‘How much did you pay the priests for that doom-laden prophecy?’ asked Hypolitas.
Cholon raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘Pay? I’ve given them something for my lodging.’
‘I think you lie.’ Hypolitas, lounging, like Cholon, on a gilded divan, put no emphasis in the words, but he sought to hold Cholon’s gaze with those compelling eyes.
Cholon replied smoothly. It was no business of envoys to show temperament, even at personal insults. ‘If you’re convinced of that, I fear no words of mine will sway your opinion.’
‘So Rome is afraid of me?’
‘That could be a fatal assumption. It would be more accurate to say that Rome is cautious. You have succeeded, Hypolitas, but only up to a point.’
The Palmyrian Greek was prepared to play the same game. If he was angry, he kept it in check.
‘Which is?’
‘Rome cannot grow enough food in Italy. Too much of the land has been given over to rearing cattle, so it depends on Sicily for grain. If that crop is less than normal…’ Cholon tailed off with a shrug, sure that his host knew the rest as well as he did.
‘I have offered to supply grain, quite possibly more than Rome receives now. All the grain you need, as long as we are left alone. Get the Romans out of Sicily, and leave the slaves. It’s very simple.’
‘What a tempting prospect,’ said Cholon, wearily. ‘Yet you know it cannot be. You are, after all, no fool, Hypolitas.’
‘By the time your legions arrive the walls will be impregnable. Not that I’ll wait here in the city. I’ll meet you, with a properly trained army, at the river crossings. Your fleet will have to fight my ships if they want to blockade the city.’
‘I saw few ships in the harbour, certainly not a fleet.’
‘There will be one, never fear. Is it worth it to Rome, to sacrifice men and money for something they can have without a fight?’
It was a good time to alter the course of the conversation, which, judging by the rising tone of Hypolitas’s voice, was threatening to become a confrontation. ‘It seems that these people want to acclaim you as their king.’
Hypolitas sat up suddenly, his voice earnest. ‘A mere title, less than what I am to them now.’
‘What are you to them now?’
‘All powerful, close to the Gods, a seer who reads their dreams and speaks with fire through my mouth.’
Cholon had been looking forward to this claim of divinity. His voice was like silk. ‘Take care the walnut shell does not pop out one day.’ The Palmyran tried not to react and he very nearly succeeded, but he could not keep the surprise out of his eyes. ‘It is a walnut, is it not, with holes in it and you will be wearing flints on your wrists. I have never come across the fluid you secrete in the walnut. I daresay that is where the mystery lies.’ Then he smiled; by his previous actions Hypolitas had betrayed just how much he coveted the trappings of kingship. ‘So, you would like to be King Hypolitas?’
‘I told you, a mere title.’
‘Yet pleasant, nevertheless, though I fear such a move would only serve to anger the Romans even more.’
‘I enjoy angering Romans!’
‘I wish to speak freely, Hypolitas, putting aside the finer points of diplomacy, because your illusions will cost you your head.’ He continued, despite the angry look on his host’s face. ‘The first thing you must understand is that no other force will be allowed to hold Sicily. It is simply too important to the Republic. If necessary, they will sacrifice Spain to keep this island. The second illusion is that the men who hold power in Rome act as a rational body.’ It was now Cholon’s turn to sit forward. ‘Whose land do you think you’ve despoiled, whose slaves do you think you’ve freed? Some of the senators make millions of sesterces a year from their holdings in Sicily. Do you really think they’ll give that up?’
‘The price!’ snapped Hypolitas.
‘Why should they worry when others will have to pay it? They will vote to crush you to protect their wealth, then sit in Rome carping if it takes more than one campaigning season, and care nothing for the farmers you kill. The third illusion is the worst. Do you really believe that a people who have conquered half the world will permit slaves to defy them? They’ll crucify every one of your men and throw you personally into the pit of the Tullianum to be eaten by rats, as you die of starvation, just to prove they’re invincible.’
‘Did you come all this way to tell me that, you Athenian donkey?’
Cholon sat back suddenly, leaving the angry Hypolitas looking slightly foolish. ‘No, I did not. I came here to offer you all your lives.’
Hypolitas reclined then, struggling to compose his features. ‘Go on.’
‘The person sent here by the Senate was given the task of enquiring into the disturbances. This could easily be stretched to include the causes.’
‘Those are plain enough,’ said Hypolitas coldly.
‘This man is that rare creature, someone entirely free of personal avarice. He is also a man with the power to change things. On top of that he has the power to protect you.’ Cholon began to speak quickly, since he had reached the nub of his proposal. ‘Steps will be taken, in the Senate, to limit the excesses of the landowners, so the slaves, when they return, will come under the protection of the Roman state. You and the other leaders will be freed, given pensions, and allowed to live out your days in comfort.’
‘You’re asking me to betray my army?’
‘Getting them killed or crucified would be the ultimate betrayal. I mean no threat, Hypolitas, but there will be no more emissaries after me, only legions.’
The silence that followed lasted for a full minute. Hypolitas held his visitor’s gaze, as if by doing so he would somehow establish the truth of what he said. Finally he spoke. ‘I could have you torn apart.’
Cholon stood up, then gave a small bow. ‘So you can, King Hypolitas.’
In the hothouse atmosphere of this revolt, suspicion was natural; the first time Gadoric rode out alone his departure caused little comment, but as it became a regular occurrence, Pentheus, particularly, was afire to know where the Celt went on these solitary trips, leaving at dawn and returning before the gates closed at night. The answer, when he followed him, afforded the man no pleasure at all. As soon as the Celt returned he was called to face Hypolitas, who without confiding that he already knew, asked him gently where he had been. Gadoric made no attempt at concealment, openly admitting that he had ridden into the hills for a rendezvous with Aquila.
‘The boy represents no threat to us.’
‘Then why is he there?’ demanded Hypolitas, who disagreed, even if he was not prepared to say why.
Gadoric shrugged, reluctant to explain his conclusions: that he was the only living person to whom Aquila now had an attachment. He had been as surprised as Pentheus and Hypolitas were now when the message from his young friend first arrived. They had met and embraced, talked and reminisced. Advised to get away the boy had refused, unless they did so together. Explaining why such a thing was impossible, Gadoric had the impression that Aquila harboured some fanciful notion of rescuing him when the legions finally arrived. None of this would make any sense to these two, so it was better left unsaid.
‘You haven’t answered Hypolitas’s question,’ said Pentheus coldly.
‘I don’t think he knows where to go.’
Hypolitas had the blank look of the truly innocent on his face as he spoke again. ‘He can rejoin us if he wishes.’
Gadoric was not fooled: Pentheus hated Aquila, as well as fearing retribution for the death of Flaccus, and Hypolitas did not trust him. The young Roman’s life would not be worth a bent denarius if he came within these walls, not that any invitation would attract him. Aquila was scathing about the revolt and its leader, just as the high office Pentheus now held enraged him. Anyway, Gadoric enjoyed the clandestine meetings as much as his friend. They gave him a chance to talk freely, to air his doubts about the direction in which the whole enterprise was headed.