Fires of Alexandria

by Thomas Carpenter

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Heron leaned on her poles and listened to the Alabarch screaming in the box. Plutarch was busy relighting the workshop, but the others watched her closely, waiting for the next command.

  Only Agog was not watching her expectantly. His eyes drilled into her and when she caught his gaze, it was all she could do not to look away.

  Sepharia, who had been freed from the Horus trap with minimal damage, ran to her side. "You're bleeding."

  Her niece used a rag rescued from the floor to wipe the blood from her ear.

  "It's nothing. I slammed my head on a scaffolding when one of the Gauls tried to take my head off with a sword," explained Heron. "Our barbarian friend returned the favor, but with better results."

  Agog gave a slight bow. Heron noted how the big man barely had a scratch on him. He didn't even look winded.

  Heron turned to the two additional members of their defensive stand. The Egyptian couple wore simple clothing and no adornments of any value, even though they were of the merchant class.

  "Mohani. Ossora. Your assistance this evening was invaluable. I desire to speak longer with you, but you have a difficult journey ahead."

  The man, Mohani, glanced to his wife to let her know he was still too stricken to speak. He'd barely spoken five words since they'd met.

  Ossora hesitated, speaking softly at first, but after glancing at the wagon, her voice raised. "Apologies that we should leave so soon. The gods will speak kindly on you that you should give us this precious gift. Once we reach our destination, we will care for it as it deserves. But we should leave the city before suspicions are aroused."

  The woman glanced at the others and Heron read her intent. Heron motioned for the others to load the wagon. Mohani joined the others, while Ossora moved nearer.

  "I understand not, why you have given us the Alabarch, rather than kill him yourself," Ossora asked. "You have as much claim to his life as we do."

  "It's best the man does not die here in Alexandria. Rome does not look kindly on the killing of its tax collectors," explained Heron. "And because your needs far outweigh my own. He did not torture me in the square for all of Alexandria to see."

  Ossora nodded with a thoughtful but pained expression. "Yes. Rome already bleeds us dry. Another reason to squeeze the stone will only make the governor happy."

  "Yes," said Heron. "You see my point. And when you reach your destination, you will make the Alabarch copy the letter I gave you...."

  The next part was difficult to say, even though Lysimachus had brought misery to her workshop. She knew then what it was like for a king or queen to pass judgment on a subject. They did not swing the headsman's axe, but the words served the same purpose.

  "...and once he has written the letter. He is yours. Just make sure the body never surfaces," she finished.

  A terrible grin rose to Ossora's lips. With a crocodile's smile, her dead eyes bore right through Heron.

  Heron looked away to see the wagon was nearly loaded.

  Ossora grabbed Heron's arm and whispered into her ear. "And when we send the message, we shall send along the black stone. And when the Alabarch's time on this earth is done, it will be the red."

  Heron nodded and pulled away from Ossora. The husband and wife were followers of Sobek, the crocodile god. Heron knew enough about their customs to almost pity Lysimachus. Almost.

  When the wagon was hitched and loaded, the Egyptian couple left the workshop.

  A knot formed in Heron's stomach. The supplies in the wagon should muffle noises from the hidden compartment, but until they'd left Alexandria, she wouldn't feel safe. It was a risk to give them the Alabarch alive. If he managed to escape, there would be no easy deaths for them.

  Only the Northman's suggestions had saved the Alabarch from dying in her workshop. He would die eventually, but his disappearance would further tweak the Roman Governor.

  "What now?" asked Plutarch.

  Heron took a long look at the state of her workshop. The destruction from the battle pained her.

  Arrows littered the floor, sticking out of wood planking and dead mercenaries. The huge Horus falcon head had an axe wound in the bronze skin. Blood trails from dying men were mixed into the dirt.

  Her metal two-legged automata, which now hung limply by the ropes it ran along, hadn't killed any mercenaries, but when it sprinted out of the darkness, it shook the mercenaries' will to fight. It wasn't until late in the battle that the mercs even fought back. Unfortunately, the hastily created automata hadn't held up to the battle. Parts had been torn off by frightened sword blows.

  Along the wall on a platform, two cheirobalistras sat behind a wall of wood planking, watching over the entrance to the workshop. Gaul-made arrows with dark fletching covered the surface of the wood.

  The cheirobalistras had done a fair amount of damage, but the real star of the battle had been her steam powered arrow launcher. The contraption fired wildly and without good aim, but it put out an ungodly number of arrows so accuracy didn't matter.

  Heron gave the workshop one long look. It would take many weeks and much coinage that she didn't have to repair the damage from the battle, but they were, for the most part, unscathed.

  Punt had a bloody bandage along his arm. Nothing too serious. Sepharia had bruising along her stomach from the Horus head. The falcon trap had been meant as a way to capture the Alabarch. Thankfully, she hadn't made it lethal or the mood of the workshop would be much different.

  Heron straightened up, and though she was exhausted and absent the violet powder that she relied on, gave commands for the clean up.

  "We can assume Roman guards will be here by morning," she said. "We have much to do before then."

  Her friends looked ready to drop on their feet. She wanted them to have their rest, but they weren't safe yet.

  "Agog. Please take the vinegar and dump it all along the entrance and whereever the Alabarch walked," she said. "Once the vinegar is poured, put a little chicken blood in the alley down the street."

  The Northman nodded and immediately got to work.

  "Punt and Plutarch. Disassemble the Horus trap and unhook the steam mechanic."

  Once her foreman and blacksmith were busy, she found Sepharia waiting at her side with eyes downtrodden.

  "I'm sorry...," she whispered. "I should have stayed at Punt's."

  Heron took her into her arms, giving her a hug, trying not to let the tears well up in her eyes. She'd come so close to losing the only connection she had left with her twin.

  Heron kissed Sepharia on the forehead. Holding her niece in her arms, she realized the girl was wearing a man's tunic.

  "Sepharia. Go change out of those clothes. When the Romans get here, I don't want them to get the wrong idea, or make any unwanted connections," said Heron.

  Her niece shuddered and shrunk away from her. Heron raised her eyebrows.

  "Is something wrong?" Heron asked.

  "The Alabarch will be dead soon, right?" whimpered Sepharia.

  Heron tensed. "He didn't do anything to you, did he?"

  Sepharia shook her head. "No."

  "Oh, good." A relieved sigh slipped from her lips. "Yes. He'll be dead soon."

  At first, Heron thought Sepharia was holding something back, but then she decided her niece was still shaken from the night's events and let the hesitation pass.

  Sepharia gave her one last hug before scampering up to her room to change.

  Heron was worried about her. She couldn't keep her locked in the workshop forever. She would have to find a way for her niece to grow without smothering her.

  As the night progressed, Heron directed them in cleaning up the workshop. They left the arrows as proof of the battle, but stacked the bodies like wood in the courtyard.

  As the skyline faintly betrayed the sun's arrival, a platoon of soldiers appeared at her gate, accompanied by a magistr
ate and a cavalry officer astride his horse.

  When word had reached her ears that they were coming, she sent the barbarian away and Sepharia to bed. Heron greeted them alone while Punt and Plutarch continued cleaning the workshop.

  She knew the Magistrate from the Library. His mental agility was not up to the task of his position, as he'd earned it through a political appointment, but his passions for learning made him at least a likable government figure.

  The Roman soldiers were unknown to her and she didn't like the grim faced officer on the horse. He ignored her and led his horse around her courtyard suspiciously.

  "Ave, Magistrate," said Heron, leaning heavily on her poles. Her knees and ankles were enflamed with pain from the long night, and she let that pain show on her face.

  "Michanikos," said the Magistrate as a sign of respect, eyeing her leg harnesses warily. "By the gods, what manner of contraption do your wear on your lower half?"

  Heron gestured upwards. "I had an accident weeks ago. I fell from a scaffolding while working my latest miracle. This device merely helps me with my mobility until I heal."

  The cavalry officer had taken his horse to the pile of bodies stacked near the entrance of the warehouse.

  "Do you have a habit of staging pitched battles in your workshop?" asked the officer.

  Heron met his steely gaze. "Only when I am attacked by thugs out to rob me."

  The officer made a dismissive noise. "These aren't mere thugs. These are Gaul mercenaries. While no match for a Roman soldier, they should make quick work of your workers."

  "Officer Minatus," said the Magistrate. "Heron is a citizen of Alexandria with impeccable standing."

  Minatus whipped his horse around to face the Magistrate. "And massive debts owed to the Empire. Need I remind you that our fair city's tax collector has gone missing as well?"

  The Magistrate's face paled. "Troubling times. Troubling times."

  "So how again did you kill a score of battle hardened mercs?" asked Minatus.

  "Please follow and I can explain," said Heron.

  Minatus dismounted and handed his reins to a soldier. The Magistrate followed right behind.

  Heron cleared her throat as they entered. "We got word that the Gauls were planning on attacking the workshop, intent on stealing the cheirobalistras I had just made."

  She indicated the two man-sized multi-firing crossbows on the platform. Punt and Plutarch, busy putting the workshop back to rights, paused to watch. Heron made get-to-work motions with her hand behind her back. She didn't want Minatus or the Magistrate to question either of them.

  "They had intent to mount them on a wagon and take to banditry in the south past the boundaries of the Empire," she said. "Thankfully, we were able to put up a defense using the very weapons they intended to steal and making a little luck of our own to turn the battle."

  Minatus climbed onto the platform to examine the cheirobalistras, running his hand along the bow portion.

  "Yes, I could see how you could take down many foes with just these two weapons," he said.

  The Magistrate pointed to the metal two-legged statue hanging on a rope. "And what, by the gods, is that? A new miracle?"

  Heron gave the man a knowing grin. "You have good eyes, Magistrate. You are correct. The injury to my legs proved fortuitous as I finally devised a locomotive method for my automata. Thus, I was working a prototype to show the temples."

  She kept her story as close to the truth as possible. Her story had too many holes as it was.

  "In the dark of the workshop, we sent the automata in on the ropes and the superstitious Gauls thought a metal demon attacked them," she said and then turning to Minatus. "No proper Roman would be fooled by such simple devices, but you know these Gauls."

  Heron shrugged dismissively, indicating the pile of bodies at the entrance.

  Heron could see the way Minatus coveted her cheirobalistras and made her next move while the fire was hot.

  "Officer Minatus. I am concerned about this plot by the Gauls. What if another group of mercenaries decided to take the weapons? We were only fortunate that we were warned by a concerned citizen. I do not feel safe with them in my workshop," she said.

  Minatus nodded along with her reasoning. "Yes. You're correct. These would be a devastating weapon for a group of bandits. No simple caravan could stand against them. What do you suggest?"

  Heron sighed heavily, trying to convey her utmost concern. "Would the Roman guard of the city confiscate these two cheirobalistras? I was hoping to sell them to you anyway, but until such a deal could be struck, the guard could take them into custody."

  She paused for a moment, before finishing. "For the safety of the Empire."

  Minatus nodded agreeably with her proposal. "Yes. That would be the best course of action."

  Once they had agreed to the deal, Officer Minatus spent his time removing the cheirobalistras from the workshop. Agog would be furious that she just gave away two of his war machines, but she had to allay suspicions before they began to fester.

  With the Magistrate and the soldiers gone from her workshop, she finally retired to her room. The sun had come up and the Lighthouse of Pharos shimmered white in the morning rays.

  Heron closed the dark curtains on her room, but even the faint light disturbed her sleep. So instead, she sat in the dark and considered how close she'd come to losing everything.

  Then, she thought of her dead twin. The one, whose name she'd taken.

  "Oh Sunny," she whispered. "This would be so much easier with the two of us."