The Pillars of Hercules (9 page)

One of the slaves, presumably. They were the only people Lugorix and Matthias had seen since being escorted upstairs from the basement where the boat had been moored. Slaves brought their meals, cleaned the rooms, changed the linen, and even furnished wine: amphorae stoppered with wax seals and marked with the symbol of what Matthias assured Lugorix was a very expensive vineyard. Lugorix figured the plan was to keep him and Matthias drunk and happy. He certainly couldn’t argue with the success of the first objective.

The house they were in was clearly much larger than the wing to which they were confined. Lugorix had gotten glimpses of it when he and Matthias had been led upstairs from the basement—sprawling landings, spacious hallways, doors left tantalizingly open, but no sign of the elusive owner. Theramenes, the man who had overruled the harbormaster, had escorted them to the quarters they now occupied. Lugorix wondered if in fact
he
was the house’s master, but there had been something in the man’s bearing that suggested that he was simply what he claimed to be: just a servant. They hadn’t seen him since.

Nor had they seen Barsine or Damitra. This seemed to frustrate Matthias above all else, which for Lugorix was clear evidence of a fundamental lack of perspective. Because whatever game Barsine was playing had everything to do with Macedonia and nothing whatsoever to do with Matthias. In the midst of quaffing the contents of a particularly tasty amphora, Lugorix had tried to explain this to Matthias, only to be rudely told he didn’t need to be reminded. Tensions between the two men got worse from there. They’d saved each other’s lives in the field many times, but confined together in close quarters they were starting to feel like caged animals, able to do nothing but turn on each other.

The view from the window was making matters worse. They were three floors up, looking out over the thicket of trees and vines and ponds that constituted the house’s back-garden. Beyond that were more canals and more palatial homes, draped with ivy and vines—and moonlight, now that it was night. The effect was nothing short of haunting; Matthias said it was like the hanging gardens of Babylon, though Lugorix had no idea what that was supposed to mean. They weren’t in Babylon, they were in Athens. And he was fed up with it.

“We really need to get out of this dump,” he said.

“You said that already,” replied Matthias, putting aside yet another empty amphora. He was pretty drunk. “But we’re not going to start slaughtering the slaves when they come through the door—”

“We use the bed-linen to make ropes,” said Lugorix. “Get down into that garden, find another way into this house. Find out what the hell’s going on.”

“Best way to do that is to wait here.”

“Wait for Barsine to tell you what you should do next?”

“Shut the hell up.”

“Place may be gilded, but it’s still a cage.”

“It’s been a nice rest since all the shit we’ve gone through.”

“How’s it feel to be a woman’s lap-dog?”

“Fuck off.”

Lugorix laughed. “Don’t like being a kept man?”

“I’ll throw you out that window if you keep talking like that.”

“What about if we both go out together?”

Matthias was easy enough to wind up. Especially when he was in his cups. In no time at all, he and Lugorix had stripped the beds of all the sheets and created a serviceable rope. They dangled it down to the ground and got ready to climb out.

“Do we take our weapons?” said Matthias.

“What kind of question is that?” asked Lugorix as he picked up Skullseeker and strapped it onto his back. Matthias did the same with his bow; two minutes later, they were both standing on the patio, looking up at the window three stories above and a fourth story beyond that.

Lugorix stretched his arms langorously. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Keep quiet,” hissed Matthias. He swayed unevenly, and then steadied himself against the wall of the house. “Let’s check this place out.”

They began to circle the house cautiously, treading carefully through the undergrowth nestled alongside the walls. They found several doors; all were locked, and looked even more imposing then the one that led from their quarters. All the windows were barred. There was no sign of movement in any of them. Lugorix was thinking of trying his hand at some lock-picking when—

“Over there,” whispered Matthias, pointing. Lugorix followed the direction of his gaze to see a door in the garden wall. They skulked over to it. Lugorix threw back the bars, opened the door and led the way onto the street.

Except it was more of a path—or rather, a towpath along one of the canals that bordered the house. They made their way along it, past the walls of more houses belonging to the Athenian wealthy. The occasional houseboat stood in the canal, festooned with banners. At intervals they passed statues of the god Hermes, each one with an appropriately-oversized phallus.

“These people really let it all hang out,” muttered Lugorix.

“It’s for luck,” replied Matthias. “Every household has one.”

“If I had one of those, I wouldn’t need luck.”

“Well, there was a big scandal involving them once.”

“So what?”

“So I’m trying to educate you,” said Matthias as he led the way across a bridge that sloped over one of the canals. “The expedition to Sicily was about to depart, led by the man himself, Alcibiades, when—”

“This is ancient history,” complained Lugorix.

“A century back. This is how the whole thing got started, man.”

“What whole thing?”

“The Athenian Empire. The expedition to Sicily that won them the war against Sparta. The night before it was due to depart, all these cocks”—he gestured at one of the Hermes—“all of them got chopped off. Everyone woke up and went
batshit
. It was blamed on Alcibiades, since he had a bit of a rakish reputation in the first place, but he asked why the hell he’d sabotage an expedition on which he was betting his entire future. His enemies wanted him to sail for Sicily anyway and stand trial in abstentia—”

“No one ever gets found innocent when they aren’t at their own trial,” said Lugorix.

“Something Alcibiades was keenly aware of. He managed to have it out with his rivals there and then—and then he produced evidence that his fellow commander Nicias—who hated Alcibiades—was behind it all, that he’d had all the Hermes mutilated in order to frame his enemy. So they put Nicias on the rack and did away with the joint command they’d initially been proposing—they sent the entire expedition under the sole leadership of Alcibiades. Six months later Syracuse surrendered. Six months after that so did all of Sicily. Which doubled Athens’ revenue and gave them access to all the grain they needed and all the mercenaries in Gaul and Italy and Spain they could hire—”

“Like me,” said Lugorix.

“Yeah. Then after Sparta surrendered, Alcibiades led the fleet back west and defeated Carthage. Leaving Athens without any rivals on the sea.”

“Thanks for the history lesson,” said Lugorix.

“It’s not just history,” replied Matthias earnestly. Lugorix made a mental note to never ask Matthias about anything when he was drunk. “It’s about the way the world works.”

“Meaning what?”

Matthias gestured at a Hermes. “Sometimes the fate of an entire nation can turn on the tip of a dick.”

“Is that the line you’re going to use on Barsine?”

But suddenly Matthias was looking around, entirely distracted. “Where
are we?”
he asked.

“How should I know? You’ve been leading the way.”

“Told you I never been to Athens before. I only know the big tourist attractions—”

“Great,
”
said Lugorix. They were still among the canals, but in a much seedier area now. The houses were shabby and small, and the canals had become dank and slimy—the moon glistened off that slime in unattractive ways. Obviously they’d left the upscale district behind.

“We could go back,” said Matthias.

“What’s that up ahead?” said Lugorix. It seemed to be a wider street, lit up in a way that the canals weren’t. He and Matthias found themselves drawn toward it like moths to a flame. That was the problem with being plastered in a strange city—one just kind of turned off one’s brain and went with one’s reflexes. Which now brought them out upon a wide avenue, all the more surreal for being so vacant. Lanterns hung from posts up and down its length, each containing the aggregated light of hundreds of fireflies.

“Streetlamps,” said Matthias.

“Bugs,” said Lugorix.

They could see much more of the city’s skyline now—hills all around them, covered with a tangle of buildings. One stood out in particular—a colossal pillared structure atop one of the highest hills of all, a huge bronze statue of Athena right in front of it. Beside the Pharos, it was the largest building Lugorix had ever seen.

“That’s the Parthenon,” said Matthias. “City’s temple.”

“Let’s go check it out.”

“Are you kidding me? It’ll be crawling with watchmen just waiting for drunk fools like us. But the Pnyx is nearby—I know where that is, that’ll be interesting.”

“The what?” But Matthias was already leading the way down a side-street—and through onto another avenue which brought them to a wooded hill. It was a little incongruous to come across it in the middle of the city, but in Lugorix’s inebriated state, he was content to roll with it. He was hoping to find nymphs in the middle of the woods but instead—

“What is
this?”

“What does it look like,” replied Matthias.

It looked like a theater. The moon shone down on row after row of seats carved down the side of a slope. But the stage at the bottom was comparatively small—not nearly large enough to put on a play, which made Lugorix wonder just what its purpose was.

“This is where the Assembly meets,” said Matthias.

Lugorix looked around. It seemed almost anticlimactic that the entire Mediterranean was ruled from this place. He would have found it more appropriate if that big pillared building—the Parthenon—was where all the action went down; it seemed like the kind of structure that would house a king or emperor or someone really important. But this… he couldn’t imagine anything ever getting decided here. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to community-decision making—it was how his tribe back home had figured things out. But they were only making decisions for themselves—not for a whole world beyond them.

“Hey Gauls!”

Matthias and Lugorix whirled around. Four men were coming toward them. They didn’t look like watchmen. More like—

“Drunk thugs,” muttered Matthias. “Just what we need.”

“Well if it isn’t two Gaulish mercenaries taking in the view,” said the largest of them—even taller than Lugorix.

“Mercenaries aren’t supposed to be in the city,” said another—he had a dirty-looking beard, and eyes that gleamed evilly. “Especially Gaullish ones.”

“I’m not a Gaul,” said Matthias.

“Well, your friend is,” said the man with the dirty beard.

“And you’re both mercenaries,” said the large one. “So what do you think you’re doing here?”

“Not looking for trouble,” said Lugorix.

That made them laugh. “Well, you’ve managed to find it. This city’s a clean city, know what I mean? It’s not supposed to have any dirty trouser-wearing Gauls in it.”

“You certainly hire enough of us,” said Lugorix. He knew he was rising to the bait, but all the booze in him made it hard to resist. Besides, these guys were starting to piss him off.

“Of course we hire you,” said one of them. “You’re useful cannon fodder. Do our bidding for the cash, fight the Macks when we tell you. What else are dirty Gauls good for?”

Lugorix could think of a few things. Like kicking this guy’s ass, for starters….

“You’re
barbarians,
is what you are.” This was the third man, speaking with a pronounced lisp. “Never built a stone building in your life. Probably never seen one either.”

“And
you believe in human sacrifice,” said the large man. “We’ve heard about your druids. About your wickermen. About how you put your prisoners in them and set them on fire and burn them alive.”

Lugorix had heard enough. He unslung Skullseeker—whereupon the four men pulled out their swords.

“You don’t want to do this,” said Matthias. “We’re professionals.”

“And we’re Athenian citizens,” said the man with the beard. “You so much as
touch
us and it’s the death penalty for you both.”

“So let’s all walk away,” said Matthias calmly.

“First you have to get down on your knees and kiss our blades.”

“Screw that,” said Lugorix, raising his axe.

“Enough!” cried a voice—and such was the force of that voice that everybody stopped and turned.

An old man was walking toward them. He sported a long grey beard and—despite his age—a thick head of hair. His eyes gleamed with a strange intensity, and the four Athenians seemed to recognize him.

“Your honor,” said the largest one, “these men are mercenaries. Carrying weapons in the city!”

“They should be punished!” said the one with a lisp.

“And you should be home in bed,” said the newcomer. “Instead of roaming the streets, revelling in how your money’s bought you exemption from military service while you look to pick fights. Ironic, no?”

“We weren’t looking for—”

“You were,” said the man. “And you know damn well the Macedonians are right outside the walls. So if you really want a fight, why don’t you try them?”

That seemed to do it. The men turned to go, looking more than a little sheepish. All except for the one with the dirty beard.

“What about these mercenaries?” he asked.

“They work for me,” said the man. “Now get out of my sight before I call the watch on you. And don’t speak of this to anybody or I’ll put my boot so far up your backside your nose will itch.”

The four men found the threat credible. They left quickly, their footfalls disappearing into the night. The old man turned to Matthias and Lugorix.

“You gentlemen have caused more than enough problems for one evening,” he said. “Shall we return to my house?”