False God of Rome (10 page)

‘It’s too late for that; this man has sold my travelling companions into slavery.’

‘Then to atone he will have to buy them back,’ the younger priest stated.

‘Good, and while you’re about it, Ahmose, you can buy back the man we came to rescue, a Roman by the name of Capella.’

‘I will,’ Ahmose said with a touch of nervousness. ‘You should thank me for bringing you here.’

‘I’ll do no such thing,’ Vespasian snapped, finding himself hating the man almost as much as his now dead enemy, the Thracian chief-priest Rhoteces, ‘you said it was your
duty.’

‘And so it was,’ the older priest confirmed, ‘he would have been cursed by the God if he’d failed to bring one touched by the Bennu before Him.’

‘He will take you back safely, Roman, and reunite you with your friends; he will also return your sword.’

‘Who gave the god that sword?’

‘That was a gift from the great Alexander, he left his sword in thanks for the counsel that he received here.’

Vespasian walked out of the temple wondering how he could ever match such a gift and, even if he could, what question would possibly make him want to make the arduous journey across so much sand
to Siwa again to deliver it. Sand? He recalled the prophecy of Amphiaraos:

Bearing a gift across sand in the lion’s steps; a gift suggested by a brother to match that of Alexander, Alexander, the lion of Macedon. But if he was to be the bearer of that gift he
would be the King of the East; how could that ever be?

Vespasian did not say a word on the journey back to Ahmose’s town; his mind was at first busy with contemplating the prophecy and what he had just heard from the mouth of
the god: tyrants, kings, brothers and gifts to gain the West; where did he fit in to all that and why would a question drive him to return to this place?

After rolling these thoughts around his head and getting nowhere he turned his mind to the rescue of his comrades and Capella and whether the duplicitous priest who walked ahead of him would
keep his word. Ahmose had indeed given him his sword back with fawning apologies to a favoured one of Amun and had promised to purchase Capella’s freedom as well as buying back his men for
what he had been paid for them. Vespasian doubted that the Marmaridae would go for such a deal.

The following afternoon, as they approached Ahmose’s town, a familiar voice shouting cheered Vespasian’s heart.

‘Hold it there, priest, or by Pluto’s dark realm I’ll skewer you and send you down to him.’ Magnus appeared through the palms with Ziri, both with raised spears.

Ahmose’s men drew their swords and turned to face the threat.

‘It’s all right, Magnus,’ Vespasian called back, ‘things have changed; it would seem that I’m blessed by Amun; none of us are in any danger here.’

‘We just watched Corvinus and the lads being sold to the Marmaridae yesterday; I call that fucking dangerous.’

‘And this little shit is going to get them back for us, aren’t you?’ Vespasian glared at Ahmose who nodded unhappily. ‘Good; we’d better get going then.’

‘But first I have to get what’s needed to buy your men back.’

‘You’ll need far more money than they bought them for.’

‘I won’t be buying them with money; it’ll be a straight swap.’

‘Marmaridae, sir, master, there,’ Ziri said pointing through the palms.

‘How many of them are there?’ Vespasian asked Magnus as they peered through the fading light at the Marmaridae’s camp set by a large pool at the southwestern corner of the
oasis.

‘I counted at least a hundred yesterday but there seem to be more now.’

Thirty to forty four-man tents, supported by single, central poles, six feet tall, were clustered in two concentric rings around the pool. Fires were lit and camels were being led down to the
water’s edge to drink. It would have been a peaceful sight had it not been for the closely guarded corral, on the southern edge of the camp, in which at least two hundred men, women and
children sat, miserably bound to posts hammered into the ground.

Vespasian looked back to Ahmose at the head of the thirty or so men he had brought from his town to escort the miserable lives that were to be the currency in this deal. ‘Well, priest, off
you go. We’ll be watching from here.’

‘I won’t be long, this will be straightforward; Amun will watch over me as I’m doing his work.’

‘I do loathe a religious fanatic,’ Magnus commented as the priest led his party towards the Marmaridae’s camp.

Vespasian nodded in agreement. ‘I think that I despise anyone who makes his living by being a professional priest, selling religion to the fearful poor and then enjoying the comfort and
the power that their money buys him. We do it much better at home where priesthoods are rewards for service to Rome and not a means to an easy life.’

‘You’ve got a point there, sir; but in general those who have priesthoods conferred upon them are already rich, although I’ve never known that to be a reason for not wanting
more.’

Vespasian smiled. ‘Quite the opposite, normally.’

‘Indeed,’ Magnus agreed as they watched the Marmaridae gather around Ahmose and his men.

A brief conversation ensued after which Ahmose was led to a tent larger than the rest.

Vespasian, Magnus and Ziri waited in the twilight. Torches lit around the camp washed it with an orange glow. The temperature started to drop.

Eventually Ahmose reappeared from the tent with a grey-bearded man and gestured for his men to bring forward the goods to be bartered. Grey-beard inspected each one, checking teeth and feeling
muscles in arms and legs as if he were looking at chariot horses that he was contemplating buying. Once each man had been checked Grey-beard turned back to Ahmose; it was clear by his demeanour
that he was not happy.

‘Looks like we may have to fight our way in somehow to get the lads,’ Magnus observed as hand gestures became more frenetic.

The raised voices of the argument floated over the pool to where they lay hidden.

‘It’s not looking good,’ Vespasian agreed.

Suddenly the Marmaridae drew their swords and surrounded Ahmose’s men, disarming them. Five were then separated from the rest and were dragged struggling to Grey-beard for inspection;
seemingly satisfied, he shouted an order and a party of Marmaridae headed off towards the slave corral.

‘Looks like the price just went up,’ Vespasian commented. ‘That’s not going to endear Ahmose to his men.’

Night had now fallen and torches burned all through the camp; in their flickering light Vespasian could see a group of men being led away from the corral. ‘That’s our lads, I can see
Corvinus.’

Magnus squinted. ‘I can’t see anyone who could be Capella.’

‘We’ll have to come back for him; at least we now have the men to do that.’

The auxiliaries were brought to Grey-beard and Ahmose who both counted them off; once satisfied they nodded to each other and Ahmose led his men and the auxiliaries away from the camp while
their unfortunate replacements were taken off to the corral.

‘Where’s Capella?’ Vespasian asked Ahmose upon his return.

‘They wouldn’t exchange him.’

‘Wouldn’t or was the price too high?’

‘I had to give him an extra five of my own men just to get back the ones I sold him yesterday,’ the priest barked. ‘I can’t afford any more.’

‘An extra five of your own men? You mean to say that none of those men you bartered were slaves?’

‘We don’t have slaves, it’s pointless, the Marmaridae steal them. I had to give them free men from the town. They drew lots and those who lost were willing to go with the
blessing of Amun upon their heads.’

Vespasian stared at the priest in disbelief. ‘You sold your own people into slavery?’

‘It was Amun’s will; you heard the priests say so at the Oracle.’

‘But why didn’t you try and buy my men back with the silver that the Marmaridae paid for them?’

Ahmose frowned as if he could not understand the question. ‘That silver is Amun’s.’

‘And Amun would put more value on it than the lives of those men?’

The priest shrugged.

‘Of course he wouldn’t, but
you
would; living in comfort while all those around you have to toil in the heat; you disgust me, priest. We’ll go back to your town where
you’ll lend me all of your fighting men, because I’m not leaving here without Capella and freeing those poor bastards who you sacrificed to your greed.’

‘You can’t do that; the will of Amun must be obeyed.’

‘His will or yours, priest?’

‘Vespasian, you Sabine country bastard, you left me to the slavers,’ Corvinus shouted storming up to him, ‘I’ll not forget that.’

‘I had no choice, you were dead drunk and slowing us down. And I would remind you, prefect, that I came back for you and your men and you are now free because of me, which wouldn’t
have happened if we were all imprisoned in that corral together; so don’t forget that part of it either.’

‘And learn to hold your drink,’ Magnus advised him, ‘then perhaps you won’t find yourself taken prisoner so easily.’

Corvinus lashed out with his right fist at Magnus, who ducked under it and delivered a solid punch into his belly.

‘You picked the wrong man to box with,’ Magnus said as Corvinus crumpled to the floor, ‘I used to do it professionally.’

Vespasian came between them. ‘That’s enough! Get to your feet, Corvinus, and next time we rescue you I suggest that you say thank you rather than picking a fight and insulting
me.’

The prefect looked up at Vespasian with hatred in his eyes. ‘You’ll regret this one day, quaestor, I promise you that.’

‘We’ll see; in the meantime we’ve got a citizen to rescue who’s about to suffer the same fate that you’ve just been saved from. Now go and see if any of your lads
speak the local language.’

Two hours later they arrived back at the town’s agora. It was deserted; a few lamps burned behind shuttered windows.

‘Rouse your people, Ahmose,’ Vespasian ordered, ‘you and I are going to address them.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now! And you will translate for me. And have my men’s swords retrieved from wherever you’ve hidden them.’

The priest issued a command to his men and they fanned out through the town banging on doors and ordering the people to the agora.

Soon the square, now lit by flickering torches, was full of chattering people curious to know what was occurring. Vespasian, followed by Magnus and Ziri, mounted the temple steps with Ahmose and
the auxiliary who Corvinus had found who spoke the local Siwi language.

‘You’re to make sure that he translates everything correctly,’ Vespasian told the auxiliary, as Corvinus’ men, now rearmed with their spathae, took up position at the
foot of the steps, ‘and when he refuses to, which he will, you will make the translation.’

‘Yes, quaestor.’

‘Ahmose, bring them to order.’

A horn sounded and the noise in the agora died down.

Vespasian stepped forward to address the crowd. ‘Two nights ago the Bennu was reborn to begin its new five-hundred-year cycle,’ he declaimed. He paused as Ahmose translated his
words. After a quick glance at the auxiliary to confirm that the translation was true he continued. ‘I was warmed by its fire and felt the wind of its wings and your priest took me to the
temple of Amun where the god spoke to me.’

There were looks of awe on the faces of those listening as Ahmose repeated this line.

‘I am blessed by Amun and I and all who travel with me are under His protection. Yet your priest sold my companions, Roman soldiers, to the Marmaridae.’

Ahmose shot Vespasian a nervous glance.

‘Translate, priest,’ he ordered.

After the priest had spoken Vespasian turned to the auxiliary who shook his head. ‘He didn’t translate the second sentence; he just made something up about the glory of
Amun.’

‘What a surprise. Do it for him, then.’

As the auxiliary translated the real version a look of surprise turning to panic washed over Ahmose’s face as he realised that he was losing any control that he had over the situation.

‘To buy them back he used thirty-two of your compatriots; free men now forced into slavery by your priest.’

‘I did it for Amun,’ Ahmose shouted at Vespasian.

‘No, you do nothing for Amun, everything you do is for your-self, like so many of your kind. Now, are you going to translate or is he?’

With a howl Ahmose leapt at Vespasian only to find himself pinioned by the firm grips of Magnus and Ziri. Vespasian nodded at the auxiliary as the priest struggled helplessly to escape his
captors.

Roars of indignation emanated from the crowd as the auxiliary translated; they began to surge forward only to be held back by Corvinus’ men.

Vespasian held his arms aloft, appealing for calm. ‘This priest of yours, who lives in luxury off the money you give him, has no concern for your wellbeing, only his.’

The crowd shouted their agreement as they heard the translation.

‘He delivered Roman soldiers and your own people to the slavers and in doing so has brought the wrath of Rome and Amun down on you all. To redress his actions I will lead you tonight to
the Marmaridae’s camp and we shall destroy them together and free your people.’

A huge cheer greeted these words once they were translated.

‘But first, I, who am favoured by your god, demand vengeance on this priest for his treatment of my men; his life is forfeit.’ Ahmose’s legs buckled; Magnus and Ziri held him
upright. ‘I could execute him now or, if you wish it, I will give you your priest, who thinks nothing of selling thirty-two of your number into a life of servitude, to punish as you see fit;
you are free of him.’

As the auxiliary finished the translation the crowd’s reaction was clear; Vespasian gestured to Magnus and Ziri. They forced the screaming Ahmose down the steps, through the cordon of
auxiliaries, and threw him to the people who kept him in luxury yet whom he valued so little.