Free The Pillars of Hercules by David Constantine Page B

and promontory, back to the camp. They could see mounted figures riding in — the morning patrols were returning. Soon Alexander would order the day’s ride to begin, for the continuation of the journey back toward Macedonia.
    “We should leave,” said Eumenes, turning back to Harpalus.
    But Harpalus was already heading down the stairway.
     
    “I’m sick of this place,” muttered Matthias.
    Lugorix nodded. He knew the feeling. They’d been cooped up for several days in what they’d quickly come to realize may have as well have been a prison. They’d been allowed to keep their weapons and equipment, but were for all intents and purposes confined to their rooms. Under house arrest, was the phrase that Matthias used for it—Lugorix had never heard the term before. In Gallic culture anyone who had a house was a rich man by definition, and anyone who was under arrest was quickly put on trial, either to be executed or released in short order. He’d asked Matthias whether they were here because they’d committed a crime—Matthias said that wasn’t the point, that they were in somebody else’s hands now, and would just have to wait to see what happened.
    Lugorix wasn’t sure that was such a great idea. Though he had to admit, their quarters were comfortable. In fact, they were more luxurious than anything he’d ever seen. There were real beds! —complete with banners that were meant to be pulled over oneself while one slept. Matthias told him they were called sheets . Lugorix would have preferred a woman, but he found the sheets to be comfortable enough all the same. The walls were covered with paintings and the floors were bedecked with carpets. There was even something called a toilet, which was easily the most remarkable thing Lugorix had ever laid eyes on. One pissed and crapped through a hole and apparently someone at the bottom of that hole was responsible for cleaning the mess up.
    One of the slaves, presumably. They were the only people Lugorix and Matthias had seen since being escorted upstairs from the basement where the boat had been moored. Slaves brought their meals, cleaned the rooms, changed the linen, and even furnished wine: amphorae stoppered with wax seals and marked with the symbol of what Matthias assured Lugorix was a very expensive vineyard. Lugorix figured the plan was to keep him and Matthias drunk and happy. He certainly couldn’t argue with the success of the first objective.
    The house they were in was clearly much larger than the wing to which they were confined. Lugorix had gotten glimpses of it when he and Matthias had been led upstairs from the basement—sprawling landings, spacious hallways, doors left tantalizingly open, but no sign of the elusive owner. Theramenes, the man who had overruled the harbormaster, had escorted them to the quarters they now occupied. Lugorix wondered if in fact he was the house’s master, but there had been something in the man’s bearing that suggested that he was simply what he claimed to be: just a servant. They hadn’t seen him since.
    Nor had they seen Barsine or Damitra. This seemed to frustrate Matthias above all else, which for Lugorix was clear evidence of a fundamental lack of perspective. Because whatever game Barsine was playing had everything to do with Macedonia and nothing whatsoever to do with Matthias. In the midst of quaffing the contents of a particularly tasty amphora, Lugorix had tried to explain this to Matthias, only to be rudely told he didn’t need to be reminded. Tensions between the two men got worse from there. They’d saved each other’s lives in the field many times, but confined together in close quarters they were starting to feel like caged animals, able to do nothing but turn on each other.
    The view from the window was making matters worse. They were three floors up, looking out over the thicket of trees and vines and ponds that constituted the house’s back-garden. Beyond that were more canals and more