thought, and then there is the natural aristocracy of specimens such as this, which proceeds from the gods without regard to earthly status.
'Why are you here?' I asked, thinking Crassus must have banished him from the house simply to spite Mummius. But his explanation was simple.
'Most of the slaves have been locked away here since the day the master was found dead. A few of us have been allowed to stay at our posts, sleeping in our usual quarters between the stables and the house. Like Meto, I come here as often as I can, to see the others. The guards know me and let me pass.'
'Is he your father?' I said, looking down at the old man.
Apollonius smiled, but his eyes looked sad. 'I never had a father. Soterus knows herbs and poultices. He tends the other slaves when they're sick, but now he's sick himself. He craves water but can't drink, and his bowels are loose. Look, I think he's sleeping now. Once when I had a bad fever he tended to me night and day. He saved my life that summer. And all for nothing.'
I could discern no bitterness in his voice, no emotion at all. It was like the voice of his namesake, dispassionate and mysterious.
I held the cloth to my face and tried to catch a breath. 'Can you swim?' I asked, remembering why I had come.
Apollonius smiled a genuine smile. 'Like a dolphin,' he said.
There was a path which started just south of the annexe and led down to the boathouse, switching back and forth down the steep hill below the southern wing and the baths. The path was largely invisible from the house, hidden by high foliage and the steep angle of the hillside. It was a cruder path than the one I had taken down from the terrace at the north wing, but it was well-trampled and in most places wide enough for two to walk abreast. The boy Meto led the way, leaping over tree roots and scrambling down rock shelves. Eco and I descended at a more careful pace, while Apollonius followed deferentially behind us.
It was the warmest, sleepiest hour of the day. As we neared the boathouse I gazed up toward the hills, thinking of the funeral congregation forced to stand for hours while the flames slowly disintegrated all that remained of Lucius Licinius. I could see the tiny column of smoke rising above the treetops, thick and white but quickly blown into tattered streamers by the sea breeze, vanishing altogether as it dispersed into the blue above.
The little navy of boats moored at the pier knocked quietly against one another. As we stepped onto the pier, I noticed only a few dozing figures lounging in the boats, their feet dangling in the water and their faces covered by broad-brimmed sailors' hats. Most of the ferrymen and slaves had gone off scavenging for food, following the scent of roasting meats from the kitchens above, or else had slipped off to nap between the trees on the shady hillside.
'What did you lose?' asked Apollonius, peering down into the clear water in the open space between two of the boats. 'It's not exactly that I've lost something…' 'But what am I to look for?'
'I don't really know. Something heavy enough to make a loud splash. Perhaps several such objects.'
He looked at me dubiously, then shrugged. 'The water could be clearer, but I suppose most of the silt stirred up by all these boats arriving will have settled by now. And I could use more sunlight; all these boats together cast a great shadow over the bottom. But if I see anything that shouldn't be there, I'll bring it up to you.'
He unbelted and stripped off his tunic, then pulled his undertunic over his head and stood naked, his tousled hair glinting blue-black in the sunlight while lozenges of light, reflected off the water, danced across the sleek muscles of his chest and legs. Eco looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and envy. From beneath a broad- brimmed hat, one of the sailors made a crude but appreciative whistle. Apollonius lifted an eyebrow, but otherwise he ignored die sound; long ago he must have grown used to having others take note of his appearance.
He squared his shoulders and drew several deep breaths, then found a spot with room enough to dive into the water between two boats. The surface barely rippled behind him.
I strode up and down the jetty, peering into the green depths and catching glimpses of his naked whiteness as he darted amid the mossy stones and the wooden beams. In the water he propelled himself as gracefully as he moved on land, kicking with both legs in unison and using his arms as if they were wings.
A gull flew overhead. The column of smoke from the faraway funeral pyre continued to rise above the trees. Still Apollonius remained beneath the water. At last I saw his face gazing up at me from the murky bottom, then grow larger and larger as he propelled himself upward and at last broke through the surface.
I began to ask him what he had seen, but he gasped and held up his hand. He needed to breathe, not speak. Gradually his breathing grew slower and more regular. Finally he opened his mouth — to speak, I thought, but instead he sucked in a deep breath, bent his body double, and plunged beneath the surface again. His kicking feet left a spume of tiny bubbles behind.
He dived straight down, disappearing into the darkness. I walked up and down the pier, gazing over the edge. The gull circled, the smoke rose, a cloud rolled across the sun. By now the dozing figures in the boats had all awakened and were curiously watching us from beneath their hats.
'He's been under a long time,' one of them finally said.
'Very long,' said another, 'even for such a big-chested-boy.'
'Ah, it's nothing,' said a third. 'My brother dives for pearls, and he can stay down twice as long as this one's been under.'
'Even so…'
I looked between the boats, trying to see if he had come up in a hidden spot, wondering if he had struck his head. It had been a bad time to demand this task of him, with so many boats moored at the dock. Apollonius himself had complained of the dark shadow covering the bottom; even dolphins must need light to swim by. No matter what the pearl diver's brother might claim, it hardly seemed possible that a man could stay underwater as long as Apollonius had been gone.
I began to fret. Eco was no swimmer, and neither was the boy Meto, by his own admission. The idea of plunging into the water myself made me think of my ordeal of the other night; I tasted seawater in my throat and felt it burn my nostrils and experienced a tremor of panic. I looked at the scattered chorus of sailors' hats and the shadowy faces beneath them.
'You men!' I said at last. 'There must be a good swimmer among you! I'll pay any one of you five sesterces to take a look under the pier and tell me what's happened to the slave.'
There was a commotion among the scattered hats. Feet were drawn from the water, faces appeared, hands sought for balance.
'Hurry!' I shouted, looking into the bottomless green darkness and feeling a cold fear grip my throat. 'Hurry! Dive from where you are! Ten sesterces-'
But at that instant I was silenced by the bizarre apparition that emerged from the water at the end of the pier. The ferrymen froze in their places and stared as a long, gleaming blade soared straight upwards into the air. Wrapped in seaweed, the sword glittered silver and green beneath the sun. A long, white, muscular arm followed it, and then the broad shoulders and gasping face of Apollonius, smiling in triumph.
XVIII
Apollonius had compared himself to a dolphin — and indeed, lying naked on the pier with one arm slung over his face, his broad, clefted chest heaving for breath, his pale flesh wet and glistening, he looked to me like a young ocean god pulled from the deep. The planks all around him were dark with water, forming a rough outline of his body. Steam rose from his taut flesh, and rainbow-coloured beads glinted amid the ridges of his belly. Meto fetched his undertunic, which Apollonius dropped casually onto his lap.
Beside him, the sword shone in the sunlight. I knelt and plucked away the strands of seaweed. It had not been underwater for long; there were no traces of rust about the hilt. I knew little enough about the workmanship of such weapons, but from the decoration on the handle it appeared to be of Roman manufacture.
Apollonius sat up, crossed his legs and leaned back against his arms. He brushed one hand through his scalp and sent a spray of water through the air. A few drops caught Eco in the eye. He wiped his face and looked at Apollonius with an odd, sullen fascination, then averted his gaze. They were about the same age; I could imagine how intimidated Eco must feel in the presence of another male of such superb appearance, who could display his
