Seize the Day, page 16
“Like Bruno on my ship the Griffin.” Then Marcus told his story in a matter of fact tone, without embellishment; still, the words betrayed a new range of perceptive and intuitive thinking. He chose his words with some care, trying hard to be precise.
“You’ve changed,” Septimus remarked afterward, “you’re more . . . more rounded.”
“I guess I’ve learned,” Marcus reflected.
As they waited, Septimus tried to recall all he knew of Ephesus. “Rome has occupied the city for about seventy years. It’s now the capital of the province Asia. Very rich, a thriving port and commercial center. Most famous for the Temple to Artemis, one of the great wonders of the world. This and the Colossus of Rhodes, the lighthouse in Alexandria and of course the Pyramids are a must see for any traveler. I think there is a Mausoleum here someplace but I don’t know exactly where.” Then he screwed up his face thinking, “I had a Christian friend who said Ephesus was important, but I don’t remember why anymore.”
“All good and well, but where do we go from here?” Marcus asked the most important question. They were free, sort of, but had no future or place to go.
“We could try going inland to the east. Asia, Galatia, Cappadocia, then the Roman frontier. There are many small kingdoms beyond that, places left over from the Empire of Alexander the Great. It’s said he went even farther east to the great mother river, Indus.” He furrowed his brow. “Or we could go north, cross into Europe, to Thracia, Moesia, then onto Dacia or Pannonia. Perhaps we can make a life on the frontiers, where they’re not so particular where one comes from. And if not, we can cross the border into new lands.”
“Good! Either suits me. I can learn to live among the barbarians if I have to. But our most pressing problem is how to get out of Ephesus,” Marcus reminded his friend.
“We’ll see tomorrow,” Septimus said. “Also we have to do something about these,” and he rubbed his chest where burned into his skin was SPQR branding him a property of Rome. Yes, those marks would accuse them forever as criminals. Without a bronze plaque that certified their release from the sentence, they would be apprehended and returned to the galleys. They both fell silent, contemplating the price of freedom. Then, notwithstanding all their troubles, they each found a spot on the flagstones and fell into a restless sleep.
As the dawn broke and the sun rose over the horizon, all the pigeons in the world seemed to have nested within the sculptured frieze of the palace of customs. The birds broke into loud squabbles over territorial rights. Marcus and Septimus awoke to this din, and swore at the noise without any effect. These birds were used to people and were not at all shy of them.
“Was it like this in Rome?” Marcus asked, covering his ears.
“No,” Septimus replied smiling, “The ones in Rome spoke Latin. These are obviously Greek birds.” Luckily, the birds had a habit of scavenging on the agora, the marketplace, and flew off in a great flapping of wings. Between two panels of the frieze the two friends peered out at the city. Gently rolling hills surrounded the harbor. Adjacent to the quay was a large central square with many magnificent public buildings of all styles. The city administration building and smaller shrines to Artemis, her main temple located farther inland on a high plateau. There were barracks, a Roman bathhouse, the Prefecture, the Governor’s residence, houses of commerce, a library, and many palaces of the well-to-do.
Septimus explained, “The rather austere style is the Dorian appealing to the conservative Greeks. The more graceful Ionian and its derivative, the Corinthian, are much copied by Rome. By now we think we invented it.” He chuckled, as always enjoying synthesizing his thoughts and experiences. “We’ve been here only the last 70 years but you can see our influence everywhere. Look, there’s the central bath, the fountains, and look over there, the aqueduct bringing water to the city. Greeks know a lot about art, literature, and philosophy and think they invented religion, but of plumbing they know next to nothing. Nothing of central heating and cooling, of sewers, of war machines. Their theatres put on dull morality plays, as they know nothing of excitement, of Circus Maximus.” He thought for a long moment. “The Greeks invented government, but we Romans invented administration. And the arch, we must not forget the arch. No Roman structure is complete without an arch to form a vault. You see an arch anywhere here, and you can bet it’s Roman.”
Marcus was looking for more practical things, a way out of this place. “Look, there are walls all around the city. The streets are leading to the gates, which would of course be well guarded. But look at that spring, cutting through the city. That must pass under the wall someplace. Perhaps we can use that to get through, just like I did in Salamis. I bet that’s our best choice.” They discussed the alternative of swimming out of the harbor and around the city walls to reach open country. Neither liked the option, thinking of cold water, being lost or separated in the dark. They elected to try going under the walls.
Come the darkness of night, that was what they did. They crept through the alleys like shadows, keeping close to the walls, stealing some clothes hanging on a line in a backyard. They found the spring, waded upstream through the shallow water and stumbled over slippery rocks as they backtracked the spring to the city walls. There was a grate across the opening that allowed the water through, but not people. But one side of the stonework had crumbled from the rush of waters over the years, just enough to let a determined person push through. With some effort Marcus and Septimus squeezed by the bars. The other side opened to the country, allowing the two fugitives to scramble ashore and scurry along the path leading away from the city until they ran out of breath.
They rested in a hayrick, then continued on. Soon the city dropped away in the distance, and a turn in the road hid it completely. Strangely, Marcus still did not feel any freer. They had no particular place to go but had decided to head north a ways before swinging inland, perhaps to the east. They skirted some outlying farms, pausing only to feed on some half-ripe grain and rejoicing when they came across two trees loaded with apricots.
They followed the main road, glad of its smooth surface as they had no boots. At daybreak they veered off the track to hole up in a thicket well out of sight. They found some berries, wild dates from an abandoned farm, and some crayfish from a stream bed. They hunted for eggs but the nests were empty. This time of the year foraging was good and they had no trouble feeding themselves as they travelled. Two days later they felt safer and more confident. That night, hidden among some rocks, using flint and iron to make a spark, they even dared to light a small fire.
“Damn pirates, it was all their fault,” Marcus complained. “We would still be back in Sagitus if it weren’t for them.”
“Somehow I prefer this,” mused Septimus as he stirred the fire with a stick. “In Sagitus every day was the same, whereas here every day is a new adventure.”
“If I were Emperor, I would root out these pirates and crucify them all.”
“Won’t happen. Pirates supply us with a steady stream of slaves and we do not ask them where they got them from. Do you know that well over half the people who work in Italy are slaves? The Roman economy has grown dependent on them. Besides, the rich got rich either on the slave trade or in some other manner of exploiting their labor. They won’t let you change the system that made them rich. Why do you think we ended up in the galleys so quickly? Because we threatened their dirty enterprise. I bet even the Emperor couldn’t change that.”
“How do you know all this?” Marcus asked, amazed at all his friend came up with.
“I listened to the advocates and orators making speeches in the Forum, practicing for the Senate, no doubt. That was in the better days, when the podium was open to anyone with words in their mouths and a desire to share them. Now, the street corners are ruled by brute strength, silencing words of reason and persuasion.” Then he came back to the more immediate problems they faced. “We have to be able to move among people but with this brand on our chests and shoulders, SPQR, we are too conspicuous. But maybe we can do something about it. In fact, we must.”
“What?” Marcus rubbed the scar of the brand, remembering the searing pain, but much more the anguish: “I am innocent!”
“Disguise it.” Septimus moved closer with a set look on his face.
“How?”
“Like this.” Totally unexpected, Septimus hit him on the head with a piece of wood, and the world turned black.
When he came to, curses erupted from his lips. “What did you do that for?” he demanded angrily, then looked down on his chest where the skin was throbbing with pain. To his great shock he saw the brand there overlaid by a fresh design. “What the hell?!!”
“I altered it. I knocked you out, thinking you wouldn’t really want to be conscious for the whole procedure.” The man had the nerve to smile wryly, as if pleased with himself. Marcus could not believe it. He stared stupidly at the fresh burn. The SPQR was gone, buried by the new twists and turns of the brand. His chest was on fire, itching intolerably.
Marcus swore long, using the best of his legionnaire’s vocabulary. Then he saw that Septimus had likewise altered himself, and he stopped astonished. Fresh blisters extended the SPQR into a design of sorts.
“A magic pattern, popular with some of the mystery religions. He showed his left arm; an outline of a snake was blazed into the skin. Marcus looked at his arm and found a similar design there also. “Ouch!” he yelped in surprise and started swearing again, but stopped. He had been knocked out, but his friend had done it to himself, feeling every bit of it.
“Now we can claim to be devotees of Zoroaster.” Then Septimus poured some water on the burns, easing the pain for a brief moment. “We’ll have to wait a bit until it heals before exposing ourselves, but . . . it’s a start.”
Then using two strong sticks they pried the leg iron off Marcus . . . not without some pain as the metal yielded only reluctantly. Freed of its burden, his leg suddenly felt feather light. Marcus stumbled as he got used to the new balance of his legs. There were rub marks on their ankles where the fetters had worn themselves into the flesh. That too marked them as prisoners; Marcus wondered how long it would take for those to fade. Then the scars on his back and the scars on his soul?
Traveling at night for three days, they headed north along the highway, avoiding all settlements and people. Occasionally they passed a burned-out farm, more evidence of piracy, a time-honored occupation on the Ionian coast. They browsed through the leftover gardens grown wild and found some carrots, green onions and peas, enough to assuage their hunger and keep them going. A bay reached deeply inland and they combed the tidal flat, catching crayfish and crabs and digging for clams. They stuffed themselves with the abundance. As their wounds healed, they soaked the scars with sea water and picked off the scabs. The designs looked authentic, to Marcus at least. They felt ready to go among men. On their ankles the marks of the leg irons had faded but not the indentation left from the constant rubbing. Perhaps they would never lose those.
A few caravans passed them on the road, heading north toward Pontus Euxinus, the narrow waterway that separated the continent of Asia from Europe. The road passed more inland and suddenly there was hardly any vegetation in the dry ground. They still travelled during the night, but the shortage of water worried them. There were no rivers to cross, no springs nor water runs. Everywhere dry creek beds mocked them. Their thirst grew as they struggled over a seemingly endless arid land, without water and without food. It was too late to turn back. Their future was someplace up ahead, life or death awaiting them, both equally uncertain.
During the day they sheltered in the shadow of some rocks, worried about scorpions to be found everywhere in great abundance. How did the creatures survive? Where did they get their water? Septimus did not know and Marcus was put out with him. Sure, he was full of useless information but when it came to something of practical import, he had no clue. He licked his parched lips with a dry tongue. If they did not find water soon they would perish and that was for certain.
The day passed in a slow stupor, the mind growing numb with indifference. At day’s end, they roused themselves from lethargy and stumbled on, the cold of the night sapping more energy from them. Marcus started hearing drums and he shuffled his feet to the imaginary beat. Just like rowing he told himself, never ending. Was he back on his bench again, rocking back and forth, pulling at the oar? Dreaming only that he was free? Free? Free to die of hunger or thirst, or from the poisonous sting of a scorpion or snake.
Then with the sun rising, they spotted an oasis ahead in the distance. “Perhaps a mirage,” Septimus mumbled, his mouth dry and his lips hurting just from speaking the few words. But as they approached, the details increased and they dared to hope. This was it, it had better be real, as they could go no further.
They crawled the last stretch, through the greenery and palms, to the edge of a sizable pond. They crawled into the water, drinking, mouths agape. Lying there, half submerged, they were reluctant to get out. Marcus started to laugh, an insane laugh, the water sloshing in his stomach. Still he drank until Septimus had to pull him out. “You’ll burst,” he warned, but Marcus did not care: he was still thirsty.
Exhausted, they sat with their backs against a tree, gazing at the small lake. Marcus dared not close his eyes, fearing that he would awaken from this dream. He was still so very thirsty.
Then a horrifying sound burst on them, like trumpets, and the trees parted as a great big monster pushed through and peered down at them. It had legs like tree trunks, a great bloated body, giant ears and a long, long nose. Long, yellow teeth protruded to the front. “An elephant,” Septimus said surprised; he had seen them in the Circus, but what was it doing here in the desert? The elephant trumpeted again and another came to join in. Just how many were there? Septimus and Marcus backed away in a hurry.
Just then a black man came through the bushes and called something to the beasts that seemed to calm them. He then faced the two castaways and jabbered at them something incomprehensible. Septimus answered back with some gibberish. The man just shook his head and tried again without success. Septimus essayed other languages, finally settling on broken Latin. The man’s face broke into a smile, white teeth shining in his dark face, nodding that he understood. He motioned for them to follow, which they gladly did. They were in great need of help as they had not eaten for days.
“Welcome to my camp. My name is Safarkan and I am from Tihanem, south beyond the great sand sea. These are my pets, Tantor and Crenah.”
“We are from east and north of here,” Septimus replied in halting Latin. “I am Sebus and my companion is Maret. We are . . . how you say? On a pilgrimage.” Marcus gave Septimus full credit for quick thinking, disguising their Roman origins and giving them a reason to be on this road. “We heard much about a great temple on the coast, but turned back . . . because of . . . of pirates.”
Safarkan nodded. “Yes, they’re raiding the coast. My servants have run off in great fear of them. Please have some food.” And with great generosity the man offered them flat bread, cheese, olives and some wine. They talked, that is Septimus and Safarkan did; Marcus kept quiet, afraid to give the game away.
“My friend and companion speaks a little Latin but is shy of making errors in the use of it,” Septimus covered for Marcus. “Where are you taking these magnificent animals?”
“Beyond the desert to the east, to the kingdom of the Hindus in the shadow of the great mountains. They have elephants also, but much smaller. It’s my thought that by interbreeding we could increase their size and strength.” The man rubbed his hands together in anticipation of this great achievement.
Septimus, who could only suspect the distances the man had already travelled, shook his head in wonder. “We’re heading north and plan to cross over to Greece to see the shining city of Homer.”
“Ah, Athens. A beautiful city, especially their high place, the Acropolis. The Greeks know how to build a city.”
Marcus, who had been quiet, was stung by Latin pride into, “As do the Romans.”
“The Romans,” Safarkan dismissed them. “They’re far too grandiose and ornamental. They build pools and latrines, I grant them that. And roads.” He pointed to the road passing through the oasis. “I’m heading north tomorrow. We could go together as far as Lampsacus where you can cross the straight into Europe. To tell you the truth I could use some help and am willing to pay for it.”
Not wishing to appear too eager, Septimus paused to consider, but it was precisely what they badly needed, a cover for their travel, food and some money. “Yes, I suppose we could help, but will your animals accept us?”
“Oh they are mild-mannered lambs, their size notwithstanding, used to people, and friendly. You give them a good scrub-down and they’ll love you forever. They’re both female as the males are unfortunately not so good-natured. But it would have been a great feat if I could have done that . . . export males instead of females, I mean.” Safarkan made a large gesture with his hands to emphasize the greatness.
“Why?” Marcus asked.
“Because a male can sire many offspring while a female gives birth only to one in a season,” Septimus quickly supplied.
“Right you are,” Safarkan beamed. “Are you sure you won’t come with me all the way? We’ll be richly rewarded.”
Septimus only said, “Maybe.” He wanted to have that as leverage should they need it.
In the late morning they led the beasts to water, and trying to ingratiate themselves with their new benefactor, Marcus and Septimus offered to scrub them down. Safarkan accepted with alacrity. As the elephants wallowed in the water, the two ex-legionnaires scoured their hides with rough brushes. There was no mistaking the animals’ great enthusiasm for this treatment. They played in the water, splashing and cavorting in the mud like children. Seeing them so playful, Marcus soon lost his dread, and made a thorough job of scrubbing the creature’s back. Crenah sighed happily at all this attention and she sucked her trunk full of water, dousing herself. Then repeatedly she sprayed Marcus and seemed to laugh at his reactions of annoyance. Did animals have a sense of humor, Marcus had to wonder, and if so, was it as warped as some human’s?
