Fire Master Part 5

The Harpies

There was a strong wind on the plain when we saw the sandstone hills and the narrow crevice that led to the natural width between the two hills. The sun was high, and I imagined that the Greeks had already raised the camp. I put on my hood, but the heat, sand, and wind continued to hit my face, so I covered my face with a thick cloth in the shape of a triangle. Ibn-Hatar was already showing signs of tiredness. I was hungry and thirsty, and I couldn't wait to reach the stone gorge, where we would be protected from the climate vicissitudes.

When we entered the crevasse, the gale stopped. Outside, it was blowing in the same direction as we rode. This would partially nullify my sense of smell, because the aromas in the air are generally carried by the wind and dispersed by it. It was only then, when I was walking along the path, that I smelled the salty smell which is synonymous with death.

"Blood!" I whispered in Mandarin, so that Flor do Leste would understand the warning. I dismounted the horse and moved the animal out of the way.

"Escape to the fields, run, and wait for me there," I exclaimed, slapping the steed on the back. The little girl knew how to ride, but the steed, besides being skillful, was intelligent and understood my somatic command. The little girl grabbed the reins, pressed her legs against the saddle, and let herself be carried by the force of the sorrel.

I felt a jolt in the fabric of reality, and I was sure of the evil presence that awaited me. I stealthily walked along the path, leaning against the wall, until I heard the camels chewing their cud. When the path opened into the rock square, I became aware of the destruction that had preceded me. At the exit of the gorge, almost beside me, lay a human corpse, covered in blood from head to toe. The face, turned upward in an expression of horror, had its tongue and eyes cut out. The back was torn in multiple cuts, and the heart was pierced by a penetrating object. It was Thales, the Greek merchant.

A terrifying orgy of blood and flesh spread across the pass. A voluptuous figure, with a body like a woman and angel wings, stood in the center of the natural courtyard, leaning on a golden spear. Her skin was fair, her breasts were full, and her hair was red and wavy. She was dressed only in light silk strips, tied in a small tunic that covered her sex and nipples. At her feet, a second body lay inert, pierced by her nefarious weapon. It was Tommaso.

As the huntress plucked the golden spike from her victim's back, a second winged woman floated, maintaining a static position thirty meters above her partner. It was a waking mood—while one attacked, the other provided cover, alert for any surprise attack. Like her partner, she also wielded a metal spear. Her blue eyes searched everything around, and her sharp ears picked up the slightest vibrations.

Those were the harpies, two wicked cherubs, cruel killers, blind servants of the archangel Michael. They were the ones who molested Hazai, prolonging his suffering before death. Even incapacitated, he had managed to escape from the fighters, but they had certainly followed his trail and led them to Sinai. It was likely that the prey were looking for the captain, not their leader. They intended to finish the work they had begun and take the renegade's head to the Prince of Angels.

The first of them, who trampled on Tommaso's corpse, was Zambil, and the one who protected her from the sky was called Marilli. They did not wear armor or any other protection that limited their movements, and this made them quick and silent. The wings took on a neutral color, between beige and khaki, so that they could better blend in with the desert scenery.

And even they, ready for the ambush, didn't notice my arrival. Until I revealed myself. In disbelief, Zambil let out a nervous smile.

"We finally found him! Too bad it took so long to appear."

Marilli shared the cruelty.

"They say renegades don't like seeing humans killed. We could have spared them, but these clay pieces of shit didn't want to give in."

"Indeed," replied Zambil, pointing at me. "If it weren't for your attitude, I would say it's one of them. You smell like monkey fur, captain," she mocked, with an evil laugh. "And then, ready for a new fight?"

Captain, it was as I thought. The predators thought I was Hazai.

I didn't want to deceive them any longer. With one hand, I ripped the cloth from my face, and with the other, I laid aside the tunic and hood.

Their reaction was immediate. Zambil stood her ground, but her satisfied expression wrinkled. In the air, Marilli flapped her wings, retreating a few meters. The maneuver stirred up the wind, raising sand on the field of the step.

"This is not Captain Hazai! It's Ablon, the First General," muttered the blue-eyed warrior, surprised.

"Ablon, the Renegade Angel, you mean," corrected Zambil, regaining her wicked smile. "Our reward will come double."

Insolent, the fighter raised the spear, but the other, who was protecting her from above, didn't seem so confident. Maybe she had heard stories about me.

"Where is your sword, general?" asked the red-haired assassin.

"I dismiss my weapon."

She found my coldness strange.

"In that case, the code of the cherubs prevents me from using my spear," she said. It was a bluff. She would use it anyway.

"Unless I, as your opponent, release you from this obligation."

She growled and expanded her wings, preparing to attack. The prey were shrewd, and I wouldn't defeat them if I didn't know how to deceive them. Ever since I threw the Holy Avenger into the abyss, I had to learn to fight unarmed, even against armed enemies. Therefore, I understood that those who carry weapons believe that these instruments make them superior in combat. This makes them totally dependent on them. Every time someone uses a sword, a spear, or even a dagger, they act to hit the opponent with that weapon. And each weapon has a limited number of hits. Already an unarmed warrior does not suffer such restrictions, being free, therefore, to use his entire body to attack. Punches, kicks, elbows, shoves, and knees are just some alternatives. Furthermore, the prey suffered from another weakness. I knew that, whenever they could, they threw their spears from a distance, but against an unarmed opponent, like me, Zambil, arrogant and certain of victory, would risk close combat. If I could bring her within range, I might be able to beat her.

The redhead raised the golden spear.

"Know, renegade, that it was with this weapon that I pierced your most senior officer."

"In a moment, you'll wish you'd never used it," I replied, waiting for the onslaught.

The angel-woman tilted her wings back and rushed toward me, her eyes red with fury. Immersed in the heat of combat, she did not suspect my strategy until her partner, Marilli, shouted:

"Wait, Zambil, don't approach him!"

But it was too late for the audacious cherub. She was already within my reach when she struck. As I suspected, she attempted a straight, piercing, frontal attack. Knowing the harpy, it was not difficult to leave the danger line, dodging to the side and at the same time moving into the combat area. From the sky, the second harpy understood the objective of the maneuver and brandished the spear to throw, but Zambil and I were already almost locked in, and a dash like that could hit her partner. Undecided, she waited, nervously following the duel.

Spears are almost unbeatable at the first attack of the battle, but later, when the opponent gets closer, they practically lose their usefulness because they are large objects, and their movements are long, time-consuming, and space-demanding. Taking advantage of the fighter's hesitation, I grabbed the rod below the blade and pulled it toward me. So as not to have to fight for strength with Zambil, I turned the handle of the weapon outward, describing a horizontal arc and thus breaking her hard grip. The artifact escaped instantly from the hands of the celestial, like oil sliding on the skin. For a split second, she didn't know what action to take, so conditioned was she in maneuvering the fatal instrument. When I saw the killer vulnerable, I took a step back and continued the movement in a continuous arc. I swung the spear over my head, and the sharp point cut through the air, sizzled, and came down toward her neck. To avoid the unexpected offensive, she retreated, but the precision of the attack was enough to hit her in the throat, tearing her skin and cutting it from end to end.

The blood of the harpy splashed onto my clothes. In an almost involuntary, preventive action, I released the mystical weapon and, with my bare hand, I pierced her chest. The stiff fingers passed through the flesh and closed around the heart. With an energetic pull, I turned the heart muscle, throwing the bloodied organ away. The eyes shriveled, and the moaning stopped. Zambil was dead.

But Marilli was still alive.

Frightened, the celestial wielded the golden spear, aiming at my heart. Therefore, I was left to take the deceased's weapon and throw it before the guardian did the same. Speed, I understood, would be the critical factor in this dispute. Marilli had the advantage of already being prepared, but Zambil's useless avatar hadn't fallen yet, and her body served as my cover. While the killer looked for the best angle to shoot, I picked up the spear from the ground and threw it.

The weapon sputtered against the wind, sending sparks along its path. The spit hit the celestial woman squarely, in an impact that killed her immediately. The wings retracted, and the body fell from the sky, rolled down the steep side of the hill, and slid into the gorge, crashing into the floor of the crevasse.

The harpies, Michael's most severe killers, were defeated.

With the warriors defeated, I relaxed my guard and took two steps back, assimilating the brutality of the carnage that had occurred there. I was overcome by an unnecessary, unusual fatigue, and I had to take a deep breath before moving forward. However, it wasn't tiredness that bothered me.

I returned to the entrance to the square and mourned Thales' horrible death. Then I walked to the center of the pass and knelt before Tommaso's lifeless body. His chest had been destroyed, but at least he hadn't suffered like the old Greek.

Dead. They were all dead. Innocent, unhappy, thrown into a war that had nothing to do with their worldly interests. Victims of the most terrible curse imposed on renegades—loneliness. Was this how it should be, for all exiles? Everything and everyone around us would succumb one day, until our own destruction was announced. This was my fortune: to endure the extermination of my friends and nothing could be done about it.

But not all life was erased.

"I was afraid to help them," hissed a voice, which came close to my side.

To my left, a strong, tall, calm-faced young man stared at the corpse of the servant. He was dressed in a white tunic, cut with red details, and due to his proud posture, it was easy to identify his origin. In his countenance, the image of reason; in his eyes, the shine of sobriety. It was Polix.

"I hid," continued the boy, "in a hollow in the rock. The harpies arrived with the wind, appeared among us, and then I understood the nature of the two worlds. They didn't exist, did they? But that doesn't mean they wouldn't exist."

Perplexed, I digested Polix's sudden recovery. I didn't expect that, so suddenly, he would regain his lucidity. Unfortunately, however, there was no other way to come to reason other than to witness another mystical event. The sight of the ghosts at the entrance to the secret trail had boggled his mind. Out of a situation so fantastic that it had driven him to the deepest borders of madness as he tried to find the only answer to the enigma that tormented him: what really happened that night? The search for enlightenment had left him catatonic, but upon witnessing the materialization of the harpies, the boy finally understood that there was not just one reality, but several. That's exactly what he wanted to tell me that afternoon. All his life he had not believed in the existence of harpies—that they ended up revealing themselves in the figure of the harpies—because that was not part of their palpable reality. And, in this context, they didn't really exist. But the fact that, for him, they didn't exist, didn't mean that they could not come into existence. Believing in the impossible is the key to understanding the secrets of the universe.

The sound of hooves brought us to reality. Across the path, we saw the red silhouette of Ibn-Hatar and Flor do Leste. I had ordered her to flee to the fields, but upon hearing the silence that followed the skirmish, the girl decided to return to camp. She looked with regret at the outstretched bodies but did not despair. She must have seen similar atrocities in China, a country where opponents of the emperor were sentenced to the most atrocious executions.

"And now?" I asked Polix. "What do you intend to do?"

"It was my father's wish that I continue his company. The caravan is intact. Let's continue through the desert to Alexandria and then we separate. You go to Rome, and I to Antioch. From there I will take a ship to Athens."

I…" An unexpected pain silenced my words, and the sentence distorted into a guttural groan. I felt my body twitch, and then a sharp pang in my stomach threw me to the ground. The skin throbbed, like the merciless attack of a tertian fever.

Polyx walked away. Flor do Leste jumped off his horse and ran to my aid.

"What happened?" asked the boy. "You look sick."

The distress tightened my muscles, making speech impossible. With her delicate notes, the girl pressed my abdomen and slowly pushed my head down.

"But you weren't even hurt. It's unharmed..." protested the Hellenic.

Coughing nonstop, I felt a viscous liquid rising up my throat, burning everything inside. I choked on the reflux, and then the lethal fluid reached my mouth. One greenish goo splashed between the teeth, leaving an indigestible stain on the ground.

"It's poison," Polyx understood.

Yes, it was a deadly poison, which had long since slumbered in my flesh. It was the killer poison of Mai Yun, the Jade Scorpion. I thought all the scars from that hellish battle had healed, but I was wrong. The arachnid woman's diabolical legacy still cried out for my death.

Eastern Flower's healing ability and marvelous medicinal techniques had recovered the necrosis in my arm, preventing the tissue from rotting, but the poison had not been expelled. If it weren't during my period of hibernation in the riverbed, the toxin would have already killed me, but the activity of my body had reduced to almost zero while I slept, and apparently that kept the venom stagnant. When fighting with the prey, however, the blood heated up again, awakening the deadly effects of the substance.

Now it was only a matter of time before the poison reached the heart. I didn't know how much life I still had left, but I wasn't willing to fall before warning Shamira about the danger she was in. Healthy or dying, I would continue my mission. I would sail to Rome and drive away the Enchantress of Enchantment. Pain of the merciless wizard Zamir's revenge.

And then I would die.

The Poison Advances

Attacked by the renewed strength of the poison, my celestial energy withered away. The spiritual power of the aura, which is the sublime connection between angels and divine power, began to fade in my avatar, consuming slowly the vitality of my body. The toxin had made me sick, mercilessly attacking my muscles and nerves and making my movements difficult. The heightened senses went out, and my apparent invulnerability to human weaknesses was reduced to levels common to any mortal.

I thought, however, that luck was on my side, as Polyx's surprising recovery would allow me to complete the journey and arrive in Rome in relative safety — at least I hoped so.

Slowly, the days turned into weeks, until all sense of time was eclipsed from my mind. I experienced a little of the brief human existence, so ephemeral, and therefore so intense. Stuck on the back of the steed, all that was left for me was to stare at the horizon, the desert, the mountains, without being able to reach them.

At the beginning of spring, the caravan left Sinai, bypassed the Gulf of Suez, and arrived at an imperial road, which crossed the Nile River and went to Memphis and Alexandria. That was the period when droughts began, the time when farmers harvested the crops planted in January, after the retreat of flood waters. I was barely able to see the wonders of the crossing, and I never got to see the gates of Memphis. A few kilometers north of the city, the road forked, and we took the path that led to the capital.

It was on a new moon night, when only the stars decorated the blackness of the sky, that a glow flashed to the northwest. I tried to lift my body, collapsed onto the steed, but, still stunned when I woke up, all I could do was lift my head slightly and look at the luminous point that signaled in the distance.

"These are the lights of the island of Pharos," warned Polyx, coming alongside me on the camel's hump. "On a dark night, you can see them in the sea from miles away."

"The Lighthouse of Alexandria!" I exclaimed, risking a smile. "It's about time."

The Lighthouse of Alexandria

At daybreak, the land beneath the road declined gently, descending toward the city at level from the sea. The salty aroma of the port woke me up, and I came to my senses, trusting in the strength I had saved throughout the journey.

The city of Alexandria was built on a narrow strip of land, squeezed between the sea and the Mediterranean to the north, and the splendid Lake Mareotis to the south. The capital had once been home to a peaceful fishing village, until, on a summer day in 332 BC, Alexander the Great, who had just conquered Egypt, was traveling with his entourage to the Siwa oasis in Libya, when he saw a village and the stunning rocky island that protected the anchorage. Amazed by the beauty and potential of that bucolic corner, he decided that he would found his regional capital there, a location that it would later be named in his honor — Alexandria. The metropolis would become a fundamental part of the sea route that linked Greece to Egypt, also serving as an exit point for the navigable waterway that ran along the Nile, crossed the Red Sea, and ended in the Indian Ocean.

Although he was Macedonian, Alexander was passionate about Greek culture, considering himself a Hellenic. All of his palaces followed the Greek architectural model in detail, with facades, triangular structures, tall columns that supported the ceiling, and long marble staircases that led to the main entrance. Alexandria was no different. So, in many ways, the city looked very much like Athens, but the Ptolemaic dynasty, which began to rule Egypt a few years after his death, reformed part of the metropolis and gave it a more pharaonic appearance. Ptolemy II, who reigned around 280 BC, spread Egyptian obelisks throughout the capital, erected columns decorated with ancient hieroglyphs, and erected countless immortal monuments, such as the royal palace, the Temple of Serapis, and the famous Alexandria Lighthouse. To face Athens in the intellectual domain, the dynasty built the Mouseion, the grand library that housed, in its time, more than five hundred thousand volumes, including manuscripts of Aristotle, commentaries of Plato, and countless Jewish prophetic texts.

With the light hurting my eyes, I saw the cove, embraced and defended by a wall that rushed into the sea, protecting the moored ships. An artificial strip of land, with a base of gravel and stone surface, connected the mainland to the island of Faros, where one of the seven wonders of old, the Lighthouse of Alexandria, stood. The lighthouse was a wide tower, 150 meters high, all built of limestone and topped by a magnificent bronze statue representing the god Poseidon, with his inseparable trident. But the building's most impressive attraction was on the top floor. Of its six floors, a myriad of mirrors stared at the horizon like a telescope, reflecting the sea and detecting the approach of ships invisible to the naked eye. At night, those same rotating mirrors multiplied the light of the fire that burned on the floor below, emitting a majestic glow that guided the boats in the dark.

"See, there is smoke in the lighthouse," said Polyx, while two Roman legionnaires, in armor, with segmented blades and polished swords, passed by us without paying attention to the conversation.

"The slaves must have just dumped the rest of the oil that burned during the night into the sea, feeding the light we saw on the road yesterday," I commented.

The young Greek looked at me in surprise, but not in disbelief.

"I had already recognized your wisdom in the wild areas, but I didn't know that you were also literate in the mysteries of the civilized world."

"You still know little about me, Polyx. And it's a shame that this is the last stage of our trip. Fear may we never see each other again."

"Apparently, you already know the city."

"I was here forty years ago, before the Romans took the capital," I replied, pointing with the indicator at three Roman galleys moored to the royal anchorage.

The Hellenic was no longer scared when I told ancient stories, despite my appearance.

"Do you already know how to get to Rome?"

"I have an idea."

"Me too," said the boy. "I think I can sell a lot of my merchandise in bronze here, before heading to Antioch. Also, I want to get rid of the camels and exchange them for a large cart, after all, there are good roads all along the coast of the Inland Sea. With the money, I can buy your passage on a decent boat, and then we part ways."

"Your kindness is admirable, but there is no time. My mission is urgent. I thought of a quick and cheap way to take a ship."

"I can't imagine any other option. To me, the alternative was obvious."

"When you pulled me out of the river, I heard your father say he knew a slave trader in Alexandria, a man who had steady clients among the Romans."

The young man searched his memory, reviving his most remote memories, until the name he was looking for appeared in his mind.

"Alexius! Yes, I vaguely remember him. My dad used to drink with these guys at a tavern in Brucheium."

The Brucheium was one of the most beautiful and busiest districts in Alexandria. It was in the east wing of the city, leaning against the walls and crossed by a canal, open to connect Lake Mariotis to the port.

"But how do you think this drug dealer can be useful to us?"

"He will provide me with the essential service. You will sell me to him as a slave."

"As a slave?" said Pólix, without understanding my intention. Eastern Flower's eyes widened.

"Unfortunately, it's the quickest way for me to get to Rome, direct and non-stop. A ship commercial sailing can conquer the Inland Sea in twenty days. It's that speed that I'm looking for."

He quickly recovered from his shock, understanding the logic of my plan.

"You must be really in a hurry, but what guarantees you will be safe? In your state, any effort could lead to his death."

"I know, it's risky. But Roman traffickers usually treat their slaves well, so that they are in shape when sold. I doubt they will deny me food and rest, at least until we reach Ostia."

The boy was silent for a long minute, observing the city below and the movement of the boats arriving at the anchorage. To my right, I saw the Chinese girl's eyes filled with tears, resembling tiny pearls revealed in a shell.

"So this is your plan?" asked Pólix for the last time.

"And the only one I could think of."

He got off the camel.

"He is well. I'll take you to Alexius, then. I think I know where I can find him. Furthermore, I just remember one thing."

"Than?"

"My father once paid a bribe to the legionnaires, who didn't want to let this Alexius enter the city. I don't know what the impediment was and I have no idea how much he gave to the soldiers, but that gives us an advantage. That man owes me a favor!"

At Ibn-Hatar's proud trot, I followed the caravan, which continued down the road, skirting the lake Mareotis and approaching the city walls. Little by little, Alexandria woke up, and the temperature was getting hot in the outer surroundings.

The train, with Pólix in the lead, crossed the Sun Gate, a wide and well-guarded passage, open on the north wall. This was the main access point for travelers who arrived there by sea.

We passed near a Roman theater, similar to a Greek amphitheatre, recently built, and we continued along the avenue until the city center, where Via Canopica met its most famous transversal, Via Soma. In the square between the streets, a battalion of traders traded their products outdoors. Many were Jews, but there were also Nabataeans and Phoenicians at the popular fair. The animators were taking advantage of the crowd, and I saw, on a distant corner, a group of actors, probably Greeks, who improvised a tragedy wearing stiff linen masks.

Pólix, who was walking at the front of the caravan, came walking towards the steed.

"Are you well?"

"I can't say yes. Our conversation at the entrance to the city left me exhausted. Any effort weakens my muscles, even a brief dialogue."

"You've been getting worse," the Hellenic looked for a canteen and a piece of bread in his food bag and offered it to me. "Drink some and eat this bread. I'm tired too, but we need to look for Alexius, as your mission cannot wait. Slave ships leave for Rome every day, and the drug dealer may be on his way out."

We turned around an overcrowded corner, where a stray dog was eating leftover fish on the sidewalk. We continued along a quieter street until we reached a new district. My head spun under the sun, and my mind threatened to go out. Some time passed until I came to my senses.

"Where are we?" I asked, dazed.

"In the Brucheium, near the palace," replied Pólix. He tied the camels' reins to a wooden rest, which looked more like a rustic fence, where other horses drank water from a tub. "Stay here. I will try to talk to Alexius. If you are in Alexandria, this is the right place to find him."

I then noticed that we were in front of a low but wide building, which occupied almost the entire block. Bronze statues decorated the facade, cut across its entire length by arches of stone in sequence. It was a Roman construction, as it did not exist before the invasion. Men chattering in Latin entered and left the building, went down and up the stairs, and I concluded that this was a public bath, a very popular entertainment space among foreigners, where they washed themselves with oil, they talked, and played sports.

"If I'm late, it's because I found the merchant. The caravan will be safe here. This is one of the safest areas in the city," assured the boy.

Without waiting for a reply, Pólix turned around and climbed the stairs, crossing an arch that led to the internal gardens, and then to the heated swimming pools. Nauseated, I dismounted the steed and dragged myself to the marble steps, trying to sit down. Eastern Flower crouched down beside me. The presence of the little girl and the appreciation she felt for me helped me to bear the terrible pain.

"After all, what would I do without you, Flower of the East?" I murmured, blessing her cordiality.

The girl looked at me with those small eyes and smiled.

Alexius, "Flower of the East," makes your choice.

Two long hours passed, and the sun rose in the sky. Flower of the East poked my back, indicating that Polix returned by the stairs. He was accompanied by a fat, bald, middle-aged man with no beard, who wore a long purple toga, made of linen, imitating the clothes of the senators of Rome.

The bulging eyes and exaggeratedly wide mouth resembled the face of a frog, and the pink skin suggested European ancestry. The round fingers were filled with rings, from thumb to minimum. On his arm, he had a golden bracelet. Both Polyx and the stranger exhaled a scent of olive, and I concluded that the Hellenic had also washed in the baths, probably to simulate a casual encounter.

Recognizing my buyer, I stood up, but my precarious state was visible.

"This is the barbarian I told you about, Alexius," said Polyx. "As you can see, he's a little weakened, but will recover quickly. He has already been very helpful to me throughout my journey."

The merchant, a cynical and dissolute fellow, looked at me closely, squeezed the muscles in my arm, and examined my teeth. He didn't show any interest, or at least he didn't show it, but I noticed who, maliciously, gave the girl a thirsty look.

"Weakened?" Alexius sneered. His speech was slow, like the sound of amphibians croaking in the swamps. "He looks more like a dead man!"

"He's sick. It's Nubian fever. In ten days, he will be as good as new."

Nubian fever was a benign disease, now extinct, caused by a protozoan and transmitted by mosquitoes. It afflicted the victim for three weeks and then suddenly disappeared. It was not lethal, and the rest was the only known treatment.

"I understand, I understand," he replied sarcastically. "And how did you find a Germanic barbarian in the middle of the desert? He's Germanic, isn't he?"

"That's what he told me," explained Polix, evasively, and then answered the first question. "I bought this slave from a priest in Mentis," he invented. "The clergyman assured me that he was literate in Latin, Greek, and Aramaic. At first, I didn't even believe it, but later it proved its capabilities."

The Roman burst into laughter.

"A polyglot barbarian? But this is an outrage!" The young man didn't like the joke.

"You can prove this for yourself, Alexius. The slave is weak but can still speak."

The dealer slowly suppressed his laughter.

"Very well, very well," he rasped, taking the Hellenic's words seriously. "Let's see if this thing is really good for something," he exclaimed, turning back to my presence. "Where are you from, outsider?" he spoke in Aramaic.

"That's none of your business, you Roman pig," I replied in the same language, simulating an aggressive reaction. The fat man laughed again.

"Very good, Pólix, very good! I really liked this friend of yours. And how much do you suppose I should pay for him?"

Pólix rubbed his chin, as if he were calculating a fair price, but I knew he already had everything planned.

"I would ask for fifty denarii."

"Fifty denarii!" cursed the merchant. "Fifty Roman silver coins? You are crazy, young man. He's not even worth ten!"

"But of course it's worth it," replied the Greek. "Even if it didn't have legs, it would still be useful as an interpreter."

"But by Jupiter, why would I need an interpreter? I received a good batch of slaves from Numidia yesterday, and my shipment is closed. Let's do this: I buy the barbarian for one hundred denarii. Your father and I were friends, and I'm not going to let you down."

Pólix frowned, seeming not to believe his luck.

"But you just said he's not worth ten," he grumbled, confused. The dealer smiled. He had gotten the seller to the point he wanted.

"I'll pay double for the savage, but I want to take the girl too," he stated, pointing a finger swollen to Flor do Leste.

"She's not for sale," I growled, in Latin, and this time my fury was real. The merchant ignored me, waiting for Pólix's response.

For a moment, the Hellenic remained static, not knowing what to say. He looked at me, as if pleading for salvation. It was then that the little girl clung to my arm, as if letting me know that she didn't want me to leave. The boy simply didn't know what to do.

"So, boy, what do you say? Deal closed?" demanded the Roman, triumphantly.

"I don't know," he faltered. "I still don't know if I want to get rid of it."

An empty sedan chair, made of cedar and ivory, carried by four dark-skinned slaves, was coming around the corner.

"Think about it, boy. Think carefully. My ship leaves tomorrow morning. Meet me in the east area of the docks if you decide to close a deal."

The litter stopped in front of the fat man, and I understood that this was his private transport. "And don't forget, I do this in memory of your father," he smiled, slyly.

The slaves crouched down, and the trafficker got into the shelter with difficulty. It took a while to turn over, until the heavy body was accommodated between the folds of a cushion. Then he shouted an order in Latin, and the bearers advanced down the street. Pólix, Flor do Leste, and I watched him until his follower was swallowed by the crowd.

"That shameless fool really fooled me," complained the boy. "Ten denarii was what I paid just for this bath."

"It's his job," I pondered, already resigned. "Unfortunately, I'm going to have to think of another way to complete the trip."

Pólix noticed something that I hadn't noticed.

"You know she won't want to leave you, don't you?" His expression was dubious, a mix of sadness and relief. I feared for the girl's fate, but I consoled myself by remembering that I could, in this way, fulfill my mission.

Flower of the East clung even tighter to my arm, reinforcing the Greek's words. Moved, I knelt down and faced his exotic face.

"No, Flower of the East. A slave ship is no place for women. Much less for girls. You go to Greece with Polix."

She apparently did not bow to my reproach, refusing to let go of my body. The young Greek wanted, but felt obliged to clarify the truth.

"Without it, you won't survive the journey across the sea," he warned, and walked away in silence.

Wisdom and Intelligence

It was early afternoon, and we still had a full day left in Alexandria. Everyone was tired and hungry, and we looked for a good inn to spend the night. Pólix, who knew the city well, went to business. He intended to exchange the camels for a large cart, preferably pulled by four strong horses. With this new transport, the young Greek planned to travel along the coastal roads, crossing Egypt, Palestine, and Syria, to then reach Antioch.

Assisted by Flor do Leste, it didn't take me long to fall asleep. During the torpor, I was plagued by terrible nightmares, which involved Zamir, Shamira, the Sacred Child, and my mission. The dreams persisted throughout the period of drowsiness, until Polyx awakened me from my delirium.

"Wake up," the voice remained essentially the same, but the timbre had changed since he emerged from the catatonia.

I opened my eyes and saw that sunlight was coming through the bedroom window, warming the square room. For the position and the intensity of the lighting, I deduced that it was still morning.

"Is it still daylight?" I asked.

"It's daytime again. You slept almost twenty hours."

"I completely lost track of time."

"Now you need to get up. Alexius' ship will leave in an hour."

The port of Alexandria was the real essence of the city. It was, in fact, one of the busiest in the world, and it was impossible not to lose your breath when seeing the large ships moored at the anchorage. Many of them were Roman trade ships, wide and deep, powered by sail. But there were also galleys, with long rows of oars, driven by the power of slaves. The largest and heaviest boats were parked far away, at the end of long wooden or stone anchorages.

Pólix told me that he had obtained the cart but had not yet negotiated the hiring of employees. Therefore, I would stay three more days in Alexandria after our departure. Amidst the confusion on the street, the young Greek stopped, and the intelligent sorrel suppressed the trot.

"That's Alexius' ship," the boy indicated an immense sailboat, with two safety oars on the stern. "They are already loading the cargo."

The cargo was a hundred Numid slaves, strong, black-skinned men captured in Africa by Roman legionaries. Numidia had been subjugated by Rome during the times of the Republic, but the ferocious guerrillas continued to threaten the legions, and would continue to do so until the last years of the Empire.

"And a sailing ship," I realized, straining my eyes to see. "Insula Major," I read the large letters written on the hull. "You mean 'bigger island' in Latin. I don't know why, but I hoped to find a bunch."

"They probably prefer to preserve the merchandise, that's why they don't put the slaves to row. You provided for this procedure."

I nodded in agreement and dismounted the horse, struggling to stand upright. Stretching my body, I saw the beauty of the sea that outlined the pier and I observed, with delight, the various shades of blue, which indicated the different depths of the coast. Further away, hugging the cove, were the island of Faros and the very tall lighthouse tower.

A fat, amphibious-looking man had just left the platform and was walking into the mess of the street. He was accompanied by a second man, a grim-faced guy whose fair skin had been harshly punished by daily exposure to the sun. He was unshaven, had a gladius on his belt, and carried in his hand a wooden club. His black hair was short and spiky, matching the thinning strands of his beard.

"It's Alexius!" noticed Polix. "He's coming here, accompanied by a henchman."

The olive aroma that the Roman exhaled when leaving the baths the day before had completely disappeared, and now it smelled of pork and cheap wine. The foreigner smiled greedily when he saw the boy and the little Chinese girl.

"So, boy from Athens, have you made up your mind?" asked the dealer, ironically, as if he were telling an anecdote.

"One hundred denarii," reminded Polix. "It was our agreement."

The fat man looked at the frowning man behind him and smiled cynically. We had the impression that the two exchanged combined expressions, and I was alert to the unpredictable. There was a short moment of tension. Then the Roman said:

"And of course! One hundred silver coins." He opened his hand, and the bodyguard immediately handed him a bag of worn leather, supposedly full of money. "Here it is," Alexius passed the pouch to Polyx. "You'll hear a lot about me, boy, but never that I'm dishonest."

It was obviously a bad joke. The boy checked the payment and verified that it was complete and nodded his head.

"Very good. It's all here. I'll take the two slaves to the boat now."

"Don't bother. Cassius of Calabria takes care of it for you." With his thumb, the drug dealer indicated the security guard. The man came forward, raising his club, but Polix stopped him with a command.

"No! I said I'll take them myself."

Alexius was almost frightened by the protest, but he felt safe under the brute's guard. He smiled, a little nervous, and finally gave in.

"Don't delay. I'm going to buy an amphora of wine and then the boat will set sail. If you run away with the money, I will find you even if I have to bribe every legionary in this city."

"You'll hear a lot about me, but never that I'm dishonest," he replied, ironizing the words of the drug dealer's frivolities.

Alexius did not respond. He turned his back and went into the market.

"It's possible that you'll have problems on the ship," Polix warned me.

"I can imagine."

He looked at me and then at the Chinese girl, wrapped in her faded kimono. He put his hand on my shoulder, in a gesture of affection.

"Thank you," he just said. "Thank you for everything."

I shook his hand.

"I'm the one to thank, my friend. Your wisdom has brought me here. His wisdom and the intelligence of Flor do Leste. And also the strength of Ibn-Hatar," I credited, lightly stroking the animal's red hair. "We all had our trials and overcame them. Even those who died on the journey."

"They fulfilled their destiny," added the boy, fatalistically.

"I prefer to say that they accomplished their mission. Only mine is still pending."

"You will soon be in the Eternal City, and your quest will be ended."

With a turn of his body and a push of the stirrup, the boy mounted the steed, like he had rarely done before. He settled himself in the saddle and took the reins. The sun was heading west. It was time to leave.

"You know the way to the ship," he pointed to the wooden anchorage. "I don't think I need an escort."

"The trafficker won't like seeing us alone, arriving at the boat like tourists."

"This slave owner needs to learn that he is not always in charge of everything," he decided. "Goodbye, my good barbarian. I will ask the gods to watch over you."

"I wouldn't demand so much," I thanked him. "I hope one day I meet him again."

"I think it's unlikely, but not impossible," I knew the threat that pursued the renegades and preferred not to foster reunions.

"I will make an offering to Athena to bless you with a long and glorious life."

The Hellenic's words of hope contaminated me, and for a moment, in my heart, the desire of living overcame the contempt for death.

"I hope so," I replied, satisfied.

With a wave, Polyx left the harbor, and I saw the red shadow of the sorrel for the last time. I shook my hand firmly de Flor do Leste and walked to the platform.

"Now it's just the two of us, little one."

Insula Major

The Insula Major was a powerful ship for its time, but tiny by modern standards. It was thirty meters long and eight wide, with a deep hull, leaving space for a wide basement. It had a tall main mast and a smaller one fixed to the bow. Candles had been dyed red, but the color had already worn off. At the back, there was a small deck, over a modest cabin, and at the stern, the carpenters attached a cedar figure, which imitated the neck of a swan.

When Flor do Leste and I climbed the bridge that led to the deck, we could see the crew and the sailors. They were dark and agile, and I assumed they were Phoenicians. The Phoenicians were traders, smart, famous for navigating dexterously throughout the Mediterranean. There were no, in the whole world, sailors of equal skill. Among them, I distinguished five men of European appearance, strong and bad-looking men, who kicked the Numidians and pushed them against the wall. One of them was Alexius's bodyguard, this Cassius from Calabria. I realized then that they weren't really sailors, but overseers, who prepared the shackles to arrest the slaves.

My arrival aroused little interest. No one imagined that the little Chinese woman and I would be slaves, until I heard the overseer's footsteps approaching from behind and felt that an attack was approaching. I crouched low, and an ebony club buzzed above my head. In the next instant, the brute passed by my side, unbalanced by the missed blow — it was Cassius, the leader of the henchmen. I turned to face him, protecting Eastern Flower with my body. He tried a new attack, aiming for a punch to the stomach, and this time I didn't dodge. I knew it would make him even more aggressive.

The impact hit my abdomen, and I fell to my knees. Under normal circumstances, a punch like that wouldn't affect me, but the action of the poison had completely reduced my resistance. Before I could get up, Cassius kneed me in the face, and I was knocked out. I felt that two other overseers lifted me by the arms, and the brute hit me twice more in the ribs.

"I want you to know, in advance, that my brother was a Roman legionary, who died in an ambush by a horde of barbarians in Gaul. Alexius should have warned him that I was Germanic, according to what Polyx had said. Gaul and Germania were distinct regions, but the Italians considered all lands barbarians, foreigners."

"Rest assured that I will do everything I can to make this the worst trip of your life."

He signaled to the other henchmen, who threw me at the feet of the Numidians. With blurred vision, I tried to look for Flor do Leste, and soon I felt her small hand grabbing my arm. The ship began to waver, and the ringing of a bell announced the departure.

In the middle of the afternoon, the Insula Major reached the open sea, gliding sublimely over the nautical blanket, and finally the sailors had rest. Alexius left the cabin and went up to the quarterdeck. He sat in a cedar chair and looked steadily at the slaves, preparing to deliver his speech. However, he waited for another man to arrive, a middle-aged, robust sailor with a serious expression, probably Phoenician. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just a thick gold necklace, loose pants dyed green, and a red scarf on his head.

"Very well," Alexius barked at the slaves in Latin, "I don't know if everyone speaks my language, but at least some will understand what I say. It will take us thirty days to reach Rome, where some will be sold. Some will work on the farm, others will spend their lives in domestic calm, and the strongest will be sent to the games. You are my merchandise, but I will not hesitate to get rid of you all, if necessary. Therefore, if you know how to behave, in thirty days you will be able to see the Eternal City and you will have a new life of peace and work. The other option is death," and he emphasized that last word. "They will stay confined in the hold for the entire trip and will have water and food. Captain Epidicus of Tire," and he pointed to the older Phoenician, who had remained silent on the quarterdeck, "perhaps he needs to train some of you to help with navigation. Volunteers will have privileges."

When Alexius finished, the Phoenicians opened a large trapdoor, right in the middle of the deck, and the overseers began to push the slaves inside, with inhuman violence. The hole led to the basement and it was two meters tall. Some fell badly and hurt their legs. I was already preparing to jump, with Flor do Leste in my arms, when I heard the drug dealer's slow voice:

" You go down, barbarian. The girl will stay in my cabin."

Cassius tried to take the girl from my arms, but I dodged and put her down safely. The brutes got excited, because that would justify another beating session.

" The courage of barbarians is outrageous," sneered the fat man, while the big man raised his baton. The hardness of ebony hit my forehead. I staggered to the side, but remained standing.

" He's persistent," said the Calabrian, and with a kick he hit me in the knee. Another blow reached the back of my neck, and I fell over. Once on the ground, I was the target of many kicks, delivered by more than an enemy.

When they stopped, I saw that Cassius was pulling Flor do Leste by the arm. The foreman's brutality made my blood boil, and my cherubic nature pushed me to attack. Gathering the little energy that I still had left, I got up, crossed the area threatened by the overseers, and attacked Cassius with a punch. The punch exploded in his chest, and the big man was thrown away. The body rose from the floor and fell rolling onto the deck boards, only to be stopped by the side of the boat.

There was an eerie silence, and Alexius took a step back, his eyes bulging almost jumping out. A sailor helped Cassius to his feet, and he supported himself with a cable, holding the candles and coughing to catch his breath.

The fright disappeared like lightning, and the men of the sea overcame their astonishment. The drug dealer, still alarmed, pointed an inquisitive finger at me:

" Rebel cell!" he ordered the foremen. "Both!"

I didn't object when three henchmen and four sailors dragged me to the bow. A fourth man led Flor do Leste. At the top of the bow, one meter before the nose, two sailors opened a grated trapdoor on the floor, which gave access to a tiny compartment. It was made, I imagined, to keep the anchor when the ship was underway, but its purpose had changed, becoming used as solitary confinement for the most dangerous slaves.

" Since they want to stay together, they will stay there," said the merchant, "and let them rot in this unclean pit."

The foremen pushed us into the hole and closed the grate over our heads with a thick iron latch. From inside, below the floor line, I saw Alexius on the deck, spitting on the floor and giving an inflammatory order to the security guards:

"Three days without water and food. After that, if they're alive, we'll see what we do with them. If the barbarian dies, I want the girl to be brought to me."

"The barbarian must die before her, boss. It's on its last legs," commented a random man.

"Under these conditions he perishes in two days," replied Alexius. "I know well the resistance of these savages, and it is not infinite," he croaked and left the forecastle.

Discouraged, I hugged Flor do Leste. Sitting down, my head was touching the railing, and I felt squeezed like bread dough. There was no way I could get up.

"Three days without food..." I lamented in a low voice, so only the Chinese woman could hear.

She made a sign of silence, as if hiding a secret. She waited a few seconds and when she saw that we were no longer observed, she opened her backpack, showing me some pomegranate seeds that she had saved wrapped in a cloth. I also had some water in a canteen, in addition to the herbs and equipment I had.

"I don't know if this will work for both of us, little one, but thank you," I smiled. She made an optimistic expression and nodded. Amidst the rocking of the ship, I hugged her even tighter, because the afternoon was falling, and an icy wind was punishing the ship.

Death on the High Seas

Three long days passed, during which we were watched closely by a man armed with a club and sword. I no longer saw Cassius's face, although I had initially thought that he himself would watch us.

The nights became colder as we moved away from the mainland and deeper into the marine insulation. Trapped in the bow compartment, Flor do Leste and I received the most intense chills of the spring dawn, and my renewed vigor, restored by herbal treatment, waned once again.

On the third day, despite the pomegranate seeds, I fainted twice. I spent the night motionless, so exhausted was my body. It was then that, on the morning of the fourth day, I heard the henchmen talking. They bet against each other that I was already dead and, as ordered, opened the cell to remove Flor do Leste. I heard the latch click, but I couldn't react immediately. The guard who watched us was younger than Cassius, but endowed with equal cruelty. Strong and tall, he had short blond hair, and his scruffy beard resembled his director's. The sailors called him Titus, and despite that name being typically Roman, I wasn't sure if he was really from Rome. The overseer lifted the trapdoor and pulled the girl by the arm. She tried to react, but she was weak. Titus dragged her to the deck without much difficulty. Once again, I tried to stand up, but I still couldn't get a response from my muscles.

"She's struggling like an insect," I heard the guard say, with a laugh as loud as it was perverse.

A stuffed guy, nicknamed Fish Eye, asked in Latin, "And the barbarian? Did he die after all?"

Titus, still immobilizing the girl, peered into the hole again, just as I raised my head. I wasn't able to immediately distinguish him, amidst the clutter that clouded my mind.

"Almost, Fisheye, almost. I'm going to put an end to the wretch once and for all. Then we can have fun with the girl."

As I stood up, leaning aimlessly against the dirty walls of the cell, Titus passed the little girl to my side. The guard of a second overseer stopped her with his powerful arms. My effort was saved when the henchman pulled me out with one pull. A baton blow exploded into my ribs. I looked around, but I saw nothing, just a flickering blur. However, I heard the cries of the sailors, excited for watching the fight.

Another impact hit my head, close to my ear, and I held on to the rail, so as not to lose consciousness again.

"Doesn't this barbarian bleed?" shouted someone, thirsting for lynching.

"Don't spare him, Titus!" encouraged another.

"We want the blood of the savage!" roared a third.

Stimulated by such an inflamed crowd, the henchman grabbed my neck and drew the glaive from its sheath. I noticed that the sword had an army shield on it, so I assumed it was stolen from a fallen soldier.

Titus judged me to be defenseless and prepared the coup de grâce, planning to cut off my throat. When he struck, however, I tilted my head back, and the blade tore through my chin, causing a superficial wound below the mouth. The blood sprang out, staining red the guard's face and chest. Never had an ordinary weapon caused me such a scourge, and I understood, with ironic disgust, that my life was about to be taken by a mortal, whose kind I always swore to defend.

But an unexpected event occurred. A second after the assault, Titus dropped the glaive and, terrified, he started rubbing his own face. Straining my eyes, I saw him walking away, breathing extremely heavily. The face boiled and the complexion bubbled, letting out an unnatural greenish smoke. The sailors and overseers formed a circle around him, too impressed to touch the wounded man.

When Titus knelt, pale and panting, with his eyes rolled back and his nose deformed, I understood what was going on. The blood that sprayed onto his face, my blood, was not normal. Once I had the property of eternal longevity, but was now tainted. Mai Yun's venom stirred in my gut, and that was what made me so weak. The poison had already caused the ruin of many entities and had just hit the skin of a human being.

The henchman holding the girl released her, somewhat abstrusely, and she cleverly took advantage of the guards' apathy to squat down and fill her canteen from a still untouched bucket of fresh water that would be used to wash the deck.

When Titus fell with his head to the ground, the skin on his face had crumbled into blood, expelling a stream of disgusting mixture of pus, flesh, and bones. He stopped moaning, and the agony ceased.

The Italian was dead.

The terror of men turned to destructive loathing, and they took up all the weapons they could—rods, chains, hooks—and threatened to advance. Immediately, I picked up a piece of cloth from the floor and pressed it against the wound, intending to stop the bleeding. It would be inconceivable that Flor do Leste, or anyone else, had contact with my mortal blood.

Faced with the ferocity of the crew, who closed a siege around me, I decided that it would be safest to go back to the cell.

"Come, Flower of the East," I shouted in Mandarin, with my right hand outstretched, while my left held the bandage.

She capped the leather canteen and ran to me. Finally, I went back into the hole, closing even the trapdoor grille. A sailor closed the latch and I didn't see anyone else for the rest of the day.

Rome, the Eternal City

The day after Titus' death dawned rainy, and I heard the superstitious blame it on Titus' bad mood.

"Neptune must have had indigestion with yesterday's gift," someone muttered, referring to the dead man's carcass, which had been thrown into the water.

Locked in the cell, I was already starting to plan a way to get food since our provisions—pomegranate seeds—were gone. I considered the possibility of negotiating with Alexius, but he was unlikely to receive me—and if he did, what would he ask for in return? Flor do Leste, in turn, had made it clear, through signs, that she would rather die than be handed over to that depraved man.

Our situation, however, would quickly reverse. At lunchtime, someone pushed two bowls close to the mouth of the trapdoor. He was an African slave who had probably volunteered to work. I understood, when I saw the condemned man, that the Italian overseers and the Phoenician sailors preferred to maintain a safe distance from us.

The Numidian opened the latch and I took the containers. In them there was water, fish, and a piece of bread. One modest meal, but it came at a good time. I shared the portion with the girl and then returned the clay containers, placing them outside the grid. From then on, surprisingly, every day would follow the same routine.

I don't know very well who had made the decision to feed us, but perhaps it was an order from Alexius, trying to avoid a new scandal. The sailors and henchmen, after the commotion, spied on us with hateful respect and wrathful fear. Maybe the drug dealer was still thinking about selling us; maybe the captain talked to him; maybe the sailors didn't want to hand us over to Neptune... It's impossible to say. I don't know to this day why we were spared.

The wound on my chin healed quickly, and I sat down on the cloth, leaving the blood-stained part far from Flor do Leste. The days passed, and so spring advanced.

It was on a warm April morning, when all the clouds had dissipated, that the Insula Major docked in Ostia, the main Roman port of those days. I didn't see when the ship docked, but I woke up when I was removed from the cell by Numidian slaves, who were already dressed in Roman fashion, with short togas and worn out. Alexius stood on the deck, more arrogant than ever, once welcomed by his native homeland.

"You better toe the line, barbarian," croaked the slaver. "You won't be able to deceive anyone with your escape tricks, so don't act smart," and he signaled to the chargers. "Take him to the barge," he ordered, and whispered to a guard escorting him, "I'll try to pass it on. The Greek who sold me this savage said he had Nubian fever... I must look like an idiot."

Still in the dark, I realized that I was being carried by black people to another boat, supposedly smaller, which would go up the Tiber River and reach Rome. I had almost completely lost my sight, smell, and hearing, and my beard was as big and dirty as the beggars in the gutter. But I was left with the sense of tact, and Flor do Leste's presence proved to be constant throughout the entire route, which made me more confident and calm.

Rome, the City of Seven Hills. I couldn't see it when I was carried away by the river, as the poison had blackened my eyes, so I tried to form an image in my mind. The Eternal City had expanded incredibly since the day I left it, in the last years of the old Republic. Now it had an emperor, Caesar Augustus, who had erected great monuments and sumptuous halls. Augustus, according to his own words, had found a city of stone and converted it into a city of marble. Under his administration, the capital achieved unparalleled splendor.

When he died, in 14 AD, the sovereign would leave an impressive legacy for posterity. He built new temples, libraries, theaters, public baths, and aqueducts, essential for bringing water from the mountains to the city, and for supplying the sewage system. But it was not only in the field of engineering that he highlighted. Augustus was, in fact, the first Roman emperor, and he ruled with intelligence and prudence. He developed a bureaucratic apparatus that allowed him to control and organize all aspects of public life, in the capital and in the conquered provinces, in Africa, Europe, and the Middle East. He established, finally, peace, and with that he was able to dedicate himself to the people of Rome. He created a brigade to combat the fires, which were a serious problem in such a populated city. He assembled a metropolitan force to contain outbreaks of crime and disorder and established a personal troop, the famous praetorian guard, an elite military platoon whose mission was to defend the emperor and the interests of the State. He facilitated trade, founding practical and well-located markets, and devised a system of distribution of grains to feed the more than two million inhabitants who lived in the metropolis.

Something blocked the sun's rays, and I concluded that we were passing, by boat, under an arch of stone, through a short and wide tunnel that crossed the Servian Wall, the main wall that delimited the city in Augustan times. The wall was lined with seventeen gates, and all of them led to a confusing tangle of streets, most of them very narrow. A foreigner would easily be lost without the help of a guide, especially at night.

Not far from the arch over the Tiber stood the Emporium, the city's largest river port. From a modest trading post, the area had developed during the Republic, and a hundred years later its bustling warehouse complexes already spread out for a kilometer around the pier. The Emporium was frequented by wealthy buyers, and anchoring there meant a quick profit. However, as in every place where there is money, there were thieves there, and that's why the merchants surrounded themselves with a retinue of brutes, equipped with clubs, knives, and improvised weapons—ordinary citizens were prohibited from carrying weapons through the streets of Rome, in accordance with a law that dated back to the times of Julius Caesar.

When I realized, I was already standing again, on a platform, next to dozens of slaves who waited for their bids. Someone had tied my wrists to a rustic post, almost like a log, also immobilizing me by my legs and waist. Flor do Leste was stuck on the same pillar, but only her arms were tied.

From above, I saw that we had been taken to an open market, a large and busy commercial square in the middle of the warehouse complex. It was already past four in the afternoon, the time when the stores reopened after the rest that followed lunch.

I could do it. At last, I was back in Rome, and still alive. The first part of my mission outside was fulfilled. Shamira's house wasn't very far away, and all I had to do was go there and find her. But after all that journey, after crossing half the world and facing spirits and angels, I no longer had the strength to walk even a meter. I only kept myself upright thanks to the rope that tied me to the stake. The poison now surrounded my heart, and my life span was reduced to a few hours.

I had crossed jungles, mountains, deserts, and seas, but I couldn't cross the city.

Zamir's plans would come to an end soon. And I couldn't change them anymore.

Closed Business

The afternoon progressed.

On the dais, Alexius began to negotiate the sale of slaves, one by one, with the buyers on the sidewalk. The bids generated heated discussions, which in many other places would end in beating. In Rome, however, shouting was part of the deal, and no one minded being insulted if in the end it came out in profit.

The Numidians were being sold off until a man shouted, "And that girl there, next to the blonde... How much are you asking for her?"

I looked at the crowded square and saw a guy with a black beard, hairy, very fat, escorted by a black-complexioned slave. He wore a white cloak, loose and pleated, over his linen tunic. I pulled, for one current, a small jumping animal, which at first glance seemed to me like a monkey.

"This little girl was captured from a traveling company from the East," Alexius lied. "She's the best dancer in the East and well versed in orgies. The price I ask for it is 1,500 denarii."

To my surprise, the buyer wasn't scared off by the exorbitant offer. Instead, the expression wrinkled into a blasé smile.

"And fair, the price is right," agreed the bearded man. "But I can't trust you, Alexius. Once you sold me a Greek who barely knew how to write."

Alexius pretended to be irritated. He was still controlled inside, but it was not pleasant to be defamed in the public eye in front of other customers, even more so at Emporium.

"You owed me two horses at the time," he defended himself.

"Which did not justify your perfidy. You knew I would pay you sooner or later..." he countered, indifferent. "But let's get back to bargaining. I paid eight hundred denarii for the girl, nothing more."

"This way you bankrupt me, Merula," the dealer called the buyer by name, and adding from the dispute over the horses, I deduced that they had known each other for a long time. "I can't sell it for less than 1,300."

"Now, open your eyes, fatty! No one is going to pay all that for a filthy girl. Only I would give one bid high for her, then accept my eight hundred denarii and be satisfied. You already have the pocket full of coins," and pointed to the almost empty platform, previously full of slaves.

Alexius felt impelled to give in but preferred to risk one last trick: "Let's close like this: you pay me a thousand denarii and take the barbarian with you."

A third buyer, who had remained silent until then, got involved in the transaction: "So the barbarian is worth two hundred?" The sudden question disrupted Alexius's reasoning, which complicated when replicating.

"Yes... Two hundred denarii."

The third man came closer, feeling a pocket of coins. Despite the gray hair, he was strong, vigorous, and had the bearing of a soldier, which made me believe he was a retired officer. He was accompanied by two Greek slaves, boys between 18 and 20 years old.

"I'll buy the savage," decided the soldier, despite the high price for a sick man.

This Merula guy was blown away. He turned to Alexius with an air of joy.

"From what I see, mathematics is my ally," he mocked, pressuring the slaver to accept his bid. The merchant did not lose his poise, although defeated.

"Nine hundred denarii!" he insisted. "And our mess will be resolved."

The bearded man was already preparing the money, when a female voice rushed over all the others, putting an end to the exchange.

"Wait. Stop the sale! I paid two thousand denarii for both. I have the value here in cash."

Purchases were not always made in coins. Commercial contracts established a debt, to be settled over months or years. Many slaves in Rome were, or had been, debtors, condemned to settle the debt with their own freedom.

"Long live profit!" Alexius rejoiced, invoking a classic motto of Roman commerce, often engraved on signs and posted on store walls.

When the woman reached the stage, the crowd gave way, such was her presence. Without the help of a man or a slave, she climbed the steps of the dais and handed the slaver a bag of money. The buyers fell silent, standing to admire her beauty. The light skin and black hair gave a formidable contrast to her sensual appearance; her walk was determined, and each step highlighted her perfect curves. She was wearing a stola, a long tunic worn by rich women, surmounted by a black linen cloak.

The girl leaned against the fence post and, using a knife, broke the rope that held me to the stake. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that this was not an ordinary knife, but a ritual dagger, used by sorcerers in their ceremonies. I collapsed when I was freed, and would have fallen to the floor if the woman hadn't supported me. Cautiously, she wrapped my head in her delicate arms, and I could smell the sweet scent of her skin. Then I recognized her.