Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(19)
They were close enough to hear each other. Cob turned the sailboat so that Dion came alongside the rocks.
Chloe, daughter of the first consul of Phalesia, was furious.
‘Get away from the Ilean ship!’
‘Of course, lady,’ Dion said. ‘Should I draw away now?’
Chloe clenched her fists, uncertain whether he was mocking her. Dion could see that she didn’t recognize him.
‘Before I do, could you tell me something about it?’ Dion asked. ‘You said the ship is from Ilea?’
‘We have an agreement. We are to stay away from it.’
‘You have my apologies, Chloe, daughter of Aristocles. I am not Phalesian and was not aware.’
‘Just stay away.’
Dion nodded gravely. ‘You have my word.’
Chloe turned her back on him and climbed back up the rocks. As she moved from rock to rock, Dion smiled at the damage she was wreaking on her chiton. Evidently she valued her father’s agreement with the Ilean shipmaster more than she valued her clothing.
‘Come on,’ Dion said to Cob. ‘We need to land.’
‘I’m surprised she didn’t recognize you.’
‘A king’s son.’ Dion grinned. ‘Arriving on a derelict sailboat with a stunted old man?’
‘Derelict?’ Cob patted the boat fondly. ‘She’s a good girl. I’ll award you the stunted part, though. But tell me, why didn’t you explain who you are?’
‘I wanted to see what she would say about the warship. And I would prefer to announce myself to Aristocles on my own terms. Preferably without her around.’
Cob chuckled, shaking his head.
‘Do you mind waiting while I find the first consul?’ said Dion. ‘I might be a while.’
‘I can find lodgings in the city if need be.’
Dion began to take down the sail as they approached a patch of pebbled beach. ‘I have to see if Aristocles will help us clear the narrows. I also have to find out what I can about that ship.’
Dion climbed the narrow steps leading up the sloped bastion from the harbor. The way was unguarded and soon he was making his way through the agora.
He turned to look back at the sea one last time, then found his gaze drawn to the summit of the cliff and the golden ark with the eternal flame burning brightly at the Temple of Aldus. There was only one approach to the temple, a series of precarious steps carved into the stone, leading from the top of the embankment and curving left and right as they wound their way up.
The sun was sinking in the west, melting into the horizon. Even so the agora buzzed with activity as he navigated the market stalls, passing cloth sellers displaying lengths of wool dyed a multitude of bright hues: orange, scarlet, emerald, and turquoise. The smell of rosemary and baking bread wafted from a vendor serving three consuls in white tunics. Phalesian ceramics stood on the alternating pink and brown paving stones, each jar, plate, or vase decorated with a unique scene, from daily life in the city to depictions of the gods. He paused to examine a stunning design of children at play, each boy or girl running around the circumference of a wide bowl, but moved on when the seller noted his interest.
As he headed deeper into the marketplace the Temple of Aeris loomed ahead, each spaced column as wide as the stoutest tree. He watched citizens come and go with regularity, making offerings for the health of loved ones. He then returned his attention to the agora as a priestess of Edra slinked past, her gauzy chiton revealing tantalizing female flesh and her eyes lined with kohl. She gave Dion an appraising look, but he simply smiled and nodded and she turned away, looking for customers elsewhere.
Although the Temple of Helios was the farthest from the agora, it was as busy as always. Dion fingered the silver medallion with a trident in a circle that he wore on a chain around his neck. The shrine dedicated to his personal deity, Silex, the god of fortune and the sea, was down in the lower city; he doubted he would have time to visit.
As he wondered how he would find the first consul, his gaze traveled over the several hills dotting the city’s upper level, crowned by palatial residences, the homes of the wealthy. He knew one of the villas was the home of Aristocles, but he didn’t know which.
The market ended halfway into the agora, and now on his right there were steps leading upwards to the library and the lyceum. He had once visited the library and was awed by the thousands upon thousands of clay tablets, astonished that with nothing more than the simple act of reading he could find out the price of wheat on the day he was born.
He paused and rubbed his chin as he looked at the lyceum and the bronze statue of the god of justice just outside. Shaking his head, he continued walking. His father the king would be angry enough that he had visited Phalesia, let alone announced himself to the consuls.
Looking around, scanning the hilltop villas and the merchants’ homes below, he could see occasional signs of the recent tremor. It had evidently struck Phalesia much harder than Xanthos, but already men were repairing the buildings. The sight reminded him of his task. He knew that clearing the narrows would be worth risking his father’s ire.
Then Dion saw someone he knew. A stocky man in leather armor with a weathered face of crags and wrinkles was walking toward the market. He had an athletic build, square jaw, and dark, somber eyes.
‘Captain,’ Dion said warmly.
Amos frowned for a moment, then smiled as recognition lit up his visage. ‘Dion of Xanthos.’