Last Act In Palmyra

Chapter LXI

There were a lot of frightened men at this gathering, and not all of them were worried about the python.

Thalia shoved Jason unceremoniously back into his bag, then hung it around her camel's neck. With one bejewelled finger she stabbed towards the bag. Slowly and clearly (and unnecessarily), she addressed the assembled nomads: 'Any man who puts a hand on the camel gets seen off by the snake!'

This hardly squared with what she had always assured me about Jason's lovable nature. Useful, however. I could see the Palmyrenes all inclined to my own nervous view of him.

'That's a gorgeous camel,' I said admiringly. 'With a gorgeous rider whom I never expected to meet in the middle of the desert.' It seemed right, however. Somehow I felt more cheerful already. 'How in the name of the gods do you come to be here, Thalia?'

'Looking for you, darling!' she promised feelingly. For once I felt able to take it.

'How did you find me?'

'Damascus is plastered with posters with your name on them. After a few days of desperately dancing for the rent, I spotted one.' That's the trouble with wall posters: easy to write, but nobody ever rubs them out. Probably in twenty years' time people would still be calling at Herod's Theatre trying to touch a man called Falco for cash. 'The theatre gateman told me you'd gone on to Palmyra. Good excuse to get a camel. Isn't he a cracker? If I can get another and race them, he'll wow those front-seat freaks in Rome.'

'Where did you learn to race a camel?'

'Anyone who can do a twirl with a python can manage a ride, Falco!' Innuendo came swimming back with every stride we took. 'How's the poor girlie? Scorpion, wasn't it? As if one nasty creature with a wicked tail on him is not enough for her…'

I hardly dared ask, but brought out the question: 'How do you know about it?'

'Met that strange fellow – your gloomy priest.'

'Musa?'

'Riding towards me like a death's head in a cloud of dust. I asked if he'd seen you. He told me everything.'

I gave her a sharp look. 'Everything?'

Thalia grinned. 'Enough!'

'What have you done with him?'

'What I do with them all.'

'The poor lad! Bit tender for you, isn't he?'

'They all are by my standards! I'm still holding out for you, Falco.'

Ignoring this dangerous offer, I managed to extract more details. Thalia had decided that looking for Sophrona was a mission I might not manage. She had taken a whim to come east herself. After all, Syria was a good market for exotic animals; before the racing camel she had already bought a lion cub and several Indian parrots, not to mention a dangerous new snake. She had been earning her way by displays of her famous dance with the big python, Zeno, when she noticed my posters. 'So here I am, Falco, large as life, and twice as exciting!'

'At last. My chance to catch your act!'

'My act is not for faint hearts!'

'All right, I'll skulk out the back and mind Jason. So where's the snake you dance with?' I had never even seen this legendary reptile.

'The big fellow? Following on slowly. Zeno doesn't like disturbance. Jason's more versatile. Besides, when I tell him he's going to see you, he comes over all silly – '

We reached my tent, thank Jupiter.

At the sight of Helena I heard Thalia suck in her breath. 'I've brought you a present, sweetie, but don't get too excited; it's not a new man.' Thalia produced the little iron pot again. 'Small but incredibly powerful – '

'As the altar boy promised!' quipped Helena, perking up. She must have been reading her scroll of rude stories again.

Thalia had already lowered herself to one mighty knee and was unbandaging Helena's wounded arm as gently as if she were tending one of her own sick animals. 'Giblets! Some slapdash butcher made a mess with his cleaver here, sweetheart!'

'He did his best,' Helena murmured loyally.

'To mangle you!'

'Lay off, Thalia!' I protested. 'There's no need to make me out to be the sort of thug who'd knife his girl. Anyway, what's in your magic jar?' I felt obliged to show some caution before my lass was anointed with a strange medicament.

'Mithridatium.'

'Have I heard of that?'

'Have you heard of gold and frankincense? Compared with this they're as cheap as cushion dust. Falco, this potion contains thirty-three ingredients, each one expensive enough to bankrupt Croesus. It's an antidote for everything from snakebites to splitting fingernails.'

'Sounds good,' I conceded.

'It had better be,' growled Thalia, unscrewing the lid with relish, as if it were a potent aphrodisiac. 'I'll spread it all over your lady first – then I'll tell you what you owe me.'

I declared that if mithridatium would help Helena, Thalia could smooth on the stuff an inch thick with a mortar trowel.

'Listen to it!' marvelled Thalia confidentially to her patient. 'Isn't he ridiculous – and don't you just love his lies!'

Helena, who had always found that her spirits rose with any chance, of mocking me, was already chortling healthily.

When we drove on towards Palmyra I had Thalia alongside like a spectacular outrider, galloping away in wild loops from time to time to exercise the racing camel. Jason enjoyed a more leisurely journey in a basket in the back of my cart. The Syrian heat had proved almost too much for him. He lay virtually inert, and whenever we could spare any water he had to be bathed.

'My python's not the only reptile in your group,' Thalia muttered furtively. 'I see you've got that know-all comic Tranio!'

'Do you know him?'

'I've met him. Entertaining is a small world when you've been doing it as long as me, and in some funny places too. Tranio used to appear at the Vatican Circus. Quite witty, but thinks far too much of himself.'

'He does a good tug of war. Know his partner?'

'The one with the hair like a pie dish and the sneaky eyes?'

'Grumio.'

'Never seen him before. But that's not true of everybody here.'

'Why, who else do you know?'

'Not saying,' grinned Thalia. 'It's been a few years. Let's wait and see if I'm recognised.'

I was struck by an intriguing possibility.

Thalia's thrilling hints were still engaging Helena and me when our long ride reached its end. We had been driving at night, but dawn had now broken. With the stars long gone and the sun strengthening, our party was weary and longing to break the journey. The road had grown more winding, twisting upwards through more hilly country. The caravan trail finally emerged on to a level plain. We must now be at midpoint between the fertile coast far away on the Mediterranean and the even more remote reaches of the River Euphrates.

Low ranges of mountains ran to the north and behind us, serrated by long dry wadis. Ahead, disappearing into infinity, stretched flat tawny desert covered with rocky scree. To our left, in a stony valley, stood square towers that we later learned were multiple tombs for wealthy families. These kept their lonely vigil beside an ancient track overlooked by the sheltering hills. On the bare slopes, a shepherd on a donkey was herding a flock of black-faced sheep. Closer to, we began to perceive a shimmer of green. We sensed expectation among our nomad guides. I called to Helena. As we approached, the effect was magical. The haze rapidly acquired solidity. The moisture that rose off the saltpans and lakes quickly resolved into fields surrounding large swathes of date-palms and olive and pomegranate trees.

At the heart of the huge oasis, beside an energetic spring with supposedly therapeutic waters (like Thalia's dance, not for the faint-hearted), stood the famous old nomad village of Tadmor, once a mere camp in the wilderness, but now the fast-growing Romanised city of Palmyra.