Rome: The Emperor's spy

Chapter Thirty-Six

‘Wher’s your driver?’

It was an hour after dawn. Poros leaned at his ease against the barn’s doorpost. His beard shone with oil and the garlic on his breath swept four stalls down to where Math was washing Sweat ready for the race trial.

‘He’s gone to pray,’ Math said. ‘He’ll be back in time for the race.’

‘He prays in Alexandria now, does he?’ Poros sauntered down the aisle as if he owned it. The stench of garlic filled the entire box. ‘Strange thing for an Athenian,’ he said, leaning in over the stall door. ‘I didn’t know they worshipped Serapis in Greece?’

Math kept his head down, below Sweat’s neck. It gave him a view of the barn while keeping him clear of his enemy; there was nobody around who could help him.

‘Ajax has travelled a lot. On the boat, he prayed to Manannan of the waves. In the city, I think he calls to the spirit of Alexander himself.’

Poros pursed his lips and raised his brows. Leaning over the door, he lifted a green ribbon from the rack and began idly to braid one into the colt’s tail. ‘So we will find him at Alexander’s tomb, if we go to look?’

Math hefted his bucket of water, threw the entire contents down Sweat’s neck and stood back. ‘Why would you choose to disturb his prayers? I’m second driver. If you have a question for the team, I can answer it.’

Poros’ laugh sent doves clattering from the rafters. With his head thrown back and his beard jutting forward, he was Zeus in all his thunderous glory.

‘Boy, you’re ten years old! You did well enough in the display the other day, but there are still things that are beyond you.’ He finished his braid and slapped Sweat on the rump. By a miracle, the colt did not kick him. He pushed himself away from the door. ‘Find your driver. Bring him to Akakios below the emperor’s podium one hour before the race.’ At the doorway he paused, caught half in the shadows, half in colour. With an unusual gravity, he said, ‘Don’t try to run this race. You’re not ready yet. Remember what happened to Icarus when he flew too near the sun.’

Math finished braiding Sweat’s mane and went round to his tail. The ribbon Poros had set was perfect. Math ripped it out with shaking hands and set about replacing it. At the fifth attempt, he had one that was almost as good. He had no idea who Icarus was, but he had no wish at all to try to fly towards the sun.

The midday meal passed without sign of Ajax and the grooms took themselves off to lie down for an hour out of the day’s worst heat.

Math couldn’t sleep and didn’t try, but took advantage of the rare privacy to sit on one of the benches in the tack room, close his eyes and pray to his father, to the more distant memory of his mother and most urgently to Ajax, that he might hold true to his promise.

Get the colts harnessed and ready. You know everything we need by now. I’ll be back to race them.

But he wasn’t back, and the race was coming ever closer and Math had a new nightmare now; that if Ajax wasn’t there when the colts were led on to the track, Nero would name Math as the substitute driver.

In complete darkness, Pantera followed Hypatia through the tunnel that led to the Temple of the Oracle, which lay beneath the Temple of Serapis.

As far as he could tell, they had walked downward for the entire labyrinthine journey, but Hypatia had declined to light the lamp and they had walked in darkness the whole time, with the walls smooth as a tomb on either side and the weight of Serapis’ temple overhead, waiting at every step to crash down on the heads of those beneath.

Light-headed with hunger, disoriented by the dark, Pantera found himself seeing the shade of his mother, who had taught him to fear that the sky might fall on his head. She walked beside him, through the wall of solid rock, and promised the earth was not as fallible as the sky, and would not fall.

Later, she was joined by Aerthen, who walked on his other side, carrying his daughter, Gunovar, so that, when he finally lost count of his steps and the litany of turns he thought they had made, he came to rely on their joint presence to keep his courage bright.

‘Stop.’ Hypatia’s voice carried the ring of authority. He stopped before he ran into her. The tunnel was cool. His back ran wet with sweat.

A peppery incense tickled the air and, from round a corner in front of them, a faint torchlight banished the ghosts on either side. Pantera closed his eyes, trying to bring them back.

Hypatia called out, ‘Alexandros?’

Footsteps shuffled in the dark tunnel ahead. A man’s stilted voice said, ‘Whom do you bring?’

‘The Leopard,’ Hypatia answered.

‘Not the Bear?’

‘The Bear came before us, by the direct path.’

‘Then I have met him and did not know it.’ A slight, stooped figure detached itself from the shadows by the wall. ‘The Bear is the one who came to take the Ferryman’s cloak? Who knew the questions and their answers?’

‘I believe so. You are spared the task you hate.’

Alexandros was older than Seneca. He was possibly older than any man Pantera had seen, although the dim light made it hard to tell. He carried an oak staff as high as his head and bore no weight on his right leg. He stood back, as if to let Hypatia past.

‘Wait.’ Pantera caught her arm. ‘Is that true? Has Ajax taken the Ferryman’s place at the crossing of the river Styx?’

‘In this place and this time,’ Hypatia said, ‘Ajax is the Ferryman. There are prophecies that speak of this. It happens only at the turning of the earth.’

‘What makes you think Ajax will let Saulos cross the river? He loathes him.’

‘Today, he is the Ferryman,’ Hypatia said again. ‘He is bound by laws greater than love or hate to put the questions that will bring the supplicant to deepest knowledge of himself. If Saulos can find the answers, Ajax will do what he must. As will we. Will you follow Alexandros into the temple? It’s not far along the tunnel from here. I’ll join you as soon as I may.’