the bottom of the small fishing boat. Both men were completely naked but it was a warm August night, and they had thought to bring blankets. Apart from the strong stench of fish, Ballista was quite comfortable.
Above them, Corvus, the old fisherman and an auxiliary soldier, all clad in rags, worked the boat. To give an air of normality, they talked quietly in Greek as they fished. The little boat edged south into the bay towards Pigeon Island. Corvus sat down on a bench next to Ballista's head. 'Not far now,' he said, 'about half an hour.'
The old fisherman had sketched a map of Pigeon Island. It was roughly oval, with two tiny bays to the south. All its coasts were rocky, except the eastern, where there was a narrow band of sand. The barbarians had beached their vessel at the extreme southern end of the sand, drawing it up the few yards to the tree line. Careful observation from the fishing boat had revealed a large campfire up on the highest point of the island and a smaller one halfway up the slope from the longboat.
The plan was straightforward. Ballista and Maximus were to swim ashore with short swords and combustibles in waterproof packs strapped to their backs, kill any sentries and fire the longboat. Once it was well ablaze, they would swim to safety on the southern headland of the bay. The mainland here was only a couple of hundred paces away to the south. With luck, as the barbarians rushed to fight the fire, they would be slow to notice the two large merchant galleys, crammed with one hundred and fifty soldiers, bearing down on the beach. The galleys were a worry. Coming down from the north, there was no headland close enough for them to hide behind. Now they were lying with no lights aboard about a mile off in the open water. To lessen the chance of a barbarian spotting them, Ballista had arranged for another half-dozen fishing boats with bright lanterns to ply their nets between the galleys and the island.
All depended on the barbarians being unsuspecting. Local pirates would have had contacts ashore who may have warned them of the preparations. It was unlikely anyone in Ephesus would want to aid the barbarians – although, to be on the safe side, Corvus' Men of the Watch had been stopping any unauthorized person leaving the city by land or sea since midday.
Corvus had argued vehemently that it was madness for Ballista to swim ashore – let a couple of the auxiliaries do it. Overruling him, Ballista had pointed out that it might be necessary to lull the suspicions of barbarian sentries, and none of the soldiers spoke the language of Germania. But now, as he lay in the boat, he knew the real reason he had insisted on going himself: the excitement that for a time would free him from thinking about his unpleasant task as a persecutor.
Almost as if reading his thoughts, Corvus spoke. 'Great Artemis, this is better than grubbing about at the beck and call of Flavius Damianus.'
'You do not like him?' Ballista's words were barely a question.
Corvus smiled in the gloom. 'I became eirenarch of Ephesus to chase savage bandits over wild hillsides, not to pursue Christians through slums.'
'I had the impression there was ill feeling between the two of you.'
Corvus smiled again. 'Oh, there is. Our beloved scribe to the Demos – how many times has he told you that he is the descendant of the famous sophist? – Flavius Damianus thinks I showed less than commendable zeal a few years ago during the persecution instituted by the emperor Decius.' Sensing Ballista's interest, he continued. 'Seven young men of respectable families were informed against. Of course, I arrested them. Put them in the prison off the civic agora, ordered them to have the best cell, by the door. They escaped. The jailor vanished. I assume they bribed him to disappear. The imperium is big enough. Anyway, Flavius Damianus considers I did not put enough manpower into searching for them.'
'Did you?'
'I detailed a couple of men to it. There were many things to do.'
Ballista thought for a moment. 'You do not approve of the persecution of Christians?'
'It was not why I became an eirenarch. Yes, I understand the logic of it. The open atheism of the Christians may well anger the gods. If the gods are angered they may well turn against us and, as everyone is now saying, the coming war with the Sassanids may end in disaster. But there is something inhuman about the persecution. Most of the Christians are merely foolish, like those young men. There is something disgusting about tearing families apart, torturing and killing the weak and misguided. Anyway, I incline to an Epicurean view – the gods are far away and take no notice of mere mortals.'
Ballista was surprised at the man's candour. 'I have imperial mandata to persecute the Christians. Should you be talking to me like this?'
Corvus opened a wineflask and drank. 'You will not inform on me. Your face in court yesterday was a picture. You hate it as much as I do or, if not yet, you soon will.'
'My feelings do not come into it.' Ballista took a deep breath. 'I have my mandata. I will do my duty.'
Corvus just smiled and passed down the wineflask. 'There is a ludicrous rumour that the young men who escaped went into one of the caves outside the city, lay down and went to sleep. The Christians say the sleepers will wake when the emperor is a Christian.'
Ballista grinned. 'They might have a long sleep.'
'And would the world be a better place when they woke up?' Corvus took the wineflask back. 'You two had better get ready. We are almost in position.'
The old fisherman brought the boat broadside to the island. He used the spritsail to shield the far side of the boat. Ballista and Maximus rose to their feet. They were blackened from head to toe with a dye they were assured would not wash off in the sea. Ballista had tied his long fair hair in a strip of black material. Maximus had daubed an extra dollup of the tarry mixture on to the white scar where the end of his nose was missing. Corvus and the soldier helped them strap the packs on their backs. Ballista clasped hands with Corvus and, as quietly as he could, lowered himself over the side.
The water was shockingly cold. Ballista bit his lip to stop himself gasping. But once you were in the water, it felt fine. With just his fingertips on the gunwale of the boat, Ballstsa looked round to find his bearings. On the mainland, in the far south-east of the bay, he could see one or two chinks of light from the village of Phygela. From there, the dark line of the hills ran round to the west. They ended in a large independent hill like an upturned bowl. He knew it was directly south of the island.
Maximus joined him in the water with a sharp intake of breath. The fisherman angled the spritsail to catch the faint offshore breeze, the boat pulled away and, there, to the west, was their target. Pigeon Island was a dark outline in the moonlight. It was steep, heavily wooded. It reminded Ballista of the boss of a shield or one of those fancy cakes the Greeks offer to the gods. Near the summit, the large campfire blazed. The smaller one flickered about halfway down. The island was about two hundred and fifty paces away. Aiming to the left of the fires, Ballista started to swim.
There was just the gentle offshore breeze and a faint swell; otherwise, it was a flat calm with a clear, moonlit sky above. Ballista and Maximus swam with slow, even strokes, not wanting to stir up phosphorescence in the very still waters. Pumped up with anticipation, in no time Ballista sensed the seabed shelving up. Hardly swimming now at all, just the occasional slow stroke, he drifted until there was sand beneath him. Maximus came to a halt a few paces to his left.
They lay full length, just their heads out, the water lapping up to their noses. The beach here was about twenty paces wide. At first Ballista could see nothing but the black tree line beyond. Then he made out the shape of the longboat, just off to the right, its stern sticking out from the trees. He lay motionless, searching for sentries.
Now and then, voices floated down from higher up the island. Ballista did not look up towards the campfires; he did not want to ruin his night vision. He scanned the trees around the longship until his sight blurred and his eyes ached. Nothing. When he had almost decided the ship was unguarded, he heard a voice, much nearer, to the right of the boat.
At night the trick is not to look directly at something. Look to the side or above it. After a time, Ballista made out the shapes of two men to the right of the longship. They were sitting with their backs to a tree.
Gently bringing his hand out of the water, Ballista indicated to Maximus that they should go up by the left side of the boat. Quietly pulling himself up, Ballista set off. The sand was very white in the moonlight, horribly exposed. Crouched over, Ballista moved up the beach. At every step he expected a shout from the sentries. None came. He reached the lee of the boat. Maximus dropped down next to him. The Hibernian was grinning. Thy shrugged off their packs and drew their swords.
Ballista touched Maximus on the shoulder and indicated that they should go up the left side of the boat and
