Chapter Thirty-Eight
Weeks after Agog's coronation (she kept thinking of him as Agog despite his men calling him Wodanaz), Heron decided to survey her final remaining charge and had her horse saddled to make the journey.
She'd spent the weeks afterwards visiting each of the workshops. She knew most already in passing, except for the small shops, but all of them knew her.
At each, she made suggestions for their layouts or tools to help them improve. They took to her words with enthusiasm. Where they had difficulties, she offered abatement in the form of ideas, coinage or manpower. The Satrap had been generous with his funding of her efforts.
In turn, they had to renounce slavery for their works, as she counseled that freemen made for better products. At least half of the workshops had done so, though the remainder were still considering.
She knew it would take time to free them from the easy labor of slavery, for it was the rottenest of sweets.
The ride to the Lighthouse was made refreshing by a southerly wind, washing away the heat of the day and bringing the hint of salt.
Heron glanced behind her more than once to make sure her tails were still there, though she made no intent to lose them. Agog had given her a personal guard, two grim Northmen she'd named Grunt and Stammer by their verbal affections.
They were short on words but quick with a dagger. A Roman soldier disguised as an invalid beggar had rushed her in the Emporium only a few days ago. He hadn't made two steps toward her before he was brought down.
Heron didn’t question their presence after that. It would take a long time to root out the Roman spies from the city and until then, Heron counted herself glad of the private guard.
The wind chipped at the waves as she crossed the causeway, leaving them choppy. Galleys and fisher boats tacked across the port in orderly lines, reaching the extensive docks.
Even from a distance, Heron could spot the Library attendants, scrambling onto the boats, scouring them for books and scrolls. Heron had not yet convinced Agog that the Library needed to be copied for safety, but he hadn't turned her down. That was a good sign.
Even in the daylight, the top of the Lighthouse glowed with purpose as she made her way toward it.
Along the island of Pharos, Heron passed the Temple of Isis. The temple commanded the center of the island. Slaves moved swiftly over its gardens and courtyards. Priestesses meandered solemnly through its grounds.
Heron noted the dark crescent moon on the temple designs. As Punt had learned, every temple in the city had a crescent moon. It could be that as the world's nightly guardian, the moon brought solace to the night, much as religion brought solace to its believers.
Or, as Heron more firmly believed, the Cult of Ur had its tendrils deep within all the temples of Alexandria.
Her workshop made no more miracles for the temples, but she did not forbid the others from doing so. She took the lack of attacks on her as a truce for her decision. With the blame of the fires firmly on Caesar, and the miracles born from the workshops flowing to the temples again, they had no need to be enemies.
Not that she expected them to forget her role in the upheaval of Alexandria. As long as the temples kept to their part of the bargain, she would not trouble them any longer. It was not her responsibility for what people believed.
Heron pulled up at the gates of the Lighthouse proper. She had to lean back in her saddle to see the top. Her guards seemed equally awed by its presence.
She rode under the wide arch, at least five times as wide as her outstretched hands, that led into the center of the Lighthouse, following a ramp up and around the inside. The horse grunted as it labored up the incline, its hooves not made for such travel.
A few spectators passed her on the way down. She nodded as they murmured and pointed, trying not to draw attention to the fact that they recognized her. Heron had gotten used to being a minor celebrity in Alexandria.
Heron had to leave her horse at the transition to the octagonal portion of the Lighthouse. Numerous sightseers milled about the small market that had been set up to sell food and drink. Small scale replicas of the Lighthouse could be purchased at trinket vendors.
Grunt and Stammer followed her as she took to the stairs, using the railing instead of her cane. She hadn't yet had to pull the blade, but kept it at the ready.
The climb was tiring and longer than she had expected. She stopped twice for a rest. Her guards didn't seem bothered by the effort, but they were much younger and without injury.
When Heron finally breached the walls and entered the observation balcony, her breath was truly swept away by the view.
The winds fired across the stone in dense bursts, blowing her guard's hair about their faces. For once, Heron was glad of her short Roman haircut.
Heron first looked to sea. Distant sails rose and fell upon the waves as they rode toward Alexandria. At that place, Heron felt like the center of the known world. Even more than Rome, which styled itself its capitol.
While Rome had its senators and tales of oration and armies and roads, Alexandria had its Lighthouse and Library. Rome used its power to control its Empire. Alexandria used hers to invite the world to her doorstep.
Heron looked down to the simple buildings that made up the Great Library. In truth, it was hard to even distinguish the Library from the rest of the city. Places of learning and knowledge had spread out across the city, to where even an outdoor café could spark a learned discussion.
Heron smiled. There was no place on the earth she would rather be.
And dotted around the city, often marked by black plumes of smoke, were the workshops that she now commanded. Heron had been hesitant at first, to give direction and advice. But soon she found it became natural.
She had once promised herself that if given the worth of the Lighthouse, the eight-thousand talents, she would transform the city into a true City of Wonders. Not by the temples, or built on the backs of slaves like the pyramids, but built on the knowledge of its people.
To Heron, machines were logic solidified from thought. With the mechanics and automata she devised, the city would rise up and be a beacon to the new world.
When Agog had dared to throw off their Roman overlords, she thought him a fool. Now with the people united and the workshops humming in tune, she knew Rome could not dare to stop them.
Content, Heron turned away from the city and looked back to the sea, back in the direction of Greece, the place of her father and her twin.
For Heron had not come to the top of the Lighthouse to view the city or ponder upon the Roman Empire. She thought solemnly for a while and then her purpose solidified, pulled her twin's token from her neck.
She hefted it in her hand and let the memory of her twin wash over her for one last time. For if truly she was going to change the world, she could no longer be two people at once. She couldn't be Ada, and Heron. It had to be one or the other.
Heron stretched her arm back and launched the token into the air. The winds grabbed it and threw it far into the sea. Almost immediately her eyes lost sight of it and it was gone.
And that last bit of darkness, the one that had been lurking over her heart, set itself free.
She knew then that she was no longer Ada. No Greek daughter of a failed merchant or even a twin.
She was Heron of Alexandria.
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Fires of Alexandria Page 40