The Seven Wonders: A Novel of the Ancient World (Novels of Ancient Rome) (26 page)

I grunted. “How do you know all this about the Gauls?”

Posidonius raised an eyebrow. “A traveler must be open to new experiences, Gordianus, or what is the use of travel? But I was not entirely surprised to find such customs among the Gauls. Aristotle commented on the relations between Gallic men. How he knew, I’m not sure, since Aristotle lived long before the invasion of Cimbaules—”

“Are you saying I should apologize to Vindovix?”

He smiled. “The two of you are set to spend the winter together under my roof. Do try to remember that Vindovix is a very long way from home, and he’s not much older than you are.”

I shook my head. “I must admit, I don’t know much about the world beyond Rome. This journey with Antipater is certainly opening my eyes. As for … touching Vindovix’s moustache … my father taught me that, while the Greeks may take a different view, among Romans carnal relations between males are acceptable only between a master and his slave, and only if the master plays the conqueror, and only if no one ever talks about it. My father frowns on such relations.”

“Why is that?”

“He says it’s unseemly to subject any slave, male or female, to unwanted advances.”

“What if the desire is mutual?”

“I asked him that. Between master and slave, he says, there inevitably exists some element of coercion.”

“I think your father is a bit of a philosopher, Gordianus.”

“I suppose he is.”

“Clearly, you’ve given some thought to these questions of human behavior. I’m sure things will work out between you and Vindovix, one way or another. Tell me, was your rejection of his advances predicated on your reaction to his primary or secondary substance?”

I recognized this as philosopher talk, but had no idea what he meant.

Posidonius pursed his lips. “Let me put it this way: is it that you find this particular man unattractive, or do you have no attraction to men at all?”

I considered this. “He’s awfully big.”

“Big? Oh, I see. You find the prospect daunting?”

“Well, yes.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. I believe Vindovix prefers that his partners ‘play the conqueror,’ as you call it.”

“Are you sure about that?” I pictured Vindovix, looming over me in the passage.

Posidonius gave me a knowing look. “Did you not embark on this journey with Antipater to have new experiences? We have a long, gloomy winter ahead of us. A bit of companionship might make the time pass much more pleasantly.”

From a small table nearby, a flash of light caught my eye. It was the knife of Gatamandix, its blade reflecting the light of a lamp hung above it. Lying next to it was a parchment with drawings on it.

Posidonius followed my gaze. “How Gatamandix loves that knife of his! It’s a sign of his authority, you see. Among the Gauls, the Druids are not just seers, but the guardians of moral conduct; they judge those accused of crimes and mete out punishments, including executions. A Druid’s knife is his ultimate tool of enforcement. Gatamandix cursed himself for leaving his knife behind when he went to Lindos; that’s why he was so disgruntled to see me holding it when he returned. Even so, I’ve persuaded him to lend it to me for a few days, so that I can make a thorough study of the decorations on the hilt. The iconography of the Gauls is amazingly complex, quite fascinating, really—”

I tried to suppress a yawn.

“Off to bed with you, then,” said Posidonius.

“No, please continue—”

“Off, I said.”

Before I knew it, I was back in the darkened passage, and Posidonius had shut the library door behind me. I headed to my room.

*   *   *

The ship from Lindos did not arrive the next morning. Apparently, there had been a windstorm off the coast—exactly the sort of weather that stopped ships from sailing at this time of year, even to make short journeys like that from Lindos to Rhodes. Probably the ship was merely delayed, said Posidonius; but I could see that he was nervous, no doubt imagining the precious plaster model lost forever at the bottom of the sea, or, just as bad, reduced to dust if the crate had come loose from the ropes securing it and been thrown this way and that on a storm-tossed ship. As darkness fell, the ship still had not arrived.

When we all gathered with our host for dinner—the Gauls, Cleobulus, Antipater, and myself—I noticed, with a bit of a start, that Vindovix had shaved his moustache. He looked almost civilized, I thought, and the change definitely heightened his resemblance to the Colossus. I tried not to stare, fearing he would misinterpret my interest, but he seemed to avoid my gaze altogether.

We were still eating when Zenas came rushing in to inform his master that the ship and its cargo had just arrived in the harbor, apparently safe and sound.

“Shall I have the crate unloaded and carted here at once, Master?” said Zenas.

Posidonius’s eyes lit up at the prospect, but he shook his head. “No, the hazards of transporting such a fragile object across the city by night are too great. We’ll leave that until morning. In the meantime, Zenas, I want you to spend the night on the ship and to keep watch over the crate. I can’t trust the crew to do so; after sailing through a storm, they’re likely to drink themselves into a stupor. Can you stay awake until dawn?”

“Certainly, Master,” said Zenas. “You can rely on me. I’ll guard the crate with my very life!”

Posidonius laughed. “And how would you do that—wielding your stylus and wax tablet like a sword and shield? Just see that the crate is securely tied down and that nothing falls on it or bumps into it. At first light, hire some carters to bring it here and make sure they avoid any potholes or sudden jolts.”

“The statue will come to no harm while it’s in my care, Master. Just let me fetch a heavy cloak to keep myself warm.” Zenas took his leave.

Smiling broadly, Posidonius clapped his hands and called for more wine. “Tomorrow, we shall see the face of the Colossus as it was rendered by the hand of Chares himself.”

*   *   *

But it was not to be.

Posidonius’s guests were all up early the next morning, and Cleobulus, having gone home after dinner, rejoined us shortly after dawn. An hour passed, and then another, and still the crate had not arrived. At last Posidonius sent a boy to check on Zenas’s progress.

An hour later the boy ran into the garden. “Master! I looked for Zenas everywhere, but I couldn’t find him.”

“Is he not on the ship?”

“No. The captain says that Zenas arrived there last night, just as the crew were going to bed. The last time they saw him, he was sitting atop the crate, looking very alert. But when they awoke this morning, Zenas was nowhere to be seen.”

“And the crate?”

“It’s still there, just as it was, tied down on the deck.”

Posidonius frowned. “This is not like Zenas. Not like him at all. I must go to the harbor at once to see what’s happened.”

“We’ll go with you,” said Antipater, and we all made ready to set out.

*   *   *

The slave was right: Zenas was nowhere to be seen. But some trace of him did remain. On the deck of the ship, not far from the crate, lay his stylus, and some distance away, amid a coil of rope, lay his wax tablet.

Posidonius shook his head. “Zenas would never mislay or abandon his stylus and wax tablet—not by choice. And why do they lie so far apart? This makes me very uneasy. At least the crate appears to be untouched,” he said, walking slowly around it.

“Or perhaps not,” I said. “Look there, near the top, along that seam where two planks meet. From the grain of the wood, you can see there was a knothole in one of the boards, but it looks to me as though it’s been knocked out and widened by the use of some sharp instrument—you can see the scrapings of a chisel or some other tool on the wood, and here on the deck, directly below, there are traces of shavings and sawdust.”

“So there are. You have a keen eye, Gordianus.” Posidonius rose onto tiptoes and put his eye to the hole.

“What do you see?” said Antipater.

“It’s dark. I can’t be sure.” Posidonius stepped back. “Captain, did you and your men hear nothing last night?”

The captain was a grizzled seaman with a weathered face and an unkempt beard. He stank of wine. “Most of the men went ashore,” he said. “After that storm we sailed through, they wanted to feel solid ground beneath their feet. Those who stayed aboard bunked belowdecks, where it’s warmer. I slept like a dead man myself.”

“Helped by a generous amount of wine, no doubt,” said Posidonius.

The captain scowled. “We left it to your man to look after the crate. He seemed sober enough, and eager to do his job.”

Posidonius scowled. “Can someone remove the top of this crate?”

“I’ll do it myself,” said the captain. He fetched a crowbar and a wooden box to stand on.

“Careful!” cried Posidonius, as the man went to work. My teeth were set on edge by the shriek of nails being drawn from the wood.

At last the captain lifted the lid free and handed it down to two of his sailors. He stepped down from the box.

Posidonius quickly took his place. He looked inside. He drew a sharp breath. His shoulders sagged.

“What is it?” said Antipater.

“See for yourself,” said Posidonius. With my assistance, Antipater took his place on the box.

Antipater gasped. “By Hercules! What a disaster!”

I helped him down from the box. I stepped aside, deferring to Cleobulus and the Gauls, but all three kept their distance. Cleobulus looked especially anxious, I thought.

I stepped onto the box and peered down into the crate.

No one could fault the manner in which the statue had been packed. The crate was well proportioned, and folds of soft cloth had been tied around the statue to cushion it. These concealed the details of the statue, but its general shape could be perceived, and it was obvious at once that the head was missing—or rather, destroyed, for plaster fragments and bits of dust that had once constituted the head lay scattered amid the packing and on the bottom of the crate.

I stepped down. Reluctantly, or so it seemed to me, the others finally took their turns, starting with Cleobulus, whose face was ashen when he ceded his place to Gatamandix. The Druid merely grunted at the sight of the defaced statue and showed no emotion. Vindovix was so tall he did not need the box to look inside. He stood on tiptoes and peered over the edge. He clenched his jaw. His face turned bright red and his pale blue eyes glittered with tears.

“What am I to make of this?” said Posidonius. “Zenas is gone, and the part of the statue most vital to our inquiry—the head—has been destroyed. Deliberately destroyed, I think we can safely say. The knothole already in the wood was bored and chipped away until a staff of some kind could be pushed through—an iron stave, perhaps—and used to smash the head. Given the deliberate and determined nature of this act, I suspect premeditation. Someone must have known the knothole was there, at a height corresponding exactly to the statue’s head. The person who did this must have been present when the crate was constructed; indeed, that person may have seen to it that this particular plank, with its convenient knothole, was placed just so, in order to provide an easy way to commit this act of destruction.”

The whole time he spoke, Posidonius stared at Cleobulus, who turned even paler.

“Teacher, surely suspicion should fall first on Zenas,” he said. “Why is the slave not here? Why did he abandon his post?”

“If Zenas played some part in this, it was only because someone put him up to it,” said Posidonius, continuing to stare at Cleobulus. “But I can’t believe Zenas would betray my trust, especially in a matter as serious as this. The fact that he isn’t here, and that his writing instruments were left behind, suggests to me that some harm was done to the poor fellow.”

Cleobulus swallowed hard. “Then where is he?”

Posidonius at last took his eyes off his pupil. He turned and looked over the ship’s side.

“Teacher, if the slave were thrown overboard, his body would have washed against the piers by now,” said Cleobulus. “Someone would have seen it—”

“Not if his body was tied to the iron stave that was used to smash the statue’s head,” said Posidonius, gazing intently at the water below, as if by sheer will he could make the waves give up their secret.

“But this is terrible!” said Antipater. “Is there not some other explanation for what’s happened, short of accusing someone of murder and wanton destruction? Perhaps Zenas will turn up yet. Have you never had a slave go missing, Posidonius, and then reappear shamefaced a day later, stinking of wine and the brothel?”

“Not Zenas,” Posidonius said. “And what possible motive could he have had to destroy the statue’s head? What motive could anyone have to do such a thing?”

To this, no one gave an answer. Cleobulus, still pale but with a glint of defiance in his eyes, stared back at his teacher for a long moment, then brusquely took his leave and hurried off.

After arranging with the captain to have the damaged statue transported to his house, Posidonius told us he wished to be alone, and headed off by himself. The Gauls went off on their own, with Gatamandix gripping Vindovix’s shoulder, as if to comfort him. I saw them duck into a seedy-looking tavern on the waterfront. I was left with Antipater, who expressed his desire to head directly back to the house of Posidonius.

As we walked away from the harbor, I looked over my shoulder, past the ship to the distant ruins of the Colossus at the end of the long mole. The huge fragments of bronze gleamed dully beneath the iron-gray sky. Beyond the Colossus, dark clouds were gathering over the open sea.

*   *   *

It was a gloomy day in the house of Posidonius.

The Gauls remained absent, as did Cleobulus. Our host at last returned, but shut himself up in his study. Eventually the carters arrived with the crate. Without enthusiasm, Posidonius emerged from his seclusion to oversee the unpacking.

Soon the plaster statue stood in a room off the garden. Even without its head, the remains presented a fascinating image, showing how the Colossus must have appeared when it stood intact beside the harbor. If the living model had been a Greek, this statue surely would have been larger than life, but its oversized proportions were correct for a hulking Gaul, and the muscular physique could easily be taken for a reproduction of Vindovix, or of an ancestor whom he resembled.