The Silver Eagle

‘Very clever!’ said Tarquinius, pointing. ‘Whoever is in charge has organised this hunt well.’

Romulus understood. Although he had never seen a beast hunt, he had lived for tales of them as a child. ‘It leaves more men to be used as beaters and hunters.’

‘Or spearmen.’

‘At the bottleneck?’

Tarquinius nodded.

Carefully they made their way down the valley, seeing an occasional injured antelope or zebra lying stricken on the ground. Panicked by the noise and the other animals, some beasts had fallen and been trampled. They would be easy prey later, thought Romulus hungrily. Food for the pot.

Neither had any real idea of whom or what they would find at the neck of the trap. The sight that greeted them moments later was most impressive. They reached a point where the ravine narrowed as it dropped down to a flat surface some hundred paces below. Instead of hunters’ hides, the pair saw long nets strung in a line from one side of the valley floor to the other. Some distance in front of the thick mesh were rows of deep pits in the ground. Everywhere they looked, there were figures trapped in netting or the traps, struggling frantically to escape. It was a scene of pure chaos. Lone uncaught animals darted here and there in blind panic, uncertain where to run. Loud neighs and cries mixed with the hunters’ shouts.

Groups of men were running to each successive animal in the nets, freeing them but immediately binding their limbs with ropes. Their task was urgent, and dangerous, and Romulus saw a number get badly injured. Kicked, stamped upon or gored, they dropped to the ground, bleeding and screaming. No one came to their aid, and their comrades were so plentiful that the operation continued without interruption. Directing the proceedings from the centre of the valley floor was a short figure in dark clothes, armed with a long staff.

‘This is no hunt,’ Romulus exclaimed. ‘It must be for the circus in Rome!’

‘A possible way home,’ added the haruspex.

Elated, Romulus’ attention was suddenly drawn by loud brays of anger. Just below them, a huge zebra stallion had been trapped. In the ensuing struggle to free itself, its hindquarters had come free of the net. Now a ring of men surrounded the magnificent beast, trying without success to rope it and bring it to the ground. The enraged zebra kicked and bucked around in circles, swinging its head violently from side to side. In an effort to ensnare one of its back legs, one of the braver hunters stepped in too close. The stallion sensed the man’s presence and whirled around, driving both hind feet into his face. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the figure crumpled to the ground and lay still.

‘Fool,’ said Tarquinius quietly.

Romulus winced. No man could survive a blow like that. Unlike the one I delivered to Caelius that night, he thought bitterly. It wasn’t me. So who else could it have been?

Terrified of suffering the same fate as their companion, none of the hunters would now approach the zebra. At length, it struggled free of the weighted mesh and galloped off through a gap in the traps.

Romulus wanted to cheer. The promise of freedom was a powerful drug.

‘Let’s go down,’ said Tarquinius.

Romulus hesitated, but it made sense to make contact with the bestiarii. He didn’t know what reception they might receive, but any risk was outweighed by the possibility of joining their party. That would greatly increase the two friends’ chance of reaching Alexandria. There were few travellers in this empty land, and journeying on their own would be fraught with danger.

For some time, the men wrestling with the animals did not notice them approaching. They were engrossed in subduing as many as possible, before the beasts smothered in the netting, injured themselves or escaped, as the zebra had just done.

When they were quite near, Tarquinius called out in Latin. ‘Have you need for more men?’

The nearest hunters turned round in surprise. Ill-fed, dressed in rough tunics and for the most part barefoot, they looked like slaves. In unison, their mouths opened in surprise.

‘Where is your master?’

None answered.

Romulus was not surprised by their silence. With light brown skin, black hair and dark eyes, the cowed- looking men looked Egyptian. Slaves to a man.

Even when Tarquinius addressed them in Egyptian, they did not reply.

A bulky, long-haired figure came striding over from a bull buffalo that had just been restrained. He was dressed similarly to the hunters, but the whip and dagger hilt protruding from his wide leather belt told a different story. Noticing Tarquinius and Romulus, the vilicus came to an abrupt halt.

‘Where the hell have you come from?’ he demanded suspiciously in Egyptian.

‘From there,’ said Tarquinius, waving vaguely to the south.

A little wrong-footed by the blond newcomer’s confidence, the vilicus scowled. ‘Your names?’

‘They call me Tarquinius. And this is Romulus, my friend,’ replied the haruspex quietly. ‘We were hoping for some work.’

‘This isn’t the marketplace in Alexandria. Or Jerusalem,’ the vilicus sneered. ‘We don’t need any more labour.’

Romulus could not understand what was being said, but the vilicus’ aggressive manner did not need translating. This fool is both stupid and bad-tempered, he thought. Yet they could not afford to antagonise him. There weren’t many other options available. He kept his face impassive, while Tarquinius simply folded his arms. And waited.

‘Gracchus!’ There was no mistaking the tone of command. ‘What’s going on?’

The man fell silent. A moment later, a short figure in dark brown robes arrived, the same the friends had seen earlier. He moved to confer with his vilicus.

‘These two just breezed in out of nowhere, sir,’ Gracchus muttered. ‘They’re looking for work!’

The deeply tanned newcomer had a mane of grey hair, a wild beard and shrewd brown eyes. With its metal- shod tip, the well-worn staff in his hands looked more like a weapon than a crutch. A weighty purse dangled from his leather belt, while a number of thick gold rings adorned his fingers. This was a wealthy man.

Romulus and Tarquinius waited patiently.

At length the short man had heard enough. ‘I am Hiero of Phoenicia. A bestiarius,’ he said, speaking Egyptian in a sonorous tone. ‘And you are?’

The haruspex repeated their names slowly and calmly.

Romulus racked his brains. He had heard of a man called Hiero before.

The bestiarius frowned at Tarquinius’ accent. ‘You’re Roman?’ he asked, switching without effort to Latin.

His men looked on uncomprehendingly.

‘We are,’ replied Tarquinius.

‘What are you doing here in the wilderness?’

‘We were guards on a merchant vessel,’ announced Romulus in a confident voice. ‘It was attacked by pirates south of here two days ago. When the ship was taken, the two of us managed to swim ashore. The others weren’t so lucky.’

‘Guards, eh?’ Hiero’s beady eyes lingered on Tarquinius’ scarred face and Romulus’ rusty mail shirt. ‘Not pirates?’

‘No,’ Romulus protested. ‘We’re honest men.’

‘Curious,’ said the bestiarius. ‘The local trireme only left its mooring near our camp yesterday. Before he left, the trierarch mentioned that he hadn’t seen any pirates for a while.’

Romulus did not rise to the bait.

Tarquinius intervened. ‘A trireme? On the Erythraean Sea?’ he scoffed. ‘No such thing.’

‘There is now, my friend,’ replied Hiero smugly. ‘We merchants complained so much that the Roman authorities in Berenice saw fit to commission three ships. They now patrol the seas south of Adulis, and piracy in the area has dropped, thank the gods.’

‘Excellent,’ cried Romulus. ‘With Jupiter’s blessing, they will find and punish the whoresons who killed our