Only when this duty was complete were they free to fill their plates. Cassius found he had rather lost his appetite after all the excitement. He managed a bit of cheese and a few little cakes, then settled for supping his wine. The local concoction was unusual — sweet and fortified with spices — but he swiftly acquired a taste for it. Indavara used the wine only to slosh down his food; he was already on to his second plateful.
Speaker Argunt sidled up and knelt by Cassius’s chair. ‘Word is spreading across the city. The people will bring gifts and flowers for you in the morning.’
‘That’s very kind.’
Argunt leaned in closer. ‘You not only saved the king, but also made him appear a hero.’
‘The gods have smiled upon us this night.’
‘Indeed. Though not on First Minister Vyedra, I fear. The king has had him arrested and appointed me in his stead.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘He was in charge of security.’
With a wink, Argunt stood up and walked away. Before Cassius could take another sip of wine, a rather voluptuous woman of about forty hurried over. She was wearing a fox fur around her neck and sweating profusely.
‘Centurion, I am the Countess Sifke. May I too offer my profound thanks for your heroic actions.’
Cassius’s actual title was ‘officer’ but he often chose not to correct the error.
‘Thank you, Countess.’
She looked past Cassius at Indavara, who was stripping a greasy chicken leg with his teeth.
‘You too, of course, young man.’
Indavara answered with a grunt.
‘What a throw, sir,’ the countess continued. ‘Worthy of an Olympiad.’
‘You should see me with a javelin, madam.’
Indavara grunted a different kind of grunt.
‘I wonder, sir,’ said the countess, ‘would you like to come and join my party? I’m here with my four daughters. They would be enchanted to meet you.’
Cassius glanced over at the girls: three black heads of hair and one red, and fair faces too, watching coyly from a corner.
‘Likewise, I’m sure. We will be over presently.’
The countess smiled and wobbled her way back to her table.
Indavara put down the chicken leg and stood up to inspect the rest of the food.
Cassius gave him a napkin. ‘Clean yourself up.’
‘Why?’ asked Indavara, wiping his chin.
Cassius aimed a thumb towards the corner.
The bodyguard grinned when he saw the girls.
‘Come,’ said Cassius, grabbing his wine as he stood. ‘Time to enjoy the warm embrace of a grateful nation.’
I
Rhodes, November AD 272
Even as the ship finally slid alongside the quay, as the yelling sailors tied off the mooring ropes and fixed the gangplank, the dozen passengers remained by the side-rail. They stood in a line, gazing across the harbour, though the object of their fascination had been visible for hours, soon after the island’s high mountains materialised out of the morning mist.
‘Half the bronze in the world, they say.’
‘Two hundred feet high it was.’
‘I heard three hundred.’
‘You could get a thousand men inside it.’
‘Probably more.’
‘And to think it’s just lain there like that for five hundred years.’
‘Five hundred and fifty, actually,’ said Cassius.
It was a remarkable sight, but he was struggling not to be slightly underwhelmed. Hadn’t someone told him the statue once stood astride the port; that high-masted ships sailed between the sun-god Helios’s legs? Looking back at the narrow breakwaters that enclosed the harbour, he now saw how ridiculous this notion was.
The statue was in fact about a mile back from the water, built upon an enormous stone platform. The god appeared to have been cut off at the knees. The body had fallen to the left and now lay face down on the ground. The right arm — originally held up, supposedly shielding the god’s eyes from the sun — now seemed to cover the face, as if protecting it from further assault. In the centuries since an earthquake had toppled the statue, numerous buildings had sprung up around it.
‘Men made that?’ Indavara enquired, his hands resting on the side-rail.
‘No,’ said one of the other passengers, a fat-necked merchant in a garish green tunic. ‘The locals try to claim credit for it, but it was the gods. And it was them that brought it down too.’
Cassius glanced at Indavara and shook his head.
‘How? How could men make that?’ asked the bodyguard.
‘I don’t know the specifics,’ Cassius replied. ‘I’m no engineer. But it was a man named Chares who designed the whole thing. I think he was a sculptor.’
‘Must have had big hands,’ scoffed the merchant. Several of the others laughed.
Cassius turned to him. ‘Tell me this then: why would the gods create such a statue of just one of them?’
‘Perhaps it was Helios himself — to remind the people of his power.’
‘Then why create it only to bring it down fifty years later?’
‘Perhaps that was the work of another god. A jealous god.’
Cassius gave an ironic smile, then nodded at the sparkling white columns of the ancient citadel on the hill above the city. ‘So who built that?’
The merchant shrugged.
Cassius gestured at an equally impressive temple lower down the slopes. ‘And that?’
‘Men. But those are just buildings. Look at it!’
The merchant pointed at the statue — the vast expanse of gleaming bronze that shone out among the pale buildings. ‘That is the work of a higher power! How could a man — or even hundreds of men — create such a thing?’
‘I don’t know how, but they did it. Mainly because they wanted to outdo the Athenians, as I recall. Haven’t you read Pliny?’
The merchant said nothing.
‘You must have visited Rome at least — seen the Colosseum? Why it’s ten times the size!’
‘Ah yes, of course. Rome, Rome, Rome. You must always have the biggest and best of everything.’ The merchant pointed at the statue again and smiled smugly. ‘But there’s nothing like that in Rome, is there?’
The conversation had been in Greek. As the merchant walked away across the deck, Cassius switched to Latin:
‘Bloody provincials.’ He turned to the others. ‘Come, you two.’
Simo already had a saddlebag over each shoulder and now picked up several empty water skins.
Indavara was still at the side-rail, staring at the statue. ‘How? How could they build it?’
‘By Jupiter. Listen, what about the arena you fought in? Who built that?’
Indavara looked down at the water, and the clumps of weed and driftwood that littered the harbour. ‘I never really thought about it.’
‘I daresay. Come on.’
Cassius and Indavara picked up the remainder of their gear. The three of them had to wait for a gap in the stream of porters and sailors lugging bales of wool and heavy clay pots. Cassius was first on to the gangplank.
‘I think that temple halfway up the hill is for Asclepius,’ he told Simo over his shoulder. ‘I shall have to take a look at that too.’
‘You do seem excited to be here, sir.’
‘Well why not, Simo?’ replied Cassius, stepping on to the quay. ‘This city is a seat of fine culture, philosophy and art in particular. There are some wonderful-’
He stood still, waiting for the strange feeling in his legs and the dizziness to subside. It had taken them seven long days to reach Rhodes from the Cilician port of Anemurium. Considering the season, the weather had been kind but — as ever — Cassius was glad to be back on dry land. He moved away from the sailors and sat down on a barrel on the far side of the quay.