Spiral: Book One of the Spiral in Time (60 page)

The Admiral! This was unexpected. The level of voices rose and vibrated shrilly off the high ceiling. He sat straight as befit his rank. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the members—he did not look submissive. Sabrann kept her eyes down. In an old tunic, disheveled and dirty, she was dismissed as a slave, most certainly a barbarian.

From a side door more guards half-carried in another man. His legs dragged. His right arm hung from his shoulder in a strange position. A scribe, someone whispered loudly—Herodotus of Halicarnassus. He was placed on the bench next to the Admiral. The babble of voices in the room dropped to hissed whispers.

Lord Hanno held up his hand. “As magistrate, I asked you to come judge this citizen and his cohorts on the evidence of treason.” Lord Hanno’s confident voice silenced the members and carried across the chamber as he pointed at Admiral Himilco.

An audible gasp rose from the council members. That meant death, and to the magistrate’s own brother!

“Yes, treason.” Hanno’s voice rose higher as he said the word. “A crime that demands the penalty of death. For violating the ancient law of
Huber—
the right of royalty to do the business of the state. The crime is against our Queen Elissa-Maris. This man and his cartel ignored her rights, set sail, and did commerce with foreign heads of state for their own purposes.”

Lord Hanno held up the papyrus scroll.

“As proof, I show you this confession, which tells of their journey and agreements made without the queen’s authorization. It was all for the cartel’s gain: riches of silver and tin, slaves and grain. Nothing came to Carthage. They are thieves and stole from every one of you”

Voices broke out again and filled the chamber like a flock of squabbling birds. Their income was at stake. This was a council of nobility. They were
Puros,
who gained their living through rent or taxes, vast investments, and anything else they could take from others not born with the bloodlines of old Phoenicia. Their rights came with birth; it was their sacred right to make money from the lesser born. The priests said the gods had decreed it.

Lord Hanno smiled and let the rising alarm in their voices continue. Any loss of their wealth was considered a personal affront, an insult to the chosen ones.

Abruptly, Admiral Himilco stood and raised his arm to speak. Quiet descended. He was their most respected commander. Men like him kept Carthage and her ships safe. And more important, kept their wealth safe. He took his time, slowly looking around the council chamber. When he spoke, it was with a strong voice that carried to the farthest corner of the large room.

“My grant to sail was given by Queen Elissa-Ayzebaal. We left before she died. This charge is false and insults my honor.” He looked at Lord Hanno. “
My
honor.”

“A slim defense,” Hanno said. “Where is your grant?

“With my papers on my ship.”

“Then it exists no longer, if it ever did,” Hanno said, a sneer on his face.

“Your crew rebelled and fired much of the ship. Any documents went up in flames. It was necessary to kill some to save the ship and quell the riot. We sold the rest as slaves. How do you answer that?”

Himilco’s face turned red with rage. “My men would never do so.”

Hanno ignored him and waved a papyrus scroll in the air. “Here is the proof of your crime. A statement from your own scribe.”

Hero raised his head at that and shook his head. No one paid him any attention.

A heavy knock sounded three times at the chamber’s doors and echoed off the walls. Who dared to disturb a council meeting? A wave of irate voices swept through the room. The guards opened the doors and three men entered. Heads craned, necks swiveled, eyes popped wide in recognition as one, not-very-impressive man came forward, a fine linen shawl banded in Tyranian purple, draped over his plump shoulder. Only a
puro
had the right to wear that color. He gave a small bow to the assembly and then turned to face the prisoners. His arm across his chest, he gave a deep bow to Admiral Himilco.

“Brother,” whispered the Admiral.

“Magistrate,” the
Rab-kohanim
said. A look of surprise on his face.

Gisco: the other magistrate. The lawyer. And brother to both Hanno and the Admiral.

“What are you doing here, Gisco?” Hanno said. “You were in Cape Bon.”

“Ah, yes, I was, but now I am here, and as we both rule the Council of 100, I will help you hear this case.” Gisco bowed again to the now silent council members.

“It seems to be a matter concerning law. My arena.” Gisco settled himself in the remaining chair and calmly adjusted his robes and shawl. He was a fastidious man who paid attention to details—to all details. He was renowned for his memory and knowledge of Carthaginian law.

He pointedly looked at the scroll in Hanno’s hand and held out his hand. A reluctant Hanno handed it to him. Gisco scanned it and then turned to the council. He made a derisive snort.

“Unfortunately, a confession by a person other than the accused is not acceptable in Carthaginian law.” Gisco reached down and straightened a wayward fold of his robe. He glanced at the prisoners. Sabrann lowered her eyes a little.

“Now, tell me about this girl; what is her charge?”

“None, the prisoner insisted she stay with him. His concubine, no doubt, and an ignorant barbarian,” Hanno cast a look of distaste at Himilco.

Gisco sat with one elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin resting on his hand, and gave Sabrann an appraising look. She raised her eyes to meet his.

“I am not a barbarian,” she said in a firm voice. “I read the Greek and write it, too.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Gisco’s mouth. Reading! And, she said, writing, too. Not skills of lowborn women. Hers was a fierce countenance. She did not act like a slave.

“I think she is not a concubine,” Gisco said. “A strange creature perhaps, but not a whore. I will want to know more about her later.”

“As for the incriminating charge, I understand the deciding evidence as to the matter of
Huber
is a periplus. May I see it?” He smiled broadly at Hanno and held out his hand.

Hanno’s face flushed. “It is missing! Or hidden! But I know he has one—his scribe told us. That is good enough.”

“But the law, my dear brother, my fellow magistrate. All things true reside there.” Gisco’s eyes rested on Hero’s bent body. “Men under torture will say anything. It is almost never informative.”

He sadly shook his head. There was an almost palpable undercurrent of tension from the council members. They shifted positions and averted their eyes from Lord Hanno’s. Gisco’s judgment was above reproach. There were clearly some differences between the two magistrates. Lord Hanno opened his mouth, as though to speak, and then quickly closed it.

Gisco stood up and after much adjusting of his robe, addressed the members.

“Let me summarize,” he said. “A missing periplus hangs, like fate, in the balance. On one side, a man’s life, on the other an affront to the queen.” He faced the council, his voice pitched so all could hear.

“In short, if no periplus is found, there is no evidence for the law to act upon.”

“The law!” Hanno’s voice rose to a dangerous level. “Must all things be defined by law? There is truth in the accusation.”

Gisco turned to his fellow magistrate, his voice prophetic.

“The world is ruled by laws. The sky turns, the sun follows its given path, seas rise and fall by the gods’ laws. Who are we to say we can live without law? Only the ignorant beast or most menial slave would be that arrogant, not citizens of mighty Carthage. Our laws sustain us in our rightful place in the heavens. ”

The assembled council murmured their assent and a smattering of applause rolled through the crowd. The pride of Carthage was immense.

“It is a conundrum. So much of the law is suspect in this hearing. Many questions remain unanswered. Our laws rule us all by the truth.” Gisco paced sedately around the room, nodding his head to the members as he spoke.

“And the evidence in question here is so uncertain. I suggest we recess and continue at a later time, after Lord Hanno and I have had more time to discuss this.”

He nodded amiably to his brother and began moving toward the door. Hanno slumped down into his chair. He gave a curt nod of his head. The room quickly emptied.

Defeated and visibly angry, Hanno clenched the useless scroll and bent it in two.

Then the Queen’s voice called softly to him from behind the screen.

“Come, I have news for you.”

The guards flung them all into the room and slammed the door shut. It was the same dirt- floored room with the lattice window. They were still prisoners. Hero lay unmoving where he had dropped to the floor. Sabrann sat next to him and tenderly held his injured hand. The Admiral knelt beside her.

“You did well,” he said to Sabrann. “Now that Gisco is here, we will go free.”

There was a brisk knock at the door. Gisco entered with his two companions, Akmu-en-Swnw and Isis. Himilco embraced his brother.

“And where is Glas?” Sabrann gave an anguished cry. “Dead? Or sold as slave?”

Akmu laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “He is alive. I know where to find him.” He moved to Hero’s side and examined his twisted hand and arm, all the while muttering Egyptian curses.

“And who is this girl,” Gisco said, “who reads and writes the Greek?”

“Daughter and heir to Caradoc, dead King of the Durotriges of Albion,” Himilco answered. “We were to return to Albion when the next sailing season begins. The Durotriges will thank me for returning this girl, their heir. Their goodwill means everything. The land of Albion holds much tin, and I would trade for the cartel with her tribe. But now, I don’t know. Everything has changed”

Everything has changed for me also, Sabrann thought. And who will be leader of all the clans when I return? The Admiral thinks it will be me. He will use me in trade for tin. What of Derbhorgill and her son?

All her fear of being a warrior leader like Caradoc came rushing back. On the
Astarte
she had forgotten; all that mattered then was keeping Glas safe. He was her family. Whatever happened here, they would escape, though she had no idea of how or where Carthage was or how far it was from Albion. First she must get free. She leaned back her head and closed her eyes.

She remembered walking down the path at Samhain to become a Durot, surrounded by people who hated her.
One step at a time. Don’t be afraid.
And back in the dark heart of the earthen mound, not knowing if she would soon be sacrificed, she had cried out for help.
Count the steps!
Matrones! Help me.

She was so far away in her thoughts, that when someone touched her shoulder, she jumped. Isis stood in front of her, a smile on his ugly face. A smile from Isis! He reached into a bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out flatbread and handfuls of dates. She smelled the bread, the rich sweetness of the dates. All of a sudden she was starving. She gratefully nodded. They had nothing to eat for the past day and night. She devoured the food silently, looking at the strange man who stood across the room with the Admiral. His brother: a lawyer. The Durotriges had many laws, and Cathbad, as wise man and Druid, knew them all. He had settled any question of law, like this man, Gisco.

The brothers looked not at all alike. The Admiral was taller and had the muscled body of a seaman. His brother, with his hunched back, was short, very overweight and balding. A thin fringe of dark hair circled his head. Gisco did not look as though he could lift anything other than a scroll or some sweet. It was apparent: one worked with his body, the other with his mind.

Himilco paced around the small room. “There is more to this than a long-forgotten law. And more than Hanno’s hatred of me. I sailed into the unknown and found a way to bring riches to them and they treat me like this? So tell me.”

“Of course,” Gisco said. He clasped his fingers together and leaned against the wall, his head tilted to one side as though he instructed an audience.

“For a man who challenges the gods and fights the monsters of the oceans, you don’t see what is right before you. They don’t want to speak of your voyage, or use it, because they already have a way to get what you found, and at less cost.”

Himilco abruptly stopped pacing and faced his brother. “How? Does the council not oversee all shipping?”

“Yes, but they don’t want to get it themselves. Many men in the council have agents in Gadir
and
Massalia
.
They do business with the Greeks with one hand and harass a few of the Greek ships with the other. Nothing serious. No large loads of grain. Usually a few fishing boats.”

“You are magistrate ...” Himilco’s hands waved upward in the air as though pleading for the gods to intervene.

“Yes, and Hanno is the other. Our brother. He has large villas, expensive tastes and the priests have him convinced the gods will destroy him if he does not comply. His greed rules him. As for the queen, she and the
Rab-kohanim
use Hanno as their path to more power. Maris by herself has been powerless, a figurehead, with the council ruling everything. The priest—he only wants money.”