In the Shadow of Heroes Read online

  XIV

  The weather held for the first five days. They survived in the gloom, eating olives and grains and drinking nothing but wine, which left them light-headed and somehow thirstier than if they hadn’t drunk anything at all. They called into two more ports along the way. When night fell and everyone had gone ashore, they would both creep up to the deck to eat and drink from the crew’s supplies.

  While they sailed, Tog was even more taciturn than usual. Cadmus could see her grinding her teeth from the way her cheeks twitched. Her mouse still scurried along her shoulders, and up and down her arms, but she’d stopped speaking even to him. Cadmus did his best to look after her, wrapping her in the Golden Fleece and exploring the treasure trove of the ship’s hold for food and drink and clean clothes.

  It looked like this particular merchant bought and sold anything he could get his hands on. A particularly good find, tucked into the stern of the ship, was several boxes of woven goods, including tunics and togas of impressive quality. While Tog had the fleece, he stole a gleaming white toga virilis to use as a blanket, and finally got himself a new pair of sandals.

  On the sixth day the heavens opened. For what seemed like an eternity the ship was battered by high winds and higher waves, pitching and yawing, the skies roaring down at them and the sailors roaring back. What little food they ate that day they couldn’t keep down. The smell in their little corner of the ship became intolerable. They clung to each other in the dark and where his cheek met hers, Cadmus could feel the warm ridges of her scars.

  The last three days were clear, and then the ship stopped for longer than usual. Cadmus could hear crowds outside but thought he might have just been delirious from hunger and thirst. Finally the sailors came tramping down into the hold and began unpacking the merchant’s goods.

  ‘Cor, stinks down here!’ shouted one.

  ‘What is that? We’re not carrying livestock, are we?’ said another, spitting.

  The rest swore and cursed in their colourful Roman dialect.

  Escaping the ship was not going to be easy. He watched the sailors working in groups of three or four, got a feel for the rhythms of their comings and goings, but there was never a big enough window for them to slip off the ship unseen.

  He clutched at the edge of his stolen toga anxiously. What had been the pristine attire of a Roman citizen was now damp and faintly brown, bunched between his knuckles. Then it struck him: maybe he was thinking about this all wrong. Maybe he didn’t need to escape unseen. In fact – and he was fully aware that this might have been his delirium speaking – he wanted to be seen.

  ‘We need to leave the ship,’ he whispered to Tog, ‘or they’re going to find us.’

  She nodded. ‘We take a bag of grain each again?’

  Cadmus sucked his lip nervously. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’

  He handed the bag with the fleece inside to Tog. Then, before he’d really thought the plan through, he stepped out from behind the amphorae, wrapped in the dirty toga, in full view of the sailors. If talking was all he could do, he thought, then he would talk their way out of this.

  ‘Who the—’

  One of them tapped his shipmate on the shoulder, and they both stared at the stowaway. Cadmus pulled himself up to his full height, five and a bit feet of skin and bones, and walked as steadily as he could towards them.

  ‘I need to see the pro-praetor,’ he said, in the best Latin he could muster. His voice hoarse and phlegmy.

  The sailors turned to each other.

  ‘What’s he talking about? Who the hell is he? And who’s the girl?’

  Cadmus could feel Tog’s anxiety radiating from behind him. She wouldn’t understand anything he was saying. He took a deep breath and half-closed his left eye, in case its strange appearance undermined his character.

  ‘Listen to me, plebs. I am Quintus Domitius Tullus, son of Gaius, senator and – ’ yes, why not, they wouldn’t know any better – ‘consul of Rome, and I demand to see the governor.’

  ‘What are you doing here? Where’s your own ship, if you’re so high and mighty?’

  ‘I don’t think you’re listening to me.’ Cadmus stepped forward. His nose came up to the man’s chest. ‘My father is very important.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘What’s going on down there, sluggards?’ The merchant appeared above them and hefted himself down into the hold one step at a time. ‘I’m not paying you to— Who is this?’

  Cadmus repeated himself. Gods, he was tired. Every word felt like it was being dredged up from the seabed.

  ‘I am Quintus Domitius Tullus, citizen.’ He shook a fistful of his toga as if to prove it. ‘I was taken prisoner by pirates in Sicily – I only escaped their clutches thanks to my faithful slave here. We jumped overboard and joined your ship at Segesta.’

  The merchant looked at the sailors. All three were baffled.

  ‘I don’t understand—’

  ‘I don’t care if you understand or not. Are you going to help me, or aren’t you?’

  ‘How did you get aboard without us knowing?’

  ‘Listen. My father is a consul and could very easily revoke your licence to use these trade routes, my good man.’ Cadmus thought of all the obnoxious aristocratic teenagers he’d overheard when he was in Rome, tried to remember their turns of phrase. ‘On the other hand, I’m sure he would also reward anyone who aided in my rescue.’

  The merchant’s tiny eyes sparkled in the darkness. ‘Reward?’

  ‘Very handsomely, no doubt. Now let me off this stinking boat of yours, so I can see the pro-praetor and send a message to Rome.’

  For a moment, the merchant was frozen; then he gave a sudden, bulging nod, and extended an arm to show ‘Quintus’ and Tog the way out of the hold.

  When Cadmus reached the top of the steps, his feet and heart stopped on the same beat. Beyond the warehouses of the harbour he saw it, distant but unmistakeable: the vast painted columns of the Parthenon, overlooking the city from the top of the Acropolis. He was looking at Athens.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ asked the merchant.

  Cadmus blinked. ‘Only the delay,’ he said. ‘I trust you can find me adequate transportation from Piraeus to Athens?’

  ‘Of course, I—’

  ‘Good. A litter?’

  The merchant winced. ‘I can’t be sure if—’

  ‘I would also appreciate a loan of a few denarii. I can hardly be expected to meet the praetor looking like this, can I?’ He gestured to his dirty toga.

  ‘No. Of course.’ The man eyed him for a moment, and Cadmus’s skin briefly prickled. Maybe he’d gone too far. Maybe the merchant had seen through him. His Roman accent was pretty good, but it wasn’t perfect. And the story he’d concocted – well, it didn’t make any sense. Everything was riding on his bravado.

  ‘Ten should do it.’

  Without reply, the merchant handed him a pouch of coins from his belt.

  ‘Blessings upon you,’ said Cadmus. ‘My father will repay this many thousands of times over.’

  ‘But how will you find me? You don’t even—’

  ‘Do not worry yourself,’ said Cadmus. ‘A man of your impressive stature is very difficult to miss.’

  The man looked down at his paunch, unsure whether he was being paid a compliment or not. Cadmus shook his hand and marched off down the gangplank as quickly as he could, his toga billowing impressively. Tog was so quiet he’d almost forgotten she was there.

  XV

  They made their way along the waterfront, which was crowded with sailors and slaves and seagulls picking at the remains of the day’s catch. The air was humid and briny, the buildings salt-caked, as though it were low tide and the harbour had just emerged from the water. As soon as they were out of sight of the fat merchant they stopped at a fountain where a group of mule drivers were lazing on their wagons, waiting to take passengers into Athens.

  Cadmus turned to Tog and grinned. She was not smiling. The exhil
aration of his performance on the boat evaporated all at once.

  ‘This isn’t Gaul,’ she said. ‘It’s Athens.’

  ‘Well, it’s Piraeus, actually. The port of Athens.’

  He shrank under the look she gave him.

  ‘No, you’re right, it’s not Gaul,’ he said. ‘I suppose the captain must have changed his mind.’

  ‘You knew all along, didn’t you? It was never going to Britannia.’

  ‘I thought it was.’

  ‘You think I’m stupid.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘You think you can use your words to fool me,’ she said. ‘But I see you. I can see you’re lying.’

  Cadmus’s shame returned in a hot flush. He was silent for a moment.

  ‘You never would have made it to Britannia,’ he said at last. ‘It’s much safer if we stick together.’

  ‘For you, maybe. I’m right back where I started. Do you realize how lucky I was to escape from here in the first place?’

  ‘I know,’ he said, and hung his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He suddenly noticed that the mule drivers were all watching him. Some were laughing. He had forgotten he was meant to be a Roman citizen, and here he was, in his toga, being chastized by his own slave. He looked around nervously, feeling a fraud in more ways than one.

  ‘Sorry won’t get me home, Cadmus.’ There was no anger in her voice. It was as deep as steady as ever. If anything that made her seem even more pitiable, and made Cadmus feel even worse. The heat of guilt spread slowly across his chest.

  ‘Tullus can help both of us. I promise. I know this seems counter-intuitive—’

  Tog’s nostril twitched, a tic he had noticed whenever he used words she didn’t understand.

  ‘I know this seems like the wrong thing to do,’ he corrected himself. ‘But trust me. Maybe my master has friends here who can look after us. Or he can lend us some money. Or he’ll know someone heading north. Or something.’

  Tog looked unconvinced. He cleared his throat and tried to feign a confident tone.

  ‘First thing’s first, though,’ he said. ‘We need to get into the city.’

  Cadmus felt small and a little stupid now in his huge, dirty toga. The mule drivers were still chuckling and elbowing each other in the ribs. He summoned the character of Quintus Domitius Tullus again, walked straight over to them, plucked a denarius out of the purse he had been given, and held it in his palm. There were several pairs of raised eyebrows. It was more than a day’s wage. That shut them up.

  ‘I need passage for two to Athens,’ he said. ‘And I want some information.’

  There was a general clamour. One of the drivers leapt down from his carriage before the others. He was a stocky man, not much taller than Cadmus, whose whole body was carpeted in a wiry black hair. Cadmus closed his fingers.

  ‘What kind of information?’ the man said.

  ‘About some people who landed here. Important people. In the last few days.’

  ‘I see everyone that comes through here. I reckon I can help.’

  Cadmus handed him the silver denarius. ‘We’ll talk on the way,’ he said. ‘And if you can tell me what I need to know I’ll double it.’

  The man whistled to himself, and then got up into his wagon. Cadmus sat next to him, while Tog climbed into the back. The wood of the seat was baking hot. The driver made a clicking noise and the mule woke from its snooze, flapping its ears. Then he plied the reins and they made their way out of the harbour.

  They only had a few miles to travel once they were on the open road. Cadmus watched the city grow ahead of him, his heart swelling. It was exactly as he’d imagined it.

  Athens had a radiance all of its own. Here, the air felt cleaner, the light clearer. Rome was a grubby imitation, draped haphazardly over seven hills and slumped into the valleys between. Athens, on the other hand, congregated around just one hill, which put all of Rome’s to shame: the Acropolis, an imposing, precipitous crag topped with the enormous Parthenon, the temple of Athena Nike, and the great statue of Athena Promachos, standing sentinel over her people with her spear in hand.

  The feeling of homecoming was bittersweet, though. The more joy he felt, the more shame he felt for depriving Tog of that very same feeling. He tried to reassure himself, loudly, in his head, that he had made the right decision; that Tog wouldn’t have been able to get to Britannia on her own; that Tullus would be able to help Tog get to her destination. But Tog didn’t need anyone’s help. Cadmus needed hers.

  ‘Who are these important people, then?’ said the driver when they were halfway there. ‘Romans, like you?’

  Cadmus suppressed a smile. If he’d known it was this easy to disguise himself as a freeborn citizen he would have done it years ago.

  ‘A warship should have arrived in Piraeus a few days ago,’ he said. ‘It was carrying an elderly Roman senator, and several guards. Probably slaves as well. The guards you couldn’t have missed. Very tall. Coloured, enamelled armour.’

  The driver was already nodding. ‘I seen ’em. Masks? All painted, like?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Thought they were heading for the theatre, to be honest with you. There was a priest with ’em too. Cripple.’

  Cadmus swallowed hard. The soothsayer, Polydamas. He didn’t relish the prospect of running into him again. Worse than that: knowing that the ancient creature was lurking somewhere in Athens made it feel like he was already being watched.

  ‘They went to the governor’s residence,’ the driver said. He chuckled. ‘I’ll tell you something for free, young man: you ain’t getting in there looking like that. Or smelling like that either.’

  By rights, Quintus Domitius Tullus should have slapped the man for his insolence, but Cadmus was too lost in his thoughts. And, by the gods, it was tiring being so arrogant all the time. He didn’t know how most aristocratic Romans managed it.

  When they pulled up outside the Piraean Gate, Cadmus paid the driver and left him tending to his mule beside one of the huge stone water troughs. Tog disembarked behind him and the cart sprang up into the air. She stood in the hot sun, watching the crowds like a cornered but defiant animal.

  ‘They’re here,’ said Cadmus. ‘And their priest is with them.’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘They’re staying at the pro-praetor’s residence. That’s going to be almost as difficult to get into as Nero’s palace.’

  ‘I see,’ she said, and continued her slow survey of the city, as though she was looking for something or someone specific. She obviously hadn’t forgiven Cadmus, and the feeling was like a fist clenched around his heart.

  ‘I mean,’ he said, trying to sound upbeat, ‘I can fool a mule driver, but it’ll take more than an old toga to fit in among the friends of a Roman magistrate.’

  Nothing from Tog this time.

  ‘I say we go to the baths first. If I clean myself up a bit I might stand a better chance of mingling with the governor’s friends. They’ll sell food and drink there too.’

  She shrugged, which Cadmus took to mean agreement.

  They took a series of cool alleyways that led to the Agora, in the centre of the city. They passed rows of artisans, their chisels clinking on marble, boys carrying boxes of scrolls, old, bearded men talking in earnest tones that reminded Cadmus of his master. Only the occasional pair of Roman legionaries reminded him that the city was not entirely free.

  By the time they reached the baths, in the southwest corner of the Agora, the silence between them was leaden.

  ‘We won’t be able to go in together,’ Cadmus said at last. ‘Men and women have different baths, and one of us will need to look after the fleece.’ He paused and pointed at her collar. ‘And I’m not sure how they’ll feel about that.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It would probably make sense if I go first and see if anyone is going to cause a fuss. You can pretend to be my slave and watch over my clothes.’


  ‘You want me to be your slave?’

  ‘Just pretend!’ he said quickly. This was the last thing he wanted, given how guilty he already felt. ‘Then you can go in after me.’

  Tog thought for a moment, and Cadmus saw a few expressions drift across her face like ripples on a pond.

  ‘I can do that,’ she said, with a curious stiffness.

  He nodded and tried to smile.

  Cadmus went up the steps and through the pillared facade of the bathhouse. He left Tog in the changing room with their possessions. The old men muttered their disapproval, the young men whistled sarcastically. He apologized again for abandoning her, but she seemed not to mind any of it.

  The baths were a vast complex of chambers, the vapours so thick they concealed Cadmus’s hand in front of his face. It felt like he was navigating the Underworld. Occasionally a figure would emerge from the clouds of steam, or a lonely shout would reverberate among the pillars. Sometimes he would catch a fleeting glimpse of one of the baths’ brightly coloured mosaics and frescoes, only for it to disappear again in the mist.

  He spent a few moments in the warmth of the tepidarium then moved on to the hotter pool of the caldarium. The water had the greyish tinge of thin soup. He sat here, thinking and thinking until he could feel his blood boiling between his ears.

  When he was about to leave for the cold pool, he heard someone climbing clumsily into the far end of the bath. Then he heard a familiar sigh.

  Cadmus felt his way around the edge until he saw an old man’s head, pink and glistening in the vapours.

  ‘Master?’ he whispered.

  There was a tiny squawk of surprise. It was Tullus. His master turned and looked at him, eyes bulging. ‘Cadmus? What in Jupiter’s name are you doing here?’

  Cadmus grinned. ‘I came to find you, Master.’

  His master didn’t return the smile.

  ‘I told you to stay in Rome, boy. I expressly forbade you to come here. It is too dangerous. Especially since your stupidity in the palace.’

  It was bad enough that Tog was angry at him. This didn’t make Cadmus feel any better about himself.

  ‘That wasn’t my fault!’ he protested. ‘She was the one who stole the fleece! And if you’d bought me better quality sandals, Nero would never have said a thing.’