Anno Mortis Page 10

  "It's Egypt," Vali said, which wasn't much of a surprise. "Alexandria."

  "And what will happen to us when we arrive?"

  Vali shrugged, leaning into the space beside him, arm to arm. His flesh where it touched Narcissus was surprisingly hot, as if he'd already basked in the sun for hours. In daylight, his face looked even paler, a fine dusting of freckles visible over his high cheekbones and sharp nose.

  "Will I be able to... go wherever it was I went if I need to?" Narcissus asked him. "Can I hide there if they torture me again?"

  Vali continued to look out, frowning slightly against the glare. "You're assuming their leader will try the same technique. I would guess that, violent persuasion having failed, they will try something else."

  "What sort of thing."

  Vali's mouth turned down. "You've seen what those sailors are. They're not of this world. And their mistress... Who's to say what she might be capable of?"

  Narcissus felt an icy chill, even in the baking midday air. "Then what do you suggest?" He didn't know when the other man had become their leader. Probably right from the moment they'd met. A lifetime as the pampered house slave of a Roman patrician hadn't prepared Narcissus for command in a crisis.

  "I think," Vali said, "that it would be best if we didn't arrive in Alexandria in the company of our captors."

  Narcissus looked out at the mile of sea between the ship and the shore. He thought he understood what Vali was suggesting, but the idea was impossible. "I can't swim."

  Vali's red-brown eyes remained hooded as he slung a friendly arm around Narcissus's shoulders. "I expected as much. Fortunately, I can. Tell me - do you trust me?"

  "No." Narcissus said. "Not entirely."

  Vali smiled. "That's very wise."

  It took a second for Narcissus to realise that the arm on his shoulder was no longer loose. It was pushing him, and somehow Vali's leg was tangled with his own, tripping him as he tried to regain his balance.

  He fell forward, into space and sunlight. A second later, the sea rushed up to grab him. There was a moment when his head was still above the surface and it seemed that he might float. Then a wave curled over him and he was lost beneath the water.

  It took Petronius an agonising three hours to track the man down. Boda had said a slave working in the bathhouse warned her against exploring the hidden chamber, but there must be a hundred slaves employed to clean and pamper the citizens who washed there, and he could hardly go around asking each of them what they knew about the Cult of Isis. He bathed instead, spending just long enough in each pool to study the slaves who serviced it.

  In the end, he recognised the man. His beard was short and square in the Syrian style, but it was his eyes that gave him away, sliding shiftily away when Petronius glanced at him.

  Petronius followed him outside the next time he took some towels out to dry, then pinned him against the wall by his shoulders. The man didn't fight back. A citizen could treat a slave as he wished.

  "You know about the Cult," Petronius said.

  The man opened his mouth in what was obviously going to be a denial. Petronius cut him off. "I know you do - you said something to my friend about them."

  "Your friend?" The man relaxed a little.

  Petronius hesitated, then released him. "Yes. You told her it was dangerous for slaves to get involved, and you were right."

  The man nodded. "Been taken, has she, your woman?"

  "And not to their meeting place here - I've already checked."

  There was a painfully long silence as the man considered. Petronius didn't try to force him. The slave had cared enough to risk exposure when he warned Boda before. Petronius had to hope that the man would risk it again.

  Finally the Syrian licked his lips, looked right and left, then said in a low whisper: "Here is where they meet. They hold their ceremonies elsewhere."

  Petronius felt a rush of hope. "And is that where they're keeping her?"

  He shook his head. "I don't know. But every month they gather there, in the catacombs outside the city. Every month on this day."

  Once when he was three and his mother still took care of him, Narcissus had fallen in a river. He remembered the terror he'd felt then and he felt it again now. It was a panic so unreasoning that he could do nothing to save himself, just flail helplessly. He screamed and his open mouth let the salt water flood in. He gasped in fear and it was in his lungs, and a blackness began to press against the edges of his mind.

  There was sound, something beyond the murmuring of the waves, but though he knew it was speech, he couldn't resolve it into words. Something was holding him and he kicked out against that too, but it kept its grip and then his head was above water and he was choking up a froth of seawater and vomit. It trickled noisomely down his chin and the sharp smell of the bile stung his nose and cleared his head.

  "For the love of the gods, stop wriggling about!" Vali shouted.

  His voice was right by Narcissus's ear, and after a moment longer of futile struggle, Narcissus realised that it was Vali who was holding him up. It was Vali's arm around his neck. Vali's grip loosened as Narcissus's legs kicked out in a spasm of panic that seemed outside the control of his conscious mind.

  "Calm down!" Vali said. "Just relax."

  With a supreme effort, he forced himself to stop struggling, tensing every muscle until it submitted.

  Now that he wasn't moving, he felt the whisper of air over his ear as Vali sighed. "Go limp - as if you're unconscious. I can't swim with you otherwise."

  That was even harder, but as the minutes passed and the water didn't rise to cover his head, he slowly let the tension drift out of him. His legs floated behind him, and his head lay back, pillowed on the water and Vali's chest.

  It was a long way. Narcissus was astonished that the other man had the strength. He had nothing to look at but the perfect blue sky above, blurred now and then as one of the larger waves washed over them. The water stung his eyes and in the barely-healed cuts on his face and chest, but this was almost comfortable. There was something easy for him in giving total control of himself to another. It was what he'd been trained to do all his life.

  After an uncounted space of time, he felt the drag of sand beneath his feet.

  "We're there," Vali said breathlessly, and released him.

  He floundered a moment, panic returning full force, but when he found his feet the water only came to his chest. They were some distance from the docks, on the outer edge of a city that rivalled Rome for size, but was full of angles and colours that marked it as the product of another land and culture. On an island near its entrance stood a huge tower, a light as bright as the sun blinking at its peak. It must be the famous Pharos of Alexandria, a warning to shipping that approached the east's greatest port.

  When Narcissus reached the shore above the waterline he fell to his knees. Though he'd been doing none of the work on their swim he was wrung-out with exhaustion. He could only imagine how Vali must be feeling.

  The other man remained standing, though he leaned over with hands on knees, gasping to regain his breath. As soon as he had, he reached down to draw Narcissus to his feet. "We can't stay here," he said. "I think the sailors saw us leave the ship. They'll be looking for us."

  And as if Vali's words had summoned them, Narcissus heard the shouts of their pursuers, and the scrape of swords drawn from scabbards. They were very close.

  Vali released his arm and ran, away from the sea and the shore. Narcissus staggered after, trusting the other man to find his way, though he looked no more Egyptian than Narcissus was.

  Their pursuers spotted them almost straight away. They let out an ululating cry - high and unearthly - and followed on their heels.

  Petronius had only been to the catacombs once before, to witness the internment of his father's father. Then he'd been in the company of a crowd of mourners, brightly dressed and loud, if not exactly cheerful. Now he was all alone, and he hesitated at the entrance to the tombs and wonde
red if he really had the courage to go in.

  He'd brought a torch, a spare in the bag slung over his arm. He lit it now, its flame a translucent wavering in the air. The sun wasn't yet close enough to the horizon for its rays to turn the red-orange of a dying day.

  Petronius drew a breath, then walked forward into the dark mouth of the cave. He kept his eyes on the flame, which seemed to brighten and brighten as the light around it faded. Finally he was in darkness with only the yellow flicker of the torch to show him where he trod.

  For the first hundred paces he saw nothing around him but earth and rock walls, gradually narrowing as he descended. Side tunnels snaked off at irregular intervals, but he ignored them. The whole vast place was a maze with no map. If he stuck to the straightest route, he stood the least chance of getting lost.

  He wished that, like Perseus in the Labyrinth, he'd thought to bring a thread to mark his path. Too late now - the catacombs lay outside the walls of Rome. If he went back he'd never find Boda before the moon rose.

  Deeper down, beyond the reach of any daylight, he saw the first urns, tucked into alcoves low in the walls. The fashion had been - still was, in the more traditional families - to burn the dead before they were buried. He thought of all the generations of Rome, reduced to the same black ash.

  The bodies were worse. He came to them deeper inside. The freshest were first, stinking of rotting flesh. The light of his torch shone briefly into one of the shallowest crevices and he saw the corpse of a little girl inside, so recent that he could still make out the structure of her face, though the flesh was beginning to green and hang away from it. She'd been a pretty little thing.

  After that he kept his eyes on the path. He was looking for other footprints, the hint that a large group of people had passed here recently. It was futile. Too many funerary parties had come this way, obscuring the marks left by anyone engaged in less respectable activities.

  The tunnel was barely head-height this deep in, and soon there was no obvious main path to take. He stood for a moment, looking at the three-way fork that faced him, then decided to take the right-hand turning. If he did the same at every junction, he should be able to reverse his steps without getting lost.

  The bodies were fewer here, and older. He'd heard that the catacombs had been in use since the founding of the Republic. These bones were brown with age and it was hard to imagine that they'd ever walked and talked and fucked. It was damp here, too. Rank moisture dripped onto his bare neck and when he brushed it off it left a green streak on his hand.

  Then he came to a turning that led to a tunnel which narrowed and narrowed. At first he stooped and then he crawled forward on his hands and knees until finally he realised that he could go no further. For a moment of clenching fear he thought he was stuck tight. But he wriggled and drove himself backwards with his hands, and eventually he made his way back to the original turning.

  He took the middle turning this time, but soon he found another blocked path and then another. By the fourth time he'd reversed himself and headed down a different path he realised that he had no idea which way would lead him back out.

  There were no dead ends in Alexandria, no gently curving roads and nowhere to hide. The entire city seemed to be laid out on a perfect grid, parallel streets meeting at right-angled crossroads. And there was nowhere to escape to, no refuge outside the city limits. At either side lay water, the sea on one and a great inland lake on the other.

  Narcissus and Vali were fleeing down the broadest avenue, a hundred paces wide and lined with marble palaces that would have put most Roman villas to shame. Only the crowds shielded them from their pursuers. Filling every street, they moved at the sluggish pace of those who'd rather not be out in the midday sun. No amount of shouting induced them to move aside.

  Narcissus dodged between black-robed old matrons and naked street children and heard cursing behind them as their pursuers tried a more direct route through. The salt water soaking his clothes and hair never dried, just slowly gave way to a sheen of sweat in the unbearable heat.

  At the next crossroads he snatched a quick look back and saw that the men chasing after them weren't the jackal-headed sailors from the boat. No doubt they'd have been too conspicuous, even here. Alexandria held the same mix of peoples as Rome herself, only the shades of their skin a little darker. But all of them were human.

  The shouting behind continued and now the strangers on the street began to notice. The city was full of Greeks like Narcissus, but Vali's pale skin and flaming red hair stood out like a beacon. The men behind them wore the clothing of local guards and spoke the Egyptian tongue. It was clear whose side the crowd would take and hands began to reach out for Narcissus, snatching at his tunic as feet sought to trip and stop him.

  He fell to his knees and cried out in pain as the impact jarred every bruise on his body. Ten paces ahead, Vali heard the sound and turned. He ran back, dragged Narcissus to his feet and pulled him on. Another hand reached out to grab them, dirty nails on the end of blunt brown fingers. Narcissus kneed its owner between his legs and the arm dropped away.

  Their pursuers were only a few paces behind them now. But the mood of the crowd was starting to turn ugly. People pushed aside fell into others, and those others turned and shouted and shoved back. It was close to a riot and thankfully it was happening behind them - slowing their pursuers and not them.

  A few more paces and they found themselves in a market. Stalls stood everywhere, piled high with produce from all of Africa. Narcissus dodged the first and brushed against the second. A hail of apples tumbled into the street, bouncing between his feet.

  The next stall they came to, Vali deliberately kicked. One supporting leg came away, and a cascade of oranges joined the green apples. Seconds later they were trodden underfoot, releasing a strong smell of citrus and cider into the air. The stall keeper shouted and swore but was more worried about rescuing his wares than chasing after the culprits.

  Vali kicked over the next stall and the next, while Narcissus did the same to his left, sending dates and peaches to join the other fruit on the pavement. A display of small red and black pots smashed to pieces in their midst.

  Now a full riot was in progress. Narcissus could see Egyptian soldiers rushing to quell it, but he and Vali were clear now, and there was no one close to point to them as the cause of it all.

  The crowds thickened as the broad avenue opened out into an even wider space where it met a road of the same massive breadth. A huge structure stood in its centre, caked with gold. The sun glittered from every angle of its intricate carvings, reflecting distantly on the great buildings that ringed the square.

  Vali stopped abruptly in front of Narcissus, and when he tried to run on the other man laid a hand on his shoulder to pull him back. "They've lost us," he said. "Try not to draw any attention."

  Vali himself ambled easily on, looking around as if casually shopping for food. Narcissus tried to do the same, though he imagined his performance was rather less convincing. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear the pulse in his ears, and the lingering terror of his torture aboard the ship tensed his muscles whenever he thought of it.

  Vali kept an arm slung over his shoulder companionably as he guided them both to the centre of the vast crossroads and the gold-inlaid building that stood there.

  "The Sema, the tomb of Alexander," Vali said. "We'll be safe if we hide in there."

  "Really?" It seemed to Narcissus like the most obvious landmark and therefore the first place they might look.

  "It's sacred to them," Vali explained. "No Egyptian will enter a resting place of the dead. Only your Roman rulers come, to gawp at the remains of the greatest general who ever lived."

  A moment later, as they entered the cool of the building, Narcissus could see why. The interior was empty and echoing, vaulted spaces leading to a high, thin spire. The tomb stood in its centre and he found himself drawn helplessly towards it. The whole thing was made of crystal, its facets sparking bac
k a thousand glints of light until Narcissus had to shade his eyes as he looked at it.

  "A hero of your people, I believe," Vali said.

  Alexander was there, entombed in the shining centre of the crystal. His body had been preserved in the Egyptian way and someone must have painted colour on his lips and cheeks. His eyes were shut, but it seemed possible that they might open at any moment.

  Beside the fallen hero, Narcissus caught his own dim reflection in the crystal. His face was too thin and too serious, but then it always had been.

  "Good," Vali said. "We'll leave it for a few minutes, then head back out and try to track down our sailors and their friends. It shouldn't be too difficult with the ruckus we've caused out there."

  Narcissus stared at him. "Track them down? But we've only just escaped!"

  "Exactly," Vali said. "So now the pursued can become the pursuers." He tilted his head to the side, studying Narcissus quizzically. "This was the whole point of coming to Alexandria, you know. We have to find out what they're up to."

  The cage was too small to either stand or sit. After three days inside it, every joint in Boda's body was a screaming agony, and she feared she'd never be able to walk again.

  The worst thing, though, was the darkness. It was so absolute that she couldn't see her finger when she held it an inch from her nose.

  She thought that her last visitor had been a day ago, though it was hard to tell time here, with nothing to mark it. A group of cultists had come to bring her food and water during a brief interval of torchlight. After they'd gone she'd had nothing but sound for company.

  The tombs were alive with it. There was dripping near and far, water seeping through the ceiling to the rock below. And she could hear a perpetual soft sighing that she eventually decided was an echo of the wind in the tunnels far above. The skittering sound of nails against rock must be the rats, hurrying to their latest feast of dead flesh.