Water Thief

Chapter One Aspalatum, Dalmatia, 15 May (Ides), Monday, a.d. 304 The pounding of mattocks and mallets followed Aelius Spartianus as he entered the compound, so much like a military camp that he wondered whether all of them, from the emperor to the last recruit, were so shaped by their duties as to think exclusively in those terms. The foursquare shape, secure and solid, to be multiturreted in the end no doubt, enclosed him with the old safety that held in without dwarfing, although its perimeter must be a mile and half at least. At once the impeccable seaside sky was locked into a rectangle of sun-filled brightness above, run by swallows and quarrelsome gulls. "Your credentials, Commander." A noncommissioned officer held out his hand, and when Aelius obliged, he saluted and let him pass. Against the massive perimeter walls, some of the apartments in the imperial compound had been built already, and from what it seemed, a series of arched courtyards would dissect the floor plan soon. Freshly hewn limestone cornices, pedestals, and steps lay orderly according to their kind, numbered and ready to be fitted. "Commander, may I see your credentials?" Same uniform, another face, another proffered hand. "Here." Aelius was curious to see that every square piece of land not specifically taken up by the workers or their tools, was carefully tended and watered, and even without much familiarity with gardening, he could tell it was cabbage that grew in neat, pale green rows. "Soldier, who put these here?" "His Divinity." "The cabbage, I mean." "His Divinity planted it." Having presented his credentials to a third guardsman, Aelius walked past the vegetables and between heaps of ground pumice stone, lime, and sand, smelling cement being mixed. Columns lay side by side just ahead, more stacked stone. For the past twenty milesthat is, from the turnoff from the main road, where a path led to the quarrieshe'd overtaken ox carts laden with squared and dressed blocks, local tufa, and a cream-colored stone meant perhaps to highlight the facings of the court. Bricks were arriving, too, by the thousands, and Aelius had asked the soldiers escorting the mule pack how far they'd come. "Aquileia," they'd answered, though of course they must have picked up the loads at the harbor of Salonae up the road, if not immediately across from the building site. In what would likely become the second courtyard, a matter-of-fact, balding secretary halted his progress. His Divinity was inside, he said, overseeing the laying of pipes in the baths, so he should wait here. "Just get in line." He handed him a chalk disk with a number. "When I call your number, follow me inside." Aelius looked at the number, which read a discouraging 36. "Very well. Is there a place where I can spend the night?" he asked. "You can check with the barbers outside the gate. They rent cots on the side." It was common knowledge that Diocletian did not care for curls and bangs, so that barbers within the environs of whatever imperial residence he happened to be in, made a small fortune by promptly shearing off the locks of those who arrived fashionable, but had to enter the precinct dismally traditional. Even here, one could tell by the palPastor, Ben is the author of 'Water Thief ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780312353902 and ISBN 0312353901.