Things were getting worse. Ptolemais was even breezier and even more Greek. Whereas Tocra just butted out into the Mediterranean, Ptolemais actually had the sea lapping on two sides. Although its harbour was more sheltered, furious waves coursed at an angle in the open water, while flying sand stung us as we hacked into town from the west.
Our journey had taken us two days, even though I had pressed on as hard as possible. The coast road was dismal.
We found no way-station, and were forced to sleep rough overnight. I noticed that Claudia hunched her shoulders and said nothing, as though she had experienced this before.
By now the rolling green and brown hillocks of the Jebel came down almost to the city. Squeezed between the sea and the mountains, this was an offshoot of Cyrene, still further east. There were historic connections with the Egyptian Ptolomies (hence the name) and the neighbourhood was still used as a cattle-ranching area, fattening flocks for rich Egyptians who lacked pastures of their own.
It was a dry old place to have chosen to build; an aqueduct brought in a vital water supply, which was stored in huge cisterns under the forum. Yet again the meticulous Justinus had left word, so once we had struggled into the city centre, and found the right temple, and dug out the under-priest who was in charge of messages from foreigners, it only took us another hour or so to persuade the disinterested Greek-speaking burghers to give us directions to where he was staying. Needless to say, this was not among the well-appointed homes of the local wool and honey magnates, but in a district that smelt of fish-pickle, where the alleys were so narrow the tormenting wind whistled through your teeth as you battled around every corner. Also needless to say, even when we found his billet, Justinus was out.
We left a note ourselves, then waited for the hero to come to us. To cheer us up, I spent more of Helena's father's money on a slap-up fish supper. It was eaten in a subdued mood by tired, dispirited people. I had now acquired the traditional party-leader's role of irritating everyone and pleasing none, whatever I tried to organise. “So, Claudia, did you ever see the gorgeous Gardens of the Hesperides?”
“No,” said Claudia.
Helena attempted to take a hand. “Why; what went wrong?”
“We couldn't find them.”
“I thought they were near Berenice?”
“Apparently.”
Claudia's permanent pose of neutrality had slipped for a moment, and we could hear honest rancour growling through. Helena openly tackled the girl: “You seem rather low. Is anything wrong?”
“Not at all,” said Claudia, putting down the uneaten half of her grilled red mullet for my dog, Nux. Dear gods, I do hate mimsy girls who pick at their food-especially when I have paid through the nose for it. I was never partial to women who seem unable to enjoy themselves; what was more, to have caused a scandal and then to be so unhappy about it seemed an atrocious waste.
Well, we only had to stick it out in snobbish Ptolemies for ten days before a message came from Justinus to Claudia saying he was now living in Cyrene, so there was yet another haughty Greek city waiting to despise us if we cared to trek that way.
This time it did seem as if it ought just be worth bothering to pack up and transfer ourselves: Famia became very excited because he thought Cyrene was a good source of horses, Helena and I wanted to see the runaways together so we could try to work out what had gone wrong with them, and besides, Justinus' note had a coded tailpiece which we deciphered as, “I may have found what I was looking for!”
We had a satirical discussion about whether he had become so intellectual that he meant the secrets of the universe, but-not knowing that I had already arrived in the province-he had also instructed Claudia, “send for Falco urgently! Since everyone else agreed my presence was hardly necessary at a philosophical symposium, they reckoned I was needed to formally identify a sprig of silphium.