It was at that moment Anacrites opened his eyes and stared at me vaguely. By the looks of him his body was giving up and his black soul was on the ferryboat to Hades. His mind was just about still here, however.

I told him bitterly, "I've just been informed I have to sail to Baetica on this dead-end job of yours!"

"Falco..." he croaked. What a compliment. He might not have known who he was, but he recognized me. I still refused to spoon-feed the bastard with broth. "Dangerous woman!" he moaned. Maybe it was apropos of nothing, though it sounded like fair comment on my chosen partner in life.

He faded out again. Well, enigmas are what you expect from spies.

Helena Justina ignored him. "Don't mention to your mother that we're going," she instructed me.

"And don't you tell yours either!" I retorted nervously.

PART TWO:

BAETICAN SPAIN: CORDUBA

A.D 73: mid-April

The trader I consider to be an energetic man, and one bent on making money; but it is a dangerous career and one subject to disaster. On the other hand it is from the farming class that the bravest men and the sturdiest soldiers come, their calling is most highly respected, their livelihood is most assured and is looked on with the least hostility, and those who are engaged in that pursuit are least likely to be disaffected. —Cato the Elder

SEVENTEEN

 

You pay me by the mile, said the carriage-hire man. I didn't believe it. That would mean at the end of our hiring period I just had to lie to him about how far I had driven. He was an ex-legionary. How could he be so innocent? "What's the catch?" I asked.

He grinned, appreciating that I had at least had the courtesy to query the system, instead of jumping in with intent to cheat. "No catch."

The hireman was a wide-shouldered former footslogger whose name was Stertius. I was unsure what to make of him; my mission was making me distrust everyone. This man owned a commercial transport business in the southern Baetican port of Malaca—mainly ox-wagons collecting amphorae of fish-pickle from all along the coast to bring them to port, but also gigs, carts and carriages for travelers. It would be an ideal cover if he engaged in espionage; he would see everyone who came and went. He had been in the Roman army; he could easily have been recruited by the legions to work for Anacrites; even Laeta could have coerced him somewhere along the line. Equally, local loyalty could put him firmly in league with the men I had come to investigate— or the dancing girl.

Helena sat down on our mound of baggage in the quiet, unobtrusive manner of a woman who was making a point. We had been sailing for a week, then landed in the wrong place so we now had a lengthy trip by road ahead of us. She was very tired. She was sitting in the hot sun. She did not need me dragging out what ought to have been a straightforward commercial transaction. She stroked Nux as if the dog were her only friend.

I still felt queasy from the ocean. It was possible to travel the entire way from Rome to Gades overland if you had the time to spare. Someone like Julius Caesar who wanted to show up well in his memoirs took pride in reaching Hispania without crossing water. Most people with interesting lives to lead preferred the quicker sea trip, and Helena and I were not in a good state for forced marches anyway. So I had agreed to take a boat. Getting this far was torture for anyone like me who could be seasick just looking at a sail. I had been groaning all the way, and my stomach was still not sure it had returned to land. "I'm dazed. Explain your system."

"You pay me what I freely admit is a hefty deposit." Stertius had the typical sardonic air of an old soldier. He had retired from the army after decades in North Africa, then crossed the Straits to Spain to start his business. Up to a point I trusted him commercially, though I was beginning to fear he was the type who enjoys himself inflicting arcane mysteries on helpless customers. "If you don't use up your allocation, I'll give you a rebate. If you overrun of course, I'll have to charge you more."

"I'm taking the equipage to Corduba."

"As you wish. I'll be giving you Marmarides as your driver—"

"Is that optional?" I was facing enough unknowns. The last thing I wanted was to be saddled with someone else's employee. "It's voluntary," grinned the hireman. "—In the legionary sense!" It was compulsory. "You'll get on with him fine. He's one of my freedmen. I've trained him well, he's a natural with horseflesh and he has a good temperament." In my experience that meant he would be a maniacal driver who let the mules get the staggers and tried to knife his customers. "Marmarides will bring the carriage home when you've finished. He'll tell you the mileage price at the end."

"He'll just tell us? Excuse me!" Baetican commercial practice seemed to have its extraordinary side. "I'm sure the amiable Marmarides has your absolute trust, but I like the right to query costs."

I was not the first suspicious Roman to land in Malaca. Stertius had a well-worked-out routine for technical quibbles: he crooked one finger knowingly, then led me to the rear of the sturdy two-wheeled, two-mule carriage which I was attempting to lease. Its iron-bound wheels would bounce painfully on the track to Corduba, but the passenger compartment had a leather cover which would protect Helena from rough weather, including hot sun. Nux would enjoy trying to bite the wheels.

Stertius bent over one axle hub. "I bet you've never seen one of these before," he claimed proudly. "Look, centurion: this commodious vehicle that I'm letting you have at negligible rates is fitted with an Archimedes hodometer!"

Dear gods, he was a mechanical enthusiast. A flywheel and twisted rope man. The kind of helpful character who asks for a drink of water then insists on mending your well-tackle that has been out of use for three generations. He was almost certainly building himself a complete siege warfare catapulta in the garden of his house.

The wheel hub over which we were crouched in the dust had been fitted with a single-tooth gear. Every rotation of the carriage wheel caused this gear to engage with a flat disc set vertically at right angles above it, which was cut into numerous triangular teeth. Each wheel rotation moved the disc on by a notch, eventually operating a second gear which in turn moved on a second

disc. That one, which was horizontal, had been drilled with small holes, upon each of which was balanced a smooth pebble. Every operation of the top disc moved up a new hole, allowing a pebble to drop through into a box below, which Stertius had secured with a fierce padlock.

"The top disc rotates one hole for every four hundred revolutions of the carriage wheel—which takes one Roman mile!"

"Amazing!" I managed to utter. "What beautiful workmanship! Did you construct this yourself?"

"I do a bit of metalwork," Stertius admitted shyly. "I can't think why these are not fitted as standard on all hired vehicles."

I could. "Wherever did you get the idea, Stertius?"

"Road-building with the Third Augusta in bloody Numidia and Mauretania. We used something like it for measuring accurate positions for the mileposts."

"Amazing!" I repeated feebly. "Helena Justina, come and look at this; it's an Archimedes hodometer!"

I wondered how many more colorful eccentrics I was doomed to meet in Baetica.

 

"There's just one thing that has to be understood," Stertius warned me as Helena dutifully dragged herself over to inspect his mileage measurer. "You'll find Marmarides can turn his hand to most things, but he won't deliver babies!"

"That's all right," Helena assured him, as if we were a couple who had plans for all contingencies. "Didius Falco is a Roman of the traditional, hardy type. He can plough his fields with his left hand, while his right delivers twins. At the same time he can spout a finely phrased republican oration to a group of senatorial delegates, and invent an ode in praise of the simple country life."