Companions (The Parthian Chronicles) (31 page)

‘I can match you or any of your men, Cretan,’ she snarled.

His eyes opened with surprise as he realised who she was. He hurried over to her side and grasped the rope with his huge hands.

‘Forgive me, lady, I had no idea you were journeying with us.’

We hauled the chest aboard and placed it beside the others in front of the single cabin at the stern of the vessel.

‘We’ll put them in the cabin after we’ve loaded the beasts,’ said Athineos.

He looked at Gallia. ‘I think it might be best if you sleep in my cabin, lady. I’ll bed down in the hold.’

As we stood in front of the cabin I noticed that the crew were bringing baskets filled with cured meat aboard.

‘At least we won’t starve,’ grinned Surena.

‘They’re not for you, boy, they’re for the lions,’ said Athineos.

‘I’m not your boy,’ snapped Surena but I glared at him to hold his tongue.

The crowd on the docks parted as clerks shouted at slaves to pull the wheeled carts that held the lions: a score of snarling, angry beasts that looked in remarkably good health considering they had been transported from far away Gordyene or Atropaiene. I said as much to Athineos.

‘If I don’t get twenty fit and healthy lions to Ephesus then I won’t get paid. So they have been treated like little princes on their way here.’

‘To be butchered in the arena,’ said a disapproving Gallia.

Athineos nodded at me. ‘In the wild Parthian princes and nobles hunt lions. Don’t see much difference between dying in the arena or dying in the wild.’

The cages, each one measuring around nine feet in length and width and four foot in height, were moved alongside Athineos’ vessel and his other two ships. Dockers operating cranes lowered hooks on the end of ropes and then slaves nervously jumped on the carts to secure the hooks to ropes fixed to the tops of the wooden cages so they could be hoisted aboard. The animals began to get agitated and tried to maul the slaves. But the tops of the cages were tightly meshed to make this impossible; only the bars on the sides were more widely separated to allow air to circulate more freely.

One slave, standing on top of a cage with a snarling male lion with a huge mane beneath him, tried to catch the hook but missed as it dropped lower. I watched, horrified, as he crouched on the cage and reached down in an effort to retrieve the hook, only to have his hand that strayed near the bars ripped open as the lion’s claws moved in a blur. The beast leapt at the bars and grabbed the poor wretch’s arm in its mouth and began pulling it into the cage.

As the slave let out a series of high-pitched screams Gallia bent down and pulled her bow from its case and nocked an arrow in the bowstring.

‘No,’ implored Athineos, who jumped in front of her. ‘Don’t kill it. Please don’t kill it.’

As horrified onlookers stood, transfixed, staring at the lion tearing at the slave’s flesh, Athineos ran down the gangplank and rushed over to the cage. He stood on the opposite side to where the slave was screaming, reached in and grabbed the lion’s tail. The beast, enraged, let go of the slave and spun round, launching itself at Athineos. It shook the cage as its bulk crashed into the bars that fortunately held.

A centurion, drawn sword in his hand, walked up to him with four marines in tow.

‘Is this your animal?’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Athineos. ‘He’s going to Ephesus to entertain the fine citizens of that city in the upcoming games.’

He pointed to his ship. ‘We are trying to load it on my ship, sir.’

‘Well get it loaded,’ ordered the centurion, ‘otherwise I’ll have it killed. It’s causing an obstruction.’

While this was going on Alcaeus had descended the gangplank with his medical bag and was attempting to treat the slave, who was now shaking as shock took hold of him. Blood was spurting on to the quay from the wound that Alcaeus was attempting to bind. Athineos bellowed at the crane operator to raise the hook as he jumped on the cart and then on top of the cage to secure the hook to lift it. The lion, now wanting more human blood, began clawing at the top of the cage as it and Athineos were hoisted up and over the side of the ship.

The centurion walked over to where Alcaeus was treating the slave.

‘Leave him.’

‘He’s badly wounded, you imbecile,’ replied Alcaeus.

I nudged Domitus. ‘Trouble.’

I walked down the gangplank with him following as the marines circled Alcaeus menacingly.

‘Offer to buy the slave,’ I said to Domitus.

‘What?’

‘Just do it.’

Drenis and Arminius held Surena back as we walked over to the centurion, an irate Alcaeus and a trembling slave.

‘
Salve
, citizen,’ said Domitus to the centurion.

The centurion, about the same height as Domitus, looked at the general of Dura’s army.

‘Who are you?’

‘Lucius Domitus,
lanista
of the
Ludus
Palmyra.’

The centurion grunted and pointed his cane at me. ‘And him?’

‘One of my gladiators, centurion.’

The slave groaned as Alcaeus tightened the tourniquet. The centurion pointed at the doctor.

‘I told you to leave him. Now move, otherwise you will be arrested.’

Alcaeus ignored him.

‘I wish to buy this slave,’ said Domitus.

The centurion frowned. ‘This slave?’

‘I collect one-armed slaves,’ replied Domitus, ‘my wife likes to staff our villa with them. She says that one-armed slaves steal less because they are, by definition, less light fingered.’

The marines sniggered and the centurion was confused.

‘He belongs to the port authority,’ he announced, ‘you will have to clear it with them. By the look of him he will be dead by tonight.’

I assisted Alcaeus in lifting the slave up and helping him towards the gangplank. He looked pale and half-dead but at least Alcaeus was no longer in danger of being arrested. While Domitus sauntered off to the office of the port authority with a representative of the organisation, the centurion and the marines, the rest of the lions were loaded on the ships. There were six cages on our vessel, each one holding a lion.

We placed the slave on the single bed in the cabin and I left Alcaeus to treat him and went back outside.

‘That was dangerous,’ Athineos rebuked me. ‘They could have arrested you. And all for a slave? You’re a strange one, Parthian.’

I paid Athineos for our passage while the sailors loaded food and water for the voyage to Cyprus. He told me that he would have visited the island anyway, but since I had paid him handsomely he was more than happy to call at the port of Paphos.

‘Why Paphos?’

‘I have an appointment with someone there.’

Domitus returned with the ownership papers for the slave, a Syrian named Adad. He tossed me the documents.

‘He didn’t come cheap. Let’s hope he lives to thank you.’

An hour later we finally got under way. Small rowing boats towed Athineos’ three ships from the dockside towards the open sea. The sailors unfurled the main sail and manned the steering oars at the rear of the overhanging side balconies. The vessel we were on was called a
corbita
, a ship that Athineos told me was the common merchant vessel of the Roman Republic. Ours, named
The
Cretan
, was at least ninety feet long and twenty-five feet wide. There was a main mast positioned in the centre of the rounded hull, which had two smaller sails above it. On the bow was another sail called an
artemon
that aided navigation. Immediately behind the cabin was a small kitchen with a red-tiled roof, and behind that a white swan’s head.

There was a stiff wind blowing when we exited the breakwaters and although the sea was choppy the vessel hardly swayed at all. I gave thanks to Shamash that its hull, constructed of planks secured by mortice and tenon, was very sturdy. Behind us the other two ships followed in line as we headed west to Cyprus.

Athineos told us that with a fair wind and nothing unforeseen we would make Paphos in three days. The crew went about their business and generally ignored us, no doubt the chief reason being that Surena, Drenis and Arminius practised their weapon skills on the deck in their gladiator equipment. I too spent most of the daylight hours practising with Domitus, though because of the lack of space it was impossible to replicate the sand of the arena. Still, it proved a useful exercise in getting used to my heavy full-face bronze helmet. Gallia spent her time sharpening her knife and giving any sailor who leered at her an icy stare.

Surena was in an ebullient mood; Arminius and Drenis more thoughtful and reserved. I watched Athineos bellowing at his sailors as they erected awnings over the cages holding the lions to keep them out of the sun. And then shouting some more when they spilt the beasts’ food as they attempted to feed them without losing an arm or some fingers. Athineos treated each animal as though it was a prized pet, fussing over their welfare. He also commanded that the other two ships came alongside at regular intervals so he could enquire as to the wellbeing of the lions on their decks.

‘I’ve been a sailor for over thirty years,’ he told me on the afternoon of the second day, ‘but this trip promises to be my most lucrative. So you can understand that I don’t want to lose any of my cargo this close to completing the voyage.’

We were both leaning on the ship’s starboard gunwale, staring at the calm blue waters of the Mediterranean below. The sun shone down from an almost cloudless sky, the pleasing breeze filling the ships’ sails.

‘The gods favour your enterprise, Athineos.’

‘Mm. You think they will be as kind to you, young king, when you reach Ephesus?’

‘I hope they will see my venture as worthy of their support.’

He shook his head. ‘Foolhardy more like. Why would a man, much less a king, risk all for a man he has not seen in years, who is a Roman slave most likely and who stands a good chance of being killed in the forthcoming games? It makes no sense.’

‘On the contrary, Athineos, it makes perfect sense. I am meant to go to Ephesus. It is my destiny. Indeed, you were the vessel sent by the gods that showed what course of action I should take.’

He looked surprised. ‘Me?’

‘Why did you travel to Dura to inform me that Burebista would be at Ephesus?’

He considered for a moment. ‘I just thought you should know, that’s all. But, on reflection, perhaps you are right. Then again, you always were a bit of a dreamer.’

‘In what way?’

‘I remember when you escaped from Italy. Instead of saving yourself and your pretty wife you brought half the slave army with you.’

‘Hardly,’ I said.

He looked at my gladiator attire and shook his head. ‘You are a dreamer, young king, just like Spartacus.’

‘You knew him?’

‘I met him a couple of times, business matters, you understand. I liked him.’

‘So did I,’ I added.

He chuckled. ‘Of course you did. You were kindred spirits, fighting for honour and freedom and basking in glory. I have no doubt that in different circumstances and if he had lived, you and he would still be in Italy, terrorising Romans and covering yourselves in glory.’

I had to admit the vision had a certain appeal.

‘But,’ he continued, ‘life isn’t about glory; it’s about survival and making cold, calculating decisions. That’s why the Romans always win, Pacorus, and why men like you end up dead.’

‘You talk too much,’ I told him.

He turned away from the sea and looked at his cabin.

‘How’s that slave you purchased?’

‘Alcaeus says he will live, though his arm will be useless.’

‘When we get to Cyprus,’ he said, ‘you must leave him on the island. The crew aren’t happy he’s aboard. They says it’s bad luck.’

‘Who is going to be interested in a one-armed injured slave?’ I asked.

‘Who indeed?’

He turned to walk away but then stopped and looked back at me.

‘One thing you should know. The Roman governor of Ephesus is a man named Quintus Caecilius Metellus.’

The name meant nothing to me. He saw my indifferent expression.

‘He’s the bastard who conquered Crete, butchering many thousands of my countrymen as he did so.’

‘You had family on Crete, Athineos?’

He looked around at his ship. ‘This is my home, young king. My point is that Metellus regards anyone that lives east of Italy as being members of inferior races. If he finds out who you are you can expect no mercy.’

I smiled. ‘I never expect mercy from the Romans, Athineos.’

He walked away shaking his head in despair. He said no more to me about my reasons for being on his ship but did tell my companions and me much about the island of Cyprus before we docked there. It was an Egyptian colony ruled by a governor sent from Alexandria, the capital of Egypt. But the fact that Egypt’s pharaohs were descended from one of Alexander of Macedon’s generals – Ptolemy Lagides – meant that the Hellenised island of Cyprus enjoyed a high degree of autonomy. Paphos was the capital of the island due to its proximity to Alexandria and also because it was a large port. It was not only a naval base but was also used for trade and export to Egypt of the island’s raw materials, chiefly copper and timber.