Silus drew his knife and stabbed the donkey in its backside.
It wasn’t a deep stab, the tip of the blade penetrating the tough hide maybe a quarter of an inch. It must have felt like a particularly vicious horse fly bite. The donkey let out an outraged bray, and set off in a panicked gallop.
The change into motion was so abrupt it caught Silus by surprise, and he fell over backwards, into the cart, dry twigs parting so he hit his head on the wooden base as his feet flew comically up into the air. He ignored the mocking laughter from the driver that echoed after him down the heptastadion, and he struggled back into his seat, and fumbled for the reins.
He had no control over the charging equid, and the reins in his hands were little more use to him than a child’s comfort toy. But he had no real need to give instruction. The road was straight, with no option to veer off on the wrong course, just dark sea to left and right. And the donkey was galloping at full pace.
He looked ahead and saw that he was once more gaining on Gratidius, who looked behind him frequently while urging his own beast on to greater speed. The other traffic on the road gave the two racers a wide berth, seeing them coming from far off. All of them gawped at the sight of the remarkable race.
Silus was only a hundred feet behind when they reached the end of the heptastadion. The road branched at this point, heading to different destinations on the island – the docks, the lighthouse, the temple, the town. And now they encountered heavier traffic, as roads converged onto the narrow causeway, and there was no room for the other road users to get out of the way. Gratidius’ donkey found its passage blocked, and stopped suddenly rather than plough into a slow moving ox-wagon.
Gratidius’ curse was loud enough for Silus to hear, despite the distance, although this was now rapidly closing as his own panicking donkey charged on. He saw Gratidius dismount, and run on foot.
The two oxen pulling the wagon which had stopped Gratidius had plodded their way around the obstruction, and were heading slowly but inexorably towards Silus. He pulled on the reins hard, but the donkey was having none of it, still in total blind panic as he attempted to flee whatever outsized insect had attacked his rear end.
Just as the donkey ran head first into the oxen, Silus let out a loud cry and jumped sideways, clear of the impending crash. He rolled several times, hearing the noise of the collision as the world tumbled around him. He came to rest on his front, and lay for a moment, taking a breath. He looked up to see a cart wheel trundling straight for his head, and heard at the same moment the carter yelling at him to get out of the way. He rolled to his right, and the heavy wheel rolled over the spot his head had occupied the briefest heartbeat before.
Painfully he stood. The donkey looked dazed but unharmed. The oxen had stopped but appeared to have taken no injury whatsoever. The cart that Silus had been riding had overturned and thrown a wheel. He supposed that the top speed of a donkey was much lower than that of a horse. If that had been a horse-drawn chariot, the horse would have been a broken mess and the chariot would have been firewood.
Up ahead, he saw Gratidius threading his way through the traffic, heading north. Silus pictured the topography, remembering the lighthouse and the harbour when they had first sailed into Alexandria. A promontory on the north coast of the island of Pharos ran to the east, forming the northern part of the Great Harbour. Boats regularly docked there, beneath the soaring height of the lighthouse at the tip of the promontory. Gratidius must be hoping for one last chance to find a berth on a vessel out of Alexandria. And only Silus could stop him.
It was a gruelling chase of endurance. Both men were fit, relatively young, and bulky enough to be able to push through the crowds. As they moved north, the traffic and density of the crowds thinned and they both increased their speed. They passed residential houses, administrative buildings, shops and the ornate Temple of Isis Pharia. But always the view ahead was dominated by the lighthouse.
Though his breath was short, his chest heaving with the effort of trying to close the gap on his quarry, Silus could not help but look up at the wondrous structure. Three hundred feet tall, built from large blocks of limestone, with granite reinforcing the angles for strength, the lighthouse was made up of three tapering tiers, the lowest square, the middle octagonal and the top circular. Four statues of the god Triton blowing horns to guard against shipwrecks stood guard at each corner of the lowest floor, while at the top was a statue of Triton’s father Poseidon, keeping watch over the harbour and the seas.
But the most wonderful part of the construction was the mirror at the highest point, which reflected the sun’s rays out to sea during the day, and the light of an enormous fire at night. Night was indeed falling, and as Silus watched, a small glow at the top of the tower grew and burst forth into a bright flame.
The failing daylight made it harder for Silus to keep Gratidius in view, but in fact he was gaining on the legate. Being a soldier meant that Gratidius had to maintain some degree of fitness to keep the respect of his men, but he didn’t train nearly as hard as a legionary. Silus, on the other hand, kept himself as fit as his work allowed, and the difference began to tell. By the time they reached the narrow strip of land leading out to the lighthouse, Silus was only a score of feet behind. Although they had passed a handful of docked boats, there was no way Gratidius would have been able to board one and escape before Silus was on him, let alone negotiate the terms of passage.
Though Silus’ lungs and legs were screaming in pain, he was spurred on by the knowledge that he would soon overtake his quarry. Gratidius knew it too. And he was running out of land. Beyond the lighthouse was only sea.
Gratidius stopped at the ramp leading up to the lowest level of the lighthouse and looked back. Silus could see the desperation on his face. The legate began to run up the steps on the ramp. Silus groaned. He had a bad feeling about where this was leading.
Silus only appreciated how enormous the lighthouse was when he was right up next to it. The ramp leading to the door on the lowest floor was mounted on sixteen magnificent arches. The lowest level of the lighthouse was vast, housing the horde of workers required to keep the lighthouse fuelled and operating. Silus followed Gratidius inside, and found himself in a hollow structure with dozens of rooms for living quarters or storage. Another internal ramp led up to the second floor, wide enough for two oxen to be pulling a cartload of wood slowly up towards the pinnacle.
Gratidius pushed past surprised lighthouse workers, slaves and overseers, and mounted the ramp, with Silus hard on his heels. If Silus had thought the chase had been challenging up to this point, it required a whole new level of endurance and willpower now. The gradient of the ramp was steep, and he had to force his legs beneath him to keep moving ever upwards. When they reached the second floor, Silus had to stop and lean against a wall, gasping hard, fearing he might pass out with the exertion. Gratidius looked back, and seeing his pursuer had stopped, did likewise. They stared at each other, chests heaving, unable to speak, separated by mere feet, too exhausted to move.
Silus gulped down some deep lungfuls of air, and forced himself into motion once more. Gratidius’ shoulders slumped momentarily, then he too started to move.
There was no ramp up from the second floor, just an internal staircase, so all the fuel had to be moved upwards by hand from this stage. Slaves with sacks of wood on bent backs made their way slowly up the staircase, while others with empty sacks came down, moving not much faster.
Their gait could not really be called running now as they ascended the staircase. Silus’ calves were on fire, the muscles of his ribs groaned with each inhalation, and still they went on. This floor was half the height of the lower floor, but was still about a hundred feet high, and when they finally reached the upper floor, they were both spent.
Silus stumbled up the last step, rounded a corner and was hit by an immediate blast of heat and light. The fire was huge, roaring and spitting as it worked its way through forests of logs that succumbed to its vast
appetite. Although most of the smoke was billowing upwards into the sky, there was enough swirling around in the wind that when Silus took a gasping breath, he immediately bent over and coughed uncontrollably.
Gratidius likewise had stopped to cough spasmodically. Silus straightened, taking control of his breathing, and made his way towards Gratidius. Gratidius gathered himself and stumbled away.
‘Gratidius,’ cried out Silus, his voice cracked and hoarse. ‘What’s the point? There is nowhere to go.’
Gratidius waved to the workers, a group of slaves stripped to the waist, blackened with soot, who had stopped to stare at the unexpected interlopers. ‘I am legate Gratidius,’ he said and pointed at Silus. ‘That man is an assassin. Seize him.’
The slaves stared in incomprehension. Some of it was due to a genuine inability to understand the Greek that Gratidius spoke, but others could not comprehend why a Roman soldier would expect them to aid him in a matter that was clearly none of their business.
Gratidius waited a moment for them to react, and when he realised they were going to do nothing, he cursed and pushed himself back into motion. His path took him around behind the enormous mirror that was reflecting the fire’s light miles out to sea. Silus followed, and the slight excess in his energy reserves compared to his quarry’s gave him just enough edge to catch up. As Gratidius staggered away, breathing hoarsely, gripping the rail that surrounded the summit of the lighthouse, Silus finally reached him, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him backwards.
Gratidius yelped and fell clumsily. For a moment he lay still, breathing deeply, and Silus wondered if he had injured him. He hadn’t thought that he had knocked his head, but just as he was about to step forward to check, Gratidius levered himself onto his hands and knees and looked up at Silus.
‘You killed Tekosis,’ said Silus, and his voice, though cracked from the heat and smoke, was as cold as ice.
Tekosis was the first woman Silus had slept with since the death of his wife. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was sure that he had wanted to find out. And he was sure too that this man kneeling before him had provided the poison that had allowed her to take her life.
‘Why?’ asked Silus, trying to keep a pleading tone out of his voice.
Gratidius coughed and spat a glob of phlegm.
‘To avoid this,’ he said with a sardonic half-smile.
‘Good plan,’ said Silus bitterly.
They were both silent for a moment, ignoring the onlooking slaves as they slowly recovered their wind.
‘Why get involved at all?’ Silus said eventually, when talking had become easier.
‘Why does anyone do anything in this Empire? Power, advancement, money.’
‘Not everyone is motivated by those things.’
‘True,’ said Gratidius. ‘There are also the fanatics.’
‘And it’s fanatics you got into bed with?’
Gratidius nodded. ‘I thought they would be a useful means to an end.’
‘They probably thought the same of you.’
‘I do support their cause. I just thought there would be something in it for me.’
‘And their cause is what?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘I want to hear it from you.’
Gratidius sighed. ‘They kidnapped Avitus so they could make him ruler of the eastern Roman Empire, and make his god Elagabal the pinnacle of the pantheon.’
‘And where does Isis come into it?’
‘She would be his consort.’
‘But she isn’t the consort of Elagabal. How can humans decree it to be so?’
‘You are so naive, Silus. Look at Serapis, worshipped here at the moment before all others, revered throughout the Empire, including by the current Emperor and his father. And yet he was invented just a few centuries ago by the Ptolemies, a synthesis of Apis the bull and Osiris, lord of the underworld.’
‘You can invent a god? Why would you do that?’
‘To give the new half-Greek, half-Egyptian city of Alexandria a god that could be worshipped by all, that would unite everyone in the city and the country.’
‘Alexandria hardly seems to be united.’
‘Well, Jews, Christians and Romans did spoil things somewhat.’
‘Where is Avitus?’ said Silus.
‘Why would I tell you that?’
Silus pulled his knife from his belt. ‘You think you have choices right now?’
Gratidius seemed to shrink. He was unarmed, exhausted and on his knees.
‘It’s probably too late now.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Silus, a cold feeling coming over him.
‘Why do you think I decided to run, instead of stick it out? Once Tekosis was captured, Aziz would know that the plan would likely be discovered. He will probably take matters into his own hands, against the will of the leaders of the plot.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Aziz is a true fanatic. If he thinks he has lost the chance to elevate Avitus here on earth, I think he will take them both to the next world, and hope the sacrifice will inspire the revolution he craves.’
‘Shit. Shit, shit, shit.’ He took a step forward and pressed the knife to Gratidius’ throat. ‘Tell me now. Where is Avitus being held?’
‘In a room below the Serapeum,’ said Gratidius.
Silus’ eyes flicked out over the city, the huge Temple of Serapis far away, barely visible despite its bulk in the dim dusk light.
Gratidius grabbed the knife, wrenched it aside and threw himself at Silus. The knife clattered to the floor. Reactions dulled by fatigue and the noise and smoke, Silus was a fraction too slow. Gratidius forced him backwards, against the rail that separated them from a 400-foot drop onto the rocks below. The wood creaked, and Silus heard a crack that sent his heart racing. He grabbed Gratidius around the throat and squeezed with all his strength, but behind him, he felt the railing, never designed to be tested like this, begin to give.
Against all common sense, he turned his head and saw, way down below, waves crashing against jagged rocks on the seaward side of the promontory. Panic overtook him, and he twisted his body, hurling Gratidius sideways. The legate hit the railing hard, and with a crash and a howl of despair, he disappeared over the edge.
And pulled Silus with him.
Silus flailed, grabbed out with one hand, latched onto one of the wooden posts supporting the rail. His body felt immensely heavy, and he looked down to find Gratidius gripping his legs in a tight hug. The legate whimpered as he slid down Silus’ shins, then came to a halt at his ankles.
Silus grasped the post with his other hand, managed to hook the crook of his elbow around it.
‘Help me,’ gasped Gratidius.
The post began to creak as its middle bent alarmingly. It wasn’t meant to bear more weight than a light strip of wood.
‘Climb up me,’ said Silus, cursing himself for stupidity as he said it.
Gratidius hauled himself upwards, his feet skittering against the wall to try to gain extra purchase. But this pushed them both outwards, which changed the angle of the weight on the post, making it bow even more. Gratidius inched himself upwards, painfully gripping Silus’ legs in his terror.
The post cracked, a split running diagonally along its length, which continued to enlarge. In moments it would give way.
Silus closed his eyes, wrenched one foot away from Gratidius’ grip.
‘Silus, what are you doing? Please…’
Silus smashed his heel down into Gratidius’ face.
The grip eased, but one kick wasn’t enough.
The second was.
The impact on the legate’s face shuddered up his leg. With a scream that diminished with distance, Gratidius fell into the darkness.
Silus didn’t have time to look down. He swung himself sideways and grasped the next post along with his left hand, just as the post in his right hand came free, and flew over his shoulder.
He gripped the
undamaged post tightly and screamed at the slaves to come and help him.
No longer in personal danger, and no longer worried about picking the losing side, they hurried over to haul Silus back up onto the platform at the summit of the lighthouse. He lay there like a fish chucked into the bottom of a boat, gasping for air.
Chapter Fourteen
‘It’s over,’ said Gannys.
‘It is not over!’ said Aziz.
Avitus looked from one to the other, confused, and becoming a little frightened.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked, his voice quiet in the small chamber.
The two men ignored him, focusing on each other, their faces inches apart.
‘Tekosis knows too much,’ said Gannys. He broke contact with Aziz and paced the room, hands clasped together before him. ‘We don’t know how much she will have told Marcellus’ men. If the reputation of those Arcani is half true, they will have extracted every ounce of information she possessed, and she will have begged to tell them more.’
‘She’s dead,’ said Aziz. ‘I got the poison to her.’
‘Not quickly enough. And now you say Gratidius has fled. It’s falling apart.’
‘Am I not going to be Emperor any more?’ asked Avitus.
Aziz turned to the boy at last.
‘We are going to glorify Elagabal, my lord.’
‘So everything is going to plan?’
‘Plans change, my lord. But all is well.’
‘What change?’ asked Gannys. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I am going to fulfil my vow. The people of Alexandria will know the power of Elagabal, and will bow down and worship him.’
‘You will do nothing without orders,’ said Gannys firmly. ‘Do you understand me?’
‘I know to whom my loyalty lies,’ said Aziz.
Even the young Avitus could tell that was no answer. Gannys clenched his fists and ground his teeth. ‘Just wait for my return. I need to get back to Marcellus and Soaemias. They will be wondering where I am. And pray to Elagabal for me that Tekosis has not mentioned my name.’
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