Chapter 2

A vast cloud of steam burst out of the room when one of the slaves opened the door. In return, the day threw in grey light, a chilled breeze and the sound of heavy rain, like a thousand people clapping at once.

The only light was the brazier in the corner of the room, which lit the large, steaming circular bath. Zoandros unwrapped his belt, then lifted the material of his clothes over his head and paced naked to the bath. He sank in, the water just too hot, perfectly uncomfortable. He ducked under, then pushed back his thick curly hair and rested the base of his skull on the edge of the bath. A log cracked noisily in the brazier and one of the servants shuffled, then laughed.

Four slaves were in the room, tending the fire, preparing the hot water, stirring the bath. He knew them by sight but not by name.

Zoandros’s eyes hurt, his chest felt heavy and he hated life. He wanted the water to blister the skin off his bones. Even as his muscles relaxed in the heat, his breath struggled with the black, heavy uncertainty. New water came in, steam rose, but it seemed his weak exhalation barely moved the clouds in front of his face.

What is Malios going to do?

No-one sane would go out in this freezing rain. They’ll be coughing their pink lungs out before the end of the month. No, I’ll send a messenger to tell him to meet me the day after it stops.

But it is an interesting thought. What would-

Something thick and sharp scraped the outside of his calf, and he jolted up, eyes bright and open. His chief agent Manu stood in the water in front of him, searching for the best place to sit, away from Zoandros but also away from where the steaming water was poured in. Manu was framed by the water from mid-thigh upwards and he turned, looking for a seat, his looser parts swinging past Zoandros.

The slaves had frozen in shock, then one reached for a thick club by the door. Zoandros raised his hand.

“Manu, this is meant for one person.”

“No.” He swung around again, found the furthest side of the round bath and slid into the water without a ripple. The bath overflowed, slopping onto the tiles. “Baths this size were always meant for two or three. Terrible waste of hot water otherwise.”

Manu shuffled, farted a stream of bubbles which popped noisily, then dunked his head. He slicked back his white hair, which burst from his head like a dandelion when dry, but vanished against his skin when wet, leaving him like a cat caught in the rain. The agent sniffed.

“What will Malios do?” Manu asked, his eyes closed.

The question which must be answered. I need to know where Hermia is going. I need to know whether I’ll be given exile or execution when Kinyras hands her over with the kingdom. Hermia doesn’t deserve it. Perhaps I do.

Zoandros rested his head back and stared at the shadows which floated with the smoke on the ceiling. The rain increased its onslaught, pounding the trees and walls, so loud and angry that there was no single individual drop. No-one spoke until the noise fell again.

“I don’t know. He risks his health in the rain if he does, but risks his life with us if he doesn’t. What would you do?”

“I’d try to make it. Just get a big, warm cloak.”

“He’s too broke. I don’t think he can afford one big enough. But he’s not going to run away either because his father is still here,” said Zoandros. “The old man is too weak to travel in this rain. We shouldn’t have brought him over really.”

“We didn’t have a choice. His son is an idiot. And the rains came earlier than we thought.”

“We should send Poor Periklis to the tavern to collect them.” Zoandros sank lower into the hot water as another bucket was poured in. He ran his fingers through his hair and his scalp felt tight. “Too cold for anyone else.”

“Poor Periklis might scare him off,” countered Manu.

“Malios is scared already. We can’t have him and the girl sitting in the open in this weather.”

Zoandros’s eyes roaming the shadows as if they might answer for him. A large bubble rose close to Manu and popped noisily.

“You’re worried,” stated Manu. “You’re not normally this worried.”

“Our dear Philokypros, the king of Salamis is planning something serious but I don’t know the details. He’s been muttering for months about using Pericles’s gold to take control of Cyprus, and he hates us most of all.

“If this rumour about Thebes reached his ears, he’d march to our gates as soon as the clouds cleared. It would give him the perfect excuse. Kinyras is too old to fight.”

“Are you sure Philokypros would do that?”

“I’m sure. He’s been sending messages to the other cities and I’ve heard it through our people in two or three different courts. But I have no friends close to Philokypros at the moment. Just a year in this role and I’ve made more enemies than Paris of Troy when he got horny.”

“Won’t Kinyras listen to you? We should prepare.”

Under the hot water, Zoandros’s stomach churned. He closed his eyes, holding the silence for just a breath longer. Sweat ran off his brow into the corner of his mouth.

“No. And I think he’d ignore me just to prove a point.” His eyes wouldn’t stay shut, so he watched the smoke and the steam dance in the bronze glow of the brazier. “I need to hear what Malios says and what Philokypros is up to.

“But you know the worst part of this? Our existing network - yours and mine - has failed us. Malios has gone invisible. Philokypros is unknowable. No-one is out in this rain, not him, not our informers.”

“Nothing to be done, Zoandros. No-one goes out in this rain. It’s freezing. It wasn’t supposed to come for another few days.”

“Well it did. The Fates or the gods are making it difficult for us. And all the time for Philokypros to prepare while we wait and bicker in ignorance.”

He sank down to his chin. Outside the thick door, the sound of bare feet slapped on the tiles of the corridor. Slaves running under the skillion as the cold, heavy rain raced to hit them.

“We have to wait for his decision to go back to the tavern or not, Manu. It’s out of our hands. And if the rains continue, we might be at war before our clothes are dry.”