it also means that someone like me, if he happens to come into money unexpectedly, can gradually build up a good-sized holding without having to find a huge fortune all in one hit. In this case, it all worked out just fine. One of my neighbours, old Polycleides (who was amazed to find I was still alive, and maybe not best pleased) had lost both his sons to the legion; last heard of, they were colour-sergeants on the Eastern frontier, having far too much fun boozing and chasing skirt ever to want to come home to small-town Attica. So I offered him a good price for his six-acre patch that separated my two biggest parcels, and he nearly took my hand off at the wrist. Mygdon, who never had managed to find a husband for his daughter (though hed set the dogs on me when I was fifteen and came round with a basket of apples; fair enough, desperates one thing, but a fathers got to draw the line somewhere), sold me four acres of good olives on the southern slopes. Maybe I paid over the odds for the three acres of flat I got off Icarius family, but Id always liked the old boy back in the old days, and I couldnt be fussed to strike a hard bargain. In any event, I made up for that by more or less stealing eight acres of hillside from Eurymedon; I paid him the going rate for scrub and stones, but a blind man in the dark could see that all it needed was terracing and itd be as good as any ground in Phyle. All told, I tripled the size of the farm, bought in vinestocks, seedcorn and olive saplings, treated myself to a new plough, five good oxen and two mules, and I still had over half of the belt money safe in Laberius bank. Amazing transformation, like one of those fairy tales where the gods turn people into trees or animals: a few months and a handful of shiny round metal discs turned me from the scum of the earth into one of the biggest landed proprietors in Phyle. When all the formalities had been sorted out, the boundary stones earthed in, all that kind of thing, I sat down at my handsome new table with a wax tablet and a potful of dried beans for counters, and figured out my likely annual income; it came to a whisker over or under the magical five hundred measures of produce, wet and dry, which used to be the qualification for belonging to the ruling class back in the days of the old Republic, before anybodyd ever heard of the Romans. By the standards of your senators and knights, of course, I was just another dirt-scratching peasant. My little empire wouldnt have been enough to grow the grain it took to feed a senators tame peacocks. As if I cared. One of the really nice things about being a country gent in Phyle, as far as I was concerned, was that there was no earthly reason why I should ever have to talk to another Roman again as long as I lived. That alone made the whole thing worthwhile, in my opinion.

About the only bad thing about my new life was the company I tried to persuade her shed be happier living in town where shed have all her friends about her, but she pointed out the undeniable fact that she didnt have any friends; practically nobody had said a civil word to her for forty-odd years. I reminded her that the farmhouse was a poky little dump of a place, hardly more than a shack compared with her nice, well-appointed house in town, but she replied that she didnt mind that, and anyway, itd be no bother to build on a couple more rooms. I even offered to buy her the inn; I could tell she was tempted, but she didnt go for it, worse luck. No, she said, her place was by my side. She hadnt been much of a mother to me in the old days, but now at last shed got a chance to make it up to me, and thats what she was going to spend her last few years this side of the River doing, whether I liked it or not. So she rented out her house in the village (never a chopped obol did I see of any rent money, mind)

and moved in with me; her, a big cedarwood chest of clothes, her mangy old polecat (called Galen, for some unaccountable reason) and the goddess Thirst, whod been her constant companion for fifty years and couldnt bear to be parted from her.

Well, she was good for agriculture, because with her in the house, I found Id much rather be outdoors, triple-ploughing the fallow or earthing up vines with the ponderous bloody hoe. It worked out that if I stayed in the fields till sundown, by the time I got home shed have drunk herself into a coma and wouldnt bother me except in small ways, like suddenly yelling in her sleep or throwing up noisily in the fireplace (unforgettable smell, evaporating puke).

My neighbours were terribly impressed by the way I was always up and on my way to the fields with my hoe on my shoulder just before dawn, and you couldnt find a weed or an unbusted clod on my property, though I say it myself as shouldnt.

Even so, there were occasions when I didnt quite time it right, and came home while she was still more or less conscious. Those were the days I really missed Lucius Domitius, because if hed been there he could have explained to me exactly how they built that clever self-scuttling ship, the one he had made for his old mum. Not that Phyles all that close to the sea, but Im a resourceful bloke, Id have thought of something.

It was on one of our jolly evenings together, me mending a broken shovel-handle with rawhide and her slumped over the table with a winecup the size of your head gripped in her claws, that she said it was a shame and a scandal, the mother of a rich bastard like me having to make shift for herself, when every carpenters and smiths mother had a ladys maid to do the housework. I looked round at the pigheap Id been living in since shed come to stay and thought, if shifts what she makes, I really dont want it; but I didnt say anything, and next day I got on my horse and rode down to the city.

Usually, Athens is a good place to buy people. With all our free-spending Roman visitors theres plenty of money about, and all the ships from the Islands stop at Piraeus before dragging on round the coast, including everything going to and from Delos , which is still the biggest human cattle market on earth. Just my luck, though. Oh, I couldve had my pick of field hands, factory hands, craftsmen, teachers, houseboys, you name it. But the only female slaves on offer, apart from the usual flute girls (obviously a staple commodity in a good-time town like Athens), were some scraggy old boilers advertised as laundry and general household, whod probably have dropped dead from exhaustion halfway up the hill to home, and a few specialist embroiderers, not what was needed and way out of my price bracket in any case.

I wasnt quite sure what to do. Thered be a new consignment along in a day or so, no doubt about it. But that meant going home empty-handed and getting moaned at, and then having to traipse back into town again, and the whole wretched job to do again. Ill be honest with you, I dont go much on slave-shopping. It only goes to show what a disreputable, dodgy life Ive led, one step ahead of the watch if I was lucky; but every time I see a line of slaves up on the boards with an auctioneer prancing up and down pointing at them with a little stick, I cant help but reflect that, but for a couple of lucky throws of the dice, itd have been me up there, and quite probably that was where I rightfully belonged.

So screw it, I thought, Ill get it over and done with, and thatll be that.

So I went to the bank and got a letter for their office on Delos ; sent a runner back to the farm to let them know Id be away for a few days, stabled my horse and wandered down to Piraeus , where I had my choice of ships leaving for Delos on the afternoon tide. It was funny being back on a ship again. I had to keep telling myself, The Islands are a long way away from Africa and Sicily , and itd take a real bitch of a freak storm to drive us off course and land us there. I spent most of the journey curled up in a sorry heap up the shard end of the boatone of the few times Ive ever been seasick; amazing I could do it so well with so little practiceso I didnt see much of Andros, Tenos or southern Euboea. Didnt bother me; I was just delighted when they yelled out  Delos , and I was able to get off the ship and onto something that didnt buck and weave under my feet all the damn time.

If Id known what Delos was going to be like, Id have stayed home. Oh, its a pleasant enough place, if you like scenery and stuff, and of course theres the world-famous Temple of Apollo, which you can just about see through all the stalls and booths selling little pottery statues and piss-thin bean and leek soup and surefire cures for blindness. I didnt bother with sightseeing; the ship Id come in on was stopping only one night before going back to Piraeus , and I was determined to be on it, unless I could find something leaving earlier. 

Even including Rome , I dont suppose theres any spot on earth thats got more people per square yard than Delos . Also even including Rome , Im absolutely certain theres nowhere with more pain, suffering and misery per square yard, either. You couldnt call me the soft-hearted type, compassions a luxury for people who dont have any great call to go feeling sorry for themselves. But I didnt like Delos . It made me jumpy as a cat. Any moment I expected to feel a bloody great big hand on my shoulder, or hear someone yell out, There he is, grab him before he gets away; and then Id be up on one of those platforms, collar round my neck, holes punched in my earlobes, and thatd be that. Guilty conscience? I dont think so. Call it twenty-four years accumulated twitch, the instinct you get when youve spent a lifetime on the hog, that tells you this is the sort of place where your sort of people come to harm. And, no doubt about it, there were plenty of my sort of people there, and none of them were buying.

Far as the eye could see, there were these wooden platforms, like little stages or boxing rings, and on each one, a little gaggle of people, all different shapes and sizes and colours and ages, the only thing they had in common being the obtrusive wrought iron jewellery. Running Delos must be a logistical nightmare, just making sure theres enough grain in the bins to feed them all, even on slaves rations. The noise gets to you, and the smell, and the tiny gaps between peoples shoulders that youve got to squeeze through to move about.

There must be over a thousand auctioneers in the market any day of the year, and of course they all have loud, carrying auctioneers voices, like professional singers singing ballads with numbers instead of words, and theyre all going at it at the same time. Its like youre on an anvil, and the voices are like hammers, when half a dozen strikers are working the same piece. If it hadnt been for the fact that Id spent several really uncomfortable days getting there, Id have turned tail and gone straight back to the ship.

But I didnt. I wandered round from stage to stage, trying to take an intelligent interest. But I ask you, whats a good-quality, value-for-money ladys maid supposed to look like, anyhow? Do you want something middle-aged, nice and quiet and steady, or are you after young and strong, that wont wear out after six months use; short or tall, round or square, Greek or German, or doesnt it matter a toss? And are you allowed to notice that theyre people, or would that screw up the whole systemand thatd be a disaster for the whole Empire, I know that, but surely it wouldnt hurt too desperately much, if I promised not to tell anyone.

In other words, I felt like I was completely out of my depth there. Dumb, I know It says in Aristotle or somewhere that some people are born to be slaves, and some people are born to be masters. Stands to reason. But where it seems to me the system breaks down is when a bloke like meno prizes for guessing which category I fall infinds himself plonked down on the wrong side of the platform. Then it stops making sense, and once it stops its like a cart on a steep hill: a bugger of a job to get it started again.

Anyhow, there I was, walking up and down between the stands, painfully aware that I hadnt got a clue what I was supposed to be doing and thinking how nice itd be to be home in Phyle, beating the shit out of clods of dirt with the ponderous hoe, when quite suddenly I saw a face I recognised.

Instinct, instinct; it says so much about you, doesnt it? My instinct is, when I see a face I recognise, to get away from there as fast as I can without making myself conspicuous. This time, though, I managed not to, purely and simply because I was able to put a name to the face before the instinct (in this case, indistinguishable from panic) kicked in. Instead, I stopped dead in my tracks and slowly turned round, to make sure I hadnt imagined it.

No, Id been right. I have the knack of being able to recognize someone from a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of my eye. Im told pigeons can do the same thing. They can tell the difference between a man with a slingshot and a bloke out walking his dog at a range of half a mile, when theyre facing in the opposite direction. Well, in that case, Im an honorary pigeon.

The question was: what was the evil bitch Blandinia, last seen in a burning mews in Rome, doing standing on a platform on Delos, while a huge bald fat man was telling the people a whole lot of lies about how sweet-natured and docile she was?

Well, I thought, it does no harm to listen, so I went over and stood at the back of the crowd, tucked in behind a tall bloke so I could see over his shoulder with precious little chance of being seen myself.

Yes, Im a liar, been one all my life. But theres little white lies, such as, Yes, I own this mule, or, I inherited this handsome silver-gilt dinner service from my auntie; and theres great big steaming whoppers, like what the fat man was saying about Blandinia. To hear him talk, she was this sweet little moppet, slave-born, brought up nicely in a quiet, respectable house, unexpected tax liability forces sale. Let that be a lesson to you: never trust an auctioneer, even if he tells you your mother was a woman.

Just looking at her, youd be forgiven for taking the fat bloke at his word. She was looking down at her toes, all bashful modesty and droopy shoulders, picking at a loose thread on her cuff with her tiny, dainty little fingertips. It made you want to wrap her in a warm blanket and feed her bread and milk, like a sick hedgehog; proof, if youre stubborn-blind enough to want it, that you can tell fuck-all about a human being just by looking.

And then I thought: Well, why not?

Part of me wasnt keen on the idea; in fact, it reckoned I wanted my head opening up and the bits of dirt and crud cleaned out of the works, because only a complete idiot would want to be on the same continent as that murderous little waif, let alone pay good money to get her back in his life after two narrow escapes. But another part of me was saying, This cant be a coincidence, the gods dragged you out here on purpose so you could buy her. There was a certain amount to be said for that line of argument: I mean, whatd possessed me to come all this way, getting my guts shook out of me on a boat, when I couldve stayed home, waited a month, and got a perfectly good ladys maid in Athens?

There was no reasonable explanation, itd just been a sort of impulse thingor some god had put the idea in my head, for this express purpose. Furthermore, I had a score the size of Euboea to settle with Blandinia, and offhand I couldnt think of a nastier thing to do to any female person than hand them over to my mother to be her personal servant. In fact, the idea was so utterly evil and nasty, I was sticking up my hand and bidding before I realised what I was doing; and by then it was too late, the other interested parties had dropped out and the auctioneer was singing out, Sold to the weasel-faced gentleman at the back. 

Eighteen
Fuck, I thought, but it was past helping. They do really horrible things to people who make successful auction bids on Delos and then dont want to pay It did cross my mind to turn her loose, or knock her on the head during the journey home and shove her over the side. Nobody would suspect anything if I did. True, Roman law says you cant go killing slaves, even your own, just because you feel like it. But what kind of aediles clerk would suspect a bloke of killing his slave when said blokes just forked out a grossly inflated price for her? No, if I wanted to kill Blandinia, so long as I was reasonably discreet about it, my chances of getting in trouble were practically nil.

But then my inner voice said, Dont be stupid, you wouldnt do a thing like that, you arent the killing sort. True enough. Which meant that as soon as I handed over my letter of credit from Laberius bank and got the paper title, Id be lumbered with her until one of us died. Talk about holding a wolf by the ears; if I let her go, shed know I was still alive and race off to tell her gangster friends; if I sold her on to someone else, thered still be a chance that shed find some way of getting word to the bad guys; and if I kept her, itd be like sharing the house with an invisible scorpion, waiting for the disgusting thing to sting you to death. Wonderful; and to think, Id just parted with good money for the privilege.

The auctioneers clerk came over and looked at me, like I was something hed found floating wrong way up in his wine. The sight of Gnaeus Laberius seal on my bit of parchment changed all that. For what little its worth, the Laberius seal showed Mercury in flight, looking back over his shoulders at his own rather overdeveloped bum. Still, it impressed the hell out of the clerk. He scuttled away, leaving me to brood on my stupidity for the rest of the auction.

Afterwards I went up to the desk and did the paperworkthey got a bit snotty when I told them I hadnt got a seal of my own, being a working farmer, not a gentleman; in the end, one of the auctioneers people lent me his, and I used that to counter-seal the draft. I dont suppose it was strictly legal, but I had other things on my mind just then, and couldnt be bothered with meaningless details.

After that, there was nothing for it but to step up and claim my property.

As I think I mentioned a while back, this wasnt the first time Id bought a person. But when I got my two Syrians, it was all quite different; more like a proper hiring fair than something involving taking possession of another human being. When I got the Syrians, all I did was look at them, make my mind up, hand over the money and sort of beckon, and they followed me quite quietly, like well-trained dogs. It was a bit awkward starting a conversation with them on the way back homeI wasnt even sure they spoke Greekbut at some point I think I said something about the right way of forcing fennel seedlings, and one of them said, Thats not how we do it where Im from, and after that we just talked about farming and stuff. Its easy when its men. We can always find something to talk about, activities or objects or places weve been. After all, men work

(unless theyre senators or rich bastards) so the chances are theyve always got something in common; and Ive never come across two women who havent had something to say to each other; in fact, the trick is knowing how to make them shut the hell up. But when its a bloke and a woman, it can be really hard at the best of times, and when you mix in other ingredients, like the fact that the man s just bought the woman, or the womans to blame for a whole bunch of horrible things that the mans only just managed to get out of alive, its no wonder if the ice is hard to break.

Best thing, my old mother told me once when she was sober, when you cant think of anything to say, is not to say anything at all. Like most of my mums pearls of wisdom, its a lemon. The longer you go on not saying anything, the harder it gets. I didnt say anything when the clerk brought her over. I just grunted awkwardly when he handed over the rather pathetic, tatty little cloth bag that contained her one change of clothesthe fact that he handed it to me rather than her wasnt lost on either of usand after hed shoved off, I couldnt think what to do. So I didnt say anything; I just sort of beckoned, like Id done with the Syrians, and started walking towards the docks.

Well, she followed, just like a well-trained dog; only she wasnt a dog (a bitch, yes, but not a dog), she was a human being, Platos featherless biped.

All sorts of dumb ideas skittered across my mind. I could pretend I hadnt recognised her (yeah, as if); or I could be stony-faced and hard and cruel, so shed be too scared to look at me (only Im about as scary as a plate of endive salad); or I could start talking loudly about the weather. I was turning this shit over in my mind when she said, Galen.

I turned round. Yes? I said.

She wasnt looking at me. Galen, she repeated, wheres your friend? Nero Caesar, I mean. Is he all right?

Couldnt make out what was behind that; she made it sound like she had to know, but that could easily have been play-acting. Still. Hes dead, I replied.

Oh. She didnt say anything for a bit, then went on, What happened?

Drowned, I said. In a shipwreck.

Oh. Another pause. Im sorry, she said.

No you arent, Id replied, before I realised it. That is, unless you reckon drowning was too good for him. Anyhow, hes dead, so I hope youre satisfied.

Rather cruel, yes; but I can be like that, a bit short and churlish when Im feeling awkward. Anyhow, why the hell should her feelings worry me? Even so, I felt the need to say something else, to plaster over the crack, as it were.

So, I said, whats the story with you? Last I heard, you were a free woman, Or were you telling lies when you told me that?

She made a sort of snorting noise, not at all what Id expected. Oh yes, she said, I was free, for a while. Only, theres a law in Rome, when a mans declared a public enemy and all his propertys confiscated by the Treasury, that includes all his slaves hes recently set free. I was two days inside the limit, would you believe.

I never knew that before, I said, just for something to say. Well, that sounds like just the sort of thing the Romansd put in a law But hang on, I added. Where does all this public enemy stuff come in? Your old mastergod, what was his name? I cant remember.

Licinius Pollio. When you started that fire, it did so much damage there was an enquiry, and somehow they got the idea it was a gang war thing and he was one of the gang bosses. So they rounded me up, and next thing I knew I was in Delos .

Funny, she went on, when Pollio gave me my papers, I really thought I was free and clear, and all my troubles were over. Shouldve known better, really, shouldnt I?

I didnt say anything. No doubt about it, shed had a raw deal. Quite apart from being born a slave, and whatever it was Lucius Domitius did to her when she was a kid, shed definitely got cause to complain about so-called Roman justice. But then, she had been responsible for a lot of deaths, just out of malice and greed. A bit like Lucius Domitius himself, dont you think, except that hed been thoughtless rather than vicious or greedy. All comes down to the same thing in the end, though; him, me and her, none of us were what youd ever call nice people.

Anyway, she went on, it looks like things mustve worked out well for you.

Cant complain, I said. Actually, I had a slice of good luck, for a change.

Good for you, she said.

We walked on in dead silence for a long time. It was only when we were in sight of the dockside that she asked, Excuse me, but where are we going?

Of course, I hadnt told her that.  Athens , I said.

Oh.

Actually, I went on, its not Athens proper. Phyle; its a village up in the hills

I know, she interrupted. Where you were born.

Shouldve guessed shed know all about me, after all her careful research and intelligencegathering. Thats right, I said. And now Ive moved back there.

Is that all right by you? Or would you rather I sold up and moved somewhere else?

That seemed to hurt her, God knows why. Im sorry, she said, I know its none of my business, but I was just curious. I didnt mean anything by it.

I shrugged. Thats all right, I said. Its only fair you should know where youre being taken. She lifted her head. Actually, she said, its not. But youre new to all this, so you wouldnt know You dont have to tell me anything; I mean, we could get on a ship here and off again the other side somewhere I didnt recognise, and I could live there the rest of my life without even knowing what country I was in, if you didnt feel like telling me.

That made me feel bad, but I tried not to let it show. Anyway, I said, were going to Phyle. Its a nice place, if you dont mind the simple life.

Thank you, she said.

I looked round till I saw the ship Id come in on, and headed for it. And I was thinking of something Id heard Seneca say, at some party or gathering or whatever. Hed said that when you buy slaves, you should always look at them naked before making your mind up. When you buy a horse, he said, you tell the bloke to take off the horse blanket so you can look at it properly; same thing, he said, with a slave. And at the time Id been a bit surprised, maybe even just a little shocked, because Seneca had always made a point of chatting to slaves like they were people, listening to what they had to say instead of just ignoring them or telling them to shut up. But then, he was a Roman senator. If senators didnt ever talk to people who they reckoned were totally inferior, the only people theyd ever speak to would be each other. So, to him, a slave or a soldier or a farmer or even a Roman knight were all pretty much the same: all human beings, all more or less equal with each other, just not with him.

We got on the ship, and I found the captain and said, This one heres with me; and he asked how much, and I told him a figure that was about half of what Id really paid, the way you do, and he said Id got a bargain there; also, if I wanted a bit of privacy on the way back, he could have the men curtain off a bit of space in the hold, where he had a load of wool bales.

Straight up, it was a moment or so before I figured out what he was on about.

Honestly, the thought hadnt crossed my mind. Not that she wasnt nice-looking, in a crab-apple sort of a way; but she was also a murderer, or next best thing, and it wasnt so long ago that Id had to talk Pony-tail and Alexander out of killing me on her orders. The truth is, I was still more than a bit terrified of her; and that isnt my scene, really But I thanked the captain anyway, said it was a kind thought but not to bother; didnt give him any reason why not, just left it at that. He shrugged, and said wed be ready to sail soon as theyd got the last of the cargo on board. Then I found a bit of deck that didnt have sailors all over it, dumped my bag so as to have something to lie on, settled down and tried to get comfy.

I wasnt sick at all on the journey home. She was. I dont know what theyd fed her on in the slave compound, but there mustve been a fair amount of it, judging by what she sent over the side. At least it solved the problem of what to talk about, since when she wasnt leaning over the rail making revolting noises, she was curled up on a pile of ropes groaning and clutching at her guts.

It was probably as well I hadnt planned on taking the captain up on his thoughtful offer; itd have been a right Hercules breakfast, the state she was in. But sitting there on the deck, fairly comfortable in the warm sun, watching her chuck her guts up into the wine-dark sea, it was hard to believe Id seriously considered killing her, not all that long ago. You cant really take someone seriously as a threat when theyre bright green in the face, with bits of sick dribbling down their chin.

By the time we made landfall on Tenos she was over the worst of it, though she wouldnt eat, just sipped a little water straight from the ladle. We were talking by that stage, too. Itd started cautiously enoughAre you feeling any better? No.but wed gradually got beyond that, though none of our chats lasted very long, mostly because she had to keep breaking off in order to sprint to the rail. Little by little, though, we both loosened up a bit; the awkwardness had gone, though we still didnt have a lot we could talk about safely For my part, I couldnt see any harm in just talking; Ill talk to anybody, pretty much, assuming they can bring themselves to talk to me. True, she was a murderous bitch whod tried to sell Lucius Domitius and me to the gangsters like we were beef cattle. On the other hand, Id just bought her, which sort of evened the score, if only because it dragged me down to her level.

Besides, there was a case for saying that since it was my best buddy Lucius Domitius whod been responsible for her ending up all savage and twistedand he was a monster of depravity and a matricide, and that had never seemed to bother me muchI couldnt very well come over all snotty where she was concerned. Most of all, though, it was just nice to have someone to talk to.

That may sound rather strange; after all, I was back living in Attica , where everybody talks all the damn time. But theres talking and talking. Id had to face the fact that Id been away for a long time, and since Id come back Id found it strangely hard to get back in tune with my neighbours, even the ones Id known since I was a little kid. Not so strange, maybe. Id been places they hadnt even heard of, done things they couldnt have understood (and probably just as well, though of course I never said anything about that sort of stuff, Id come home from the army, remember, after twenty-four years blameless service, never been drunk on parade or absent without leave). So all right, I didnt really want to talk to anyone about those places or those things. But I missed having someone whod understand what I was going on about if ever I did feel the need; put it another way, someone who spoke my language, because it wasnt pure unsullied Attic Greek any more. Often Id caught myself using a word my neighbours didnt know, or having to stop and think, How do they say this in Attica , rather than Cappadocia or Cilicia or Italy ? It wasnt just the dialect, mind you, I couldve put up with that until Id picked up decent Attic again. It was all the stuff that lay behind the strange words, ideas and experiences, a way of lifeone I was bloody glad to have left behind me, but even so. Thats who I really was, not Sosistratas boy from Phyle whod never been further from home than Athens City . You can do a lot to change who you are; you can even pretend to die, and then make believe youre someone completely different. But youll never convince yourself.

So anyway, once wed got on speaking terms, I found I enjoyed talking to her.

Sure, theres nothing much else you can do on a ship except talk, and a cleft-palated German wouldve been better than nobody at all. It was more than that, though. Hard to explain, really Twenty-four years on the road; Id always had someone I could talk to free and easy, without having to think before I opened my mouthfirst Callistus, then Lucius Domitiusbut since I got home

(the one place on earth youd have thought I could loosen up and be myself) Id been going around feeling like it was all a scam, a con, a part I was playing in order to deceive and defraud the honest folks of Phyle. Itd started to get to me, to the point where I was spending all day lurking out in the fields, hiding not just from my loathsome mother but from my loathsome self.

What all thatd got to do with Blandinia, I couldnt tell you. But coming across her again, it was like being in a foreign place, where they dont even talk Greek, and suddenly running into someone from your home town, when you least expected it. Or whatever. In any event, I dont have to justify myself to you.

So Im the sort of bloke wholl chum up with nasty horrible people. So what? I never said I was perfect, or even halfway decent.

By the time we got to Piraeus , then, wed sort of made our peace, if only on the basis of a mutual exchange of insult and injury; we were quits, and there didnt seem any point in fighting any more. Not that I trusted her at all. No way, she was still a wolf by the ears, and I knew that if she got half a chance to get her freedom or any advantage at all by turning me in to the Romans or selling my severed ears to the sausagemaker, shed do it easy as sneezing. But we both accepted that, it was out in the open, lying on the table between us, as it were; so, somehow, it wasnt a problem.

All right, Ill own up, because youve guessed anyway, and what have I got to gain from lying to you? Hands in the air, I admit it; I was falling in love.

Falling isnt the right word. Think of what it feels like when youre out walking in the wet, and you go to jump over a steep ditch and you almost make it but not quite; you balance for just a moment, and then you feel yourself slipping backwards, out of control, and you slowly slide down the bank and end up in the mud up to your knees. I was gradually slithering down into love; probably because, well, living my kind of life you dont get to meet many nice girls, or many girls of any description, and then only long enough for them to tell you to drop dead, or yell for the watch. And, like I said, she was sort of nice-looking in a sparse kind of a way, and twenty years younger than me; and, most of all, she was there. When, over the course of twenty-four years, you only find one girl wholl hold still long enough for you to say more than a couple of dozen words to her ... and yes, Im not forgetting Amyntas sister Myrrhine, but I think that proves my point. I fell for her in the time it takes to peel an onion; not because we had loads in common, or we were the two halves of one soul severed before birth, like in Plato, but simply because in my life, when it comes to quality time with the opposite sex, as long as it takes to peel an onion is practically for ever.

Right, weve got that sorted, now maybe we can get on with the story.

We got off the ship at Piraeus , and I went round to the livery and collected my horse. This presented me with a problem straight away The way Id seen it when I left for Delos, on the way home, Id ride the horse, leading my new slave behind me on the end of a piece of rope. Now that I was in love, of course, that didnt seem appropriate. If things had been otherwise, needless to say, Id have let the object of my affection ride the horse, while I walked. But I wasnt so far gone in daffyness to risk letting Blandinia get on the horse, because of the very real danger that shed kick me in the face and ride off in the general direction of Thebes and points north as soon as her bum hit the horse blanket.

So I compromised. We both walked, and I led the horse.

She cant have grasped the subtleties of the position, because she asked me after a bit Why arent you riding?

Oh, I said. I just feel like some exercise after being cooped up on a ship, thats all.

I see, she said. So let me ride the horse. Ive only got these thin sandals on, and my feet are killing me.

I lifted my head. You wouldnt like my horse, I said. Very bony back, hes got. Im used to him, but you wouldnt like him at all.

She shrugged. Suit yourself, she said. Only, Im not used to walkingwell, not in the country at any rate. Inside buildings, up and down stairs, in streets, yes; you spend all day on your feet when youre a slave. But all these stones and ruts and things hurt my ankles.

I didnt say anything to that, and she let the subject drop, which was just as well. Instead, she asked, When we get to your place, whatve I got to do?

I felt like an idiot; I hadnt told her. Ladys maid, I said. For my mother. 

Oh. She seemed pleased, the poor fool. Ive never been a ladys maid before.

But, she went on, Ive seen enough of them, God knows, back at the Golden House. Always struck me as a good life, for service. Mending clothes, helping the mistress do her hair, reading to her in the evening sometimesis that what you mean?

I thought about my dear mother, drinking unmixed straight from the jar and spilling soup all over the floor. That sort of thing, I said. And a bit of general housework, now and again.

Sounds all right, she said. Better than a lot of things, anyhow You know

She stopped, and I stopped too, though the horse carried on walking till I pulled him back. I suppose I ought to say thank you, she said. I mean, after some of the stuff I did, back in Rome. Some of it was pretty mean.

You could say that, I thought. Well, I said, that was then and this is now I think itd be better if we didnt dwell on all that.

No, she said, maybe not. But some people wouldve wanted to get their own back. And really, Im not a horrible personoh, I know its easy for me to say that, and theres no reason for you to believe it, but I dont think Im a horrible person, anyway Ive always just done what I could to get away from all the bad stuffat the Golden House, you know what I mean. Ive had this idea that unless I could be free and clear, completely on my own, not answering to anybody, thered always be the chance Id end up back there, or somewhere just as bad. Its just because Im scared, I guess. Butwell, I know now that you arent like that, and if youre prepared to give me another chance and believe me, I promise you, Im through with all that stuff. I want to be somewhere I can do my work, whatever it is, and know that if I carry out my side of the deal, nothing bads going to happen. Thats all, really Sorry, she added, that sounds totally dumb and pathetic. But for what its worth, I do mean it.

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of the horse having a piss.

Like I said, I told her eventually, far as Im concerned, all that stuffs behind us, so why dont we just carry on as though itd never happened? Better for all concerned, if you ask me.

I still didnt let her ride the horse, though.

It was nearly dark by the time we reached Phyle. For the last mile or so shed been asking, Are we nearly there yet?, and Id been saying, Well be there soon, and shed been saying, Is it soon yet?at any rate, shed been telling the truth about not being used to walking on Attic roads, because the closer wed got to home, the slower shed gone, dragging herself along like she was dying of exhaustion in the trackless Libyan desert. So, when the farm was no more than a hundred or so yards off, and she asked again, Are we nearly there?

I nodded and said, Sure; only about ten miles to go, well be home well before dawn. She was still making whimpering noises when I pushed open the gate and headed down into the yard.

Is this it? she asked.

Yes, I said.

Oh, she said.

Smicro, one of my two Syrians, happened to be coming out of the stables just then. He said, Hello, have a good trip? and I replied, Not so bad, and gave him the horse to see to. He looked at Blandinia but didnt say anything. Dont think she noticed him.

There was light showing under the house door, which meant either Mother was still up, or shed zonked out with the lamps still burning. Fortunately it turned out to be the latter, because I wasnt in the mood to do the necessary introductions after a long walk up the mountain. Mother was lying on the floor in a pool of red stuff when we walked in. Blandinia tried to jump out of her skin and made a loud squealing noise. Luckily, it took more than that to wake Mum up when she had a load on.

My God, Blandinia was gibbering, oh my God, shes been murdered.

I shook my head wearily Thats not blood, its just booze, I said. Shell be all right. Either shell wake up around midnight and drag herself over to the bed, or else shell just stay there till morning. Youd think at the very least shed crick her neck, but it never seems to do her any harm.

It was fun seeing the look of surprise and, yes, disgust on Blandinias face.

You mean she does this a lot? she whispered.

I nodded. Every day, practically, I said. Thats not to say she always fetches up on the floor. Some nights she passes out in her chair, or on the couch. Some nights she manages to put herself to bed. One time I went out at dawn to feed the pig and there she was, face down in the pigshit, snoring like a boarhound. I yawned. Since youve only just got here, I said, well say you dont start work till the morning, so dont bother cleaning her up or putting her to bed tonight. Theres a spare mattress in the corner, look, you can sleep on that. Goodnight.

To be honest with you, when I woke up the next morning, I wasnt sure shed still be there. Judging by the look on her face the night before, I wouldnt have been at all surprised to find that shed snuck out while I was asleep and legged it, and the hell with the horrible tortures prescribed by law for runaway slaves. But when I opened the door of the inner room and looked out into the main house, I was amazed to see it was lookingwell, near as dammit clean, and neat, and tidy Mother was still fast asleep on the floor where wed found her, and the space around her hadnt been touched, it was a little island of squalor in a sea of hygienic order. Blandinia was down on her hands and knees with a bucket of water, scrubbing a stubborn mark off a flagstone. Amazing, I thought; it was like walking in and finding a wolf darning your socks.

Youve got yourself a little treasure here, I told myself. Morning, I said.

Sleep well?

She turned her head and snarled at me like a snared fox. Ladys maid, you said, she growled. Nice light work looking after a dear old soul whod be no bother at all for a year or so, then die and set me free in her will. Ive been at it since before dawn, scouring five-year-old vomit off the furniture.

I smiled. Youre doing a grand job, I said encouragingly Only, I added, pointing, you missed a bit.

She didnt throw the scraper at me, but probably only because she preferred to close in hand to hand, like the Roman army I should have guessed, she said.

Vindictive bastard like you. And all that stuff about lets forget about the past, make a fresh start. Words seemed to fail her, which was probably just as well. I edged past her and got my hat off the hook.

When youve finished that, I said, how about fixing us all some breakfast?

I left before shed finished replying. Some of the words she used I hadnt even heard before, but I think I got the gist of it.

I spent the morning terracing with the Syrians. They were curious about the new addition to the household, but too polite to ask outright. I said Id got a maid for my mother while Id been away on business, and left it at that. At midday , I said I thought I might wander back down to the house for something to eat, since Id missed breakfast. The Syrians looked at each other, but didnt say anything.

Well, naturally Id been dying of curiosity all morning, wondering how Mum and Blandinia had got on with each other. As I pushed open the door, I expected to see smashed furniture, bits of potsherd all over the place, maybe even a pool of blood. Not a bit of it. The two of them were sat round the tableMum on her chair, Blandinia on a little three-legged stool I didnt even know we hadand there were two winecups beside the jug. That aside, the place looked neat and tidy, Mums hair was combed and she was wearing a clean dress. She was pissed as a rat, of course, but no worse than usual; and she was smiling. I didnt think she knew how

And then, Blandinia was saying, I rolled him over and stuck a sprig of parsley in his ear, and then the watch arrived. Mum burst out laughing, did the nose trick with her wine. Neither of them seemed to have noticed I was there.

Hello, I said.

Mum looked up, realised it was me, and scowled. What do you want? she said.

Nothing, I answered, just wondered if theres any food.

Mum glowered at me as though Id just asked for a quart of her blood. Theres bread and cheese, she said, and if you want olives, youll have to fetch in a new jar.

I lifted my head. Im not bothered, thanks, I said. So, you twove been getting to know each other, then?

Neither of them seemed to think that was even worth replying to. Instead, Mum poured out two full cups of unmixed, and said, So then what happened? Did you give him his clothes back in the end?

I got a bit of cheese and the stale end of the loaf, and went and had my dinner in the barn.

Over the next month or so, we got a hell of a lot of work done on the farm. It was just as well Id chosen a couple of good workers in Smicro and Ptolemy They stuck at it and didnt complain, even when we started and finished in the dark, and had to walk home from the fields by moonlight. All right, you can call me chickenshit if you like, but after Blandinia had been there two months, I took to sleeping in the bunkhouse, and kept clear of the main house altogether. Well, I was getting home so late and starting work so early, there didnt seem any point, there was plenty of room in the bunkhouse for one more, and Smicro and Ptolemy always fixed up a good breakfast of fried oatmeal and sausage, which they were perfectly happy to share with me. Oddly enough, I felt much more comfortable that way, like it hadnt been right for me to kip down in the main house, like a gentleman or something. Believe it or not, I was quite enjoying the farm work, even the ditching and earthing up and the clodbashing. Its different when its your own dirt, after all, and doing something constructive and honest for the first time in my life was so much less hassle than conning or thieving, and when you count in the time I used to spend hiding in haylofts and under market trestles or running down alleys, the hours were better, too.

Add in a dry place to sleep and all the food I could eat, and I was as happy as a jarful of crickets. I only wished Lucius Domitius couldve been there to share the pleasure; only hed have moaned like hell about the long days in the searing heat, and how his hands were getting calloused all to buggery.

(And once or twice I thought, This is a better ending than the one in all the books. Far better this way than the big fight scene, stringing the great bow and shooting down the noble lords of Ithaca like stray dogs. So much more sensible, if you will insist on coming home, to settle down in a quiet way, do an honest job of work, raise a good crop of corn and grapes and beans, and not worry about who rules over who, or what the right and wrongs of it all are. Its as if Lucius Domitius had come home after his ten years wandering among the savages and the seat monsters, and got himself a job teaching the harp, maybe singing at tables in the evenings. But the trouble with Ithaca is, when you finally get there, you find out its moved on, and the place where it used to be is called something else now, and strangers live there who dont hold with your sort.

Different in my case; Id been lucky, amazingly so. Itd taken a whole skyful of gods, not to mention a vast hoard of buried treasure, a secret island and a perfectly timed floating coffin to win me my corner of the bunkhouse and my two square meals of bean porridge a day Most people dont have that kind of luck. I guess there simply isnt enough of it to go round.)

 

So there I was, from worthless parasite to blameless peasant in one roll of the dice. Better still, Mum seemed to have taken on a new lease of life, thanks to my thoughtfulness in supplying her with a congenial companion, which got the Furies off my back and meant Id probably turned into a Good Son. Oh, she was still on the booze, more or less permanently zonked, but at least she seemed to enjoy it more than shed used to. Often when I passed the house I could hear her roaring her head off laughing, presumably at one or other of Blandinias dirty stories about her time in the cathouse. Quite why the two of them were getting along so well I didnt know, or care. Obviously they had something in common other than a really piss-poor opinion of me, but whatever it was they didnt say and I couldnt be bothered to ask.

I once heard someone in a barbers shop say that the lives of mortal men are nothing but a story the gods tell each other across the dinner table up on Mount Olympus; they call us up out of the empty darkness to serve some purpose in the story, and when we arent needed any more, they send us back where we came from, and start the story off in some new direction. Well it sounds clever enough, like so much of what you overhear when youre having your hair cut, but I dont believe it. For one thing, if our lives were meant to be entertaining enough to keep a bunch of gods from falling asleep over their wine, thered be more comedy and sex in them, and not quite so much farming or weaving baskets. More to the point, the theory was true, thered be some kind of shape or pattern to the way things happen, not to mention a damn sight more happy endings. Take my life, for instance. Theres me: Id been away, done all sorts of adventures and stuff in the big world, gone around for ten years with one of the most famous, hated people in history, found this amazing stash of Carthaginian gold, come home again rich. Now, wouldnt that be the right place to end, with the Blandinia bit tacked on at the end as a sort of comic tailpiece, showing how what goes around comes around, or whatever? Damn straight it would, if it was you or me making it up. No need to go on any further. Or suppose that the story was really about Lucius Domitius, and I was just a supporting role, a sidekick or a funny servant or whatever; fine, thatd fit well enough, with all the roles being reversed, neat as a daisychain, even down to me rescuing Blandinia from Delos, just like Lucius Domitius rescued Callistus and me off the cross, the first time we met him. Only difference would be, Blandinia wouldve fallen in love with me, like Callistus did with Lucius Domitius; that didnt seem to be happening, but then again, Im not one of your literary types, so maybe Im missing a point somewhere. I couldnt care less, actually What Im trying to say is, this ought to have been where the story got neatly tied up and put to bed, or at least petered out, and the gods whod been listening to it shouldve yawned loudly, drunk up and staggered off to bed. Everything had fallen more or less into place, like the wards of a key in a lock: Lucius Domitius had escaped the death he deserved through Callistus, just as Callistus had escaped the death he deserved through Lucius Domitius; because of Lucius Domitius, Id had the ten years of misery and aggravation I deserved, and at the end of it Id been paid back, also all because of him, with my gold belt and my nice little farm. All the other bad guys had been dealt with in the way they deservedAmyntas, Strymon, even Blandinia, reduced to being the drinking companion of my unspeakable motherand our Ulysses (thats me) was back home again, everything bolted down tight, job done. Thats all for now, folks.

But thats not how it happened, which just about wraps it up for that particular theory Whats more, the sneaky bitch of a story did its best to make me believe it was over, to get me off my guard, by slipping into happy-ever-after (or at least, not miserable) mode for best part of six months, during which time I did my work in the fields and shared breakfast with Smicro and Ptolemy When it all started up again, I wasnt expecting it at all. Downright dishonest, if you ask me.

I was pressing olives when I first heard, which is probably why it took a while for it to sink in. You know what its like, working one of those contraptions.

Youve loaded all your bagged-up olives into the drum, and your men have filled the sack that hangs off the end of the beam with stones to act as the counterweight, then its your job to grab hold of the beam, scramble up onto it with your arms and legs wrapped round it, and cling on like a monkey on a rope, edging your way down it so as to get the leverage. Its not a dignified position for a man of property. In fact, you feel like a clown, hanging in mid air off a long bit of wood while the press goes squelch, like an elephant farting. But you cant leave it to the help, its too important, and besides, if you told one of the men to do it, theyd reckon you were chicken and lose respect. The one thing youve got to do is concentrate, or else youre going to end up on the deck with bruised bones, and most likely a busted beam. Its really not a good time for chatting, and only an idiot would stroll up and start a conversation with you while youre at it.

Unfortunately, my neighbour Eurycleides was just that kind of idiot, particularly when it came to timing. No matter what you were doingraising a roof tree, tempering a ploughshare, boiling tallow, having sex with someone elses wife under a thornbush, all the tricky things where you really dont want to be disturbed till youre doneif he saw you hed stroll up and launch into some topic of conversation, usually starting in the middle so you didnt have a clue what he was going on about for quite some time; and taking no notice didnt work, because hed just keep saying Well? and So, what do you think? until you answered him.

Hello there, Galen, he called out. He had this knack of seeming to appear out of nowhere, like doves round a granary. Im surprised at you, really Id have thought there was enough needing doing round here for the both of you.

I was two-thirds of the way down the beam, hanging on by my toes and fingers.

What? I said.

And its not as if theres not enough in the place to support two men, he went on. Nice little spread youve built up here, since youve been back, Ill say that for you.

Thanks, I muttered, managing not to scream at the pain in my finger joints.

But its a poor show, he went on, and I dont care who hears me say it, when a man goes buying in foreigners to do the work, and leaves his own flesh and blood to go day-labouring. Sorry if you dont like it, but its got to be said. 

That went clean over my head, like a flock of starlings. Well, I said, there you go. The press was making that really gross squidging noise that means youre nearly done; all I had to do was hang on a little bit longer...

All right, Eurycleides went on, its not quite the same as grape-picking or coal-mining, but thats not the point. A man shouldnt have to go standing out in the market place looking for some stranger to give him work, when his own brothers got enough land for two men. Ill be straight with you, I thought more of you than that. Well, cheers for now

And the clown started to walk away, just about the moment when that phrase his own brother bit me like a sledgehammer. Hang on, I shouted, and tried to turn my neck. Bad move. I lost my grip with my left hand, and a heartbeat later I was lying in the dust groaning and rubbing my shoulder, where the busted end of the beam had smacked down on me. I was bloody lucky it didnt break a bone, at that. 

Well, what with the pain and the buggeration of having broken the press, and the Syrians fussing round asking if I could feel my arm (of course I could feel my arm, otherwise I wouldnt have been sobbing in agony), it clean slipped my mind, that stuff about my own brother. It was only next day, after wed finally managed to lash up the beam with soaked rawhide and rope (it was a real botch job, and it bent like a twig, but it just about held together; and after all, they dont hand out prizes for Neatest Olive Press, so who gives a damn?), that I remembered; and, of course, nothing would do but I had to set off right away for Eurycleides place to ask him what the hell hed meant by it.

He wasnt home. Oh no, he wasnt even in Phyle; hed set off at dawn for the poxy little two-acre he had in the Mesogaianot quite the other side of Attica

, but near enough. So I went home and got out the horsethis was right in the middle of oil-making, of course, when I really couldnt spare the time to go prancing off on bloody stupid errandsand traipsed off down the city road, north-west around Hymettus, and on to the plain. Luckily I knew more or less where Eurycleides place waswed been out there helping him with trellising one year, back when I was a kidand since I was riding and he was on foot, I managed to get there shortly after hed arrived.

Hello there, Galen, he said. Nice day, though if this heat keeps up well be eating the seedcorn come vintage. What brings you out this way?

I didnt bother getting down off the horse. What you said, the other day, I started. When you were up my place, and I fell off the beam.

He nodded. Doesnt look like you did any serious damage, though, he said. I had an uncle, fell right out of a tree on his head

You said something about my brother.

He sighed. There, he said, I knew Id upset you, probably thats why you fell off the press. But its always been my way, I speak my mind and thats all there is to it. No offence intended, but if the hat fits

I waved my hands about. Listen, I said. Im not pissed off at you or anything, I just need to know what you meant. Whats this about my brother doing day-labouring? Hadnt you heard, hes dead?

Eurycleides thought about that for a moment. No, he said, youre wrong there, because I saw him myself. Never forget a face, me. Im shocking with names, mind, but champion with faces. It was him all right. Your brother.. . And he scowled, clicked his fingers. Like hed said, he always was lousy at names.

Callistus, I said. Is that who you mean?

Thats it. He looked thoroughly relieved, like a constipated man wiping his bum. On the tip of my tongue, it was. Your brother Callistus. Good lad, I always liked him.

Hes dead, I repeated. Been dead these ten years. I should know, I added, and only just stopped myself in time from saying exactly why But Eurycleides lifted his head. Oh, it was him all right. And like I said to you, its not like digging or picking, granted, theres some as calls it a profession rather than a trade, but I still reckon its degrading, a grown man having to go around asking for work, even if it is indoors, and meals thrown m.

Eurycleides, I yelled, what the fuck are you talking about?

Eventually, I got it out of him. About a month earlier hed been in the city about some family lawsuit or other, and as he crossed the market square hed happened to look across to the bunch of stalls where the jobbing cooks and caterers and musicians hang out, waiting for someone to hire them. He thought he saw a face he knew, so he stopped for a closer look; and he was positive that there, among the harp-players and flautists and people who pretend to swallow fire while doing double-back somersaults off a sawhorse, he saw my brother Callistus. He was late for his lawsuit so he didnt stop, but he was certain sure thats who hed seen, because he never forgot a face (which was true, in actual fact; I could vouch for that), and so Callistus couldnt be dead, could he, not if he was stood in the market along with all the other long-hairsHe was still talking when I rode off. Trouble is, you cant really get up any speed on the Mesogaiacity road, not if you dont want a horse with a busted leg, so I didnt reach town till well after dark. I went straight to the market square, but of course it was no use. Went without saying, all the jobbing musicians wouldve got their gigs for the day while it was still light; if youre holding a dinner party you dont wait till the guests arrive and then send out in the hope of running into an all-night harpist. So I had to stay the night, and, since Id come out without any money that meant knocking up somebody I knew in the city and asking for a bed for the night. Problem was, I knew only four people in Athens proper. Three of them were out on the piss (typical thoughtless behaviour) and the fourth was a dreary old git called Dexitheus, who was deaf as a post and didnt hear me knocking till Id woken the whole block.

I tried to get some sleep in Dexitheus hayloft, but I might as well not have bothered; I just lay there, trying to make sense of it. Well before dawn, when only the charcoal-burners and the people whore on jury duty are up and about, I was in the market square, pacing up and down. I was still there when the farm carts came in, and then the fish, and the first wave of shoppers, and the bakers and the sausagemongers; all the trades of Athens reported for duty around me on every side, except the bone idle, good-for-nothing, the-hell-with-work-lets-have-a-lie-in hired musicians. They didnt deign to put in an appearance till practically mid-morning, and then only in dribs and drabs, like the stragglers from a defeated army I thought about grabbing a harpist at random and asking him if hed seen anybody answering the description; but I didnt. Maybe I was afraid of hearing him say, No, never set eyes on anybody like that; or maybe Im just shy So I mooched around a bit, so the market police wouldnt take me for a thief; I looked at some imported Egyptian honey, and some ivory-backed mirrors, and some cute bronze bath-scrapers with pornographic handles. I eavesdropped on the cooks

(but they reminded me of Alexander and Pony-tail) and pretended I was interested in the price of two hundred jars of slightly spoiled wheat flour, f.o.b. a grain freighter due in the day after next from Syracuse, owners just gone bankrupt, a real opportunity for a man with the necessary nerve and vision. Come noon I was ready to go home (by way of Eurycleides place, where there might just be bloodshed); there were enough journeymen musicians hanging round to man a full-strength legion, but nobody whose face seemed familiar.

Then someone tapped me on the shoulder, and a voice I knew (Im good at voices, like Eurycleides with faces) said, Galen?

Theres this fairy tale, Im sure you know it. Orpheus, the greatest musician who ever lived, goes down to Hell to fetch back his dead wife. King Pluto tells him to fuck off, the dead dont come back, its the rules; but Orpheus stands there playing his harp, and the musics so utterly wonderful that finally Pluto says, All right, you can have her back, but on one condition. You set off walking back into the light, and Ill send her on, shell be right behind you.

But whatever you do, whatever you hear, dont look round at her till youre back topside, because if you do, thats it, she stays here for ever. So off he goes, and behind him he hears his wifes voice calling his name, Orpheus, Orpheus; but he knows the king of the dead doesnt muck about, he means what he says, so he doesnt look round, just keeps on going, one foot in front of the other. And still theres this voice behind him, calling out to him, Orpheus, is that you, look at me; and he knows its her, the voice hes heard in his mind every day since she died and he left her, since she died and he went on living, since he swam to shore and the gods sent a floating coffin for him to save him from the reefhang on, Im getting my legends muddled here, that was someone else, Ulysses or one of those people. Anyhow, hes almost there. He can see the bank of the River and the Ferrymans boat, bobbing up and down on the water like a floating coffin, and beyond that he can see the light, and then the voice calls out to him, Orpheus; and without thinking he looks round and sees her face, and in that moment when he realises what hes doneI looked round. It was Lucius Domitius.

Nineteen
Galen? he repeated. What the bloody hell are you doing here?

He said it in Greek, but didnt he ever sound Roman, like hed come down to breakfast in the cloister of his villa and found some scruffy old tramp dossing down under the table. I thought, bloody cheek, he makes it sound like he owns the place (and then I thought; well, fair enough. Arguably, by rights, he does). 

Anyhow, I stared at him. I thought you were dead, I told him.

What, me? No. He was wearing a fairly new tunic, good stuff, quality Attic wool, and a pair of quite decent sandalsbetter than what I had on, at any rate; and there was a cute little lyre tucked under his arm, carved frame, with the grain still clean and open. He looked different, mind; not back to how hed been in the old days, but noticeably plumper, without the bags under his eyes or the stringy muscle tone that comes from regular exercise and not quite enough to eat. His tan was starting to fade; it hadnt quite turned into the dead-fish pallor of your urban gentleman, but hed never have passed for a grape-picker.

And he was scowling at me like I was a bad oyster in his seafood salad. You seem to be all right, he added, managing to make it sound like Id done something wrong, probably out of spite.

Im fine, I said. Look, can we go somewhere and talk, instead of standing out here in the street?

What? Oh, right, I suppose so. But I havent got all day. Theres supposed to be some people hiring for a big dinner party.

But before we could go anywhere, one of the other musicians came up and looked at me. Morning, Narcissus, he said. Whos the farmer?

Narcissus, I guessed, must be the name he was going under these days. The farmer was, presumably, me.

Oh, just family, Lucius Domitius replied awkwardly Look, Im just nipping across the road for a moment, I wont be long. If the bloke turns up while Im gone...

The other man nodded. He was tall, spare without being thin, long black beard, just this side of fifty, maybe. Dont worry Ill put in a good word. But hurry it up if you can, this promises to be a good job.

Who was that? I whispered, as we hurried across the square towards a wine shop.

Oh, a friend of mine. He sounded defensive. We work together. He plays the flute.

Well, fine, I thought, that explains everything. I ordered a half-jar, two to one, and two cups. They took their own sweet time bringing them, but thats Athens for you.

You didnt answer my question, he started up, before I could say a word.

Whatre you doing in Athens ?

I wasnt expecting anything like that. I live here, I said.

He frowned. What, here in the city?

No, in Phyle, my grandads old place. I own it.

His expression seemed to be telling me the other one had bells on it. But I thought your grandfather was dead, he said.

Thats right, he is.

And he left the farm to your cousins. You didnt get anything.

Absolutely But my cousins are dead, too. I bought the place.

He looked stunned. Bought? he said. Where the hell did you get money from?

Not, how did you escape from the shipwreck, or anything like that. No, just, Whats a dirtball like you doing with money? Charming.

But I wasnt in the mood for starting a fight. From Queen Dido, I told him.

What? You mean, you went back and got the treasure?

I grinned. No fear, I said. I managed to sneak something while we were loading it. You wont believe some of the things thatve happened to me since

But youre farming now, right? Youre through with the thieving, for good?

I couldnt think of the right words for what I wanted to say, so I nodded.

And you were discreet about fencing this thing you stole? You didnt go splashing your money around, drawing attention to yourself?

Of course not, I said angrily Im not stupid.

His face said he wasnt so sure about that. Well, anyway, he said. Cant be helped now, I suppose. But what prompted you to come back here, of all places?

Why couldnt you have just gone off somewhere else, where nobodyd know you?

I couldve said, What, you mean a place you and I havent been chased out of by the law? Name three. But I didnt. Bloody hell, Lucius Domitius I started.

And dont call me that, for crying out loud. My names Narcissus, got that? He glanced over his shoulder as he said it. Narcissus, son of Porphyrius, from Mitylene. You wont forget that, will you?

Whatever, I said despairingly That made him angry. For pitys sake, Galen, he said. Its important.

Oh, I replied, Im still allowed to be Galen, then?

He sighed. Not if it was up to me, he said. Last thing I need is you parading around under your own name, in a place where someones bound to recognise you.

But it looks like its too late to do anything about that now I decided to change the subject. Honestly, I said, I was convinced youd got yourself drowned, when the ship went down

He clicked his tongue, like hed just resigned himself to wasting time on chatting with some boring old fart when there were things he should be doing.

It was pretty damn close, he said. I came up, and there was a bit of timber floating, so I grabbed hold of that and hung on. Dont know how long I was in the water, but just when I was sure Id had it, a ship came along. Real slice of luck, that was.

Right, I thought. All I got was a floating coffin, good condition, one careful owner. Mightve known hed get a proper ship. How about the others? I said.

The skipper and the rest of the crew?

He shrugged. Never saw anybody else, he said, so I guess they bought it. Terribly sad, but these things happen. I remember thinking at the time, this is a judgement on me for what I did to my mother, that damned ridiculous collapsing yacht. But no, a ship happened to be passing, and it picked me up and rescued me. And that, he added, is where I met Philocrates.

Who?

My friend. The man who talked to me just now Your other friend, I thought; and then, your new friend. I decided I didnt like Philocrates.

And that was a stroke of luck, too, he went on. Turned out the ship was headed for Corinth, and Philocrates had booked a passage all the way Soon as he found out I was a musician too, he suggested we should team up and try our luck in Athens. He paid my fare, out of his own money, and here we are. Were doing wellhes a damned fine flute-playerand thats all there is to it, really

He drank some wine, then remembered something hed forgotten and added, How about you?

Somehow, I didnt feel like telling him about the reef and the coffin and Scheria. More or less the same, I said. I got picked up too, and I couldnt think of anywhere else to go, so here I am. And it hasnt worked out too bad, as you can see.

No. He frowned a little. No, it hasnt, he said doubtfully So long as youre safe, thats the main thing.

He said that like he meant it, a bit. Then he looked over my shoulder. Look,

he said, I really do want to hear all about what youve been up to, and theres a few things weve got to get straight about the future, but right now Ive got to run. If we can get this dinner-party job, it could be the making of us. Be sure to look me up, he added, getting to his feet, next time youre in town.

All right?

I tried to grab his tunic, but hed gone. Wonderful, I thought; if hed been that quick and agile when he was going around with me, maybe we wouldnt have wound up in so many condemned cells. Anyway, I didnt follow him. I just sat there, feeling like Id just come home from the war after ten years wandering, and immediately been slung in the coop for loitering.

There wasnt anything I wanted to do in town, so I went back to the inn, paid my tab, got my horse and went home. A drink wouldve been nice, but Blandinia and my dear mother had recently moved all the jars of wine out of the barn and into the inner room, where I used to sleep, presumably so they wouldnt have to leave the house when it was dark or raining. I pushed open the bunkhouse door and drooped in, to find Ptolemy and Smicro on the mattress, making love. Sorry, I muttered, and pushed off to the barn, where the cow gave me a nasty look and the dog tried to bite me.

Oh well, I thought.

Its boring, sitting on your own in a barn, so I got a hoe and a shovel, and walked out to the two-acre to trench up the vines Id planted there. At least they seemed pleased to see me, though maybe they were just being polite. My back started hurting but I kept at it in a desultory sort of a way for an hour or so.

Then someone called out my name, and I looked round. It turned out to be another neighbour of mine, a nice enough bloke in his way, name of Demetrius.

Someone was round my place looking for you, he said. Foreigner.

That made me stop and think, Of course, in Phyle, foreigner doesnt just mean non-Greek, or even non-Athenian; it could just as easily mean a city type, or someone from Pallene or Acharnae. Really? I said. Did he tell you his name?

Demetrius lifted his head. Just asked me if I knew where a rat-faced bloke called Galen might be. Truth is, I didnt like the look of him much, so I said Id never heard of you. Sorry, were you expecting anybody?

No, I said. What did he look like, this bloke?

Foreign, Demetrius said. Big, rough-looking, sandy hair going a bit thin on top. Smart dresser, though. I reckoned he must be either a loan-sharks runner or the government. Anyway I hope that was all right.

I shrugged. I dont think I know anybody looking like that, I said, and Im getting too old to make new friends. Thanks.

Thats all right. If he comes round again, Ill let you know It was only when hed gone I thought he might be an old pal of yours from the army or something. 

I lifted my head. Turns out I never had any friends in the army I told him. He wasnt sure what to make of that, but he didnt say anything. We chatted about the vines for a little while, and then he went home.

Id managed to play it cool while he was stood there, but Im telling you, I was scared. There was nobody out of the past I ever wanted to see againnot now

and I didnt suppose he was a lawyer come to tell me my long-lost uncle in Corinth had died and left me a fortune. The only question was, what to do next.

My instincts told me, clear out. Dont even bother going back to the house for a change of clothes, he might be there waiting. After all, I had shoes on my feet; it wouldnt have been the first time Id set out on a long journey with my entire fortune invested in footwear. But I was feeling weary; tired from my journey tired of pretty much everything.

I knew a bloke once, a great big fat guy, and he was in a field one time, and didnt realise till it was too late that the bull had got in there somehow. It charged him, and he started to run, but there was a hefty stone wall all round that field, too high for him to hop over, so he had to keep on running, with the bull after him, and he ran and he ran, until finally he was completely out of puff and his legs felt like octopus feet, all floppy and bendy And so, he told me, I said to myself, Bugger this, hell just have to gore me. So he stopped running, and the bull stopped too, and after theyd stood there looking at each other for a while, the bull wandered off and started feeding, and he strolled over to the gate and let himself out.

And why not? I said to myself. It cant be Amyntas, because I saw him dead with my own eyes. Dont suppose its Strymon, because hes supposed to be dead too.

Could be any one of about a million other people Id pissed off rotten over the years, but then again, it might be something quite other; some layabout, maybe, looking for work and hed got my name somewhere as an easy touch. Truth is, if Id heard the news any other day apart from that one, maybe Id have done something different. But that day, what with one thing and another, I couldnt be bothered.

I looked up at the sky It was starting to get dark, and I figured that Ptolemy and Smicro must be finished by now, so it was probably safe to go back to the bunkhouse and get some sleep. So I walked home, taking my time. There was nobody about when I got there, so I kicked off my boots, lay down on my mattress and fell asleep.

I woke up because some bastard was prodding me in the ribs. I opened my eyes and saw it was my mother, of all people. And not far off sober, at that. All right, I groaned, wheres the bloody fire?

Theres a man to see you, she grunted. And dont use language like that, talking to your mother.

I pulled on my boots and tramped over to the house. There, sitting behind my table, looking like he was the one who lived there and I was some tramp, was Tityrus, the helmsman from the grain freighter.

Well, yes, I thought, now you come to mention it, hes a big, mean-looking bloke with sandy hair. But Id been sure he was dead. Still, Id been known to be wrong about that sort of thing.

Hello, Galen, he said. You look like shit.

I saw he had a bloody great big army dagger stuck through his belt; you notice weapons when youve been around like I have. But Id never done him any harm that I could remember. Tityrus, for Gods sake, I said. I thought youd drowned.

He grinned. Came pretty close, he said. I was swimming round for hours, round and round in circles. Saw a ship, but the buggers didnt see me. Thought Id had it for sure, but bugger me if another ship didnt suddenly pop up out of nowhere, just as I was about to give it away Took me to Acragas, and there I signed on with a crew headed for Alexandria, the long way round up the side of Italy, down the Thracian coast, in and out of every poxy little inlet. Were laying over three days in Piraeus, shore leave, and I was hanging round the market square wishing I hadnt spent all my pay when, fuck me, I saw you. In a right hurry, you were, on a horse; I ran, but I couldnt catch up with you, and then I remembered, Phyle, where you said you come from. So I took a chance and came up here, hitched a ride on a carriers cart. He shook his head. Dont know what youve done to piss off your neighbours, but nobody round here reckons theyve ever heard of you, except this lady He nodded towards my mother, who was looking mustard down her nose at him.

Shes my mum, I explained.

Ah, right, he said. Anyhow, its good to see you. For a moment there I thought Id seen a ghost, probably comes of drinking too much salt water. He frowned. Youve done all right for yourself, by the looks of it.

When dealing with people from my past who show up out of the blue, Ive always been guided by two rules. When in doubt, lie. When not in doubt, lie anyway

Nothing to do with me, I said. When I got here, I found out my cousins had died. So now this place is mine, for what its worth.

I was half expecting my mother to jump in and tell him I was lying through my teeth, but at least she had the wit to keep her face shut; after all, it was her home too, and she was prepared to take it on trust that if I was telling fibs to my old mate here, I had my reasons.

Well, said Tityrus, that was a stroke of luck, I guess. But how did you get out of the wreck alive, for crying out loud? I was sure I was the only one.

So I told him; most of it, anyway I left out the floating coffin, made it sound like it was the first ship he saw that picked me up, and I didnt say anything about Scheria, eitherI guessed he might notve been too thrilled to hear Id given away all subsisting rights in Didos treasure when his claim to it was every bit as good as mine. Which reminded me; I hadnt given it a thought since Id been home. But I didnt really think Tityrus had flogged all the way out here just to chat about old times on the Acragas to Ostia run. I didnt mention Lucius Domitius, either. Apart from that, and my gold belt, I told it pretty well straight.

Amazing, he said when Id done. And talk about your freak chances, me catching sight of you like that in the market. Like its destiny or something.

He looked at me. Fancy a stroll? he said. You can show me round this spread of yours.

I looked up at Mum, standing behind him, ears flapping like an elephant in a thunderstorm. Why not? I said. And youre staying to dinner, arent you?

Mum made a sort of snorty-grunty noise, but I ignored her, and Tityrus and I went out together. Soon as we were clear of the house, where the women wouldnt hear us, he grabbed my arm and said, All right, Galen, whats the story? You didnt inherit this place, you bought it. Bloke at the inn told me youd come home with money Whered you get it from?

I sighed. Whered you think? I said. I nicked a little something from the treasure, while we were loading. I suppose you want your cut.

He looked genuinely hurt. Thats not a very nice thing to say Its your good fortune, you enjoy it, mate. Besides. He grinned, and reached inside his tunic, pulling out a big, chunky gold bracelet on a bit of string. You werent the only one. Soon as I can fence this, Ill be just fine. Charter a ship, get a crew together, blokes I know in Sicily , theyre all right; well go back, find that island, well all be rich as Caesar. No, reason why I came chasing out here after you is so you can join us. After all, its your treasure as much as its mine.

No kidding, I was stunned, like youd just bashed me on the head with a fencing mallet. He was telling the truth, no doubt about that; I can recognise lies, the way a fish recognises water. Here he was, this evil-looking thug with a dagger in his belt, and hed searched me out just so he could give me a second chance at being unspeakably rich. I couldve burst into tears on the spot.

Well, he said impatiently, what about it? Got to be worth giving it a go. Itd be mortal sin to leave all that stuff just lying there, where any old toerag could come along and find it. I was steering the ship, remember. Im positive I can find the place again. What dyou say?

I could hardly say a word. Tityrus, I told him, for Gods sake, dont go out there looking for that stuff, itll kill you. Sell your bracelet and buy a farm, settle down, get a life for yourself. You saw what happened to Amyntas. Anybody you take with you, theyll cut your throat in a heartbeat. Take the hint, cant you? You and me, we got out alive. All the rest of them are dead.

He looked hurt and bewildered. Dont be a prat, Galen, he said. Im not some shithead Roman, I know who I can trust and who I cant. And this time we know its there, we know whats involved, we can make plans, get everything we need ready in advance. Itll just be a case of getting there, getting the stuff and well be free and clear. All our troubles will be over.

I really wished he hadnt said that. Tityrus, I said, its a wonderful thing, you giving me this chance and all, youre all right, no doubt about it.

But Im not going. See, Im free and clear already All my troubles are over; and I really dont want to start them up again, just when they look like theyve wandered off and decided to leave me alone. You find the treasure, and bloody good luck to you. You have my share. You deserve it, I dont.

He looked at me for a long time, then shook his head. I dont get you, he said. You ungrateful little shit. When I saw you today I thought, this cant just be a fluke, this has got to be a sign, from the gods. And now you just stand there and spit in my face. What did I ever do to you to deserve that, Galen?

Ungrateful little shit, I thought. Must be catching, or something. I told you, I said, I dont want it. Dont want to be as rich as Caesar, its a mugs game. You know what? All I ever wanted, as far back as I can remember, was to be a nice quiet little farmer, here in Phyle. (Whos the farmer, Lucius Domitius

friend had asked him. Me, thats who. And that, looking back, was the moment when Ulysses mustve come home.) Really and truly I want you to find the treasure, get it away safely, have everything you ever wanted. Just like Ive got, I added. Right here.

Dont talk daft, Tityrus said. Just look at this place, its a dump. Just a rotten little farm like they give you when youve done twenty years in the army And youve got a pisshead for a mother, and a wife whos not much better

Shes not my wife, actually I said. Just the maid.

Well, there you go. Man of your age, hasnt even got a wife.

Before you know it, youll be a shrivelled-up old man leaning on a hoe, like a million other dirt-scratchers. You cant want this. Its a dump. Its shit.

Its what I deserve, I said. Actually its a whole lot more. I never deserved anything, except a cross and two busted knees. Cant you see, Tityrus? Im home.

I dont want to come out and play any more.

He stared at me, or where he guessed I was in the darkness. Well, fuck you, then, he said, and walked away I called after himdont be daft, come in and have some dinner, stay the night but he didnt answer. I couldve run after him

(like he ran after me) but I was afraid Id trip over something and hurt myself. 

I went inside.

Wheres your friend? Mum asked.

He had to go, I said. Remembered something important in town.

She looked at me like I was the place where the dog had just squatted. Oh for Gods sake, she said. Ive just fried some fish, and theres chickpeas to go with it.

I sighed. Enjoy, I said. Dont worry, Im not stopping.

Thats all right, then, she said. Blandinia, fetch out a fresh jar, its just you and me for dinner.

I went back to the bunkhouse. It was dark, the Syrians were asleep. I kept quiet, so as not to disturb them. I lay down and tried to go to sleep, but instead I just lay there, thinking about ungrateful little shits Id known:

both of us.

Next evening, on my way back from the fields, I ran into Demetrius again. He waved at me to stop, and hurried over.

Guess what, he said. That bloke, the one who was asking about you.

Oh yes, I said. What about him?

He grinned. Hes only dead, thats what. Last night, Iphicrates and his boy fished him out of the creek down on their three-acre. What theyre saying is, he mustve been going back to town in the dark where the roads narrow, on the hillside there; slipped and fell, bashed his head on a stone on the way down, pitched in the creek, drowned. He shook his head. Well, I told them, its entirely possible it couldve happened that way Course, I didnt let on Id ever seen the bloke, or that hed been asking for you. Then something seemed to strike him; he looked up at me sharply, then looked away Anyhow, he said, I thought Id mention it. Just in case you hadnt heard.

I said thank you, nicely as I could, and went home. Looking back, I realise now, Demetrius mustve thought Id killed the man, because hed come looking for me and seemed like trouble. Thats the thing about people, theyre never happy with the obvious explanation; because of course its possible, perfectly possible, more than likely A man can drown in a little creek in Phyle just as easily as in the deep, dark African sea, when his ship founders in a storm and every soul aboard her is lost. A man can drown pretty well anywhere, its just a matter of how he chooses to go about it, and what for.

 

Now I never studied philosophy Best I can ever hope to be is an enthusiastic amateur. But there are times when I seem to visualise the great, all-spanning arch of Being as a big brown cow; and this cow wanders along through Time, munching bits out of the Past, digesting them in her double-chambered gut (which we call the Present) and finally shooting them out her rear end in the form of enormous, squidgy cowpats, which is to say the Future; and we blind mortals, straying haphazardly along lifes path and seldom looking where were going, will sooner or later put our boot right in the middle of one of these cowpats

namely our Past, transfigured into the shit we find ourselves in, in the Future.

I guess Plato wouldve come at it from a different angle. But Plato, and the rest of that crowd, probably never had to put up with the kind of rubbish that Ive always seemed to end up with, by way of a life. When youve lived like I had, with a fair proportion of your meals coming at you through a hatch in a cell door, its not surprising if you find yourself trying to make sense of the workings of the cosmos in terms of huge steaming cowpats made up of all the really dumb things you did twelve months or five years earlier.

Thats by the by After my run-in with helmsman Tityrus, I made a real effort to watch my step along lifes highway As far as I was concerned, I never wanted anything to do with my past life ever again, or any part of it. The way I saw it, everything that had happened to me up to the moment when I scrambled into the floating coffin was all horrible garbage, and no good could possibly come from having anything to do with it. Here I was, Farmer Galen of Phyle, with everything a man could reasonably want, so long as I put the time in behind the plough and the shovel. I had a roof over my head, food to eat, clothes, somewhere dry to sleep. Anybody who wants more than that is like someone who tries to fish a honeycake out of the mouth of a crocodile; what you stand to gain is never worth the risk.

Which is a roundabout way of saying that when Lucius Domitius failed to get in touch with me, I didnt go looking for him. Screw him, I thought; hes got a new friend now, he seemed happy enough, and I sure as hell didnt need him. I mean to say, what good would he be, in my new life? The Syrians and me could handle all the work about the place, with a little help from hired men in the season, which I could well afford to pay for. Hed just be a complication, a nuisance, in the way and not needed on the voyage, as they say in the navy He always did have this knack of attracting hassle, the way a magnet draws filings. Proof of that: since wed parted, when the ship went down, pretty well everything had gone right for me, or at least nothing had gone badly wrong. While we were together: ten long years of hardship, danger and filthy rotten luck, and bugger all to show for it. As time went by, I found myself starting to believe the tale Id been telling ever since I got back, that Id spent the last twenty-four years in the army Might as well have done. After all, I did all the things people do in the armysleeping rough, eating crappy food, wearing damp, raggedy clothes, constantly having people trying to kill you or capture you.

The only part of the army experience Id missed out on was killing other people; and if Id done my time as a cook or a muleteer, Id never have done any of that stuff anyway And, of course, for ten of those twenty-four years Id been principal bodyguard to my emperor, so my little white lie wasnt so far off the mark, at that. Anyhow, I thought, theres nobody whos going to contradict me, and its nobodys business but my own.

So, best part of a year went by and the seed Id sown grew into barley, and the shoots Id planted turned into vines, and my beans survived the dry season, and my olives didnt get the blight or the canker or the rot; and if my dear mother was still alive, well, you learn patience when youre a farmer. The flipside of that, of course, is that you start putting down roots of your own. You wake up each morning with a pretty fair idea of where youre going to sleep that night, and what youre going to eat. In other words, you lose your edge. Then, when a celestial cowpat pops up in your path, you arent ready for it. Bummer.

I dont know why I was having dinner in the house that night, instead of over in the bunkhouse where I belonged. I seem to remember Blandinia was sick in bed with the guts ache, and Mum yelled at me across the yard to fetch her in some charcoal, and when I brought it she said she was all alone, and surely it wouldnt kill me to spend an evening with my old mother once in a while. So there I was, perched awkwardly on a stool while she sprawled on the couch, playing cottabus. (Dont know if youre familiar with the game. Its where you try and flick the dregs out of the bottom of your winecup so as to hit a specified target, like the vinegar jar or the fire dogs or the flute-girls left nipple. My mum loved playing cottabus, goes without saying.) Time went on, and Mum got more and more plastered; to start with, it improved her aim, and then her shots began to get a bit wild, and then the handle came off her cup and it fell on the floor and smashed, and I had to go to the chest and get her out a new one. It was that sort of evening. Crazy fun.

You know, she was mutteringI was trying not to listen, but it was like when youre lying awake in the wee small hours, and however hard you try, you cant help but listen to the sound of the rain dripping in through the hole in the roof. You know, its really nice having a quiet evening alone with my little boy Really nice. God knows why its got to be only once a bloody year. Youd think you hated me or something, and you dont, youre a good boy really, just fucking selfish, thats all. Rather sleep out in the bunkhouse with a couple of dirty wogs, instead of here with your own flesh and blood. Disgusting, I call that; but still, on the whole youre a good boy, and I forgive you.

Gee, thanks, I thought. Its not as bad as all that, I was dumb enough to say

I mean, youve got Blandinia for company

That stinking little whore? Mum spat, and knocked over the oil jar. She could spit straighter than a Persian shoots an arrow when she had a mind to. God only knows why I let her in the house, filthy bitch. Oh, Ive seen her, smirking at me out of the corner of her eye, when she thought I wasnt looking, like shes saying, I know all about you, you old tart, you were no better than me in your day I mean, she snuffled, what kind of a son do you call yourself, letting a filthy whore look like that at your own mother?

I shrugged. It was late, and Id far rather have been mucking out the pigs.

What does she know, anyhow? I said.

Oh, she knows, Mum sighed. Because I told her. God only knows why Subject came up, so I told her all about it. And now shes taken to coming on all superior, when she thinks my backs turned. Well, shes got no call, and thats the golden fucking truth. I mean, theres no comparison, none at all. She was just a halfpenny tart in a funhouse. She straightened her back a little.

Nothing like me. I was a Roman generals special mistress. Theres a difference, you know. A difference. But can she see it? Can she hell as like.

I really didnt want to hear this. Go on, I said.

Oh, thats all there is to it, she said. Nothing to tell. Here, this jugs empty. Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to make yourself useful for a change?

I got a fresh jar from the corner and broke off the gum. Youre right, of course, I said, casually as I could manage. Her trying to make out shes anything like what you were. Damned cheek, if you ask me.

Thats right. She banged the table with her fist. When I took up with Gnaeus Domitius, I was just fifteen, never been with a man, never been away from home before, and everybody said, I was as pretty as a picture. And wasnt he ever a splendid man, in his armour, sat on his big black horse. And so kind, such a gentleman, not like these fart-arse types that call themselves gentlemen these days. Oh, he had a temper

Mum, I tried to interrupt, but she wasnt listening.

He had a temper, she went on, he could be a vicious bastard when hed a mind; but thats gentlemen for you, real gentlemen, they dont have to bow down and lick shit like ordinary folk. Never paid his debts if he could help; and there was one time, we were in Rome, this fat old knight came up to him in the market square whining for money, like some pissant little Greek. So he grabbed him by the scruff, stuck his thumb in the fat mans face and popped out his eye, just like podding a pea. Oh, he was a fine man, just like a great lion. I loved him, Galen, Gods honest truth. I loved that man like Ive never loved anybody before or since.

What did you say his name was? I asked. Gnaeus something?

She ignored me. Proudest day of my life, she went on, when our son was born. It was just after his wife had their boy little Lucius. He picked up our son and took him across the courtyard. I said to him, Where are you going? He said, Im going to introduce our boy to his brother. Just like that. My little Callistus, and his own honest son; he didnt care, they were both the same, far as he was concerned, his boys. He loved me, you see, just like I loved him. And it was all my fault.

I frowned. What was your fault? I said.

Oh. She spat again, though there wasnt anything left to aim at. Your bloody father, thats what. God only knows how I couldve been so stupid, when I had everything I could ever want: a man like that, and living in a fine house, like a princess. I was free and clear, no more troubles; and I had to go and fall for your stinking bastard father, who was just a servant; not even that, a dirty slave. When he found out, I was so ashamed; I really wish hed killed me too, it was only what I deserved. But no, he said, he wasnt going to do that; for baby Callistus sake, he said. You see? She was crying, fat salt tears plopping into her drink. He saved my life, my darling little boy; and you fucked it all up, you and your dirty bastard father. Threw me out, that same day, me and Callistusand you, of course, you werent born yet but you were there inside me, like a bad splinter. If only hed killed me too, my baby wouldve been all right; hed have looked after him, brought him up decent, hed have been a fine gentleman, like he deserved. But now hes deadhes dead and youre alive, you little shitand Im here with you and that whore. What the hell kind of a life do you call that, then? Whats the point of being alive, like that? Oh yes, sure, I brought it on myself, I deserved to come back here, with a fatherless kid, another on the way, and my dad yelling at me, calling me filthy names and making me scrape cowshit in the yard. But there was a time. She emptied the winecup, and dropped it deliberately on the ground, where it broke. He loved me, and I loved him, and I threw it all away

What was that name again? I asked. Gnaeus..

Gnaeus Domitius. She was staring straight ahead, like I wasnt there. Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus, grandson of Mark Antony, father of Nero Caesar; Nero Caesar, my little boys brother. He introduced them to each other, you know, the day Callistus was born. I wish I couldve seen that. It mustve been something to see.

Right, I said. And my father, I went on, the one Gnaeus Domitius killed. What was he called?

Him? Oh, she sneered, he was just a Greek, or a Thracian, something like that. A slave, anyhow, answered to anything anybody cared to call him. Didnt deserve a name of his own. Gnaeus Domitius hit him so hard with his sword, he damn near cut him in half. Served him right, too. He was strong, my Gnaeus, like a bear.

Excuse me just a moment, I said, getting up. I just want to nip out for a while and throw up.

So I did that, and it made me feel a bit better, but not much. And all the while, at the back of my mind, a little voice was saying, Well, that accounts for it, how come Callistus and Lucius Domitius looked so much alike, always knew there had to be a perfectly simple explanation. Probably my dad had a sharp, pointy nose, like a rat or a weasel. Marvellous thing, heredity.

When I went back inside she was fast asleep on the floor, where shed slid off the couch. I looked down at her, and at the sharp shards of the winecup, and it crossed my mind that it might not be a bad idea to do what Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus had neglected to do all those years ago, with a quick flick of the wrist, like podding a pea. (Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus, Lucius Domitius old manwhat would he be to me, I wondered. Stepfather? Was there a term for it in heraldry? Bound to be, its such a fussy science.) But I decided not to bother.

Not the sort of thing I do, and besides, she wasnt worth getting lumbered with the Furies for. So I left her lying there in her muck, trudged back across the yard and went to bed.

Now you wouldnt have thought Id be able to sleep, not after all that lot. But itd been a long day, out in the hot sun, and Id glugged down a certain amount of wine that evening, just to be sociable. So I fell asleep; and I dreamed that I was back in the Golden House, in the small courtyard with the five small pear trees, and I was sat on an ivory stool while Seneca explained to me, with the help of some complicated diagrams scratched in the dirt with his stick, how it all balanced out in the end: Mum and Gnaeus Domitius loved each other, but so did Lucius Domitius and Callistus. Gnaeus Domitius had killed my father, but Id killed Callistus, to save Lucius Domitius. Id loved Lucius Domitius but hed left me for a flute-player, so it was quite right and mathematically necessary that I kill Lucius Domitius; which left my mother over, like the bit you carry when you divide and the first number doesnt go exactly He tried to prove it for me with calculus, and hed got as far as explaining why Lucius Domitius raping Blandinia when she was a little girl was the product of me and Gnaeus Domitius, minus Callistus, squared, when suddenly a giant cowpat dropped out of the sky and buried him completely, with only the tip of his ratlike nose showing. And then my mother called us all in for dinner, and I woke up.

Twenty
Everybody, my old mother used to say, is good at something; and by and large, Im inclined to believe shes right. For example, I once knew a bloke who was as thick as the plaster on an Italian cheese. Ask him what two plus two came to, and hed stare at you helplessly; it was a miracle he ever learned how to talk, he was that dumb. But give him a chisel and a hammer and a saw, there wasnt hardly anything he couldnt do. Or take Lucius Domitius; generally a waste of space and provender, and a trial to everybody who ever knew him, but he could play the harp pretty well.

Or take me. The list of things Im useless at goes on for ever, but though I say it myself as shouldnt, Im quite a dab hand at ploughing. Shouldnt be, of course, Im short and skinny and light, so I have to keep one foot on the shaft to keep the share in the dirt, which means I hop along on the other foot like a dainty little thrush pecking worms, but I can hold a straight line, and lay down the next furrow level with it, as well as any and better than most. Ive had old-timers in Phyle come up to me and say my ploughings pretty near as good as they couldve done it when they were my age, and thats praise.

So, the morning after my visit with Mum, I yoked up the mules (did I mention I hate mules?) and set off to do the half-acre down the end of our lane. Funny little field, that. Far as I can gather, weve always owned it, right back to old Eupolis time. Its surrounded on all sides by other peoples land, so youve got to traipse round their headlands to get to it, and its a long, long way from any of our other bits and pieces. But it gives back five to one even in a bad year, and once when we were kids my grandfather got eight to one out of it, God only knows how Its a long, narrow terrace, with a steep old drop, so youve either got to waste a good quarter of it at the end, or else go at it fairly steady if you dont want to find yourself lying on your face under the plough, trespassing on the next terrace down.

But that was fine by me, because it meant I was going to have to concentrate like mad, a good thing when I didnt want there to be any danger of my mind wandering off and worrying away at what Id learned the previous night, like a bad dog chasing hares.

So I ploughed all morning, taking each furrow right up to the edge, making sure they were all arrow-straight, doing the best job that I possibly could. Then, when Id done, I took the plough and team home, fetched a hoe out from the barn, and went back to bust up the clods and generally get it ready for sowing. The Pleiades had set several days before, and I was behindhand as it was, what with stopping to get the olives in and press them before they started weeping.

As I may have told you before, clodbusting isnt my favourite occupation; and it didnt help that Id taken on Smicros hoe by mistake. Smicros hands were much bigger and wider than mine, and I could hardly get my fingers to meet round the handle. As youd expect, this made the job a whole lot more awkward, and pretty soon my wrists and forearms were starting to ache like buggery A sensible bloke would have stopped, gone home and fetched his own hoe, but not me. I just stuck at it, as though for some reason I reckoned the pain served me right. Come nightfall, when Id managed to get about a third of it done after some fashion or other, I decided Id had enough for one day, and started off back to the house.

Halfway along the headland of my neighbour Aeschines top two-acre, there used to be a funny little fig tree. I was tramping along past it when it suddenly called out my name in a sort of shouted whisper.

Im not used to having trees talk to me in that tone of voice, so I stopped and looked back. Galen, the tree repeated. Over here. And who should walk out from behind it but Lucius Domitius.

Put yourself in my position, will you? Truth is, all the thoughts going through my head right then were just too complicated for me to handle. I hadnt got a clue where to begin, it was like trying to unravel a horribly tangled piece of rope. And what the hell was I supposed to say to him? On top of all that, I was still mightily pissed off with him for dumping me and going off with his new flute-playing chum, dropping me like I was something hed been tracking round on the sole of his boot till at last hed had a chance to stop and scrape me off.

What with that, and the stuff Mum had told me, I think I did pretty well choosing my words. I said, Hello.

Shut up and listen, he replied, looking over his shoulder. I dont know if Ive been followed here; its only a matter of time. Look, I need a place to hide, and youve got to find a ship thatll take me to Hiberia, soon as possible.

I couldnt make head or tail of this. Hiberia? I said. What the hell do you want to go there for?

He scowled at me. Because its the furthest country in the world, he said, like it shouldve been painfully obvious, even to a dumbo like me. You going to help me, or what?

Slow down a moment, will you? I said. Whos after you? Whats going on?

He scowled mustard at me. Have we got to have this conversation in the middle of a field? he said. Why is it you cant do the simplest thing without arguing the toss first?

All right, I said, fine. Follow me.

He was a right pantomime, the way he ducked and crept along; I guess he was trying to keep out of sight or something, but all he achieved was to make himself as conspicuous as possible. If wed happened to bump into one of my neighbours on the way back to my place, theyd have taken one look at him and gone straight home and told the family I saw our Galen walking along with this strange man who kept bobbing up and down, and the story wouldve been all over Phyle by sunup.

So, I said, trying to ignore his idiotic behaviour, now can you tell me whats going on?

Trouble, he said. Philocrates has been arrested.

How terribly sad, I thought; oh well, never mind. You dont say Whats he been up to, then? Thieving tableware at one of your gigs?

Dont be ridiculous, Lucius Domitius snapped at me. He wouldnt do anything like that, hes an artist. No, I was supposed to meet him in the market square, but I was late; and when I got there, he wasnt there. So I asked a bloke I knew if hed seen him, and he said yes, hed been standing by the well minding his own business when two soldiers and a big, ugly man who looked like a gladiator had come up and grabbed him. Didnt say anything, just twisted his arms behind his back and hustled him away.

I wasnt sure I liked the sound of that; not because I gave a damn about Philocrates, obviously Any idea why? I asked.

Shut up and Ill tell you. Anyway, I went over to the prefecture; thought Id try one of our old routines you know, the ones I used to get you out of stir when you got yourself arrested. God knows, Ive had enough practice over the years. Thought Id try the one where Im the master and you were my good-for-nothing slave, always getting into trouble. So I went up to the lodge, asked if they had anyone answering his description, told him the tale; but they reckoned they hadnt seen or heard of anybody like that. Well, that meant it wasnt the regular law thatd taken him in, so it had to be something other than ordinary stealing or disorderly conduct. But of course, I hadnt got a clue where to start looking. So I wandered around the town for a while, trying to think of a plan of action; and then by pure fluke, I caught sight of someone.

All right, I said. Who?

He sighed. You remember when we were in Sicily, he said, and we ran into the governors entourage, and you made a damn fool of yourself when he started asking us questions?

I wasnt sure I remembered it quite like that, but I didnt say anything.

Yes, I said.

Well, do you remember his front outrider, the one who killed our mules? Him.

Took a moment for that to sink in. Here? I said, stupidly. In Athens ?

Lucius Domitius nodded vigorously. No doubt about it, he said. I saw him straight on, no more than five paces away Thank God he was talking to somebody and didnt see me. Or at any rate, I dont think he did. Anyhow, I made myself scarce as quick as I possibly could. Got out of town and came up here, asked a couple of old boys I met on the road where your place was; when I got there you werent home, obviously, but there was a farmhand in the yard who told me where you were likely to be. Point is, he went on, if I could track you down so easily, so can he. For all I know, his men are up at your place this very minute, waiting for us. I mean, its no secret you and your brother came from here. Why else would the governor be looking for me here?

I felt like someone had just punched me in the guts. So what do you reckon we should do? I asked him.

He shrugged. Impossible to know what to do for the best, he said. But heres my idea. You leave me in that little olive grove near the top of your lane, and go on down to the house, see if the coasts clear. If you dont come back straight away, Ill know theres trouble, and clear out. If not, you can hide me while youre finding a ship for me. Once Im on my way, you sit tight and wait for them to come to you. Theyll search the place, obviously, and question you, so youll have to tell them something misleading, like, yes, Id been there a day or so earlier, and Id said something about going on to Corinth via Megara; anything to send them off on a false trail. He thought for a moment. Best thingd be to let them knock you about a bit first, so they think theyve forced it out of you. That way, theyll be more likely to believe what you tell them.

I nodded. I could provoke them into burning my barns and cutting down my vines, I said. Maybe even break both my legs, or chop my right hand off.

Whatever, he said. Ill leave the details to you. But everybody knows youre a born coward, so probably you wouldnt have to go that far. Just as long as its believable. I reckon Ill need at least four days clear start, so when they do find out which ship Im on, they wont be able to cut across overland and catch me up. Oh, and Ill need money, of course, and a change of clothes, stuff like that.

I looked at him. You could have the shirt off my back, I said, only it wouldnt fit you.

He just nodded. That farmhand of yours I saw, he said, he looked to be about my size. Some of his stuffll do me, Im not fussy.

You bastard, I said. You selfish, thoughtless arsehole.

He hadnt been expecting that. Now whatve I done? he complained.

Oh, for crying out loud, I said. You turn up in town, practically back from the dead; and do you even want to know me? Do you hell as like. Oh no, it was, well, I might be able to spare a moment or so to look in on you somewhen, but right now Im too fearfully busy with my new chum Philocrates, so go away Did you hear what he said? I added angrily He called me a farmer. Whos the farmer, he said, and I was standing right there.

Lucius Domitius looked surprised. But you are a farmer, he said.

Thats not I had to make an effort to keep from yelling at him. Thats not the point, I said. The point is, you come here and you treat me like Im a bad smell, and now you expect me to let myself get tortured by the Romans, just so you can escape. Well, fuck you, because Im not going to do it. No way, I added, in case there was any doubt.

He frowned. Thats a stupid attitude, he said. I mean, lets be realistic about it. Theyre going to find you and theyre going to come here looking for me, whether you decide to help me or not. Probably theyre going to beat you up a little, no matter what you say After all, youre known right across the world as a habitual liar. They wont expect to get the truth out of you without a bit of persuasion. He lifted his head. So, since its going to happen anyway, you might just as well do me a good turn while youre at it. No, the only question in my mind is whether youre up to the job. But Ive got to rely on you, because there isnt anybody else. I just hope youll be able to pull it off, thats all.

Well, what was I supposed to say to that? I sulked the rest of the way home. We stopped at the little olive grove, like hed said, and I went on down the lane to my beautiful farm, feeling like I was walking out into the circus at Rome, with the lions roaring at me from behind the bars of their cages.

But it all seemed to be all right. No soldiers came rushing out to grab me.

There werent any horses tied up in the yard. Nobody about, in fact; which was how it should be. So I went over to the bunkhouse, where there was a light under the door.

Smicro and Ptolemy were there all right, fixing up dinner. Ever since Id barged in on them at that rather bad moment Id been a bit wary about going in the bunkhouse when I knew they were there, so I made a point of knocking three times and waiting a bit before pushing open the door. I asked them, had there been any strangers round, but they said no.

That sounded all right, but I reckoned Id better be a bit more thorough than that; so I took a deep breath and went across to the main house. Id far rather not have done; after all, last time Id seen Mum, shed told me a tale that had me puking my guts up out in the yard. But either she hadnt remembered anything about last night when she came to in the morning, or else shed made up her mind to act like nothing had happened. Either way suited me. She wasnt precisely sober, of course, but she wasnt lying slumped on the floor singing the Harmodius either. Anyhow, she said there hadnt been any strangers at the farm that day Also, she added (like I cared), Blandinia was feeling a bit better, but she still wasnt right.

Well, thank God for that, I said to myself as I shut the door behind me; what a tremendous weight off my mind, knowing Blandinia was on the mend. I trudged back up the lane and told Lucius Domitius it was safe to come out. Hed told me to whistle twice like an owl as the signal that the coast was clear, but really, I wasnt in the mood.

That just left me with what to do with him. Not the main house, obviously Not the bunkhouse either, because the fewer people who saw him, the better. That left the barn, the stable or the pighouse. I decided on the pighouse; out of spite, mostly Then I went back to the bunkhouse and had some soup and bread with the lads. Pretty good it was, too; and it crossed my mind that really I ought to take some out to Lucius Domitius. But that would have meant thinking of an explanation for Smicro and Ptolemy, and I was all thought out for one day.

Next morning, though, I woke up early (hadnt got much sleep, in fact, what with one thing and another), which meant I was able to nip out with the crust end of the loaf and a jug of water from the trough in the yard before those two were awake. Lucius Domitius was fast asleep, snuggled up in some dried-up bean helm like a baby kitten. I woke him up with my boot and said, Breakfast.

He was obviously hungry, because he hardly bitched at all about the bread being stale or the water being a funny colour. He actually thanked me, which sounded pretty strange.

Dont mention it, I said awkwardly Look, about finding you a ship. Its not going to be easy, if you insist on going to Hiberia. Its not what youd call one of your regular destinations.

He nodded. I was thinking that, too, he said. Even if there are any, it could be months. So what I thought was, if you could find me one thats going to Massiliathat shouldnt be hardI can either look around for another ship there, or I can go across Gaul overland and get over to Britain from there.

Actually, he went on, it doesnt really matter where I go, so long as its far away See whats in dock at Piraeus and use your own judgement.

Coming from Lucius Domitius, that was next best thing to an apology. I was almost touched. Sure, I said. Ill ride into town today and see to it.

Thanks. There was an awkward silence; but it seemed like it was more awkward for him than for me, so I let it carry on. Finally, he swallowed a deep breath and said, Just getting away, thats all. Not too much to ask, is it?

I thought about that. No, I said, not really

He shook his head. I really thought, he said, after Id survived the shipwreck, being the only one left alivewell, I didnt know about you then, of courseI really managed to kid myself into thinking that maybe the gods had saved me for some purpose, like they were stopping the game and letting me go. I honestly thought I was free and clear.

All your troubles would be over?

Something like that. And now here I am, about to set off for the ends of the earth. Funny, isnt it?

Hilarious, I replied. Want me to come with you?

Dont know which of us was the more shocked at that, him or me. Im betting it was me. I hadnt meant to say it, but once it was past the gate of my teeth, I knew I meant it. And that really shook me.

What, you mean leave here and come with me to Hiberia?

Yes. Or wherever it is you end up going?

He looked at me. Why? he said.

I couldve hit him. Well, I said, I thought maybe youd like some company I dont know, do I?

But you seem like youre happy here. Settled. Doing what you always wanted to do, and so on.

I nodded. Thats right, I said, I am.

Then why in Gods name would you want to throw all that away to go traipsing off to some godawful place youve never even heard of?

Because Oh hell, I thought, Im buggered if Im going to say it. So you dont want me along, then?

Its not that, he said, a shade too quickly But whatd be the point?

No point at all, I thought, so I decided to lie. God forgive me, I can be really pathetic when I set my mind to it. Listen, I said. This is where I was born, I grew up here. Fine. I cant think of any place on earth Id rather be. When thewhen the captain of the ship that picked me up asked me where I wanted to go, anywhere in the whole wide world, I told him here. And now, here I am. I sleep in the bunkhouse with two Syrian farmhands because I darent go in the main house because I cant stand being in the same building as my pisshead mother for longer than itd take to pit an olive. I start work at sunup, flog my guts out, fall asleep at sundown. I guess I wasnt cut out for this life after all.

He looked at me. I see, he said. You see, thats where you and I are so different. All my life, the one thing I wanted was to play music; didnt matter where or who to, didnt even matter if there was anybody listening. And all my life, that was the one thing I couldnt donot back in the Golden House, because it wasnt allowed, not when we were on the road, for fear of being recogniseduntil, as I thought, suddenly the gods changed their minds and they staged my death for me, so that everybody in the world would be sure Id died. After that, I was so positive about it, I knew it was all clear from now on: I was in Athens, the best place in the world for a poet and musician, and I was earning a livingan honest living, damn itjust playing music, with a friend who loved music as much as I did, someone I could talk to, about poetry and art and all the things that matter to me. It felt so right, if you see what I mean. And the thought of going backyou and me on the road again, lying and cheating and staying one jump ahead of the law if were really luckydamn it, Galen, Id rather be dead than go back to that. It wasnt life, it was a really spiteful punishment for all the things I did in the old days. King Pluto himself couldnt have dreamed up anything nastier. No, Im going alone; and as for you, for Gods sake try and make the most of this chance youve been given, to be what you were always meant to be. So its not perfect. Lifes not like that. For crying out loud, Galen, you dont know how lucky you are. You know what? Im jealous of you. Really, I am, if you can believe that. Youve come home. Its as if youd gone to sleep when you were sixteen and woken up twenty-four years later, got up and gone to work same as usual. Youre so fucking lucky it isnt true.

I stood up. Fine, I said. Ill go into town and get you on a ship. And then Ill never see you again, and youll never see me again. I looked away I expect youre right, I went on. Itll be best for both of us.

I think so, he said. After all, ten years on the road, and can you remember one single good time? I cant. Look at it this way Callistus died so we could both have a life. If we dont take our chances now, recognise exactly what it is were meant to be doing and stick to that and never let go, then were wasting his death, hell have died for nothing. He sighed. You know something? he said. When I thought youd drowned, to begin with I was really upset...

Upset, I thought. Well, there you go. Almost as bad as missing a boat, or losing your pet rabbit.

But then, he went on, I thought about it for a bit, and I had to face up to it. You and me, we were never any good for each other. Both of us, we were holding each other back, like two men in the water, each trying to save the other, so we both drowned. When I realised I was on my own at lastI know, this sounds really terrible, but you know I dont mean it like thatsuddenly I felt like a slave whos just been given his freedom in his masters will. I was sad, of course, and grateful too, in a sense; but mostly it felt like this terrible weight had gone from round my ankle, and I could swim up to the surface and breathe at last. I expect you felt the same way, didnt you?

I turned back and looked at him. Ill tell you the truth, I said. I was more worried about saving my own skin. I didnt think about you till much later.

Well, he said, there you go, then. I mean, were friendsI guess were that, after everything weve been through; sort of like army buddies, if you like. We never had anything in common, apart from the dangers we faced and the horrible shittiness of our life, and the people wed shared and lost. But thats all; comrades, allies in a common cause, it served each of our interests to stay together for as long as it took for us both to get free and clear. Thats all.

We dont belong together, you and me; its not like were lovers, or brothers.

Now the common purpose has been fulfilled, its to our mutual advantage to go our separate ways. You do see that, dont you?

Yes, I said.

I thought so. I mean, it stands to reason, really And I want you to know, it was sort of nice of you to say youd come with me, even though I know you dont really want to, because you thought I needed you or something. I guess you were thinking it was what Callistus wouldve wanted. But it isnt, I promise you.

Hed have wanted the two people he most cared about to find their proper place and stay there. Dont you agree?

Sure, I said.

Thats all right, then. He grinned. You know what? I was worried you didnt see it that way Only goes to show, you think you know someone really well, but when it comes to the point, you find out you dont know them at all. Id got it in my head that somehow Id got this duty to look after youbecause of Callistus, I mean.; that somehow Id have to take his place, be a brother to you because Id cost you your real brother. But thats silly, isnt it?

Very silly, I said. Its like you just said. Army buddies, puts it exactly I mean, its always the way, isnt it? They demob and go their separate ways, swearing blind theyll always stay in touch. And then, two or five years down the line, either theyve forgotten the other bloke completely, or they meet up and find theyve got nothing to say to each other, because they never had anything in common. And thats dumb, really

He nodded. Lets just pretend weve been ten years in the army together, and leave it like that. He peered up through the corner of the doorframe. I dont want to rush you, but if youre figuring on getting into town, finding me a ship and getting back before dark, you ought to be on your way.

Youre right, I said.

So I got the horse saddled up and set off for town; and along the way, what I was mostly thinking was, well, at least Im not having to walk. Things can always be worse than they are, even if its only by a little bit. I couldnt remember who used to say that when I was a kid. My old mother, probably It sounded like one of hers.

Finding a ship proved to be much easier than Id thought. Fourth ship I tried, in fact; turned out they were headed for the Black SeaTanais, in the territory of the Roxolani, wherever-in-hell that might be. The bloke on the ship said it was a fairly desperate placescorching hot in summer, bollock-numbing cold in winter, no scenery to speak of apart from endless rolling fields of wheat, and the savageswell, savage, and that was if you caught them on a good day I replied that it sounded like just the sort of place my friend was looking for, and paid him fifty drachmas.

Since Id finished earlier than Id planned, I had time to nip round the market stalls and pick up a few things. Two pairs of boots, for instance; three tunics, two heavy winter cloaks, a belt, a goatskin satchel, a wide-brimmed leather hat; I even bought a sword off a second-hand stall (well, it was cheap, and you never know). Then I went to my bank and drew out two hundred sesterces. Im soft-hearted, but not as softhearted as all that.

Then home again, back up the hill, with the purse of money clinking on my belt, the sword stuck between my knee and the horse blanket, and the do-it-all explorers survival kit slung over my shoulder in the satchel. All told, Id blown close on three hundred sesterces, none of which Id ever see again. Still, I could afford it, and there was an argument for saying itd have been cheap at twice the price.

It was as dark as twenty foot down a well by the time I reached Phyle; just as well I grew up there and knew the way I rode into the yard, led the horse into the stable and tied him up; dumped all the stuff Id bought for Lucius Domitius there, too, since there was no point taking it with me into the bunkhouse, Id only have Smicro and Ptolemy asking what I wanted with all that gear. First things first, I thought; something to eat and a good stiff drink, and then Id go back out, see to the horse, take Lucius Domitius his stuff and tell him about the ship. For that Id need a lamp, if only because I wanted to see his face when I told him about Tanais and the savage Roxolani. Not that Im a nasty person or anything, but I reckoned Id earned that small pleasure.

I opened the bunkhouse door and walked in. Someone else closed it behind me.

There were five of them. Two I recognised. One was the Sicilian governors outrider, the man whod killed our mules. The other was the governor himself.

The remaining three I hadnt ever seen before; though if Id ever been into watching gladiator shows, I mightve seen them in the arena at some stage. No mistaking their type. Its the shiny white scars and the enormous shoulders that give them away, every time.

Also present were my two Syriansthey were hanging by their thumbs from a rope slung up over the rafters; Mum, looking sober and as white as fresh cheese, tied up and sat on a low stool; and Blandinia, leaning against the wall with a smug expression on her face. No sign of Lucius Domitius; apart from him, everybody present and correct.

Absolutely no chance of me getting to the door; one of the gladiators had moved across and stood with his back to it, arms folded across his chest, looking professionally mean. No point in me saying anything; so I stood and waited to see whatd happen next.

The governor got up; hed been perched on the rim of the big oil jar, like a huge mutant butterfly Galen, isnt it? he said. I was sure I knew you from somewhere.

I nodded.

Very well, he said. So thats one of you, now we just need the other one.

I acted dumb. Ive had the practice, after all. Who do you mean? I said.

He laughed. Well, he said, its Nero Caesar Im really after, but Ill settle for your brother Callistus, if you prefer. Either will do. After all, whats in a name?

At this point, Mum burst into tears and started screechingleast she could do in the circumstances, all things considereduntil one of the gladiators whacked her across the face. It shut her up so quickly, I wish Id thought of it myself.

The pet cavalryman grabbed my right arm and cramped it up behind my back. In case you dont know, that hurts. Please, I squealed, I dont know what youre talking about.

Ive said some dumb things in my time, but not many dumber than that. For a moment I thought the cavalry bloke was going to break my elbow jointthat was scary, because those things never heal right, and Im a farmer, I need my arms in good working order. But he stopped just short, gauging it nicely from long practice. That was me told.

All right, I said, Im sorry.

Blandinia laughed; fine hero you turned out to be, she seemed to be saying. But theres no heroism in having your arm broken, because any bloody fool can do that, even a coward like me. The heroic stuff lies in finding a way of not getting your arm busted. So I ignored her, and said, Hes in the stables.

The governor nodded. Fine, he said. You two, he added, nodding to a couple of his men, go and fetch him. Well kill them both here, I want to watch.

Well, he would do. Great watchers, your Roman senators; thats why they built all those huge theatres and stadiums and arenas and racetracks, as a monument to the rich bastards taste for sitting on his bum under a sunscreen while a load of other poor buggers feel the pain. Of course hed want to watch, to experience the moment and savour it, roll it round his tongue like a good vintage (fetched to him at his table in his villa from some faraway place). For my part, I was thinking, this is no good. Ill be slaughtered like a chicken in my own house while the senator watches; and then hell go home, maybe stop at an inn on the way back to Athens, grouse about the food and the bedlinen, get on his specially chartered ship and sail home, carry on with his life; and Ill wont be there any more. Everything about me will be over, all gone, just because I got into the wrong place at the wrong time, and strong men held me down so there was nothing I could do to stop it. Bugger that, I thought. After all, only a complete loser goes quietly

Hold on, I said.

They were fools to listen to me, but they did. Well? said the governor, and everybody held still.

I was frantically trying to remember the layout of the stables, inch by inch.

Hes a slippery customer, I said, those two clownsll never catch him on their own. Hell get out the back way or through the hayloft in the dark. If he hears someone coming, I mean.

The governor looked at me. Well? he repeated.

Whereas, I went on, if I go into the stables and call out to him, hell come out, wont suspect a thing; and then you can grab him. Provided you let me go, of course.

The governor thought for a moment; balancing potential gains and losses, a hard-headed business decision. No he said, I cant do that. But Ill tell you what I will do. If you make sure I get Nero Caesar, I wont kill your mother.

Hows that for a deal?

He thought he was being clever. Very good. But you cant do that I said. I mean, shes got nothing to do with this, theres no call to kill her.

He nodded. Im inclined to agree, he said. So on balance Id rather not, which is why I hope youll take me up on my offer. Otherwise He shrugged. Im not really bothered either way, he said. Its up to you, really

All right, I said quickly Well do it like I said, and youll let her go. But Ill need you to place your men where I tell you to; otherwise, theres always a risk hell get away after all.

He thought again, then nodded. But Calpurianus here, (the pet cavalryman, presumably), hell be standing behind you with his knife across your mothers throat. Agreed?

Sure, I said.

Fine. Then lets all go. You cant imagine how much Ive looked forward to seeing this.

Where hed made his mistake, of course, was in bringing so few men. Arrogance, you see. I was finding it bloody hard work just breathing, in no fit state to do anything straightforward, let alone complicated and delicate. But what the hell; treat it like just another condemned cell, I told myself. Itll be all right.

I arranged the gladiators round the stables, making sure they were quiet, so there wouldnt be any noise to startle Lucius Domitius. Blandinia had come too, which was handy It pays to be tidy when youre doing precise work. I took a lamp and slowly pushed open the stable door.

Lucius Domitius, I called out. Its all right, its only me.

Now if youre as smart as Im giving you credit for, youll remember that Lucius Domitius wasnt in the stables at all, he was in the pighouse. I hadnt forgotten that, if thats what youre thinking. On the contrary, I knew exactly what was in the stables and (I sincerely hoped) exactly where; otherwise, there simply wouldnt be time, Id come up three or four heartbeats short and the whole thing would be a washout. If only Id known earlier, Id have paid more attention, got everything ready That way, the nice new double-tined hoe Id sharpened the day before wouldve been placed just handy, next to the big pile of fresh straw and bean helm.

Lucius Domitius? I called out, taking a couple of steps further into the stable. Its all right, Im on my own. I got a passage for you, on a ship.

There was a gladiator right behind me; also the cavalry bloke, with my mum. As Id hoped, they hung back in the doorway so they wouldnt be seen. That gave me five paces, which is two heartbeats worth of time before they could figure out what I was up to and get up close enough to stop me. If the hoe and the straw were six paces from the door, I was fucked. It all depended on my memory: my life, Lucius Domitius, the whole cockfight. Wonderful odds.

I took another slow step, then my five planned quick ones. As my right hand reached out for the hoe (gods be praised, it was actually there), my left hand threw the lamp onto the stack of bean-helm. As all that dry stuff was taking fireyou want to watch that stuff, by the way, itll burn like lamp oil if youre not carefulI was twisting round on the spot, swinging the hoe round my head and bringing it down on the place where (if Id figured it all out right)

the head of the gladiator ought to be. No time to look, you see, it all had to be done by blind reckoning.

I screwed up. Fortunately, though, not by much. Instead of smashing the gladiators head like an egg, I caught him smack on the right forearm, sinking both tines in until the bridge got stopped on the bone. I hadnt realised I could hit so hard; but maybe Id forgotten, I was a farmer now, not just some skinny little Greek thief, and Id put enough hours in with the ponderous hoe, God knows.

Anyhow; the gladiator opened his mouth, but no sound came out. As I twisted the hoe to free the tines, he screamed; out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of the cavalryman slicing through Mums neck, but Id allowed for that in my calculations, so that was all right. After all, I knew from the start that I wasnt going to get out of this free and clear, and rather her than me. I was already at least three heartbeats behind schedule; soon as I felt the hoe was free in my hands, I swung again, and mercifully the gladiator was so shocked with pain he held still to be hit. I got him just above the left eye with the right hoe-tine, and he went down like a stack of apples youve barged into because you werent looking where you were going.

Fine, I thought, now Ive committed murder; still, there you go. The cavalryman had dropped Mum and his knife, he was fumbling for his sword, but hed got the pommel stuck under the crossbelt. The last thing hed been expecting was to have to fight meafter all, Im just a rat-faced little Greekand he wasnt ready He made the wrong choice, kept on trying to free his sword instead of using his feet to get out of the way Sloppy I killed him and let him drop, didnt have time to watch him fall. For one thing, I had a lot of work to get through in a short space of time. For another, the stable was on fire, and I didnt want to stay in there any longer than I could help.

I heard the horse screaming (another anticipated loss; omelettes and eggs, as they say in Rome ) as I pushed through the doorway into the open air. I reckoned I had maybe four heartbeats to kill the governor before the gladiators Id so carefully placed all round the building arrived to stop meand that was allowing for them being thrown off kilter by the fire; Id deliberately torched my own stable just to buy myself another heartbeat.

But he wasnt therethe governor, I mean. Either hed heard the gladiator yelling or smelt the smoke, or Id made a mistake in my mental geometry, or he was just being awkward. Anyhow, no governor where Id been expecting him to be, just Blandinia, her eyes wide as fruit plates. I considered killing her, but decided there wasnt time (balancing potential gains and losses, a hard-headed business decision) and left her stood there while I hared off, looking for the governor.

I nearly missed him, at that. He was smart enough to try hiding in the deep shadows around the corner of the barn wall. But he screwed up, too; the blade of his sword made a tiny scritching noise as it dragged over the chape of its scabbard, and thats something Ive heard quite a few times in circumstances that mean its a sound I recognise immediately I swung round and brought the hoe down hard and hit something solid enough to jar my elbows painfully, but not as solid as a wall; also, the tines were stuck in something, and I had to waggle the hoe about frantically to get them free. The governor answered the question of whether he was alive or dead by falling across me and knocking me off my feet. By the time Id scrambled out from under him, I knew he was well out of it.

And that was as far as Id planned; never expected to get there, if the truth be told. Id expected Id be dead quite some time ago, the last thought crossing my mind as I died being, Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But there I still was, alive and in the game, and my mind had just gone a complete blank.

Bugger, I thought; now what?

Well, three dead, three from five makes two (and I managed to figure it out without counting on my fingers). Id just finished when I saw the two remaining gladiators, nicely backlit by the blazing stable. They didnt see me, of course, in the shadows. I had a brainwave.

Over here, I called out, in Latin.

They turned their heads like trained dogs hearing a whistle, and headed towards me, arms by their sides. What the bloody hells going on? I shouted, also in Latin, while I did my best to gauge distance in the dark. Dont tell me, you let him get away

We thought we heard the first one said; and I found out my estimate was close enough for government work, as they say in the dockyards. His mate was going to be the problem, since Id just given away all my advantagessurprise, darkness, shadow, positionand I had to face the grim fact that it was likely to be a fair fight. Well, Id managed to go one better than Id dared hope, so it wasnt bad going for a country boy I swished at him with the hoe, and he hopped back, neat as a cat. Then, quite unexpectedly, he floundered wildly, lost his footing and sat down hard on his bum, just nicely so I could spike him through the top of his skull with both tines. Turned out hed slipped in a cowpat, of all things.

A little voice in the back of my head said, Its over, but I didnt believe it.

Couldnt be over; I couldnt have made it, couldnt have won. I stood there panting like a dog, trying to pull all the threads together in my mind, only all I could think about was that bloody stupid old story, Ulysses single-handedly slaughtering his enemies all together in his house, the day he came home. What that had to do with anything I had no idea; but you know how it is when youre all overwrought, your mind gets full of the damnedest things.

And then there was someone behind me, and I said to myself, there, I knew it wasnt over. So I wheeled roundgetting to be second nature by then, of course

and had the presence of mind to move my feet to give myself room before striking down with the hoe. I made it a good one, too, every last ounce of bodyweight behind it. Felt like when you sink your hoe into a thick seam of fat, sticky clay Whoever it was slid off the tines and went thump. I took a step back to catch my breath, while I checked my mental arithmetic. Five enemies; two in the barn, plus the governor, plus two in the yard here just now, makes five. Mum was dead, Id seen her blood spurting out of her neck, so who the hell did that leave over?

Blandinia, I thought; and then, oh well, never mind. Shed been marginal in my calculations, and Id only spared her the first time because Id been on a schedule. I swung the hoe up on my shoulder and walked slowly over to the barn steps, and sat down. The hoe felt heavier and more ponderous than ever before, but I wasnt letting go of it, not for Didos treasure. And let that be a lesson to you, by the way, never to piss off a farmer.

So there I was; and I was thinking, All I need to do now is collect up all these bodies, load them in the cart, take them a long way up onto the mountain and dump them, over the side of a canyon or off a cliff; sure, some nosy bastard will find them sooner or later, and it wont be long before someone else starts wondering whatever became of the governor of Sicily But who the hell would ever associate me (blameless ex-soldier, hard-working respectable farmer) with the death of a noble senator? Also, who in their right mind would ever believe I couldve killed a cavalry officer and three gladiators, all on my ownsome? Id have to make out that Mum and Blandinia had died of some nasty disease, and wed had to burn them fast to stop it spreading, hence no public funeral; but Smicro and Ptolemy would back me up on that, what are friends for? Oh sure, I wasnt free and clear quite yet, but all itd take would be a little care and discretion, and all my troubles would be over.

And then someone moved in front of me. I looked up, and it was Blandinia.

Did you getoh. She stopped dead still. Stupid bitch had taken me for one of the gladiators.

I grinned at her mistake; and then I realised, something wasnt right, suddenly the books didnt balance any more. But first things first; I jumped up and went after her, and I caught up with her after six paces. First, though, I pushed her to the ground and put my boot on her neck.

You told him, didnt you? I said.

The governor? Yes, she answered. I wrote him a letter, sent it by the carriers cart to Athens . He promised me a reward, money and freedom. But I didnt do it for that.

Ill bet, I said, and I held her head steady with my boot as I swung the hoe.

And that really was murder, and I couldnt give a damn.

As I straightened my back, I was figuring again. Maybe thered been a sixth man; quite likely Someone theyd left outside as a guard, or just to hold the horses.

At any rate, I probably ought to find out. So I went back to the barn and looked for the body Couldnt find it, of course, in the dark; so I went over to the corner, found the senator and the two gladiators, then retraced my steps from there. Found it that way, eventually, and dragged it over into the light of the burning stable, where I could see.

It was Lucius Domitius. 

 

Twenty-One
So there I was, stood in the middle of my yard. Dead people all over the place.

My stable burnt to the ground, with my horse in it. Just lucky Id turned the donkey and the mules out onto the bolted vetch to graze a day or so earlier, or theyd have been roasted too. Well, youve got to look on the bright side.

Could have been worse. The barn and pighouse couldve caught fire too, and quite possibly the house, with all those sparks and hot embers flying about. The governor and his men couldve trampled my vines and slaughtered my poultry, out of spite. I couldve been killed. In fact, it was nothing short of a miracle that Id survived, considering what Id doneodds of four to one, not counting the governor, and them all trained fighting men. If I hadnt done what I did, wed all have been dead anyhow. Looked at that way, it was like saving one piece of furniture out of a burning house, or one jewelled gold belt from a lost hoard of buried treasure; everything you get away with is pure profit.

Well. You can see why I never managed to make my fortune telling the tale. My old mother used to say, how can you fool other people if you cant fool yourself?

I went back inside the house. Smicro and Ptolemy were still where Id left them, hanging by their thumbs from a rafter. Poor buggers. Werent they ever surprised to see me? They were sure Id been killed, along with everybody else. I cut them down and they flopped on the deck looking miserable and scared, hugging their wrecked hands under their armpits like cold children.

Its all right, I told them, theyre dead, the Roman and the gladiators.

Smicro stared at me like I was crazy What happened? he said.

I killed them, I answered. Couldnt be bothered with long explanations just then. Mums dead, though, and Blandinia, and my friend. How are you feeling?

All right, Ptolemy replied. My hands hurt.

I nodded. Look, I said, weve got work to do, and we cant afford to waste time. I know youre hurting, but I need you two to help. Weve got to get rid of the bodies, or well all be in the shit. It wont take long, I lied, and then Ill set you two free. Is that a deal?

They looked at each other. All right, Smicro said. What needs doing?

So I told them what to do. While they hunted round for the bodies in the dark, I went out and caught up the mules (contrary bloody animals; did I tell you Ive never had much luck with them?) and backed them into the shafts of the farm cart. Then we loaded up. A real performance, that was. I was completely knackered by that stage, only keeping going because I knew I had to. Smicro and Ptolemy couldnt use their hands at all, and their arms and shoulders werent a hell of a lot of use, so lifting the bodies up on to the cart was a right old pantomime. We managed it, though, in the end, even if it took us the rest of the night; the light was just starting to seep though when I goaded up the mules and we set off for the mountains; me up on the box with all the dead people in back, Smicro and Ptolemy walking along beside the wheels.

A man in a cart and his two slaves on the road in the early morning; most natural thing in the world. Walk down any road in Attica and youll see something similar, a farmer off to market with a load of olives or corn or wine or pigs, live and dead stock. So nobody took any notice. You hear in stories about the heroes with their helmets and cloaks of invisibility, magical gifts from the gods, but who needs stuff like that? Theres nothing on earth as invisible as an ordinary bloke going about his business; nobody sees you, nobody cares. Makes you wonder why the heroes bother with all that enchanted hardware, when all they really need to do is stick a bashed-up old leather hat on their head and slouch down on the box of a ratty old two-wheeler behind two thin mules. I guess the kit doesnt really matter, so long as the job gets done

like, for instance, who needs a gold-hilted blue-steel magic sword forged by Vulcan himself when you can smash someones head in with a plain old hoe?

The going gets rough north-west of Phyle, as you head towards Boeotia . Its useless country, only fit for sheep and skinny goats to wander about on. The roads, if you can call them that, wind round the sides of mountains that fall away sheer into canyons and goyles, and it doesnt take much for a cart to go tumbling over the side and get scrunched into splinters on the rocks before it reaches the bottom.

Or so youd have thought. Dont you believe it. We picked a likely spot, where a fat lump of road had crumbled away, with a sickening drop below I stopped the cart and jumped down, and we tried to get it to go over. Could we manage it?

Could we hell as like, mostly because of those miserable, ignorant bloody mules.

Never had any luck with them. Soon as they figured out we were trying to edge them off the road, they started backing and stalling, making a hell of a racket and refusing to budge an inch. Smicro and Ptolemy werent a lot of good, not being able to use their hands. All they could do was kick and swear, while I got on the inside and tried to nudge the wretched animals sideways. Eventually, after what seemed like for ever, we contrived to get one wheel of the cart over the edge. Then I fetched a long bit of branch, and with all three of us heaving on one end, we managed to lever the cart sideways bit by bit, till suddenly it started to go. The mules got stroppy and tried to pull it back onto the road, but the weight was more than they could handle; it pulled them backwards off the crumbling path, very slowly and gradually, until at last they were dragged 6ff their feet and sent tumbling down the mountainside in a flurry of broken limbs.

We watched them all the way to the bottom, as the cart broke up, scattering bits of timber and wheel, dead people and dying animals, all eventually coming to rest among the rocks and scrubby rubbish of the canyon floor.

Well, I said, thats that done. Lets go home.

On the way back, I explained, best as I could. I told them about how Id figured my best chance was surprise, in the dark; how I got the other two gladiators out of the way by posting them round the back of the stable; how setting fire to it bought me the precious extra moments I needed; how I had the wit to call out in Latin, so the last two gladiators thought I was the senator. I told them the cavalryman had killed Mum, and Id killed Blandinia for selling me out (though I didnt give any reason why the senator should want to harm me, a respectable ex-soldier with twenty-four years blameless service). I didnt say anything about Lucius Domitius. Itd have complicated the story, and Ive always found its best to keep it simple when youre telling the tale.

I was dead on my feet by the time we got home, but there wasnt any time to rest. We had the yard to clear up. There was stuff all over the place that shouldnt have been there; swords and hats and boots to be gathered up and buried deep in the shitheap, the governors sedan chair to be smashed up into firewood (fuck, I thought; we could just as easily have pitched that bloody thing off the cliff, and in fact itd have been more convincing, a senator and his escort travelling in a chair rather than a peasants cart; and then I wouldnt have had to waste a perfectly good wagon and two expensive mules), a funeral pyre to be built and lit for Mum and Blandiniaat least we were able to use the busted-up chair for that, instead of good lumber, which is never cheap. When at last wed done everything, and been round three times checking just in case there was something wed overlooked, I yawned till I nearly broke my jaw, and staggered towards the house to get my head down.

Just a moment, Smicro said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

What? I muttered.

Our freedom, he said. Remember?

Id forgotten; genuinely forgotten, not trying to cheat them or anything. Oh, yes, right, I said. Look, cant it wait till tomorrow? Im shagged out.

They looked at each other. Wed rather do it now, if its all the same to you,

they said.

I couldnt blame them, of course. After all, I could have died in my sleep, and then theyd have been really screwed. So I did the business, mumbling the words with my eyelids feeling like lead weights, and then I went into the house, and they went off to the bunkhouse. Normal sort of thing; except that now, of course, they were free and clear, and all their troubles were finally over.

And IId just killed seven people, watched my mother being murdered, cold-bloodedly staved in the head of a girl I thought I was in love with, accidentally slaughtered my best, my only friendI dropped down on the bed like a sack of charcoal and was fast asleep before my back hit the cords.

Oddly enough, I dreamed about the captain of the grain freighter. I dreamed that I was him, and that I was in charge, like a captain always is. What I was in charge of, Im not sure; at times it was the ship, taking Lucius Domitius and me away from Sicily, with millions of sesterces worth of gold plate and bullion crammed in the hold; at other times, we were back on that clifftop in Africa, that temple where wed found Didos treasure, and we were trying to load up a huge consignment of dead bodies wed discovered down in the crypthundreds and thousands of them, there were, all people wed killed at some time or other, and how we were meant to pack, ship and embark all those thousands and millions of dead, stiff bodies without any carts or cranes or derricks or winches, I just couldnt begin to imagine (all we had to work with, I remember, was one coil of rope, a ponderous hoe and a sedan chair), and then it struck me, it was obvious what I had to do: I reached inside my satchel, where Id got all the provisions Id bought for Lucius Domitius journey, and fished out a copy of the collected works of Virgilius Maro, because it was all in therecomplete instructions, everything you needed to know about ploughing and harrowing and planting, shifting heavy loads, lading ships and transporting dead bodies. It seemed to take ages to find the right placeI kept scrolling down through the roll and missing the bit I wanted and having to go back to the startand when at last I finally found the bit I was after, it was all in some weird language and I couldnt read it. Then Amyntas and Tityrus and Smicro and the governor of Sicily and all the rest of the crew started muttering, and I knew I had to come up with something fast or Id be in real trouble, theyd kill me and share out all the bodies among themselves; so I turned to Seneca and asked him what I should do, but he just shook his head and said I was the emperor, it was up to me and nobody else could help me. All this time, of course, the fire was getting closer and closer; I could hear the crackle of the flames, and the screaming horses.

So I made up my mind, wed have to go with the collapsing ship idea, even though I knew it probably wouldnt work; but it didat least, it sank like a stone, but everybody managed to get out and swim to shore, and there we all were, standing naked and alone on the beach on Scheria; and we were all free and clear, and all our problemsAnd then I woke up.

First thing I did was wander across the yard to the bunkhouse. I wasnt even sure those two would still be there, now they were free men and could go where the hell they liked (and I was free too, once, and I went all over the world, but never found anywhere I liked). But there they were, sitting at the table looking quiet and subdued, with their hands all wrapped up in cloth.

I couldnt help grinning. Its all right, I said, youre still free, it wasnt a dream or anything.

We had a chat. Upshot was, they were quite happy to stay on indefinitely, having nowhere else to go, and carry on working for me same as before. In return theyd get board and lodging, plus basic wageswhich worked out at a few drachmas a year more than Id been giving them anyway, since Id been fairly generous with their peculium (there isnt a Greek word for it, Greeks dont usually pay their slaves, its a Roman custom, mostly I guess all those years going round with a Roman mustve turned me soft, or something). To be honest, I couldnt really see it made any difference to them being free, but they seemed to think quite highly of it.

There wasnt any question of them being fit for work for a while, after what the governors men had done to them, so I told them they might as well take it easy, and left them to get on with it. That left me in a fix, with just me to do all the work. In a way, I was lucky. Between the setting of the Pleiades and the rising of Arcturus, theres not a great deal that needs doing around the place.

Youve got your late ploughing, of course, and theres always the pruning to be done, though you can usually fit that in to suit. Otherwise, there were just the usual daily chores: milking the goats and the ewes, mending and ditching, a new cart to be built to replace the one Id shoved off the cliff, all boring stuff thats got to be done whether you like it or not. Id probably be able to cope, so long as I didnt mind starting early and finishing late. Comical, in a way; for the next month or so, Id be working my guts out to support my two ex-slaves in comfortable leisure, like they were Romans or something. But thats farming for you. The idea that you just stick stuff in the ground and come back when its finished growing is all very well, but it never seems to work out like that, somehow Anyway, once Id made sure I still had a household of sorts, I went out to the barn and put my hoe away; then it was off to town, to buy a couple of mules, and the nails and tyres I needed for the new cart. No horse any more, I had to walk.

Oddly enough, the mountain hadnt got any less steep while Id been riding around like a gentleman.

Ive never done any good with bloody mules. At first, I thought I wasnt going to be able to find any at all, not even for silly money; the army buyers had been round, scooping up everything on four legs that brayed. But someone I knew slightly in town told me about some bloke out the other side of Phalerum whod come in to the city a day too late and missed the buyers; he might still have a pair of mules for sale, if I was lucky. So I trudged out to Phalerum and found the bloke; he reckoned hed never even considered selling his mules, but he did have an uncle at Halinus who might still have a pair, if I felt like taking a chance that he hadnt flogged them to the army after all. Well, Id come that far, and Halinus was only just down the long, rocky, dusty road, so off I went again. When I got there and asked, they told me the blokes uncle had died a month or so back; however, his son-in-law, whod had the mules, already had a pair of his own, so it might be worth my while paying him a visit and seeing if he was minded to sell them. By this stage Id made my mind up that I wasnt going home without a pair of mules, even if I had to walk to Sparta to get them; also, the son-in-law lived a short distance outside Eleusis, which was practically on my way home (assuming Id lost my way, or was wandering round in circles like a drunk after a festival). So I dragged myself down the road to Eleusis , found the place where the bloke lived, and bashed on his door.

Obviously I wasnt expecting to find him at home during the day, but his wife ought to be able to tell me where I could find him.

No answer; either he wasnt married, or his wife was in the inner room with next doors houseboy, and didnt want to be disturbed. Screw it, I thought; and then it occurred to me that it was getting late, and there was no chance at all of getting back to Phyle before dark, or even as far as the city. Also, even if I could find space at an inn ( Eleusis was jam-packed with visitors for the Haloa Festival; just my bloody luck), I didnt have any money on me, aside from what Id need to buy the mules. Choices were to hang around on the doorstep until the bloke came home, buy his mules (assuming he had mules to sell, of course) and then beg a bed for the night by way of luck-money, or bugger off and try and find a barn or a ditch fit for sleeping in while there was still enough light to see by Miserable choice, whichever way you care to look at it. I opted for the barn or the ditch, since by now Id come to the conclusion that mules were entirely mythical beasts, like centaurs or hippogriffs, and the bloke would probably regard a stranger turning up out of the blue asking to buy them as a dangerous nutcase, and set his dogs on me. I walked away, head bowed, feet dragging, and headed in the general direction of Eleusis .

Barns and ditches are a bit like the market police: ten a penny when you dont want one, impossible to find when you do. For two pins Id have stretched out on the side of the road and gone to sleep, I was that tired, but the month of Posideon isnt a good time for sleeping rough if you value your health, so I kept going until I found myself in the town.

I said the place was heaving because of the festival; I wasnt kidding. Itd been bad enough during the day. Darkness seemed to have drawn them out like bats; there were people everywhere, torchlight processions gumming up the streets, good-time drunks smashing things up wherever there was enough room to get a good swing with a walking stick, vomit underfoot and the sound of music everywhere. As far as kipping down in a doorway or a portico went, it was hard enough standing still, without getting swept along in a crowd. Eventually I found myself in the market square, where I got wedged into a crevice behind a statue, with no prospect of getting out again. So there I stayed; and I was weighing up the chances of getting some sleep standing up, like a horse, when I happened to look up and see a face I knew In Attica, of course, thats always a possibility; theres neighbours and friends of neighbours and relatives and neighbours of relatives and friends of neighbours of relatives, so the odds on bumping into someone you know are generally pretty good. But I couldnt place this bloke straight away; I knew him, but I wasnt sure who he was, if you follow me. Still, there was a chance that if he was local he might have a hayloft or a pighouse I could doss down in, so I pushed and heaved my way through the mob towards him. Might as well have tried to swim through the current off the reef round Scheria; all that happened was that I lost my comfy little nest behind the statue, and found myself out in midstream, so to speak, at the mercy of other peoples feet and elbows. The bloke I knew, whoever he may have been, was long gone by this point. I stopped trying to control my destiny and let the crowd shove me around. My natural condition, after all. I just wished Id trained as a pickpocket rather than a con man when I was young. I couldve nicked myself a fortune in that crowd.

After a long, uncomfortable time, I found myself flat up against a wall. It was marble, nicely finished, and I guessed it was a temple or something like that; too posh for a private house. The crowd seemed to have ground to a halt, like theyd reached the place theyd been heading for and were standing around waiting for something. Well, I had nothing better to do, so I waited too.

Not for long. Turned out the big deal was a music recital, of all the bloody things. In front of me, about fifteen ranks of bodies away, were the temple steps. At the top of these appeared a bunch of blokes in fancy frocks, the sort of thing priests wear, only they had harps and flutes and cymbals and stuff; and as soon as they looked like they were going to start playing, everybody shut up and stood still, like theyd just seen the gorgons head and been turned to stone.

Im not a great music fan at the best of times, and this wasnt one of them, either. I was dog tired, there was a fat bloke to my left standing on my foot, and I was bursting for a piss. All in all, I wasnt in the mood for the finer things in life; in fact, Id gladly have traded the Nine Muses and the collected works of Virgilius Maro, sung by the author with Apollo on harp and Orpheus on castanets and the doggy whistle, for a bed of damp straw and half a mildewed sausage. But I didnt have the choice; so I held still, and listened.

They werent bad, I suppose, if you like that sort of thing, which in this case was an incredibly long hymn to Mother Demeter, quite possibly the least interesting of all the gods and goddesses on Olympus . But they tootled and twanged and yodelled competently enough; at any rate, the people all round me were lapping it up like dogs round a leaky wineskin, which meant they were staying put, and therefore so was I.

I guess weve all got our own ways of staving off terminal boredom. Some people count sheep or recite poetry in their heads or think up their alltime great chariot-racing teams. For some reason Ive never been able to figure out, though I think I might have told you about it before, I imagine sea battles. Crazy because Ive never ever seen a sea battle, for which Im profoundly grateful, andwell, you know what I think about boats generally. But thats what I do. I picture the two opposing fleets standing off against each other like forests of cherry trees in blossom. Then they close in, and I try and follow one or two particular ships as they jockey for advantage, trying to get a ramming line or snuggle in close to grapple and board; and here and there Ill see a ship on fire, where the other side have managed to land a direct hit with fire arrows or a catapult shot of burning straw; and theres a ship with its oars shorn off all down one side, helpless as a bird with a busted wing; and over there the marines are at it hammer and tongs on the top deck of a trireme, jumping about on the gangplanks and the oarsmens shoulders. Exciting stuff, youll agree; a damn sight more entertaining than some mouldy old hymn.

Well, by the time the musicians finished the third part of the hymn I was well into my imaginary battle; Id already sunk two triremes and a couple of little galleys, and things were starting to look pretty grim for the Cilicians, or the Parthians, or whoever the enemy were. And then, just as my best trireme squeezed through a gap and ploughed into the side of a helpless four-decker (splintering timbers, sailors and marines jumping over the rail the sea gushing in through the gaping hole in the four-deckers side) my mind suddenly cleared, like a writing tablet when you shave off the old wax. It was as though someone had tapped me on the shoulder and said my name; and I had the weirdest feeling I knew who it was.

Galen, he said.

I didnt turn round or anything; I couldnt have done if Id wanted to. Lucius Domitius, I said inside my head, is that you? 

Oh for pitys sake. Honestly, dont you know me by now? 

Sorry, I replied. But you startled me. And anyhow, youre dead. 

Well, you ought to know about that. I just thought Id say goodbye, thats all.

Goodbye, I thought, stupidly. Why, are you going somewhere?

Of course I am, idiot. Dont you remember? We discussed it, that night in your barn.

Oh yes, I thought, right. Only its too late; the ship I booked you on is long gone, must be halfway to where its going by now.

Dont worry about that, he said. Ive made my own arrangements. The Scherians have said theyll take me anywhere I want to go. You dont turn down an offer like that.

Thats true, I thought, only, how come you know about them? Theyre a secret. Bullshit, he replied, everybody knows that story. They live on the island at the end of the world, which isnt really there, except at the moment of death.

And when you die and the water closes over your head, you stand up on the beach on Scheria and they come and take you to wherever youre meant to be. Well, its my turn now, but I just thought Id drop by first and say so long.

Hang on, I thought. Thats not right. Ive been there. 

Been where?

Scheria, for crying out loud. Its a real place, somewhere off Africa, not far from where our ship went down. I got washed up there, in a floating coffin, and they rescued me

And took you where you really wanted to go. Oh come on, Galen, even you ought to be able to figure that one out for yourself.

No, straight up, I told him, its a real place. A real island. Ive been there.

Oh, sure. Maybe youd care to point to it on a map. This is the Mediterranean Sea were talking about, theres not a square yard of it that hasnt been charted. Something the size of an island would be pretty difficult to miss, dont you think?

Theres this reef, I told him; it protects them, because every ship that ever gets near there is smashed to bits, and all the people die

Yes, he said patiently And then the Scherians take them where they need to go. Think about it.

Oh, I thought. And then I thought; but thats still not right, because Im still alive. I must be alive, or how did I kill all those people? How did I kill?

Me, you were about to say.

All right, yes, you. Tell me that, if youre so damn smart.

Ah yes, he said, but I was dead already, remember? I died over ten years ago, in Phaons villa. You killed me. I asked you to do it, and you were kind enough to oblige. You stabbed me; I dropped to my knees, muttered, What an artist dies with me! and snuffed it. Thats what happened. Ask anybody, theyll tell you.

Yes, I thought, but that wasnt how it really was, that was just telling the tale. But he didnt need to tell me that the tale is all there is, because of course I knew that already; like I knew I hadnt killed the senator and his gladiators, because they died when their cart went over a cliff; and I didnt kill Blandinia, because she died of the same disease that did for Mum; and I didnt kill Nero Caesar, because hed died years ago; and I didnt kill Callistus, because he and I died on the cross, that day I first met Lucius Domitius. Ask anybody, and theyll tell you.

Anyhow, he was saying, Im off now. I suppose I ought to say thanks, for keeping me company and all; but Ive got to be honest, all you ever did was keep me from being where I needed to be, what I always should have been. You meant well, but it was really just an unfortunate mistake. You know, seemed like a good idea at the time.

I see, I thought. And now?

Theyre waiting for me, he said, down at the dockside, and I dont want to keep them hanging about, theyre very busy people. And I also wanted to say, dont worry about what happened. It was a bloody stupid accident, is all; but its all turned out for the best. After all, but for you Id still be in the wrong place, instead of finally free and clear.

And all your troubles are over, I thought. Heard that one before. But hed offended me, so I just thought, well, so long, then, and didnt even try to look round (like Orpheus, in the story, remember?). And then he wasnt there any more.

The musicians had finally ground to a halt, and everybody was cheering and yowling like theyd just had a most amazing treat. The fat bloke next to me whod been standing on my foot elbowed me in the ribs and said, Wasnt that grand? and I nodded, just to be polite.

Wonderful, I said.

Yes, wasnt it? And so brave of them to perform it, too. I dont suppose its been heard in public since he died.

I had a bad feeling about this. Sorry, I said. Since who died?

The fat man looked at me. Nero Caesar, of course, he said, like Id just asked him what the big white round shiny thing up in the sky was. That was his Hymn to Demeter, his masterpiece. Brilliant, he sighed, absolutely bloody brilliant. He may have sucked as an emperor, but what an artist.

Absolutely, I muttered.

Of course, there werent any mules, next day, when I went back round the blokes house, after a few hours sleep on somebodys shitheap. So I went home; and here Ive been ever since.

You know, I think Lucius Domitius was wrong about the Scherians. True, nobodys ever heard of their island, and yes, youd have thought somebodyd have noticed it, by now. But Im pretty sure Im still alive, at least when my back aches after a long day with the ponderous hoe, so I guess he mustve been telling me the tale which is what artists do, after all, and I have it on good authority that he was one. And I think someone mustve been to Scheria and lived to tell the tale, because its there in the Odyssey, after all. And nobodys ever been to the land of the dead and then come back to tell about it, except maybe Ulysses, if there ever was such a person (and he went to Scheria too, so maybe there was). Talking of which, a year or so back I was in town with time on my hands, and I found myself outside a booksellers stall; so I found a copy of the Odyssey and looked up the relevant bits, about Scheria, and visiting the land of the dead, and all. And there was this bit thats stuck in my mind, where Ulysses is down in the underworld and he bumps into the ghost of his friend Achilles, the great hero; and Achilles tells him that its all very well being a great hero, but then you die and thats that. Dont you go telling me the tale about death, Ulysses, he says. Id rather be alive, and be some poor mans slave, with no land of my own, making a piss-poor living, than be king and emperor of all the glorious dead. Which made me think, though generally I dont go a bundle on philosophising; all in all, I came out of it all rightbetter than I deserve, thats for surebecause I got home in the end, and now Im free and clear, and all my troubles would appear to be over.

Anyhow, so here I am; and if Im in a condemned cell awaiting execution, then isnt that always the way?

 

 
