The History Keepers Circus Maximus (21 page)

Ten minutes later, safely back in their own cosy room, Alan and Miriam, breathless and excited, started to ponder how and when they might get their hands on the book with the palm tree on it and discover what significance it had.

Just before dawn, the traffic began to increase. Soon other roads converged with theirs, forming a wide thoroughfare. Traders and farmers jostled with private carts and carriages. Nathan had the reins and Charlie was describing all the sights to an enthralled Gaius. Jake sat up, excited at the prospect of seeing the ancient city. Even Lucius awoke from his long sleep and took in the sights while stretching his bulky frame.

But this last section of the journey soon grew frustrating: after a series of hold-ups, the traffic finally stopped completely. A huge load of marble had been shed in an impossibly narrow stretch of road, and it took nearly two hours to shift it – and calm the fight that flared up when, for a moment, swords were drawn. It was well past eight by the time the way was cleared, and Jake feared that they might miss Topaz.

Gradually buildings started to materialize out of the dust and heat – just clusters to begin with, but soon becoming more densely packed.

As they passed a line of stalls selling cheap food and household items, Lucius suddenly stood up. ‘Do you have money?’ he asked Nathan, pointing to one of the stalls. Nathan suspiciously withdrew his pouch. Lucius snatched a copper coin, jumped down and purchased a jar, before leaping aboard the moving cart again.

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Nathan sarcastically.

As the cart trundled on, Lucius popped the cork and took a slug of the contents, grimacing, then passed it to Nathan. ‘You need to drink. All of you.’

‘What is it?’ the American drawled.

‘Vinegar.’

Nathan pushed it away politely. ‘Thanks all the same, but I’m not thirsty.’ He pulled a face at the others. ‘He is actually unsound of mind.’

‘Drink,’ Lucius insisted. ‘It will stop poison from Hydra. You all drink. We soldiers, we drink in case of accident.’

Charlie cottoned on at once. ‘I think he means it’s a kind of vaccine for that gas. I suppose we’d better do as he says.’ He grabbed the flask and took a big sip.

Reluctantly Nathan and Jake did the same. Jake didn’t like vinegar at the best of times and struggled to keep the sharp, acrid stuff down.

‘It good maybe three hours,’ Lucius explained. ‘Then you must drink again. This will keep you safe.’

‘I love this job sometimes,’ said Nathan drily as they rattled on through the suburbs.

As he looked around, Jake couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for the people who lived here: the houses were misshapen tenement blocks, four or five tottering storeys high and packed one next to the other with narrow dark passageways between. From a window Jake noticed a thin arm empty a chamber pot onto the grimy street below. There were
red-faced drunks sleeping in doorways, thin cats and dogs searching for a meal amongst the waste. Pungent smells – of decaying food, of sweat and urine – floated across the hot air. It was not quite the Rome that Jake had imagined.

Charlie sensed his disappointment. ‘Just wait till we’ve climbed the pass between the Caelian and Aventine hills,’ he said, pointing to the slope ahead of them. ‘It will be another world.’

He was not exaggerating. Five minutes later the road levelled out and ancient Rome spread out before them.

Jake’s eyes widened; his jaw dropped; he gaped in wonder. Lucius did the same. Even Nathan was struck dumb. Charlie smiled with the satisfaction of someone who has just magicked from thin air something truly sensational.

Ahead of them, occupying a huge area between seven undulating hills, was a limitless collection of temples, squares and arenas; mile upon mile of brilliant white marble that shimmered in the morning sun. Grand villas spilled down the sides of the hills, and the elegant streets were teeming with life.

‘That, if I am not mistaken,’ Charlie declared, a tear coming to his eye, ‘is the capital city of a
civilization that will change the world for ever. The first truly global metropolis. The Romans did so much for history, it’s easy to take them for granted.’

‘He’s right of course,’ Nathan concurred, ‘although when I try and remember
what
they invented, I always go slightly blank.’ He added mischievously, ‘I know they were responsible for some shocking haircuts. And curling tongs.’

Charlie became quite flustered and started counting things off on his hand. ‘Well, let’s see . . . they were pioneers of education, architecture, sanitation, irrigation and modern government. They revolutionized road building, town planning and law.’

‘Yes, but apart from that . . .’ Nathan winked at Jake.

‘They brought us our language, our alphabet, the police system, the benefit system, the sewage system; water-powered milling, high-rise buildings, the calendar, paved streets, glassed windows, public libraries, cement; even apples and pears!’ Charlie had started to go red. ‘And yes, eventually the Roman Empire crumbled – but their legacy lives on, Nathan Wylder, in every corner of this planet up to Point Zero and beyond.’

‘I’m pulling your leg, Charlie,’ Nathan chuckled. ‘I love Rome just as much as you. Look at it. It’s the opposite of shy and retiring. It’s got real guts.’

‘What’s that?’ said Jake, pointing down towards a gigantic structure in the basin below them. He felt he should change the subject before the argument got any more heated. A stadium, almost half a mile long, bordered by banks of stone seats, was set within a rectangular colonnade of mind-blowing proportions.

Now it was Nathan’s turn to show excitement. ‘I’ve only ever seen it in books. Or as ruins. That,’ he announced, ‘is the Circus Maximus.’

‘
That’s
the Circus Maximus?’ Lucius repeated in awe. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘The biggest stadium ever built,’ Nathan exclaimed, ‘accommodating a staggering hundred and fifty thousand spectators. Obviously it’s most famous for its chariot racing, but all sorts of things go on there: gladiatorial contests, grand processions, athletics tournaments and spectacular hunts. Signor Gondolfino tells a really gory story of how he watched sixty-three leopards and eighty-nine wild bears being brought down before his very eyes.’

‘With all due respect,’ Charlie interrupted
irritably (he detested cruelty to animals), ‘the signore does like to exaggerate. Anyway, we’re running out of time. The Pons Fabricius is over there’ – he pointed – ‘running from the city to the Tiber Island. I suggest we hurry up.’

It was only a few minutes before nine, and the bridge was still some way off. Jake could see it in the distant haze: just north of the Circus Maximus, where the river curved round in a loop, it crossed over to an island in the middle. A second bridge, identical in design, ran from the island to the fields on the west bank. Nathan urged the horse on, and the cart rattled down into the pulsing city.

The noise was overwhelming: the din of hooves, the clatter of wheels and the frantic buzz of a million inhabitants. There were so many sights that Jake didn’t know where to turn first. People bustled about in every direction: workmen gathered up their tools and started their jobs; groups of children in neat togas were marched to school; ladies strolled under the shade of parasols; soldiers in chain mail swaggered out of their barracks. Animals of all sorts joined the throng: herds of sheep and cows were driven to market; mules and donkeys carried great baskets of goods; dogs of every shape and size played
in the streets, padded along with their masters or watched, yawning, from shady doorways.

Mostly the people were dressed in rough, simple clothes, but occasionally important-looking figures in brilliant white togas would forge their way through the rabble. One of these, Jake observed, had a toga fringed with a band of deep purple. He was surrounded by armoured bodyguards who were roughly pushing people out of his way. Following him was a trail of hangers-on, all competing for his attention.

Some people didn’t travel on foot at all, but were carried in cushioned litters, veiled from the hubbub by swags of silk. Jake spotted a pale-faced, thin-lipped woman thrust her head through the curtains and bark orders to her bearers, even giving one a lash of her whip.

The streets were lined with shops of every kind. They were open-fronted, windowless, and most had rough counters and painted signs to show what they were selling. There were blacksmiths, goldsmiths, stone cutters and carpenters; florists, bakers, fruiterers and honey-sellers; there was an apothecary, where a pharmacist was pounding herbs with a pestle and mortar; and a copy shop where three hunched
scribes carefully duplicated documents onto scrolls of parchment; there were sandal makers, lamp makers, locksmiths and potters; Jake noticed that there were even barbers and hairdressers.

One such place caught his eye: in a gaudy salon with painted walls and garlands of flowers, a number of ladies were having their hair done and ointments applied to their faces. One was telling a story in dramatic hushed tones while the others hung on her every word. The whole scene made Jake think that very little had changed since AD 27.

Nathan urged the horse through the maze of streets. But as their way became increasingly narrow and densely packed, Jake suggested that it would be quicker to continue on foot. Nine a.m. had already come and gone, and he was feeling quite frantic. The others agreed. To say thank you to old Gaius, Charlie offered to help him set up his stall in the Forum Boarium; he would meet the others on the bridge presently.

Jake, Nathan and Lucius quickly said their goodbyes, hugging the old man, then set off, weaving their way purposefully through the teeming crowd. Jake’s heart was thumping again: if all went according to plan, he would be face to face with
Topaz in a matter of minutes. The sense of anticipation was both joyful and painful. Faster and faster they ran, until eventually they emerged through the old city gates and found themselves on the banks of the Tiber.

‘There!’ Jake shouted, pointing towards the bridge that crossed over to the island. He took the lead, breaking into a run again.

‘Slow down, Jake,’ Nathan ordered. ‘We need to keep our wits about us. There’s always the chance we’re walking into a trap.’

Jake reluctantly obeyed. At length they were striding onto the Pons Fabricius, heads swivelling, alert for danger. People were walking briskly to and fro, or milling about chatting, or watching the jugglers, fire eaters and fortune tellers. Jake eagerly scanned the figures and finally spied a young woman: she was leaning over the parapet, her back to them, gazing down at the river. She wore a hooded gown, as delicate as gossamer, from which strayed locks of honey-coloured hair. Jake could contain himself no longer: he rushed over, eyes wide, breath fast, mouth dry.

‘Topaz?’

The girl turned round and Jake’s heart sank: it
was not her. She was about the same age but her features were plain and she had none of Topaz’s mystery. Jake smiled, embarrassed, and turned away. Catching up, Nathan shot him a reproachful look, but Jake was too preoccupied to notice, turning to examine the other people on the bridge.

He soon realized that there was no one else even remotely like Topaz St Honoré.

The three of them waited, leaning against the balustrade, eagerly straightening up whenever they spotted a female figure. After an hour their spirits began to sink. Jake maintained a forced smile, but his eyes were sad.

There was a brief respite when Charlie arrived bearing drinks, snacks and a cheerful account of how Gaius’s perfumes were already creating a stir in the marketplace. He then clapped eyes on Tiber Island and became very excited. He told them the legend of how it was formed. ‘Five hundred years ago, the body of the last king of Rome, Tarquinius Superbus, a terrible despot, was thrown into the river. Gradually all the mud and silt built up around him until it formed an island. And have you noticed,’ he asked, ‘that it is now shaped like a boat?’

Lucius looked at Charlie as if he was mad, but
Jake immediately saw the resemblance. The front of the island narrowed sharply like a prow, at its centre a great obelisk shot up like a mast, and a temple set amongst the trees at the rear was the high stern.

‘Of course, that is no coincidence,’ Charlie went on.

‘Goes without saying – that would be idiotic,’ Nathan muttered under his breath.

‘No indeed – the rulers of Rome wanted it to look like a ship in honour of Aesculapius, the Greek god of healing. You see, three hundred-odd years ago, in 293
BC
, there was a dreadful plague, and an envoy was sent to Greece, to the god’s spiritual home. As was the custom, a special snake was brought back from there. It spent the return journey wrapped tightly around the mast of the ship. However, when they sailed up the Tiber, it suddenly leaped overboard and slithered across to the island, showing that this was where the temple should be built. And there it stands to this day – Rome’s very own shrine to Aesculapius’ – he trembled at the sheer poetry of the story – ‘on a ship-shaped island!’

‘Fascinating!’ Nathan murmured through slightly gritted teeth. ‘Sometimes I think your talents are wasted on us. Perhaps you should give tours to the locals?’

Charlie just rolled his eyes and shoved his glasses up his nose, muttering something about philistines.

As the sun reached its zenith and the heat became unbearable, Nathan decided he no longer cared what he looked like and bought a parasol – a pink lady’s one with tassels, which was the only one left. He put it up and twirled it with such panache, he managed to get away with it.

By mid-afternoon there was still no sign of Topaz. Jake sat morosely, barely moving a muscle, his hopeful smile long gone. The others became fidgety. Lucius went to have his fortune told and objected when the clairvoyant insisted he was destined to be a sheep farmer in Germania. Meanwhile Nathan, to take his mind off things, decided to get his portrait painted by a local artist with a face like a squeezed lemon, who clearly felt that such work was beneath him. Needless to say, Nathan was the customer from hell, insisting in his pigeon Latin that the man had failed to catch his
true manly mystique
. A hushed row ensued, with the artist finally tossing the picture into the Tiber. ‘Romans are just
so
touchy,’ Nathan complained as Charlie came to calm things down.