Chapter 9

Voldi was through with the nailing now; but, not wanting to disturb the Roman’s disquisition on the Arabian mind, he held on to the stallion’s leg, rubbing it gently—and listening.

‘You take this fine-looking boy, Pincus; obviously well-to-do, undoubtedly from one of their better families, gracious, bright; I’ll wager you five hundred sesterces he can’t write his own name!’

‘I wouldn’t mind taking you up on that, your Excellency,’ said Pincus. ‘But how are you going to find out?’

‘Why don’t you ask him?’ suggested Voldi, with a grin.

The awkward incident, which might so easily have given serious offence, really speeded their friendship. Mencius, experienced in diplomacy, humbly admitted that any attempt at apology would only add to their trouble, which prompted Voldi to say: ‘You were right, sir, about Arabia. I should not have listened; but—well, sir, I couldn’t get away. My knowing Greek was accidental—not intentional, I assure you!’

Pincus, who had been trying hard to maintain his composure, gave way to a whoop of laughter. The whole episode had been too ridiculous to be viewed soberly. Voldi, too, thought it was funny. Mencius recovered slowly from his embarrassment. It was with the dignity of refinement and respect that he formally presented Pincus as the manager of the caravan with which he was travelling.

When the younger Roman had gone, with instructions to take his caravan on to Gaza tomorrow and wait there at the port, Mencius and Voldi talked. They had supper together. It was late in the evening when they parted. Their acquaintance had ripened quickly into friendship. They both felt it.

Mencius, perhaps without realizing it, had opened some gates for the untravelled young Arabian. Voldi, utterly fascinated, had encouraged the Roman to talk of his far voyages. The better to explain the nature of his journeys, Mencius confided without reserve that he was an agent of the Emperor, engaged in various errands—of investigation, mostly, and organization, too. He had been on this present roundabout trip for many months: sailing from Brindisi to Crete in charge of a fleet of ten Empire ships, he had hustled the procrastinating Cretans into their mines for iron which he had sent to Rome. He had kept one of the ships and had sailed to Cyprus, where he had organized a caravan to bring copper from the mines of the interior; and, when his fleet had returned—in ballast—from Rome, he had accompanied the copper to Caesarea, where it was to be used in building the extensive docks.

‘You should spend a few days in Caesarea, Voldi, seeing you are intending to ride up the coast,’ advised Mencius. ‘The Empire is doing great things there! A two-mile-long stone breakwater; magnificent harbour; destined to be one of the greatest ports on our sea.’