The Scorpion God: Three Short Novels (15 page)

“Ease her down. Handsomely!”

“This evening the Emperor is going to try your pressure cooker. The one you made for him.”

“He will forget all that when he tries
Amphitrite
.”

Mamillius squinted up at the sun. It was not so bright, but he still fanned himself.

“Lord Mamillius—has he forgiven us for the improvised cooker?”

“I think so.”

“Sway back. Take the strain. Walk. One, two. One, two.”

“And, after all, without that experiment I should have never known that a safety valve was necessary.”

“He said that a mammoth was too much to begin with. Blamed me.”

“Still?”

Mamillius shook his head.

“All the same, he is sorry about the three cooks and the north wing of the villa.”

Phanocles nodded, sweating. He frowned at a memory.

“Do you think that was what he meant by a ‘Sense if possible of peril’?”

The slave who had been firing the furnace climbed to the deck and they watched him idly. He threw a bucket over the side on a rope’s end, hauled up water and tipped it over his naked body. The water flowed along the deck, carrying snakes of coal dust. Again and again he laved the filthy harbour water over himself. Phanocles called to him.

“Clean the deck here.”

The slave touched his smeared forelock. He drew up another bucketful, then shot it along the deck so that water splashed over their feet. They started up with a shout of annoyance and there came the sound of a rope breaking under strain.
Amphi
trite
ducked under them, sidled and made a loud wooden remark as though she had crunched one of her own timbers with metal teeth. There came a dull thump from the harbour bottom, then a huge cascade of water fell on them from the sky, water full of garbage and mud and oil and tar. Phanocles stumbled forward and Mamillius bowed under the torrent, too shocked even to curse. The water ceased to fall from the sky but surged, waist-deep, over the decks instead. Puffs of steam spurted from Talos like ejaculations of rage. Then the water had all streamed away, the decks were shining and the roar of the harbour had risen to a frenzy. Mamillius was cursing at last under a hat like a cow pat and in clothes that clung greasily to him. Then he was silent, turning to the place where they had leaned and talked. The crab had snatched away six feet of the bulwarks, had torn off planking from the deck and laid bare the splintered beam ends. The huge cable led straight down from the yard of the trireme into the water where yellow mud still stank and swirled. A mob of men were brawling on the trireme, and soldiers were among them, using the pommels of their swords. A man broke free. He stumbled to the quay, seized a loose stone, clasped it to his stomach and plunged over the harbour wall into the sea. The struggle sorted itself out. Two of the Emperor’s guards were bashing heads impartially.

Mamillius went white slowly under the filth that covered him.

“That is the first time anyone has tried to kill me.”

Phanocles was gaping at the broken bulwarks. Mamillius began to shiver.

“I have harmed no one.”

The captain of the trireme came, leaping nimbly to the deck.

“Lord, what can I say?”

The frenzy from the harbour seemed as though it would never die away. There was the sense of eyes, thousands of eyes watching across the deceptive embroidery of the water. Mamillius gazed wildly round into the white air. His nerves were jerking. Phanocles spoke in a foolishly complaining voice.

“They have damaged her.”

“Curse your filthy ship——”

“Lord. The slave who cut the cable has drowned himself. We are trying to find the ringleader.”

Mamillius cried out.

“Oloito!”

Use of a literary word was a safety valve. He shivered no more but began to weep instead. Phanocles put his shaking hands close to his face and examined them as though they might have information of value.

“Accidents happen. Only the other day a plank missed me by inches. We are still alive.”

The captain saluted.

“With your permission, lord.”

He leapt back aboard the trireme. Mamillius turned a streaming face to Phanocles.

“Why have I enemies? I wish I were dead.”

All at once it seemed to him that nothing was safe or certain but the mysterious beauty of Euphrosyne.

“Phanocles—give me your sister.”

Phanocles took his hands from his face.

“We are free people, lord.”

“I mean, to marry her.”

Phanocles cried out in his thick voice.

“This is too much! A plank, a crab—and now this——!”

Hell closed in on Mamillius, haze-white and roaring. Somewhere in the sky the thunder grumbled.

“I cannot bear life without her.”

Phanocles muttered, his eyes on Talos.

“You have not even seen her face. And you are grandson to the Emperor.”

“He will do anything I want.”

Phanocles glanced sideways at him, savagely.

“How old are you, lord? Is it eighteen or seventeen?”

“I am a man.”

Phanocles made a pattern of his face that was intended for a sneer.

“Officially.”

Mamillius set his teeth.

“I am sorry for my tears. I have been shaken.”

He hiccuped loudly.

“Am I forgiven?”

Phanocles looked him over.

“What do you want with my forgiveness?”

“Euphrosyne.”

All at once Mamillius was trembling again. Beautiful shoots of life sprouted in him. But Phanocles was frowning.

“I cannot, explain, lord.”

“Say no more now. We shall speak to the Emperor. He will persuade you.”

There came the crash of a salute from the mouth of the tunnel.

The Emperor was walking briskly for his age. His crier went before him.

“Way for the Emperor!”

There was a guard and several veiled women with him. Mamillius began to rush round the deck in a panic, but the women detached themselves from the group of men and ranged themselves by the harbour wall. Phanocles shaded his eyes.

“He has brought her to watch the demonstration.”

The captain of the trireme was hurrying along by the Emperor, explaining as he went, and the Emperor was nodding his silver head pensively. He mounted the gangway to the trireme, crossed her deck and looked down at the strange ship before him. Even in these surroundings his spare figure in the white, purple-fringed toga cut a shape of clean distinction. He declined a helping hand and stepped down to
Amphi
trite
’s deck.

“Don’t try to tell me about the crab, Mamillius. The captain has told me all about it. I congratulate you on your escape. You too, Phanocles, of course. We shall have to abandon the demonstration.”

“Caesar!”

“You see, Phanocles, I shall not be at the villa this evening. I will examine your pressure cooker another time.”

Phanocles’ mouth was open again.

“In fact,” said the Emperor agreeably, “we shall be at sea in
Amphitrite
.”

“Caesar.”

“Stay with me, Mamillius. I have news for you.”

He paused and cocked his ear critically at the harbour noises.

“I am not popular.”

Mamillius shook again.

“Neither am I. They tried to kill me.”

The Emperor smiled grimly.

“It was not the slaves, Mamillius. I have received a report from Illyria.”

A look of appalled understanding appeared beneath the mud on Mamillus’ face.

“Posthumus?”

“He has broken off his campaign. He has concentrated his army on the seaport and is stripping the coast of every ship from triremes to fishing boats.”

Mamillius made a quick and aimless step that nearly took him into the arms of Talos.

“He is tired of heroics.”

The Emperor came close and laid a finger delicately on his grandson’s sodden tunic.

“No, Mamillius. He has heard that the Emperor’s grandson is becoming interested in ships and weapons of war. He fears your influence and he is a realist. Perhaps our unfortunate conversation on the loggia reached the ears of the ill-disposed. We dare not waste a moment.”

He turned to Phanocles.

“You will have to share our council. How fast can
Amphi
trite
take us to Illyria?”

“Twice as fast as your triremes, Caesar.”

“Mamillius, we are going together. I to convince him that I am still Emperor, you to convince him that you do not want to be one.”

“But that will be dangerous!”

“Would you sooner stay and have your throat cut? I do not think Posthumus would allow you to commit suicide.”

“And you?”

“Thank you, Mamillius. Amid all my worries I am touched. Let us start.”

Phanocles pressed his fists to his forehead. The Emperor nodded to the quay and a procession of slaves began to cross the trireme with luggage. A little Syrian came hurrying from aft. He spoke quickly to Mamillius.

“Lord, it is impossible. There is nowhere for the Emperor to sleep. And look at the sky!”

There was no longer any blue to be seen. The sun was dispersed into a great patch of light that might soon be hidden completely.

“—and how am I to hold a course, lord, when I can no longer see the sky and there is no wind?”

“It is an order. Grandfather, let us get ashore for a moment at least.”

“Why?”

“She is so dirty——”

“So are you, Mamillius. You stink.”

The Syrian sidled up to the Emperor.

“If it is an order, Caesar, I will do my best. But first let us move the ship outside the harbour. You can transfer to her from your barge.”

“It shall be so.”

They crossed the trireme together. Mamillius ran to the tunnel with head averted from the women and disappeared. The Emperor went to where his barge was moored astern of the trireme and arranged himself comfortably under the baldachino. It was only then that he began to realize how ugly and preposterous the new ship was.

He shook his head gently.

“I am a very reluctant innovator.”

The crowd of slaves aboard
Amphitrite
was being absorbed by her hold and the small crew was busily casting off. The crewmen of the trireme were bearing off with the looms of oars and she began to move sideways. Her cables splashed free in the water and were hauled aboard. The Emperor, under his shady purple, could see how the helmsman was heaving at the steering oars to bring her stern in and give her bows a sheer away from the trireme. Steam was jetting constantly from the brass belly over the furnace. Then he saw Phanocles stick his head out of the hold and wave the helmsman into stillness. He shouted something down to the bowels of the machine, the jet of steam increased till the scream of it rasped the air like a file then suddenly disappeared altogether. In answer a snarling roar rose from the ships and houses round the harbour till
Amphitrite
lay like some impossible lizard at bay in the centre of an arena.

The Emperor fanned himself with one hand.

“I have always considered a mob to be thoroughly predictable.”

There came a grunt from the bowels of the ship and an iron clank. Talos moved all four hands, two back, two forward. Both wheels began to revolve slowly, port astern, starboard ahead. The blades of the paddles came down—smack, pause, smack!—so that dirty water shot from under them. They rose out of the water, throwing it high in the air, to fall back on the deck. The whole ship was streaming and steam rose in a cloud again, but this time from the hot surface of the sphere and the funnel. A great wailing came from her hold and Phanocles leapt on deck, to stand there, inspecting the deluge through screwed-up eyes as though he had never seen anything so interesting.
Amphitrite
was lying in one place, making no way, but turning; and the water sprayed up as from a fountain. Phanocles shouted down the hatch, the steam jetted up, the paddles creaked to a stop, and the water was running off her as though she had just come up from the bottom of the harbour. The noise from the people stormed at her as she lay in the centre of harbour with her steam jet screaming. There was a blink of light in the haze over the hills and almost immediately the thud of thunder.

The Emperor made a furtive sign with two fingers.

The lightning, however, was a divine irrelevance. As the Emperor shielded his eyes in expectation of
Amphitrite
’s destruction at the hands of an outraged Providence he glimpsed that she was not the only portent moving on the waters. Outside the harbour mouth but visible over the quay wall there was a solidity in the moving vapours. Before his mind had time to work he thought of it as the top of a rock or a low cliff. But the rock lengthened.

The Emperor scrambled ashore, crossed the quay and climbed the steps of the harbour wall where the women were sitting. The rock was clear of the mist. It was the prow and fo’castle of a great warship and from her hold came the measured beating of a drum. She was slightly off course for the entrance of the harbour but swinging already to bisect the narrow strip of water that lay between the two quays. Steadily she came on, sail furled on the yard, a crab suspended at either yard-arm, ejaculatory armament trained forrard, her decks glistening with steel and brass, the twenty-foot spear of her ram cutting the surface of the water like a shark. The drum tapped out a change of rhythm. The centipedal oars closed in aft as though they had been folded by a central intelligence. She slid through the entrance and her ram was in the harbour. The drums changed rhythm again. Pair after pair as they were free of the obstructing quays the oars unfolded, reversed, backed water. The Emperor saw a red and gold banner on the quarterdeck surmounted by a vindictive-looking eagle. He dropped down from the harbour wall, ignored the questions of the women and hurried back to his barge and the shelter of the baldachino.

Aboard
Amphitrite
they had noticed the warship too. The Emperor saw Phanocles and the captain gesticulating fiercely at each other. Phanocles ducked down the hatch, the jet of steam vanished and the paddles began to move. Immediately the captain ran along the deck, there was a flash of steel and
Amphitrite
’s anchor thumped into the water. But the drums were beating out another order. The oars of the warship rose and were rigid like spread wings. She glided forward with the last of her momentum like a vast and settling seabird. Her ram took
Amphitrite
under the starboard paddle and tore it. Men were swarming along the horizontal oars, leaping down, striking with sword hilts and the butts of spears. The growl of the harbour rose to a frantic cheer. Phanocles and the captain were hauled up between the oars and dumped on the warship’s deck. Her oars began to move again so that the ram slid out of the torn wheel.
Amphitrite
, her wheels turning very slowly, began to revolve round her own anchor. The warship, starboard oars paddling ahead, port astern, was moving towards the quay where the trireme and the Emperor was.