The Silver Eagle (51 page)

By late afternoon, the pair had walked a further ten miles. Making their way to the sea again, they scanned the horizon for a long time. Nearly two decades younger, Romulus had the keener eyes. Happy that there was no sign of the trireme, he searched out a sheltered depression in the sand dunes which rolled back from the beach. Chopping the spiked lower branches from some nearby trees, the pair soon fashioned a high-sided, circular enclosure. It was large enough for them to lie down, and sleeping inside its protection would be safer than nothing at all.

They did not risk a fire. It was still quite warm and they had no food to cook. Any blaze would only attract unwanted attention anyway.

Tarquinius offered to take the first watch.

Gratefully accepting, Romulus fell asleep within moments. He dreamt of Rome.

When he awoke, thoroughly chilled, Romulus was unsurprised to find Tarquinius keeping vigil beside him. A faint light on the horizon hinted that daybreak was not far away. His friend had let him rest uninterrupted for the whole night. Feeling guilty, Romulus was about to say something, but held back. Facing east, the haruspex did not seem aware of his presence. Sitting perfectly still with his arms folded, Tarquinius resembled a well sculpted statue.

‘Forgive me, mighty Tinia,’ he whispered. ‘For what I have done.’

Romulus’ ears pricked up at the mention of the Etruscans’ most powerful god. As a Roman, he called him Jupiter.

There was a long pause, during which Tarquinius sat watching the myriad stars above gradually fade away. His lips moved in silent prayer.

Fascinated, Romulus lay still, doing his best not to shiver.

‘Great Mithras, accept my repentance,’ Tarquinius muttered. ‘I did what I thought was best. If mistakes have been made, then let me be punished as you see fit.’

Romulus was intrigued. What did his friend mean? Had it anything to do with their voyage? Although it had taken almost four years to reach Africa, the young soldier could not envisage how they could have got here more quickly. He held no grudge against the haruspex for this, for without his aid and the invaluable
Periplus
, Romulus would never have made it. For years now, his friend’s wisdom, guidance and prophetic ability had been as solid a support to Romulus as steering oars were to a ship.

Or was it something else altogether?

A feather of memory tickled the edge of Romulus’ mind, but frustratingly he could not recall it. At last the cold bettered him, and he shivered.

Instantly Tarquinius’ demeanour changed, and he became his usual calm self. ‘You’re awake,’ he said.

Romulus decided to be bold. ‘What were you saying?’

‘I was praying, that’s all.’ The haruspex’ face was an unreadable mask.

‘It was more than that.’

Tarquinius did not answer.

Sudden fear gripped Romulus’ throat. ‘Have you seen something about Fabiola?’ he demanded.

‘No,’ Tarquinius denied.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I swear it.’

Full of suspicion, Romulus studied his friend’s face.

Thin beams of orange sunlight crept over the edge of the nearest dunes. The temperature began to climb, which was a relief to both. Without blankets, their rest had not been the best quality. But before long it would be warm: uncomfortably so. And they needed to find food that day. Water alone could not sustain a man marching in this extreme environment.

Then it came. Romulus had no idea what made him think of it, the most passing of comments by Tarquinius nearly seven years earlier.

‘There was a reason that you fled Italy,’ he said softly. ‘You would not tell me before. What was it?’

Surprise registered in Tarquinius’ dark eyes and Romulus knew that he had hit the nail on the head.

‘I cannot say,’ replied the haruspex in a reluctant tone. ‘Yet.’

‘Why not? Because you still feel guilty?’

The acute observation sank deep.

‘Partly,’ Tarquinius admitted. ‘And the time is not right.’

‘Will it ever be?’ Romulus demanded angrily.

‘Soon.’

A braying sound broke in on their conversation, and the pair looked around in surprise. It was some distance away, but only horns could be responsible for that level of noise.

Horns blown by men.

And there was nowhere for them to run.

It would be best to stay hidden. Dragging Tarquinius with him, Romulus crawled to the edge of the depression. Nothing could be seen yet. They waited, an awkward silence between them. Long moments passed, until it was full daylight. Approaching from the south, the din grew louder and louder. Men’s shouts mingled with the clamour from the drums and horns, but it was impossible to make out words.

Over the nearest hill came a pack of hunting dogs in full cry. They were followed by an immensely wide line of figures walking shoulder to shoulder, beating drums and playing all manner of musical instruments as loudly as possible.

‘It’s a hunt,’ guessed Romulus.

Tarquinius’ eyes narrowed.

Of course every animal within earshot immediately headed north or west. There was no escape in the east, where the sea lay. The two friends watched, engrossed. Antelope and giraffe, elephant and zebra stampeded alongside each other, uncaring. Bush pigs squealed in terror, raising their tails as they ran. A herd of buffalo thundered along, shaking the ground. Even predators such as lions and jackals were affected by the fear and fled for their lives. Romulus saw a solitary, terrified leopard leave the safety of its tree to join the throng.

A group of zebra to the north was already lifting their heads at the noise. Seeing the approaching men, they twitched their tails and moved away. Instinctively their companions began to do the same. A few moments later, all were on the hoof, galloping away with long graceful strides.

The friends’ curiosity was up. Whether those they had seen were hunters, or
bestiarii
capturing animals for the arena in Rome, it was likely that they had come from the far north. Which was where they wanted to go. The excitement allowed their previous disagreement to subside, but Romulus had not forgotten it. There would be another time to talk, and he would not let the haruspex avoid answering his question then.

A sea change had just taken place in their relationship.

Tarquinius peered into the distance. ‘They’ll be heading for a narrow ravine.’

‘We can follow the beaters once they’ve passed,’ said Romulus. ‘Should be easy enough.’

‘If we’re careful,’ warned Tarquinius.

‘Of course,’ Romulus growled, irritated.

They squatted down on their haunches and waited. Romulus judged that the dogs and hunters would come within two hundred paces of their position, but no nearer. Fortunately the contour of the land angled away from them, towards the north. This meant that the wild beasts passed well clear of them, and in turn their pursuers did too. The pair remained hidden as the baying of hounds came closer and then died away. It was followed by the racket being made by the men, which also eventually faded into the distance. When there had been silence for a while, they stood up slowly. To the north, a large haze of dust was visible, driven up by the mass of fleeing animals.

The passage of hundreds of hooves left an unmistakable trail; Romulus and Tarquinius followed it for a good mile. The plain gradually narrowed as its sides rose to form low hills. On the tops of these slopes, primitive wooden fences had been built to stop any animals escaping.

‘Very clever!’ said Tarquinius, pointing. ‘Whoever is in charge has organised this hunt well.’

Romulus understood. Although he had never seen a beast hunt, he had lived for tales of them as a child. ‘It leaves more men to be used as beaters and hunters.’

‘Or spearmen.’

‘At the bottleneck?’

Tarquinius nodded.

Carefully they made their way down the valley, seeing an occasional injured antelope or zebra lying stricken on the ground. Panicked by the noise and the other animals, some beasts had fallen and been trampled. They would be easy prey later, thought Romulus hungrily. Food for the pot.

Neither had any real idea of whom or what they would find at the neck of the trap. The sight that greeted them moments later was most impressive. They reached a point where the ravine narrowed as it dropped down to a flat surface some hundred paces below. Instead of hunters’ hides, the pair saw long nets strung in a line from one side of the valley floor to the other. Some distance in front of the thick mesh were rows of deep pits in the ground. Everywhere they looked, there were figures trapped in netting or the traps, struggling frantically to escape. It was a scene of pure chaos. Lone uncaught animals darted here and there in blind panic, uncertain where to run. Loud neighs and cries mixed with the hunters’ shouts.

Groups of men were running to each successive animal in the nets, freeing them but immediately binding their limbs with ropes. Their task was urgent, and dangerous, and Romulus saw a number get badly injured. Kicked, stamped upon or gored, they dropped to the ground, bleeding and screaming. No one came to their aid, and their comrades were so plentiful that the operation continued without interruption. Directing the proceedings from the centre of the valley floor was a short figure in dark clothes, armed with a long staff.

‘This is no hunt,’ Romulus exclaimed. ‘It must be for the circus in Rome!’

‘A possible way home,’ added the haruspex.

Elated, Romulus’ attention was suddenly drawn by loud brays of anger. Just below them, a huge zebra stallion had been trapped. In the ensuing struggle to free itself, its hindquarters had come free of the net. Now a ring of men surrounded the magnificent beast, trying without success to rope it and bring it to the ground. The enraged zebra kicked and bucked around in circles, swinging its head violently from side to side. In an effort to ensnare one of its back legs, one of the braver hunters stepped in too close. The stallion sensed the man’s presence and whirled around, driving both hind feet into his face. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the figure crumpled to the ground and lay still.

‘Fool,’ said Tarquinius quietly.

Romulus winced. No man could survive a blow like that. Unlike the one I delivered to Caelius that night, he thought bitterly. It wasn’t me. So who else could it have been?

Terrified of suffering the same fate as their companion, none of the hunters would now approach the zebra. At length, it struggled free of the weighted mesh and galloped off through a gap in the traps.

Romulus wanted to cheer. The promise of freedom was a powerful drug.

‘Let’s go down,’ said Tarquinius.

Romulus hesitated, but it made sense to make contact with the
bestiarii
. He didn’t know what reception they might receive, but any risk was outweighed by the possibility of joining their party. That would greatly increase the two friends’ chance of reaching Alexandria. There were few travellers in this empty land, and journeying on their own would be fraught with danger.

For some time, the men wrestling with the animals did not notice them approaching. They were engrossed in subduing as many as possible, before the beasts smothered in the netting, injured themselves or escaped, as the zebra had just done.

When they were quite near, Tarquinius called out in Latin. ‘Have you need for more men?’

The nearest hunters turned round in surprise. Ill-fed, dressed in rough tunics and for the most part barefoot, they looked like slaves. In unison, their mouths opened in surprise.

‘Where is your master?’

None answered.

Romulus was not surprised by their silence. With light brown skin, black hair and dark eyes, the cowed-looking men looked Egyptian. Slaves to a man.

Even when Tarquinius addressed them in Egyptian, they did not reply.

A bulky, long-haired figure came striding over from a bull buffalo that had just been restrained. He was dressed similarly to the hunters, but the whip and dagger hilt protruding from his wide leather belt told a different story. Noticing Tarquinius and Romulus, the
vilicus
came to an abrupt halt.

‘Where the hell have you come from?’ he demanded suspiciously in Egyptian.

‘From there,’ said Tarquinius, waving vaguely to the south.

A little wrong-footed by the blond newcomer’s confidence, the
vilicus
scowled. ‘Your names?’

‘They call me Tarquinius. And this is Romulus, my friend,’ replied the haruspex quietly. ‘We were hoping for some work.’

‘This isn’t the marketplace in Alexandria. Or Jerusalem,’ the
vilicus
sneered. ‘We don’t need any more labour.’

Romulus could not understand what was being said, but the
vilicus
’ aggressive manner did not need translating. This fool is both stupid and bad-tempered, he thought. Yet they could not afford to antagonise him. There weren’t many other options available. He kept his face impassive, while Tarquinius simply folded his arms. And waited.