Saar placed the fish into the cloth sack slung over his shoulder and added a loaf of bread. Fresh from the clay oven, it warmed his hip as he strode through the market. The smell of it, sharp and slightly yeasty, put up a valiant fight but was quickly overcome by the scent of the street.
The heat of the day enhanced many of the less savoury smells, meaning that the occasional waft of rotting food still caught his senses. Rubbing his nose with his free hand, he kept walking, now seeking beer. He bought four jugs from a vender beneath a red and blue striped stall, bartering hard before finalising the price.
A woman greeted him at the corner of two bisecting streets. ‘Captain Saar, are you well? Been visiting the palace?’ She spoke using the language of the Greeks. ‘Battling for our safety again?’
‘We’re safe for the moment,’ he responded in kind, the foreign words awkward on his tongue. He masked his discomfort with a smile for the veiled compliment. ‘I’m visiting my mother. I have food for her.’ A quick gesture to the bags and jugs.
‘You’re such a good man,’ she simpered. ‘Little wonder the gods smile on you.’
Saar lowered his gaze. ‘You’re very kind.’
‘I look at you and the hundreds of other men who go to war. They’re injured or killed and yet here you are. Untouched by it all.’
‘And you take that to be the blessing of the gods rather than skill?’
‘Who is it but the gods who bless us with skill?’ She grinned and walked on.
Leaving the market area, Saar stepped off the road marked out with white and blue tiles. Behind him, the tall spires of the twin obelisks were visible, sharp points jabbing towards the clear blue sky. Ahead, the point where the two largest roads crossed buzzed with activity: people walking into stores, chatting on the street, listening to the musicians playing under the shade of a tall tree.
He passed the mausoleum dedicated to Alexander, the city’s namesake, and angled north. His route took him clear of Brucheum entirely and into Rhakotis. Saar walked towards the port and the fresher scent of sea air.
Children darted past him, laughing. Two girls and a boy, all wearing nothing but their skin. A smile touched his lips as he recognised one of the chase games he had enjoyed in his younger days before joining the army.
One of the girls shrieked, speaking familiar and comfortable Egyptian. The other girl and the boy laughed again and sprinted away, forcing Saar to step aside to avoid the frantic charge.
Two streets on and within sight of the port and a large ship carrying goods from Rome, Saar became aware that he was being followed.
He heard the shuffle of footsteps trying to match his own. A glance over his shoulder revealed nothing, but the creeping sensation of eyes on his back continued to itch between his shoulder blades.
Saar stopped. ‘Who are you?’ He turned in a slow circle to search the street. ‘Why do you follow me?’
A man dressed in shabby black stepped out from behind a well. ‘You have keen senses, Captain Saar.’
He frowned. Even after so many years he was unused to being so well-known. ‘Thank you. Did you wish to speak with me?’
‘Yes, spare a coin or two to feed an old man?’
‘Of course.’ Saar didn’t hesitate in pulling a handful of coins from his pouch. He passed them over without checking their value.
‘May the gods forever smile on you.’ Gripping the coins in one gnarled, hairy fist the stranger shuffled on.
Saar watched him round a corner and vanish from sight. Only when he was gone did he realise that the conversation had taken place in Greek. Strange that such a shabby, obviously poor man would understand the language of the richer inhabitants of the city. Saar himself only knew the language because Cleopatra insisted on teaching him, treating his education as a pet project to fill her spare time.
His old home matched the others he could see making a circle surrounding a narrow well: flat roofs, white walls and a scattering of windows. He saw a pair of blankets drying in two of the windows and an overhang of flowers from the roof. In the doorway stood his mother, grey hair wrapped in a small piece of cloth to protect it from the dust she swept into the street.
She smiled as he approached, put the sweeping rushes to one side and shuffled forward to kiss him on the cheek. ‘I hoped I would see you today.’
‘I brought supper.’ The smell of bread grew stronger as he held up the bag.
‘You didn’t have to do that. Silly boy. Come inside, shelter from the sun.’ Though old and frail, her grip was like bronze, and she tugged him into the cool interior of the two-roomed house.
On a low table he saw the first traces of supper, a heel of bread and the tail ends of two tiny fish. Two clay mugs stood beside them, filled with beer. He picked up the first and tipped it to his lips, grimacing when he found it watered down.
‘Mother,’ he began.
‘No, Saar. Just sit with me. Not another word. And put that bag away. I won’t be needing it.’
‘I bought it for you.’
Panya snorted. ‘Yes. As though you yourself don’t need to be fed and watered.’
‘I have more than enough at the palace. Please let me do this for you.’
She pushed away the proffered sack and sat on a stool made from a sawn tree trunk. ‘No. Tell me about your day.’
Saar rolled his eyes. He nudged the sack beneath the table with his foot, then leaned forward, propping himself on his elbows. ‘I’m to meet with the queen today.’
Delight shone in Panya’s eyes. ‘I’m so proud of you. I’ve never heard of another soldier given the confidence and attention she gives you. What do you think it means?’
‘I don’t know.’ Tearing his gaze away, he looked down at his fingers instead, tracing the callouses across his palms and fingers.
‘Perhaps she’ll take you into her household or match you with one of her serving women. Imagine . . . my boy a member of the Pharaoh’s household.’
‘She asked only for my thoughts on the defence of the city.’
‘Let me hope, Saar. I live for hope.’ Panya pulled the cloth off her head and fanned out the grey strands of her thin hair. Standing, she crossed to a flat stone on the floor covered with a faint dusting of white powder. Pulling grain from the bowl beside it she spread it on the stone and picked up another heavier one to begin grinding.
Saar watched her, enjoying the sight of her delicate hands working so confidently.
‘I hear talk of another statue. Do you know what it is?’
Saar’s pleasure dimmed. ‘Yes. It’s of Cleopatra.’
Panya raised her eyebrows. ‘Another?’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps you can convince our queen that yet another statue is not a sensible way to spend hard-mined gold?’
‘I’m but a soldier, why should she listen to me?’ He grinned. ‘Besides, I lack your wisdom.’
‘Wisdom is age, Saar, nothing more. You’ll learn that in time. Youth is for action and doing. Age is for thinking and advising. You’ll see.’
‘I’m a soldier. I’ll never see your age.’
‘Don’t be silly. The gods have great plans for you. Did they not mark you to be the mover of great things?’
Saar touched his right leg, high up on the thigh, close to the surface of the stool. ‘A dream. A hope. Nothing more.’
‘Why else would they position you in a role at which you excel? And why else would they coax Cleopatra to favour you? Make no mistake, the world will speak your name for years to come.’
Saar grinned and stood. He crossed to the kneeling woman and wrapped his arms around her. He felt the bird-like frailty of her arms and ribs and made his hug as gentle as he could manage. ‘You’re kind, Mother. Your faith keeps me strong.’
‘And your strength gives me faith.’
‘I must leave.’
‘Of course. Take care on the streets.’
With one last hug, Saar left his mother to her grinding, slipping out of the house and back the way he came. He wa
s pleased to realise that he had successfully left the bread, beer and fish beneath the table.