I heard men's voices downstairs, and saw faint lights flickering on the walls of the stairwell. Then the voices were in the room. From my point of limited vantage I counted three pairs of feet, one in slippers, one in Greek sandals, one in military boots.
"It is in that cabinet," said a heavily accented voice. "I could have fetched it myself."
"There are many things we could all do individually, if we trusted one another, which we do not." This was a cultivated Greek voice with a faint accent. The mystery man.
"We don't have all night," said a third voice, brusque and military. "Let's go over it."
This had to be Achillas, I thought, although his words were somewhat tightly spoken, as if suppressing some resentment. Well, conspirators hardly ever get along very well. There came a shuffling of feet and a scraping of furniture. A loud rustling announced the unrolling of a heavy scroll.
"Most interesting work," said the Greek voice. "Only the first part is Biton's treatise on war engines, you know, written in his own hand. It also contains the work of Aeneas Tacticus and a unique work by one Athenaeus concerning the mechanical school established by the tyrant Dionysus I of Syracuse to improve military engineering, all of it profusely illustrated."
"I read it all years ago," said Military Boots. "Valuable stuff, but that's not what's important."
"So it isn't," said Greek Sandals. "But: " There was a sound of more rustling.": here are the original plans by Iphicrates for his new machines, including the propulsion system for the great tower, the reflectors for firing enemy ships: note that it only works on a sunny day: and so forth. Why is King Phraates so anxious to have these?"
"The Parthians are horse-archers," Military Boots said. "That gives them the edge against the Romans on an open battlefield. Romans are heavy infantry and little else, on the field. But they are masters at both besieging and defending fortified positions, and you can't take those with horses and arrows. A war between Rome and Parthia would be fought to a bloody draw, with Parthia victorious in the field and Rome taking and holding the forts, the cities and the harbors. With these machines, and the trained engineers we'll send them, Parthia has nothing to fear from Rome."
"I see. Ah, here are the earlier drafts of the treaty, since we no longer have the services of the late Hypatia:"
"Was it really necessary to kill her?" hissed Asiatic Slippers.
"Oh, absolutely," said Greek Sandals. "She was about to sell us all out to the Roman."
"We don't allow treachery," said Military Boots. "Not from an Athenian whore, and not from a Chian philosopher."
"Yes, I suppose the man had to die," said Asiatic Slippers. "Dealing with the kings of Numidia and Armenia might have been overlooked, but not blackmail. Still"-he sighed-"he was a unique resource and we shall miss him."
"I shall read through the treaty clause by clause," Greek Sandals said. "You may then translate into the Parthian tongue. In the absence of your lamented concubine, I fear that you must trust the accuracy of my reading."
"At this stage," Asiatic Slippers said, "I have no fear of double-dealing. However, you must understand that all of this hinges upon Lord Achillas making himself king of Egypt."
"You need have no doubt of that," said Greek Sandals. "We Greeks invented the concept of the self-fulfilling prophecy. Very shortly the god Baal-Ahriman shall prophesy that the Lord Achillas is actually the son of the late King Ptolemy, and is the true heir to the double crown. He shall put aside the usurper, the false Ptolemy. He shall marry the Princess Berenice, and possibly Cleopatra and Arsinoe as well. He will then lead Egypt back to its ancient position of glory."
"As long as he does not move into Parthian territory," Asiatic Slippers said.
"That is what this treaty concerns," said Military Boots. "Let's be about it. I would like to be out of this house by dawn."
And they went over it, clause by clause. It was an alliance of Egypt and Parthia against Rome. Iphicrates and Achillas had convinced Phraates that, with these silly engines, he could defy the Roman legions at will. Far more ominously, it established an Egypt-Parthia axis complete with a war plan. At a time to be agreed upon, Egypt would invade up the Sinai and into Judaea and Syria as far as the Euphrates. Phraates would send his horse-archers (with all those splendid new machines) westward into Pontus, Bithynia and Asia Minor as far as the Hellespont, between them pushing Rome entirely out of all those territories. The plan was incredibly ambitious and would have been unrealistic except for one thing. We were readying for war with Gaul. Since Mithridates had died, we had been lulled into the idea that the East was utterly pacified. They might, I realized, just get away with it.
But I could not allow this. I had heard everything. I was on the spot and had the documents and the conspirators within my grasp. Most of all, I had the most agonizing need to urinate.
Just keeping quiet under a bed for hours is difficult enough, trying not to shift, scratch or sneeze. It is far worse when you've indulged in a bit of Chian beforehand.
"I think that concludes our business," said Military Boots, his voice still oddly strained. "It's getting light outside."
"I shall send the book with the documents enclosed to King Phraates," said Asiatic Slippers.
"And I am for the temple," said Greek Sandals. "A good day and a fine new era to you gentlemen."
"Not so fast!" I said, bursting up from beneath the bed, letting the delicate Egyptian fabrication smash back against the wall as I drew my sword. "I have you alclass="underline" " The three had backed away, eyes going wide, startled. The first thing I noted was that Military Boots was not Achillas. It was Memnon, and he wore a bandage about his jaw where I had marked him with my caestus. No wonder his voice sounded strained. He had his sword out, too.
Orodes was just who I thought he was, but the other man I did not know, although he seemed decidedly familiar. He was a Greek with a close-trimmed beard and hair that just covered his ears. His hand went into his tunic and came out with an odd axe, its blade deeply curved with a short spike on the opposite side. The handle had been crudely cut to about a foot in length. I grinned at him.
"You look better without the wig and false beard, Ataxas," I said. "But why the axe? Is it what you kill bulls with? I suppose a slave like you never learned to use a freeman's weapons."
"The Roman!" Memnon said, giving me a smile that must have hurt. "I swore I'd avenge the blows you struck me!"
Orodes darted toward the book. It had been rerolled and a small stack of papers stood beside it-undoubtedly the earlier drafts of the treaty. He reached for the book and I flicked out with the point of my gladius, opening his forearm from wrist to elbow. He squawked and jumped back.
"No, no," I said. "That's mine. We're going to see some treason trials and some crucifixions when I present those, first to King Ptolemy and then to the Senate."
Memnon chuckled. "Roman, you're assuming that you're going to get out of here alive. You're wrong." He came toward me in that flat-footed, shuffling crouch that denotes the practiced swordsman. I moved toward him as I had been taught, gladiator-style, balanced on the balls of my feet. I picked up a spindly chair to use as a shield. Memnon whipped his cloak around his left forearm for the same purpose.
Memnon aimed a stab at my face, but his sword was a Greek type, longer than mine, with a swelling point. It was just a bit slow and I sidestepped it, sending a thrust in return. When you thrust with a gladius, your arm becomes a target. That is why gladiators wear armor on the weapon arm. So my arm snapped out and back, quick as a snake's tongue. I meant to put the blade right through Memnon's throat, but he pulled back and ducked his head and I only nicked his chin. I had my arm back so fast that he didn't have an opportunity to cut at it, but he thrust low at my belly. I jerked backward, a little clumsily because of my long stay beneath the bed. I rotated the chair down, caught the sword and swept it aside as I stepped in and thrust at his chest. No Thracian in the amphitheater ever executed the move as neatly.