The Beast in the Labyrinth, page 10
The Roman looked at me in horror. He had clearly heard of me: it seemed I wasn’t a peasant after all. Before he could say anything, I turned my back on him once more and strode off.
*
I knew where to find my rooms. They had been allocated to Apollonius before me, although he had only ever used them for small, informal dinner parties, one or two of which I had begrudgingly attended.
I walked over to an archway that opened directly onto a wide marble staircase, and ran up to the first floor. My apartment lay at the end of a long corridor. The ornately carved door was ajar so I pushed it open and stepped into a large, high-ceilinged room, decorated from end to end with frescoes of mythological scenes. A row of windows on one side overlooked the Little Harbour and the open sea beyond. Apart from a few packing cases and some tatty pieces of furniture that had been brought over from my cottage at Plymmerium, the room was bare.
My two other camp slaves were bustling about unpacking. They were tall and willowy Numidians, as black as the night and just as beautiful. When we were children, my older sister had nicknamed them Alpha and Omega, and the names had stuck.
Alpha was carrying a stack of clay plates in his arms. Omega was fussing around with a broom, sweeping up some broken crockery. As usual, they were arguing.
“You clumsy hippopotamus,” Omega wailed.
“Clumsy yourself,” Alpha snapped back. “If you hadn’t walked into me…”
“Hello,” I said.
They turned in surprise and their faces lit up with pleasure. Although they were in their late thirties now, they were still extremely valuable, being an almost perfectly matched pair. At first sight, they might have been mistaken for twins, although if they did happen to be related, no one knew in what way. I had taken them with me to Plymmerium when I first became an officer. I had been trying to show off, I suppose, in the way young men do. My mother had been horrified that I had should have used them as camp slaves, but I had been careful with them and they remained quite undamaged.
“Don’t you bow to your master any more?” I demanded.
“Forgive me, Master,” said Alpha, bowing as best he could with the armful of plates.
He straightened and looked me up and down. He raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth turned down in distaste.
“But I’m afraid I just didn’t recognise you in that nasty little tunic,” he added.
“It doesn’t even fit properly,” Omega chipped in sadly. “Please get yourself some decent clothes, Master. It’s an embarrassment to be seen out with you.” He bowed as an afterthought.
“At least let me fetch you something clean to put on,” said Alpha. “That looks quite… filthy.” He wrinkled his nose.
“For pity’s sake,” I growled, “I’ve had to spend the whole morning listening to my mother. Do I really have to spend the afternoon listening to you two?”
They exchanged mutually reproachful looks.
“I’m sorry, Master,” Alpha said soothingly.
“You must have had a difficult day,” said Omega. “May I fetch you some wine perhaps?”
“We weren’t expecting you till tomorrow, Master,” Alpha added. He looked around the room mournfully. “I’m afraid we haven’t had time to prepare properly for you.”
“Don’t worry, I know,” I said. “All I’ll need tonight is a bed. Have you got one for me?”
“Yes, Master,” Omega replied, brightening up. “Would you like to see your room?”
He put down his broom and showed me through a high door into an empty anteroom, which in turn opened into a large bedroom. At its centre, two simple wooden stools faced each other across a square table. They had put my army cot against the back wall. A circlet of dried-out twigs hung from a nail above it, the brittle remains of the olive leaf crown that I had brought back from Olympia four years previously. Three old clothes chests, one with a warped lid, were lined along one of the adjacent walls. The largest had been decorated with a crude little painting of a minotaur and contained my outsized bronze armour. A bundle of spears of various types stood in a corner and, under the window, my collection of swords and knives had been neatly laid out across a long, narrow table.
Along with my armour and the olive crown, my weapons were the only things in the room that mattered to me. I dare say they were also the only evidence that I wasn’t entirely destitute.
I walked over to the window. One of our family heirlooms, the rusting sword of King Dionysius, had been given pride of place in the middle of the table. It was a crude weapon: there was more of the butcher’s yard than the palace about it. Dionysius would probably have scoffed at his descendants for treating it with reverence.
My own battle sword lay alongside. It had been forged out of Seric iron, a metal of far greater strength than anything produced around the Mediterranean. The iron was smelted, so people said, by magicians in the vast and mysterious kingdoms of India, which bordered the most remote fragments of Alexander of Macedon’s shattered empire. The captain of one of my ships had managed to acquire a few precious, hand-sized ingots for me in Egypt. I had entrusted them to a swordsmith in Crete, reputed to be the most gifted in the world. The leaf-shaped blade that he eventually sent back shimmered with dense natural whorls and curlicues that made it seem a wild, living thing. You could travel a lifetime, and never see another weapon like it. As I had requested, the blade was a hand longer than usual and more thickly ribbed, and its two cutting edges were as sharp as an obsidian razor. Most men would have found it too heavy, but I could make the beauty dance well enough. My army sword was a twig of a weapon in comparison.
“Is there anything you would like rearranged, Master?” Omega asked. I turned and noticed they had put some sprigs of lavender in a small jar by my bed. I craved simplicity, but Alpha and Omega had been trained as household slaves and continued to wage their relentless war of domestication on me.
“No, you’ve both done well, Omega,” I said. “Leave everything just as it is. But perhaps you were right about getting some new furniture for the other room. The old stuff from Plymmerium does look a bit out of place.”
Omega pouted with pleasure. The pair of them had been grumbling about my furniture for years. They had been mortified when I had insisted on bringing it with me. I suppose I had been hoping to cling to the straightforwardness of my old army life, but in these opulent new surroundings, I realised I was merely making myself look ridiculous.
“How very wise, Master,” Omega said, with a triumphant bow. He and Alpha had been unable to conceal their excitement about moving to the palace. No doubt they would soon be strutting around the courtyard like a pair of graceful black egrets, competing with the other palace slaves to see who could hold their noses highest in the air. They clearly had no intention of letting me spoil it for them.
I sighed.
“Very well. Go to my mother this afternoon and have her send over whatever you think we need. She’s keeping some old slave women in the stables. Don’t ask why. They can have the old furniture.”
“The gods are merciful. But what should I do, Master, if the old slave women don’t want your furniture?”
“Get out, you cheeky bastard,” I said.
“Yes, Master.” Omega glided happily away, hand on hip.
“And bring me a bowl of water,” I shouted after him. But Alpha had already anticipated the request, and came in carrying a large bronze bowl a moment after Omega had walked out. He set it down on the table in the middle of the room.
“Agbal is back,” he said, “and there is an officer here for you. Agbal is preparing some wine.” He frowned at me reproachfully. “The poor boy looks like he’s been in the wars. Whatever have you been doing with him?”
“It wasn’t me. Alright?” I growled.
“I didn’t think it was, Master. You’ve never hit a slave in your life. But you should take better care of him.”
“Don’t provoke me, Alpha, or I might make a start with you. Now, sod off.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Well, I never,” he muttered huffily, and turned on his heels and left.
I told myself I only kept the pair of them around because they amused me. But I had been just a small boy when Alpha and Omega had joined our household. They had belonged to a Carthaginian general, who had used them for his own colourful purposes, until my father had taken them as war booty. They had doted on me from the first, playing with me whenever they could and stealing treats for me from the kitchens. I knew I would never sell them, despite the frequent offers I still received. They were the closest approximation to parents that I had.
I quickly washed my face and hands and changed my tunic. I walked into the anteroom at the same moment as Agbal, who emerged from a small door in the corner that I hadn’t noticed before. He was carrying a tray with a clay pitcher and two cups. The door presumably led to a kitchen where my three slaves would have their beds.
Agbal kept his head lowered.
“Look at me,” I demanded.
He looked up. His lip was swollen and his eye had blackened. He seemed ashamed.
“Thank you, Master, for what you did,” he said meekly.
“Listen to me, Agbal,” I said, not bothering to hide my irritation. “I never want to see you grovelling to another man again. If someone knocks you down, you will get back up. And if he knocks you down again, you will get back up again and take another blow. And you will keep standing up until he kills you. I will not be shamed by seeing my property lying at another man’s feet. You will uphold the dignity of my household or you will be leaving it for the quarries. Do you understand?”
He nodded silently.
I stared at him. The fool probably thought I’d given him the ring because I felt sorry for him. But I had only wanted to humiliate the Roman, and tossing his family ring to Agbal had seemed as good a way as any. The Roman should have known better than to hit someone else’s slave: it was appallingly rude.
There were tears on Agbal’s cheeks now. I thought about it for a moment and decided there was probably no point punishing him further.
“Alright. We will put this behind us,” I continued more gently. “You’re a good lad, Agbal. You’ll do fine, I’m sure. When you’ve served the wine, get Alpha to take care of your face.”
I strode into the grand reception room. Agbal followed me forlornly with the tray.
Castor was sitting on one of my threadbare couches. Alpha and Omega stood smartly in attendance on either side of the entrance door. For all the freedom I allowed them in private, they knew what was expected of them when I had visitors. They had been trained under my mother’s eye, after all. They could stand by my door for hours, like a pair of onyx urns, without so much as a twitch.
Castor jumped up as I entered and saluted me.
“Welcome to the palace, sir,” he said formally.
I smiled at him.
“That’s enough of that nonsense,” I said, and turned to the slaves. “Alpha, take Agbal into the kitchen, would you, and clean him up.”
I walked over to the packing case and poured out two cups of wine.
“My friend, can we get something out of the way?” I said, as I handed Castor a cup. “Hieron should probably have given you the captaincy. You certainly deserved it. I can’t imagine what a pigfuck this place would have been without you. So I need to know, do you have a problem about him giving it to me instead?”
His eyes widened. He was maybe ten years older than me and as skinny and tough as twine, with a short beard that he kept meticulously trimmed.
“Shit, no, Dion,” he said. “I certainly couldn’t do it. You’re the answer to my prayers.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Because I’m going to rely on that cool head of yours,” I said.
We performed the usual ceremonies and settled ourselves on the couches. Castor looked at the simple clay cup, then cast an eye over the packing cases and furniture.
“I see you’ve spared no expense,” he said.
“Piss off,” I replied. “Now, what do I need to know about the Guards?”
*
We talked for about an hour. There were twelve Guards companies, Castor explained, of about a hundred and twenty men apiece. All the men were regulars, unlike the army, a third of whose numbers were trainees. Eight Guards companies were needed to garrison the various fortresses around the city walls and four were quartered in the palace. The companies rotated their postings every four months.
Each company required just two officers, but Apollonius had blithely handed out nearly ninety commissions to his friends’ sons. Castor had done the best he could with this mess. There were about a dozen older lieutenants like the one-handed Xeno, who had transferred to the Guards from the army for one reason or another. Castor had put each company under the command of one of these men, and had selected the best of the younger officers to act as their junior lieutenants. The rest of Apollonius’s high-living dilettantes were all based permanently at the palace, where Castor had entrusted them with as few responsibilities as possible.
It was far from ideal, of course, as the palace officers had a corrupting influence on the entire division. Even some of the senior lieutenants had ceased to care greatly about their duties. I had known before I arrived that I would have to take a scythe to my officers. But my problem was that once a man had been allowed to buy himself a commission, it became his property, and I didn’t have the power to withdraw it. Only the king could do that. Castor suggested I raise the matter at the Royal Council, but almost every councillor had some young relative or other in my officer corps, so that seemed unlikely to work.
We were still discussing the problem of how best to approach the king, when we were interrupted by a knock at the door. I nodded to Omega, who opened it and showed in a strange-looking little man. He was round and white and hairless, and wore some sort of rouge on his lips. His fingernails were painted gold. His unusual, heavily pleated cream robe was too long and trailed behind him on the floor. As the door closed, I caught a glimpse of a second man loitering nervously outside in the corridor.
My visitor ignored Castor but gave me a perfunctory bow.
“I take it I am addressing Captain Dion?” he asked in a high-pitched voice. It seemed he was a eunuch. I nodded in acknowledgement from the couch.
“I have been sent to you by His Majesty, who has asked me to convey his compliments. My name is Secretary Nebit and I am instructed to provide you with whatever assistance you may require for the duration of your captaincy. I am Egyptian by birth but speak eight languages and am highly proficient at mathematics. I understand that this is not a field in which you are yourself greatly interested, Captain, despite your connection to the illustrious Archimedes. It has therefore been suggested that I may be of service with the divisional supplies and accounts. My requirements are modest. I shall need only an office in the barracks yard and access to all divisional records.”
Nebit may have been Egyptian, but his Greek was flawless. I guessed he was a freedman, who had been born a slave. I scratched my cheek and looked at Castor, who raised his eyebrows.
“Thank you, Secretary Nebit, that’s most generous of His Majesty,” I replied warily.
“You will perhaps be reassured to learn, Captain,” he continued, “that I am also something of an expert on military matters, which may be why His Majesty has honoured me with this particular assignment.”
“Are you, now?” I said.
“Indeed I am, Captain,” Nebit replied. “I have read all the standard texts on strategy, tactics and organisation. I am familiar with the campaigns of Alexander and I have studied in detail the last war between Rome and Carthage. I also made a significant contribution to an analysis of their present war, which His Majesty instructed the secretariat to prepare for him last year.”
“And what exactly was this contribution of yours?” I asked.
“I provided an assessment of the agricultural resources available to Carthage, Captain, including their timber production,” he replied proudly.
“And what did you conclude from your assessment?” I asked, trying not to laugh. I covered my mouth and pretended to cough.
“That is confidential, I am afraid,” he replied haughtily.
I glanced at Castor, who was staring up at the ceiling.
“You seem to have rather a high opinion of yourself, Nebit,” I said evenly.
His eyes flashed. What was it I saw in his expression? Not exactly anger, but something else I couldn’t immediately identify. Pain, perhaps.
“I have served two kings of Egypt and now I serve the King of Syracuse,” he replied coldly. “I believe my own opinion of myself is not entirely inconsistent with the opinion that others have formed of me. You have your reputation, Captain, and I have mine. And I would rather have mine than yours.”
I put my tongue in my cheek and rolled it round the inside of my scar. It was something I had taught myself to do when I needed to check myself. Hieron was known to have a small army of secretaries. For the most part, they toiled out of sight. I couldn’t recall even having met one of them before, but then I had always avoided the court. My friend Theodotus had warned me about them before I left Plymmerium. “Apparently they run everything, Dion,” he had said. “Be careful.”
I stood up and walked over to within a few feet of the Egyptian, towering over him and forcing him to tilt his head back uncomfortably to meet my gaze. I narrowed my eyes.
“If you expect to work for me, Nebit, I think you had better learn to call me ‘sir’,” I said quietly.
Most men would have been cowed, but Nebit didn’t even blink. In fact, he seemed amused by my crude attempt to intimidate him. If I had been in any doubt before, I knew then that this jellyfish was poisonous enough to feel quite invulnerable to me.
