Fire in the East Read Online Free PDF Page A

never stay ashore in any place for more than one night, I will have you in Syria in just twenty days, mid-October.’
    ‘How often does a voyage go that well?’ Ballista asked.
    ‘I have rounded Cape Tainaron more than fifty times, and so far, never...’
    Ballista laughed and turned to Mamurra, ‘Praefectus, get the staff together, and get them quartered in the posting-house of the cursus publicus. It’s up on that hill to the left somewhere. You will need the diplomata, the official passes. Take my body servant with you.’
    ‘Yes, Dominus.’
    ‘Demetrius, come with me.’
    Without being ordered, his bodyguard, Maximus, also fell in behind Ballista. They said nothing but exchanged a rueful grin. ‘First, we will visit the injured.’
    Thankfully, no one had been killed or lost overboard. The eight injured men were lying on the deck towards the prow: five rowers, two deckhands and one of Ballista’s staff, a messenger. All had broken bones. A doctor had already been sent for. Ballista’s was a courtesy call. A word or two with each, a few low-denomination coins, and it was over. It was necessary; Ballista had to travel to Syria with this crew.
    Ballista stretched and yawned. No one had got much sleep since the night of the storm. He looked around, squinting in the bright early morning sunshine. Every detail of the bleak, ochre mountains of Epirus could be made out a couple of miles away, across the Ionian Straits. He ran his hand over four days’ growth of beard and through his hair, which stood up stiff from his head, full of sea salt. He knew he must look like everyone’s memory of every statue of a northern barbarian they had ever seen - although, in the vast majority of statues, the northern barbarian was either in chains or dying. But before he could shave and bathe, there was one more duty to perform.
    ‘That must be the temple of Zeus, just up there.’

    The priests of Zeus were waiting on the steps of the temple. They had seen the battered trireme pull into harbour. They could not have been more welcoming. Ballista produced some high-denomination coins, and the priests produced the necessary incense and a sacrificial sheep to fulfil the vows for safe landfall which Ballista had very publicly made at the height of the storm. One of the priests inspected the sheep’s liver and pronounced it auspicious. The gods would enjoy dining off the smoke from the burnt bones wrapped in fat while the priests enjoyed a more substantial roast meal later. That Ballista generously waived his rights to a portion was generally thought pleasing to man and gods.
    As they left the temple, one of those small, silly problems that come with travel occurred. The three of them were alone, and none of them knew precisely where the posting-house was.
    ‘I have no intention of spending all morning wandering over those hills,’ said Ballista. ‘Maximus, would you walk down to the Concordia and get some directions?’
    Once the bodyguard was out of earshot, Ballista turned to Demetrius. ‘I thought I would wait until we were alone. What was all that stuff you were ranting during the storm about myths and islands full of rapists?’
    ‘I ... do not remember, Kyrios.’ The youth’s dark eyes avoided Ballista’s gaze. Ballista remained silent and then, suddenly, the boy started talking hurriedly, the words tumbling out. ‘I was scared, talking nonsense, just because I was frightened - the noise, the water. I thought we were going to die.’
    Ballista looked steadily at him. ‘The captain was talking about the islands of Diomedes when you started. What was he saying?’
    ‘I do not know, Kyrios.’
    ‘Demetrius, the last time I checked, you were my slave, my property. Did not one of your beloved ancient writers describe a slave as “a tool with a voice”? Tell me what the captain and you were talking about.’
    ‘He was going to tell you the myth of the island of Diomedes. I wanted to stop him. So I interrupted him and told