The Pillars of Hercules (33 page)

And saw Italy.

The vanguard was spread out along a lower part of the trail, cheering lustily at the Italian plains far below. The echoes of their cheers had reverberated back along the trail until its original source was indiscernible. Eumenes looked down through the clouds at the slopes and peaks falling away beneath them. The descent would be almost as hazardous as the crossing. There would be more casualties. But in a few more days they would be in northern Italy, with a few more months of campaigning season left in the year. Eumenes allowed himself a small smile. Then walked over to where Alexander and Hephaestion stood together in silence, gazing at the green fields far below.

Lugorix was sick of rowing. But he was even more sick of Matthias bitching about it. Especially because the Greek was only doing a fraction of the work. They’d been at it for some hours now. Which in itself was nothing new. Lugorix had rowed ships before—given his size and bulk, the Athenians had often had him on rowing duty on the trip east, in the weeks after they’d hired him. So he was used to hauling on oars.

But never underwater.

They’d submerged shortly after sighting Carthage—battened down the hatches, filled the tanks with sea-water, and slipped beneath the ocean surface. Lugorix had never been so scared in his life. He could understand why Eurydice and Barsine had been so coy as to the actual purpose of the modifications made to the
Xerxes
. If he’d known, he would never have gotten into this boat that so totally defied the natural order of things. But now it was too late. Before they went under, he’d had the chance to fortify himself with a skin of wine, which took some of the edge off the fear. But only some.

And now they’d done what no ship had a right to do—sink without sinking.

Lugorix sat behind Matthias on a metal bench that had unfolded from the walls. Mardonius’ artisans had been busier than he’d realized. They’d installed oars that were stranger than any oars Lugorix had ever seen—these swung out from the walls and tugged on an elaborate series of pulleys and gears that in turn pulled at what Eurydice were a number of “fins” rigged along the outside of the ship. Matthias had asked her to repeat that, and Eurydice had merely smiled that smug smile of her and spelt it out—F-I-N-S—fins, like a fish. Which was pretty much what they were this point. They’d turned off the main engine and were relying entirely on muscle-power now. It wasn’t like that main engine couldn’t function underwater. But it still made noise. And they were trying not to make any.

Since they were in the middle of a squadron of Phoenician warships.

Or maybe those ships were merely an elaborate conjuring trick on Eurydice’s part. Immediately after they’d submerged, she’d sat down beside Barsine, begun peering into a strange-looking instrument that seemed to be yet another addition installed at Syracuse. Eurydice had gazed through those eyepieces for some time, calling out course adjustments to Barsine. No one paid any attention to the two rowers until Lugorix demanded they be let in on the secret. He’d expected the women would tell them to keep quiet, but instead Eurydice had simply unfolded a series of ever-smaller glass discs, and then pointed the last of those on the wall in front of them. The whole thing had been altogether weird, and it got even weirder when a ship appeared on that wall.

It was a standard Phoenician quadrireme, of which there were maybe a hundred in the Athenian fleet: four banks of oars and two masts, with catapults rigged both aft and rear. It was a bit fuzzy, but it looked quite realistic. Lugorix congratulated Eurydice on conjuring such an excellent painting, whereupon she had rolled her eyes and told him that what he was looking at was the real thing, thanks to her
periscope
. Lugorix had no idea what the hell that was, but it certainly seemed to work: Eurydice toggled the discs back and forth—made some kind of adjustment, and all of a sudden the view was quite clear. The ship was one of many. And those ships were all
moving
—the ocean lapped against the bottom part of the picture, and the ships rose and fell in the sway of the waves. Beyond them was Carthage, getting ever closer—a series of white-walled battlements and towers stretching along the horizon.

“We’re right in the middle of their squadron,” said Eurydice, using the same low tone of voice she’d been using this whole time. “So try not to shout.”

Lugorix was too out of breath to think about doing that. He was amazed that he and Matthias alone were somehow generating enough oarpower to keep pace with ships that had hundreds of rowers—but Eurydice said the pulleys and gears served to
amplify force,
whatever that meant. As far as Lugorix was concerned, it was all witchcraft—same way they were able to see the ships even though they were underwater. But he had to admit that Eurydice knew what she was doing. Transporting them via spells beneath the waves was nothing to sneeze at. Maybe she’d even manage to keep them alive. A task that was getting ever more tricky as they drew ever nearer to Carthage and the ships clustered ever closer together and the number of eyes watching them from the walls grew. Those walls were almost as tall as those of Athens, and Lugorix pitied anyone who had to try to storm them.

“Faster,” said Eurydice.

It was the first time she’d asked them to adjust their speed, but it wasn’t the last. Across the next few minutes, she called on them to redouble their pace three times more—and then had them slow down. Once they had to back water. The Phoenician ship in front of them was so close it looked like they were about to crash into it. Lugorix felt like he could practically reach out and touch it. He kept pulling on the oars, conscious that more and more of the work was falling on him as Matthias tired. Sweat dripped down the faces of both men. It was hot work. And even though Eurydice had rigged an air-supply to the surface, Lugorix felt like they were running low on air. He took deep breaths, fought down his fears, kept rowing as they passed through the opened sea-gate and into the harbor.

It was gigantic. Not quite as big as the one at Athens, to be sure, but still crowded with ships at anchor, lined up along the docks. But all those ships were merchant-vessels, and the squadron they had infiltrated wasn’t stopping. It was continuing on through, straight into—

“Shit,” said Lugorix.

The outer harbor gave way to an inner harbor: a gigantic circular construction, the outer wall of which was lined by pillars that stretched down into the water. Warships were nestled between each of those pillars, their eye-painted beaks like monstrous birds looking out upon the harbor. At the core of that interior harbor was an artificial island—a domed building of colossal proportions. Warships were lined up within it, only unlike those around the exterior, these ones had been hauled entirely out of the water, up into drydocks while swarms of laborers worked them over.

The squadron dispersed: two of the ships rowed in toward that drydock while each of the remaining boats headed toward a different slot around the pillared outer wall. For a moment Lugorix wondered how the ship-captains knew their assigned berths—but then he saw signalmen on the inner island’s roof, waving flags and pointing at each boat.

“That way,” said Eurydice—she pulled on levers while Barsine worked the helm and suddenly the view was covered by waves as the
Xerxes
sunk beneath the surface. Lugorix could feel the ship drifting toward the bottom. He breathed deep, kept waiting for the crunch as they smashed into the bottom.

But there was no crunch—just a gentle shudder that passed through the craft, which finally ground into motionlessness. For a moment all was still. Then Eurydice stood up.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said.

Lugorix threw open the hatch, found himself peering through a sluice-gate at the harbor outside. The
Xerxes
had managed to sneak through the space beneath, into one of the drainage channels that served the harbor. Now the
sub-marine
(for that was what Eurydice had declared their vessel now was) was attached like a limpet to the wall, waiting for those within to make their next move.

Nor did it take long to get that underway. Barsine and Eurydice had planned this out beforehand—there was neither argument nor discussion. Eurydice clambered past Matthias—who followed her, Lugorix bringing up the rear. Barsine was apparently going to stay behind.

“Keep yourself safe,” she whispered to Lugorix. He nodded, grasped a ladder and clambered up to a crawlspace cut into the ceiling, wriggled past coils of rope and vats of what looked like oil. Gaps cut into the floor looked down upon the ships resting at anchor: murder-holes intended to provide a last-ditch means to destroy any hostile ships that happened to make it into the harbor. At the far end of the platform were some stairs. They headed down those stairs until they came to a large door. Eurydice looked up at Lugorix.

“All you,” she said.

Lugorix’s axe made short work of the door. On the other side was a long stone corridor. It looked like a great deal of fighting had gone down here. Blood stains were all over the walls, along with the scars of axe and blade. Matthias scanned them as they passed.

“All fresh,” he said.

“And everything we’ve seen so far is Phoenician,” said Eurydice.

“What?”

“All the ships. All the soldiers. All of it native to Carthage. All of it Phoenician.”

“So what?” asked Matthias.

“So where are all the Athenians?”

Lugorix mulled this over. He’d been thinking along the same lines himself. Things were going bad enough for Athens further east; why should they be any better further into the empire’s hinterlands? Carthage lay at the edge of the Athenian Empire. Her people weren’t even Greek. And there had already been much evidence to suggest that the unrelenting pressure of the encroaching Macedonians was shaking that empire’s foundations.

Now there was still more.

“But what about the fleet that Cleon sent from Syracuse?” asked Matthias.

“For all we know it never reached Carthage,” said Eurydice.

“Looks like whoever was losing made a stand here,” said Matthias, examining the blood. “Fell back down those corridors there.”

“Where they were probably butchered to a man,” muttered Lugorix.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” said Matthias.

Lugorix laughed. “All I have to do is step.”

“Both of you shut up,” whispered Eurydice. She led them down more corridors until they reached a ladder that led up to a storage attic that looked to have fallen into disuse. Piles of rope and rolled up sails were everywhere, along with casks of pitch and oil. The three intruders treaded cautiously across the floor, all too conscious of how their footfalls were echoing. At the far side of the attic they found another set of stairs; these wound down, then up again, twisting sinuously until it seemed impossible to Lugorix that anyone could possibly know what direction was which.

But Eurydice didn’t seem phased. She stopped at a stairway landing covered with carvings of serpentine gods, grasped one of those snakes—then pulled. A stone slid away to reveal a hidden passage with a roof so low it looked almost like a chute. Everyone had to stoop, except Lugorix, who was forced to crawl.

“How do you know where we’re going?” he asked Eurydice.

“Philip’s agents stole the plans,” she said. “In anticipation of one day attacking Carthage. And my father made copies.”

Lugorix nodded—drew in his breath as far as he could, collapsing his ribcage, willing himself to be smaller. But altering the pattern of his breathing only made him feel more claustrophobic. He’d already had to unstrap Skullseeker from his back, was reduced to holding it out in front of him. He began to feel like he was already trapped—would never get out of this place in the middle of this alien city. He wondered if the Athenian garrison had ended up down here—if this was where the Carthagnians had put the bodies. He wondered if they were still down here.

And then he emerged from the passage.

“Zeus almighty,” said Matthias.

It was another storage attic. But this one was filled with weapons: shields, swords, spears, helmets. All of them Athenian. Lugorix hefted his axe.

“So much for the garrison,” said Eurydice.

“Show some respect,” said Matthias.

“Why’s that?”

“Isn’t Athens your homeland? Shouldn’t you be showing some loyalty?”

“Loyalty?” Eurydice scoffed. “Athens threw my father out.
Exiled
him.”

“But then he fled Macedonia. Which had harbored him and given him—”

“Exactly. Loyalty to nations is a fool’s proposition. Only thing I’m loyal to now is
knowledge
. That’s the one thing that can’t betray you.”

“You sure about that?” asked Lugorix. Eurydice didn’t reply, just walked around a corner to another wing of the attic. There were even more weapons heaped here than by the door. But there was also a slitted window. The three men peered out it—found themselve gazing at the skyline of Carthage: temple-bedecked hills, villas everywhere, aqueducts twisting amidst them, smoke rising from a thousand fires.

“Gorgeous,” whispered Matthias.

“Especially because you can’t see the slums,” said Eurydice. “The rich live in the hills, the poor struggle at the bottom.”

“So where’s this library?”

“On the other side of the palace.”

“And where’s the palace?” asked Matthias.

“We’re in it,” said Eurydice. They stared at her. She laughed—“That passage took us in from the docks. Everything’s interconnected. Come on, this way.”

She led them into another crawlspace. This one wasn’t quite as narrow as the one before, but it was still low enough to make Lugorix nervous. Evidently it ran alongside one of the palace walls, because those slits continued along the left wall, the view changing from city to courtyards and finally to gardens. By the time they reached that greenery, the stone had transitioned to wood—they were skulking over an enclosed catwalk through which were slotted metal pipes that rained down water on the plants below.