The Far Shore (13 page)

With a high-pitched shriek, the old priest staggered backwards. The younger man went to his aid, while Auspex looked on, open-mouthed.

‘Can’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Indavara said as he ran through the gateway.

‘The wrath of Poseidon upon you!’ bellowed the priest. ‘Poseidon! Poseidon!’

‘Never heard of him,’ Indavara muttered.

The crowd slowed as those at the front reached the main gate. Feeling rather battered and bruised, Cassius squeezed past a family and a group of old women and reached the comparative safety of a statueless plinth to the right of the gate. Pressing his back against the marble he slid sideways to his left until he was finally able to extricate himself from the mass of worshippers.

Assuming Viator was long gone, he took a moment to get his bearings and catch his breath. He then heard an extremely refined but extremely loud voice:

‘That’s him! That’s the one. Almost knocked me over.’

Cassius looked up to see Viator struggling to get away from a red-faced young man who had hold of his arm.

‘Keep him there, Gavros! I shall find a sergeant!’ cried the old man standing close to the warring pair. He too was wearing a blue cape and holding a libation.

Cassius ran towards them.

Having sprinted along the side of the temple, Indavara halted by the steps that led up to the cavernous entrance. To his right – directly opposite the steps – was the main gate, where a dozen priests marshalled the faithful. On the other side of the temple were the gardens: a sprawling space decorated with vividly coloured bushes and luxuriant trees. Unnoticed by the busy priests, Indavara jogged past the temple looking for a way back on to the street. The gardens and the rest of the complex were enclosed by a twenty-foot red-brick wall. To the right, a dozen artisans – some on the ground, some up ladders – were at work, filling holes in the cement. He hurried over to a pair of them.

‘Sure you should be in here, mate?’ said one.

‘How do I get to the other side of this wall?’

‘You can’t from here. There’s only the main gate and the Priest Gate open today.’

The second man cast a suspicious glance at Indavara, especially the sword at his belt and the stave over his back. ‘What are you doing in here?’

Indavara turned back towards the temple and saw four more priests coming down the steps.

‘Er, I’m with the Magistrate’s Office. Chief Inspector of … Ladders. I think I’ll start here.’

By the time the suspicious labourer replied he was already on the third rung.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Just testing it. Hold it steady for me. Yes, good so far.’

Wincing at his own words, Indavara carried on climbing. All the other men had stopped working to watch him. He was halfway up the wall when he heard shouts to his right. The two priests from the side gate had appeared, the old man yelling at his colleagues exiting the temple. He stopped for a moment to rub his shin and noticed Indavara. Apparently forgetting his injury and showing impressive speed, he lifted his robes and ran, still shouting.

Indavara doubled his pace. A protruding nail end sliced his right thumb but he pressed on. Eight rungs to go. Trying to ignore the shouts from below, he looked up. Five rungs. Four.

A sudden, jarring impact; and the ladder slipped a yard down the wall. Indavara lost his footing but managed to hang on. Then the ladder lurched to the right, and only by wedging his boot against the wall did he stop it tipping over. Glancing downwards, he saw the aged priest was there, shaking the ladder for all he was worth.

‘Old bastard!’

He looked up again. The top of the ladder was three feet from the top of the wall. He clambered up, set one boot on the penultimate rung, the other on the last rung, and threw himself upward. As his arms came down on the brick, a startled pigeon flew away in a flurry of feathers and shit, most of which landed on Indavara’s hands. He levered himself up, got a knee over the edge, and hauled himself on to the top of the wall. He turned round just in time to watch the ladder crash to the ground, narrowly missing one of the labourers. Wiping his hands on his tunic, he waved at the priest.

The old man shook a fist at him.

Cassius was only feet away when the desperate Viator swung an elbow into his captor’s face. The thief sprang away and the young man fell back, blood already streaming from his nose. As Cassius passed him, the old gentleman was already admonishing his attendant.

On they ran again; under a grand arch decorated with scenes of ancient battles and on to a wide gravelled path that ran down to the grassed area in front of the Helios. Lining the path were artists displaying their work on easels and a handful of middle-aged tourists milling around. There was also a party of well-dressed children sitting by the chain-link fence that surrounded the sun god, sketching the statue’s feet.

As he came down the slope, Cassius looked beyond the Helios and cursed. At the end of the path, about a hundred yards away, was what looked like a cloth market. There were scores of people in amongst the densely packed stalls and hanging lengths of fabric. If Viator made it there, he’d never find him, especially as neither Indavara nor the useless city sergeants had been able to keep up.

Cassius accelerated.

For several moments, Indavara had done nothing but stare in amazement at the two sections of the gargantuan figure. The head of the Helios – which was about the size of a cart – was to his left, ears and tufts of hair ingeniously crafted from the bronze. The shoulder was only a little below the level of the wall, while the tops of the knees on the standing section were a good twenty feet higher. The vast, curved slabs of metal seemed darker up close, like a polished hardwood.

‘Hey, what are you doing up there?’ There were also labourers at work on the other side of the wall and the closest of them was halfway up a ladder to Indavara’s left. There was another unoccupied ladder close by.

Shouts from below. He saw Viator scattering the tourists before disappearing behind the huge platform that supported the statue’s legs. Indavara was impressed to see Cassius not that far behind.

‘At least he can run.’

Looking along the path, Indavara saw the cloth market and reached the same conclusion as Cassius. He crawled along the wall to the ladder. Taking in a few angles and distances, he turned around and lowered himself on to it.

‘Get off there!’ shouted the labourer.

Doubt struck Indavara – the result of the soft life he was leading these days, he knew – but then he recalled an incident from their last outing in Antioch; a blind leap from twice this height.

He twisted his neck and glimpsed Viator, still sprinting hard.

Got to go now.

Gripping the sides of the ladder with both hands, he braced his right foot against the wall and pushed out.

Cassius reckoned he was gaining.

Viator had just lost a sandal but the cloth market was close.

Cassius got ready for one last burst. He would go for his legs and bring him down.

As air rushed past his ears, Indavara steeled himself for the impact. He expected to hit the statue’s left shoulder, then slide down to the ground and run around the head.

But the ladder had picked up tremendous speed; as it struck the shoulder, he was propelled straight on to the Helios’ back, landing with enough impetus to send him sliding across the slick metal. He only began to slow as he reached the right shoulder. Rolling over to try to stop himself, he then found himself careening down the statue’s right arm on his backside.