Romes assassin, p.6
Rome's Assassin, page 6
part #6 of Soldier of the Republic Series
Climbing the short flight of steps, Flavius emerged onto the top of the apartment block and into the bright sunshine. Standing alone in a corner of the roof top terrace was an old man of around seventy-five with a grizzled face and a long white beard. The man was using a cloth to carefully polish a large round mirror made of shiny bronze that had been mounted on a wooden wheeled frame.
“Visitors. Master,” Hero called out in Latin as he came towards Archimedes. “An old friend has come to see you.”
Looking annoyed at the intrusion, Archimedes paused and turned to stare at the newcomers in silence. Then his expression softened as he recognised Archagathus.
“My great friend,” Archagathus exclaimed, as he came towards Archimedes with a broad smile and grasped him by the shoulders in a friendly manner. “How good it is to see you again. It has been too long.”
“Archagathus,” Archimedes replied stiffly, showing little emotion. Then the great mathematician was speaking in Greek and Flavius was cut out of the conversation. Standing behind the doctor, Flavius patiently turned to look around as the two friends continued in Greek oblivious to his presence. From the high roof terrace in the bright sunlight he had a fantastic unimpeded view of the whole city of Syracuse and the gleaming sea that stretched away to the horizon. To the north, the small harbour was teeming with ships, the fierce sunlight reflecting from the calm water. Beyond the harbour, on the mainland, the yellow, gray buildings, perched on top of the vertical cliffs that rose sharply out of the sea, extended away out of sight. Turning to look south, Flavius could see that the whole island of Ortygia was covered in a dense mass of buildings. Spotting the great temples of Apollo and Athena that rose unmistakeably above the city Flavius suddenly looked thoughtful. Then he turned to stare at the great wall that surrounded the island before shifting his gaze to the large secluded bay that separated Ortygia from the mainland.
“You are admiring the view,” Hero said politely in Latin, turning to Flavius with a disarming smile. “Is this your first time in Syracuse?”
“Yes, it is,” Flavius replied. “It is a beautiful city. You should be proud.”
“I am not actually from Syracuse,” Hero said. “I am a Macedonian. Pella is my home. I am only here for the summer to learn from the master. My uncle is Aratus of Sicyon. Maybe you have heard of him. He has been elected strategos, commander in chief of the Achaean league fifteen times now.”
“I am sorry. The name is not familiar,” Flavius replied, as he turned to study the young apprentice.
“My uncle is King Philip of Macedonia’s principal adviser,” Hero said with a little amused smile. “and as Macedonia has declared war on Rome, that makes you and I enemies - Roman.”
For a moment Flavius said nothing, as he stared at the confident young man who was gazing back at him with an amused grin.
“Well don’t worry,” Flavius growled at last. “I am not about to throw you off this roof.”
“I am not worried. This war was not my idea, nor my uncle’s,” Hero said, as he calmly turned away and disappeared back down the stairs into the apartment.
Turning to stare at the steps and the opening in the roof terrace where Hero had vanished, Flavius frowned again. What was this?
“Archagathus says that you are very interested in my machines and inventions, Roman,” Archimedes suddenly exclaimed, turning to Flavius and speaking in Latin. For a moment, the old mathematician peered at Flavius with a shrewd and wily look. “What are you? A spy? Sent here to see what I am up to.”
“I would not make a very good spy,” Flavius replied, turning to look at Archimedes. “For a start I cannot read or write, nor do I speak Greek. I am not interested in stealing anything from you. I am just a carpenter who is very interested in your machines. That is why I have come to Syracuse. I have heard much about you Sir. Your reputation has spread right across Italy. Would it be possible to have a look at your inventions for myself?”
“A carpenter,” Archimedes muttered, looking as if he had enjoyed the praise. “All right. I suppose it can do no harm.” Turning to the large round mirror, the old mathematician paused as he gazed at the contraption.
“I like to work up here on the terrace. The light is better here. What do you see?” Archimedes exclaimed.
“A large mirror on wheels,” Flavius replied, taking a step towards the mirror. “What does it do?”
“It’s a death ray,” Archimedes said in a proud voice. “My latest invention, although it is still untested. With this mirror and others, on a bright sunny day like today, I will be able to concentrate and reflect the power of the sun onto a specific target setting it ablaze from a distance.”
“Will that really work?” Archagathus exclaimed, looking impressed. “How far away would this object need to be?”
“See those ships down there in the harbour,” Achmides replied pointing. “Once the device is ready I hope to be able to set them on fire with nothing more than this mirror and the power of the sun.”
“So, it’s a defensive weapon,” Flavius said. “To protect the city from enemy ships.”
“Yes,” Archimedes said thoughtfully as the old man stared at the harbour. “It could be used to burn anything that is flammable. Even Roman warships.”
The conversation was interrupted as Hero reappeared, coming up the steps and onto the terrace carrying a tray with a jug of water and four cups. Taking the cup of water, Flavius carefully glanced at the young Macedonian nobleman, but Hero appeared not to notice - gazing at his master with rapt attention.
“I have other machines too,” Archimedes continued in a boastful tone. “My screw can help remove water from mines and ships. King Hiero employed it on his pleasure craft, the largest ship ever built. See those cranes down in the harbour, well I am working on the design of a crane that will be able to lift a whole ship out of the water. It’s going to be quite a sight when that machine is complete.”
“It sounds like you are preparing war machines,” Flavius interrupted. “But what happens if there is no war? Are there no better - more productive machines that you could be building? For instance, I have heard that in Greece they have an automated puppet show that works without any need for people. The show runs on its own, programmed by a series of ropes arranged around wooden pegs, dials, weights, pulleys and gear wheels. They even have sound effects. I have heard that if the makers want to change the show, they simply create a new programme by rearranging the pegs and ropes that control the puppets.”
For a long moment Archimedes stared at Flavius in surprise. Then slowly the great mathematician started to clap. “Well. Well,” Archimedes exclaimed. “That’s not bad for an illiterate carpenter. I have underestimated you Roman. Yes, I have heard of these automated puppet shows. A quaint amusement for the masses. But I do not create machines for amusement. The world is a serious place and requires a serious mind. I have no interest in entertaining the people.”
“But you care about your home city, Syracuse,” Flavius interrupted. “If Syracuse goes to war with Rome, that will put your home in grave danger. Think about it, Sir. It is still not too late to change the course of events. War can still be avoided. There is no need for Rome and Syracuse to be enemies. Your old patron and friend, King Hiero, he understood this all too well.”
“What do you want from me Roman?” Archimedes said, as a frown appeared on his aged face. “I am just an old man who wants to be left alone with his circles and calculations.”
“Rome is not your enemy,” Flavius replied, staring back at the great mathematician. “Leave Syracuse whilst you still can and come and work for us. Rome will welcome you with open arms. We would provide you with everything you needed and more. I give you my word.”
As the roof top terrace fell silent, all eyes turned to stare at the old man standing beside his large round mirror.
“No,” Archimedes said in a calm decisive voice. Then without saying another word, he slowly made his way to the flight of steps in a dignified manner and disappeared down into his apartment. Gazing at the stairs, Flavius sighed and turned to look away with a disappointed look.
“We should go,” Flavius said quietly.
“The master’s home is Syracuse,” Hero said, suddenly turning to Flavius and blocking his path. “You should not have asked him to leave his home. He has lived here all his life. He is an old man and he wants to die here.”
“Will you thank him for his hospitality and for showing us his latest invention,” Flavius said politely as he turned to leave.
But as Flavius and Archagathus moved towards the stairs leading down to the apartment, to his surprise, Hero refused to move blocking their path and holding up his hand.
“War with Rome was not something my uncle ever wished for,” Hero said quickly in a changed voice, staring straight at Flavius. “But recently King Philip has come under the influence of another of his advisers. A man called Demetrius. A man whose hatred of Rome has inflamed our king’s imagination. So, I have a message for you Roman. When you return home, tell your Senate that it is Demetrius who is largely responsible for the state of war that now exists between our two countries. It is he alone who now has the king’s ear. Tell them also, that there are some in Macedonia who desire peace and good relations between our two countries. Please tell your Senate that my uncle Aratus would be happy to open peace negotiations with Rome.”
Chapter Five – The Plan to Kill a King
“So, this is goodbye,” Flavius said quietly as he turned to look at Archagathus. “I am sorry that things did not work out with your friend.”
Standing alone in the back room of the diplomatic guest house, the Greek doctor shrugged. Outside it was dark and quiet. “Don’t worry,” he replied. “We tried at least. I never did think we were going to succeed. Archimedes is a loyal man and this here is his home.”
“All right,” Flavius murmured. “You have done well Archagathus, but your work here is finished. I am sending you home. There is no point in you taking any more risks. Stick with Senna and the others and get yourself expelled. Epicydes does not suspect that you are a spy. You should be all right. It’s me he wants. When this job is done I shall meet you back in Rome.”
“Good luck Flavius. You are a brave man,” Archagathus whispered, as the two of them quickly embraced.
Suddenly there seemed to be something different about the doctor. For a moment Archagathus paused, as if he was struggling with something. “What you said back in Casilinum, about me having no friends,” Archagathus continued at last in a quiet voice. “That hurt. I know we got off on the wrong foot and that I am not well liked, but I thought, that after everything you and I have been through together, that now at least we were friends.”
“We’re friends,” Flavius said, giving Archagathus a gentle playful slap across his cheek. “Now show me how good an actor you can be.”
Outside it was dark, as Archagathus boldly opened the back door of the house and lurched out into the alley beyond. Sitting on the ground barely a yard away, the Carthaginian agent who had been watching the door and alley had no time to prepare himself, as Archagathus pulled down his breeches and sent an arch of urine splattering over him. Then with a loud belch Archagathus was away, staggering and swaying down the alley as if he were drunk. Crying out in anger, the agent leaped to his feet and turned to follow the Greek doctor. But as he did, he failed to notice the second figure, quietly and quickly slipping out of the back door of the house and hastening away in the opposite direction. As Archagathus reached the end of the alley, he started to sing, swaying on his feet, seemingly oblivious to all the attention he was creating, before disappearing from view up the main road.
Shooting around a corner and into another backstreet alley, Flavius abruptly came to a halt as the darkness cloaked and enveloped him in a protective cover. For a moment he paused, gasping for breath, his heart thumping away in his chest, as he strained to listen but there were no obvious sounds of pursuit. No one appeared to have followed him up the alley. He seemed to have got clean away thanks to the distraction that Archagathus had created. Turning away and steadying his breathing, Flavius cautiously began to pick his way down the alley, careful not to make any unnecessary noise. Archagathus’s little act was not going to last long. The doctor would soon return to the guest house, making sure that all the watching eyes saw him enter. Would the little escapade make the Carthaginians suspicious? It was impossible to tell, but he couldn’t dwell on that now Flavius thought.
The temple of Apollo was huge - a rectangular stone building some fifty yards wide - standing alone, dominating the heart of the old city. Archagathus had been right Flavius thought, as he peered at the dozens of massive stone columns that held up the sloping roof. The place had been just a stone’s throw from the diplomatic guest house. From his vantage point hidden in the dark alley across the street, he could see a broad flight of steps leading up to the huge doors. The doors were open and set into the wall nearby, a few burning torches were providing a flickering light that cast long dancing shadows. Above the entrance, running all the way along the building, was a stone frieze depicting a mythical scene. Cautiously casting his eyes around the street and open space that surrounded the temple, Flavius peered into the darkness. But there was no one about. The street was deserted. Remaining hidden in the shadows Flavius paused. But he could hear nothing unusual. The night was quiet and peaceful. Reaching up he gently rubbed his chin with his hand before glancing back down the alley. Archagathus had drawn him a map of the city which he had memorised before setting out. Was it already midnight? It had to be – for they had timed their little act to occur just before the end of the hour. Would Deinomenes be there? Or had the conspirator given up. There was only one way he was going to find out.
Emerging from the alley, Flavius silently slipped across the street towards the rows of massive stone columns that flanked the temple. Melting back into the shadows he paused beside one of the columns, feeling the cool stone against his hand as he cocked his head to listen. But still the night remained undisturbed. In the darkness around him nothing moved. Steadying his breathing, he cautiously peered at the entrance doors. Then hastily he turned to look into the darkness that stretched away behind him. Where was Deinomenes?
For a while Flavius stood beside the pillar without moving, his senses straining to reveal what lay hidden in the shadows and darkness around him. Then suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway to the temple. The man was alone and standing in the entrance, in the flickering light, he was taking his time as he turned his head to gaze up at the stars in the clear night sky. Staring at the man, Flavius frowned. From the man’s clothing he could see that it was one of the priests of Apollo. A night watchman perhaps, for who but the desperate and spies would visit the temple in the middle of the night.
Suddenly and too late, Flavius became aware that he was not alone. Before he could react, a knife was pressing up against his throat and a figure loomed up out of the darkness behind him.
“Who are you? What is your name?” A voice whispered in Latin, as Flavius found himself trapped and pinned against the stone column.
“Telamon,” Flavius muttered.
For a moment nothing happened. Then abruptly the knife pressing against his throat was withdrawn and the pressure eased. Hastily Flavius turned around. In the gloom he caught sight of a big athletic man of around forty staring back at him. The stranger was clad in a dark cloak with a hood.
“And who are you?” Flavius murmured.
“The man you came here to meet. Call me D,” the hooded man whispered. “Were you followed? The king’s agents are watching the house you are staying in. How did you get out?
“I don’t think I was followed,” Flavius whispered. “I created a diversion. I think they bought it. I was careful.”
“Good,” Deinomenes whispered quickly. “We must be careful. The king’s agents and informants are everywhere. If they find us here you and I are dead. Come. Follow me. We need to talk but not here and there is not much time.”
Without saying another word, Deinomenes turned and slipped away into the darkness, heading past the stone columns towards the back of the building. As Flavius followed, he caught up with the Syracusan, standing beside what looked like a concealed back entrance to the temple. Opening the small door, Deinomenes quickly and silently vanished from view and as Flavius stepped into the small room beyond, he suddenly realised where he was. Lighting up the confined space was a single oil lamp, and in its flickering glow, Flavius gasped, as he caught sight of a nine-foot-tall wooden statue of Apollo gazing straight at him, one hand raised in greeting. He was in the adyton, Flavius thought - the small holy room at the back of the temple, which was never open to the public. The room had restricted access – a place where only the priests of Apollo were normally allowed to enter. Closing the door behind him, Deinomenes turned to face Flavius.
“What the hell took you so long?” Deinomenes hissed. “Did you not get my message? I was waiting here for you all night yesterday.”
“I am sorry,” Flavius muttered, as he wrenched his eyes away from the statue and turned to look around the room. But there was no one else there. The two of them were alone. “I only discovered it this morning. What about the priest? I saw him standing outside near the entrance doors.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Deinomenes snapped. “He is a friend. He will warn us if trouble is approaching. He’s my lookout.”
“And what about him?” Flavius whispered gesturing at the nine-foot-tall statue of Apollo.
“A spare,” Deinomenes replied, as a little crooked smile appeared on his lips. “The main statue is in the temple just beyond that wall. Don’t worry. Apollo will not betray us.”
“Good,” Flavius said, as he turned to stare at Deinomenes. “Good. How did you recognise me in the palace? You knew which knife belonged to me.”
“You were the only one with a limp,” Deinomenes whispered. “I had time to observe you. It wasn’t difficult. What is the news from Rome?”
