Amos led Dion back through the agora to the embankment. The wall dropped to the left as they followed the edge until they came to the cliff, and tilting his head back, Dion saw the flat plateau, a third the size of the agora, but his view was obstructed by the rock face and he could only make out some of the temple’s columns. As they waited at the base of the steps that wound up to the summit – it would be impolite to disturb the first consul at prayer – the two men looked out at the warship.
‘They call it a bireme,’ Amos said. ‘Named for the two banks of oarsmen.’
On the shore near their vessel several groups of Ileans sat around fires, plumes of smoke snaking into the sky. Their work was done for the day and the ship was no longer listing to one side.
‘Have any of them taken lodgings in the city?’
‘Not one. Kargan keeps a close eye on his men.’
‘Did you get much of a look at their soldiers?’
Amos nodded. ‘A dozen or so marines. They carry triangular wooden shields, spears, bronze and steel swords. Another six archers, although I’d say our bows are better.’
There was movement on the steps, and both Dion and Amos turned as they saw First Consul Aristocles descending alone. He was both thinner and balder than when Dion had last seen him, with white hair at the sides of his head where his scalp wasn’t bare. His brow was furrowed, and he appeared lost in thought.
‘The night of the tremor, the eternal flame at the temple went out,’ Amos murmured. ‘Yet the wind wasn’t strong.’
Aristocles was panting by the time he reached them. In unison, Dion and Amos both bowed.
‘First Consul,’ Amos said. ‘Dion, son of King Markos of Xanthos, is here.’
‘First Consul,’ Dion said as he bowed. ‘I’m pleased to see Phalesia has weathered the night the ground shook and appears little harmed.’
‘We are harmed, Dion of Xanthos,’ Aristocles said wearily. ‘Be sure of that. How fares Xanthos?’
‘The city is well, as is my father the king. He doesn’t know I’m here, but if he did I’m certain he would send his regards.’
‘He’s unaware that you are here?’ Aristocles’ eyebrows arched. ‘Then why are you here?’
‘I apologize, but my visit was hasty. The narrows have been blocked by a piece of cliff, fallen into the water. Until the passage is cleared there can be no trade between Xanthos and Phalesia.’
The first consul nodded abruptly. ‘I have many things on my mind right now.’
‘I thought perhaps the eldren—’ Dion began.
‘Enough about the eldren,’ Aristocles interjected, scowling.
Dion immediately saw that he’d timed his arrival poorly. ‘I can see you’re busy, First Consul. I apologize for arriving unannounced. Perhaps we can discuss this another time.’
Aristocles ran a hand over his face. ‘No, it is I who should apologize, Dion of Xanthos. I will speak with you, but now I must go and discuss an important matter with one of my fellow consuls. You will rest tonight at my villa and we will discuss what brings you here.’
Chloe was in the kitchen unpacking the day’s purchases at the market with Aglea, a stout servant with white hair tied at the back of her head. As she unwrapped a hunk of goat’s meat while Aglea added coals to the cooking hearth, Chloe’s mind was elsewhere. She was worried about her father, who was brooding in the reception with a cup of red wine. He was more careworn than usual of late, and not for the first time she wished she was a man, so she could help him with his work at the Assembly.
She heard old Hermon speaking in low, respectful tones and then her father’s louder voice. ‘Ah, I had completely forgotten. Of course, show him in.’
A stranger’s voice greeted her father and then Aristocles called out. ‘Chloe? Come here. We have a guest.’
Chloe exited the kitchen and stopped in her tracks. The young man from the sailboat earlier in the day was looking at her and smiling. She had barely paid attention to him before, but she realized now that the tunic he was wearing marked him out as no common sailor.
He had short, unruly, sandy hair and tanned skin, with an oval face and sunburned lips. His square jaw was clean-shaven and his build was lean and athletic. Intelligent brown eyes sparkled as his smile broadened.
‘Chloe, you remember Dion, King Markos of Xanthos’s youngest son? Dion, my daughter Chloe.’
‘Lady.’ Dion gave a short bow.
‘The last time you two met you were quite young, is that correct?’
‘It was six years ago,’ Dion said, still smiling. His expression was full of mischief; he was enjoying her discomfort. ‘I was fourteen.’
‘Which means Chloe would have been thirteen.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t even recognize me,’ Dion said.
Despite herself, Chloe reddened, then she became angry, but she fought to keep her expression calm.