She had used her own belt, tying it to the rails of the litter to throttle herself, which must have taken some considerable courage but meant she had not been forced to give the names of those who had conspired. Thus, fewer had died than might have done, and all by their own hand. Nero was merciful because he was not sure. Certainty would have made him a monster.
Pantera said none of this, but the priest waited anyway while his thoughts ran their length, so that he might as well have spoken them out loud.
At the end, Pantera said, ‘Seneca’s replacement is known as the Poet. Beyond the name, nothing has changed; we use the same codes, the same routes, the same principles.’
‘Is that safe?’
‘It has been thus far, and Seneca took a lifetime setting up his network. To change it now would take more time than we have got.’
‘So, then, I will wait until someone else comes who throws three herbs on the brazier. In the meantime, do you have a question?’
‘I do. And I have brought a gift.’
A particular gold coin had lived for the past two months in the hem of Pantera’s tunic. Standing now, he pressed it into the priest’s palm.
The old man tested its weight briefly, and then smoothed his thumb over the image on the surface where rested the golden head of the Emperor Caligula, as sharply defined as when the coin fell from the dies of the mint. ‘Your need for succour must be great,’ he said.
‘I ask for your help in delivering a message.’
‘So?’ Failing eyes came up to search his face. ‘It is many years since I earned gold for the god by running errands.’
‘Fifteen years, so I was told, and now once more, which may be the last. One needs to know that the bull calf went safely to market, sent by the leopard’s attention.’
‘That is the message? All of it?’
‘It is. Unless you have reason to believe that the ears for whom it is spoken are no longer loyal to their former master?’
‘I believe no such thing. That one has been loyal for life. He remains so still.’
Pantera let himself smile. ‘Then you have the weight of my gratitude already. If we succeed in our endeavour, there is another like it. You yourself may have no need of gold, being bathed in the love of the god, but Tyche herself will find a use for it, I’m sure.’
The priest’s gaze drifted down at the lively spark of gold in his hand. Its shine leapt between his fingers, a small fish hunting morning flies. He blinked, as if his weak eyes were dazzled. ‘Will Caesarea come to harm from this?’ he asked, at length.
‘It will come to harm if our quest here fails. We hunt a man who seeks nothing less than the total annihilation of Israel. With your help, we will… remove him before he can wreak his havoc on your city.’
‘Did he kill your Teacher? Did he betray him to death and torment?’
‘No. Of this one crime, he is innocent. Seneca tried his best and he failed: his death was his own creation. Saulos is rather a traitor to the Hebrew people. He claims the Galilean as the messiah, and turns people away from their faith.’
‘You seek the apostate? The spewer of falsehoods?’ Anger livened the priest’s voice. ‘We of Tyche know him well, and despise him. We may not follow the goatherd’s god of the burning bush, but we know that if their promised messiah is ever to come, it will be the Galilean’s grandson who holds the title, not a man long dead who failed to deliver his people from the yoke.’ He tilted his head again. ‘Unless your enemy wishes to wrest the kingship for himself?’
Pantera gave a small bow. ‘The priests of Tyche are ever wise: that is exactly what he wants. He would rule under Rome as a vassal, and call it freedom.’
‘Can you stop him?’
‘With your help, I think I can.’
‘Then your message will reach the ears of the one you seek: Yusaf ben Matthias, a merchant of some wealth, trained in the ways of Hebrew wisdom. He sits on the council of the Sanhedrin in both Caesarea and Jerusalem. Your Teacher picked his men wisely, all those years ago, when we were all young.’ The priest smiled, lost in a haze of better times. His old, fast hands gathered past, present and future in the fire smoke and braided them to a single rope. ‘Yusaf will respond tomorrow evening if he can. You know the place to meet?’
‘I do.’ Pantera bowed then, and took his leave. The reed-voice followed him out.
‘You don’t ask anything for yourself.’
‘I didn’t know that I could.’ The steps that led down from the temple were long, the voice inescapable.
‘Some men cannot. But you, who have been touched by your god, could ask of the Galilean’s daughter, who is mother to your child. Both she and the infant thrive and are content in their love for each other and the man who cares for them. The boy who is not your son, but thinks of himself as such, is bored and wishes to join you. He cannot yet, but when he meets manhood he will try. If you would have freedom to teach him, you must kill your enemy. If he does not kill you first.’
Pantera had reached the bottom of the steps. He did not turn, or speak again, but left the old man standing in the still afternoon with gold light leaking from between his fingers, and went to find Mergus, to take him to the harbour, where the agent Yusaf ben Matthias might choose to appear to them on the next day’s evening. If he was alive. If he chose to come. If he had not in the meantime sold news of them to Saulos.
Chapter Ten
The same doubts haunted Mergus throughout the following day, magnified by the fragile beauty of this place, which had lain all day in silence, without a single riot.
Come evening, he and Pantera walked down to the harbour where an old sun lay at ease in the west, draping mellow light across the ocean. Fat gulls flopped after a fishing boat late to dock. Old men in tattered tunics sat on a line of steps, mending fishing nets with nimble fingers.
Mergus and Pantera passed the Temple of Augustus, its white marble washed to citrus in the evening light. The tide was out; a line of green showed where it reached, and all below was studded with limpets and strands of seaweed. The air hung soft with salt and ripe with ready violence.
Mergus said, ‘I was in Colchester, in Britain, just before the revolt broke out; it felt like this. I wish they’d fight and get it over.’
Pantera was just behind him. ‘It’ll happen before the night’s out. The king’s taking the petition at the theatre tonight. If anything’s going to spark a riot, that will.’
Mergus was about to say ‘What petition?’ but Pantera stumbled on a loose coil of rope and caught Mergus’ elbow as he fell, swearing vocally, and blaming Mergus for all the ills the world had ever seen.
Recoiling, Mergus pushed himself away. ‘Leave then, I don’t care!’ He dusted himself down with the exaggerated dignity of the drunkard and stormed on the last few paces to the quayside, praying that he had read aright the warning in Pantera’s eyes.
He turned the corner. The fishing boat had docked and emptied. The old men had all gone home. A gaggle of dock boys was leaving, no different from the dock boys who roamed the banks of the Tiber in Rome, or the quay at Ostia, or Alexandria or any other city Mergus had been to. They stared at him, whispering, and ran past.
He walked alone along the harbour’s edge, practising in his mind the pass phrase Pantera had taught him: The moon is fine and full tonight, perfect for fishing, and then the reply: You are right; if we leave at the moon’s height, we should have luck.
For courage, he said it aloud: ‘The moon is fine and full tonight-’
A flash of dark, where had been only white walls. A scrape of a heel on the harbour stone. A tingling in the air, as of past thunder and present lightning…