Our Man in Alexandria

by Gavin Chappell

  ‘Nice of you to invite yourself,’ Ozymandias commented. ‘But it could be dangerous. We don’t get many of your helpful Roman patrols down in Rachotis.’

  ‘You just don’t trust me with your pretty sister,’ Flaminius said with a laugh. ‘Come on, let’s lead these fools so far astray they’ll never bother us again.’

  He led them down the temple steps and they threaded their way along the busy street heading in the general direction of the Gate of the Moon. Ozymandias took them south west into the area beside the Canopic Canal, a waterway busy with traffic heading from the commercial port in the Haven of Happy Return towards the famous resort of Canopus, east along the shore from the city.

  At first it seemed that they had shaken off their mysterious pursuers, and Flaminius was confident that they would reach Ozymandias’ house without incident. Most of all, he needed somewhere to think. And time to think in.

  He had a glimmering of what might be going on, but most of the pieces of the mosaic were still missing, and he was unwilling to speak with the commander until he had something more substantial. The pursuit intrigued him. Their investigations had worried somebody. Somebody connected with the riots, perhaps even their instigator. Could this person also be responsible for the murder? Somehow it seemed very likely. In which case, this way they could force the pursuers to reveal their identity. He entertained the idea of turning the tables, pursuing his pursuers. If they could shake them off, then follow them back to wherever they were based…

  His scheming reached a sudden end as they turned up an alleyway leading in the direction of Ozymandias’ house. A group of men detached themselves from the shadows and strode towards them. It was dark in the alleyway and it was hard to make out who they were, Greek, Egyptian or Judaean. Ozymandias gave Flaminius an angry look, then turned back the way they had come, only to halt in his tracks.

  More men were approaching from the canal side. Leading them was the wild eyed, wild haired, wild bearded man Flaminius had privately dubbed Crazy Eyes.

  In his hand he carried a military issue sword.

  —15—

  ‘Do you think you really want to do this?’ Flaminius said, concentrating on the wild-eyed man as he bundled his cloak around his fist to form an impromptu shield. ‘I’m a Roman citizen, you realise. You’ll be in a lot of trouble if you kill me.’

  Ozymandias produced his knife from the folds of his kilt, standing back to back with his Roman companion. ‘And I’m just a humble Egyptian,’ he told them all, ‘but you’re still in a lot of trouble!’

  Crazy Eyes lunged. Flaminius brought his blade overhand as he shifted position, bashing the man’s sword downwards and following it up with a circular parry that almost knocked the weapon from the man’s hand. Two men came at Ozymandias, swinging clubs and axes. The Egyptian dodged a blow from one of them, stabbed at the other, drawing blood from the man’s forearm, then kicked out at his first attacker so the man went staggering backwards into the grimy wall. But a third figure replaced him and Ozymandias was sorely pressed.

  Two men came up on either side of Crazy Eyes. Flaminius was a highly trained Roman legionary, and he knew he was a better fighter than any of these back-alley assassins. But surrounded and with nowhere to go, it was just a matter of time. He cut down one, stabbed another so the man lost all interest in the fight, sitting down abruptly, and clutching at his wound. Crazy Eyes fought on, though, and the ones who fell were soon replaced.

  The clash of blade on blade rang down the alley. Flaminius glimpsed boats passing on the canal. Surely this fight would not go unnoticed in a city so large. But they were in the neglected Egyptian Quarter. Here in Rachotis, fights like this must break out daily, and go unreported. Flaminius fought on, grimly.

  Ozymandias slipped in a pool of blood, and crashed into Flaminius. The Roman staggered forwards, and Crazy Eyes’ sword thumped into his armoured breast. Flaminius wheezed with pain, half turning to hep Ozymandias regain his balance.

  ‘Fight your own battles, by Sarapis!’ the Egyptian cried. Flaminius turned back, panting, to parry another attack from Crazy Eyes.

  The blow to his chest had not hurt him directly; the sword was not sharp enough to pierce his breastplate. But there had been force behind that lunge, and now Flaminius was weakening and in pain. Had it broken a rib? He knew there was no way out of this situation unless Fate flung something weighty into their pan.

  Men lay dead or dying at the feet of Flaminius and Ozymandias both. Over the fallen, Flaminius faced Crazy Eyes.

  ‘I’m going to die,’ he said conversationally to his wild-eyed attacker. ‘I’m going to die, here and now, unless things change. But I won’t even know what I’m dying for. What is all this about?’

  ‘You’ve been marked for death,’ said the wild-eyed man. ‘No man spies on our affairs and lives.’

  ‘You murdered Julius Strabo?’ Flaminius asked.

  The man shook his head. ‘He was dead when we found him.’ Crazy Eyes laughed. ‘I carved the name of the great god into his brow so he would not return to haunt us.’

  ‘You really believe that?’ Flaminius asked, as they fought on.

  ‘No!’ laughed Crazy Eyes. ‘I know he’ll return. He was a “virtuous” man, who obeyed the laws of the god of this world, the demiurge. Of course he will return—but in another life. No, I cut the bornless god’s name into his brow because it is said to be wrong to desecrate the dead.’

  Flaminius found it harder to follow the man’s labyrinthine arguments than to fight him. ‘You did it because it’s wrong?’

  Crazy Eyes came on in a whirlwind of blows but the Roman parried each one. The wild sophist leapt back. Panting, he said, ‘Here is a mystery: a man cannot escape the cycle of reincarnation unless he breaks each one of the demiurge’s laws.’

  ‘Cycle of reincarnation?’ said Flaminius. Ozymandias was struggling desperately behind him as Crazy Eyes’ comrades closed in again. ‘You talk like a Pythagorean—or a druid!’

  ‘I’m no Gentile,’ Crazy Eyes gasped as he closed in for the kill. ‘I’m a true believer, one of the Enlightened. I’m bound for a life beyond the spiritual sky. I will fight my way past all the Archons of the universe and reunite myself with my redeemer…!’

  Shouts rang out from down the alleyway, followed by the thunder of booted feet. The men who had been fighting Ozymandias blundered past Flaminius towards the canal. Crazy Eyes halted and peered into the gloom. A man passing him shouted, ‘Quick, Carpocrates. It’s the law! Get running!’

  ‘We’ll meet again,’ the man told Flaminius, ‘and I’ll end your current incarnation.’

  With this the sophist—Pythagorean? Platonist? Druid? —turned and ran after his bloody handed fellows.

  ‘Tribune Flaminius!’

  Flaminius saw legionaries flooding into the alley. Ozymandias gripped the hand of the officer who led them, greeting him eagerly. It was Marcus Pertinax.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Flaminius said ironically.

  ‘What’s that?’ Marcus Pertinax spluttered, puzzled. ‘I must say I’m surprised to find you again, old man. Didn’t think you’d survive that head wound. This Egyptian took care of you, eh? When you didn’t return to camp…Well, I told the legate you were missing, presumed dead.’

  ‘The legate?’ Flaminius said. Surely Avidius Pollio was elsewhere.

  ‘Yes,’ said Marcus Pertinax. ‘The legate. He returned today, after hearing about the riots. He was saddened to hear that you had been and gone. He told me that if you turned up again, you were to report to him at once. I said you were probably dead. He does seem to put a lot of importance on the grain supply.’

  ‘But what were you doing here?’ Flaminius asked. ‘I didn’t think patrols ever came into these areas. The civic guard doesn’t.’

  ‘Normally not,’ said Marcus Pertinax as his legionaries hurried after Crazy Eyes and his crazy cohort. ‘But in the aftermath of the riots, patrols have been increased in all areas, and the legion has been called in to help ou
t. Oh, even though I thought you were dead, I was wondering if I might meet you,’ he added. ‘Earlier this afternoon we had a report that a man of your description had been expressing concern about rioters during siesta time. The legionary thought he’d had a touch of sun. But I said it sounded like you. Especially since there was an Egyptian with him.’

  ‘Oh, that was me,’ said Flaminius. ‘I’ve been followed by them all day. I wish you hadn’t interfered, though.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to get your throat slit next time, shall I, old man?’ Marcus Pertinax said with an incredulous laugh.

  ‘Their leader had vital information in the investigation I’m carrying out,’ said Flaminius. ‘Of course I’m glad you saved me and Ozymandias here from a sordid death in a back alleyway. I’d really got some interesting information out of the fellow. But I need more before I can complete the case.’

  ‘Did he murder Julius Strabo?’ asked Ozymandias. ‘Crazy Eyes?’

  ‘Carpocrates, his friends call him,’ said Flaminius. ‘No, I don’t think he did. He certainly said he didn’t.’

  ‘And you believed that?’ said Marcus Pertinax. ‘Not that I can see what all this has to do with keeping the legion granaries full.’

  ‘I believed it,’ said Flaminius, ‘because I don’t think he had any reason to lie. He admitted desecrating the dead. That’s an offence according to Roman law. But he said he found the body already dead before desecrating it.’ He cursed. ‘I’d say he and his kind were topping my list of suspects, too.’

  Marcus Pertinax shook his head. ‘I don’t understand half of what you’re saying, and I’m not completely sure about the other half, old man. But I know one thing; you’d better get back to camp. There’s that wound to have looked at, and besides, I told the legate that if I saw you I’d make sure you reported to him.’

  ‘No,’ said Flaminius, shaking his head. ‘I’ve got no time for reporting to legates. He can wait.’

  ‘Avidius Pollio?’ said Marcus Pertinax, genuinely shocked. ‘Wait? The Avidius Pollio, wait? I don’t think we’re thinking about the same man. He never waits. We wait for him, as a rule.’

  ‘Give my compliments to Avidius Pollio,’ said Flaminius curtly, ‘and tell him that I will report to him just as soon as I have anything to report. I am currently investigating the death of my predecessor, Centurion Julius Strabo, and that will have to take precedence.’

  ‘You’ll at least come back to camp to get that wound seen to,’ said Marcus Pertinax, almost pleading. ‘Can’t the civic guard investigate Julius Strabo’s murder?’

  ‘No,’ said Flaminius firmly. ‘Then I’d get tied up in Avidius Pollio’s bureaucracy. I’ll report in when I have anything to report. Tonight, I’m staying in the city.’

  The legionaries returned from the canal side. Marcus Pertinax looked up. ‘Any joy?’

  ‘No sir,’ said a centurion. ‘They vanished into the hovels.’

  Marcus Pertinax took a sharp breath. ‘Well, we’ve got their deceased comrades,’ he said. ‘We can get some sense out of the dead, if that’s not an impious thing to say.’ He gestured to his legionaries. ‘Search the bodies. Anything you find that might identify them, tell me. Anything interesting, or that might shed light on why they attacked our new commissary officer and his little Egyptian chum, tell me…’

  Already Ozymandias was looking through the tunic of one man he had killed in the fight. As the legionaries searched the other bodies, Flaminius knelt beside Ozymandias.

  The Egyptian looked up, holding something towards the light in triumph.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Flaminius. His eyes narrowed. ‘Is it…?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ozymandias. ‘Identity tags.’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Marcus Pertinax, joining them. He took the tags and examined them. ‘No,’ he said with a relieved look. ‘I thought for a moment he was a deserter. No, these aren’t legionary identity tags.’

  ‘I never said they were,’ said Ozymandias. ‘They’re the sort I wear.’ He tapped the identical tag that hung round his neck.

  ‘You mean he was in the civic guard?’ asked Flaminius quietly.

  ‘You don’t need to sound so shocked,’ said Ozymandias ironically. ‘No,’ he added. ‘He wasn’t.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ Marcus Pertinax wanted to know.

  ‘I’d have known him,’ said Ozymandias. ‘You don’t become personal scribe to the commander of the civic guard without knowing who’s who. No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I’d know him if he was still working for us. He must have left under a cloud, before my time. Taken to daylight robbery to make ends meet, it seems.’

  ‘He’s fallen in with some strange friends,’ said Flaminius darkly.

  ‘Well, this is all very interesting,’ said Marcus Pertinax, puzzled. ‘My men have found nothing much else. We’ll be taking the bodies to the public embalmer. If anything turns up, you’ll be the first to know. Can you give me an address where I can contact you?’

  Ozymandias complied.

  ‘Now then,’ Marcus Pertinax added, ‘I can’t let you wander the streets unescorted. It could be dangerous,’ he said, kicking one of the dead bodies, ‘for some fine upstanding citizen. So, I’m detailing two of my best men to make sure you get home in one piece. Understood?’

  ‘Very well,’ said Flaminius resignedly. ‘And what are you going to do once you’ve delivered these mortal remains to the embalmer?’

  ‘We’re returning to patrol, of course,’ the tribune told Flaminius. ‘Go and see the legate soon, won’t you? Good luck with your investigation. You’ll find out who it is stealing all this grain sooner or later.’

  He turned and with his men, weighed down as they were with corpses, marched away.

  —16—

  ‘Do you really think this is wise?’ asked Ozymandias, as the two legionaries escorted them back to his house. ‘You reckon you should disobey the legate’s orders?’

  ‘I’m the equal of Avidius Pollio,’ Flaminius reminded him. ‘I’m the emperor’s representative, just the same as the legate of any legion, or a provincial governor, for that matter.’

  ‘You told me about your troubles in Britain,’ the scribe said. ‘You’re here to redeem yourself, after the governor threw you out.’

  ‘He didn’t exactly throw me out,’ Flaminius argued. ‘But yes, I’m here to get results. I’m here to get to the bottom of the murder of Julius Strabo. I’m not intending to stay in Egypt very long. After I find out who killed the commissary centurion, I hope to see the back of this province.’

  ‘Why?’ said Ozymandias, hurt. ‘Haven’t we done our best to make you welcome here?’ He laughed. ‘All this roughhouse stuff, it’s not an everyday occurrence, you know. Some days we don’t see any riots at all.’

  That blow to his head… Flaminius’ memory was fragmented. There was a very good reason to get this job over and done with and then leave. But for the life of him he couldn’t remember it. He rubbed tiredly at his forehead, then inspected his bandaged wounds.

  ‘You should get them looked at properly in the camp, sir,’ said one of the legionaries respectfully. ‘You don’t want them going bad in this climate.’

  ‘It’ll keep, legionary,’ said Flaminius. ‘I’ve got an investigation to carry out in the city. The camp can wait.’

  ‘As you say, sir,’ the legionary grunted, but he rolled his eyes at his comrade. Flaminius ignored this act of gross insubordination.

  At last they came to the alleyway where Ozymandias lived. ‘This is where I take my leave of you, men,’ Flaminius said. ‘Thank you for accompanying me. Now get back to Tribune Marcus Pertinax at the double, and be careful. There are some indignant customers at large in Rachotis.’ He saluted them smartly, and they returned it before marching away.

  ‘Come on,’ said Ozymandias, opening the gate and leading Flaminius into the small yard beyond. The nanny goat greeted them with a derisive bleat. As they crossed the yard, the bead curtain shimmered and Nitocris
was there, looking worriedly from her brother to Flaminius.

  ‘Oh!’ she said, her hand over her mouth. ‘You’ve been fighting again! Has there been another riot? I heard nothing.’

  Ozymandias allowed her to fuss round him as they entered. ‘Not another riot, no,’ he said indistinctly. ‘Just a bit of a scuffle in the alleys.’

  She put her hands on her slender hips. ‘You’re too old to be getting in fights with other boys,’ she remonstrated. ‘And you!’ She wagged a finger at Flaminius. ‘Stop getting my brother into trouble!’

  Laughing, the two men sat on the floor and allowed her to examine their wounds.

  ‘So what’s the plan now?’ Ozymandias asked. ‘You don’t want to report to the legate of your legion; you don’t want to go to the commander yet, either?’

  ‘Paulus Alexander interests me more than Avidius Pollio,’ said Flaminius. ‘But I think we need to take stock and decide where this investigation is going before we approach him again. What have we got so far?’

  Ozymandias summarised their findings. Nitocris listened. ‘You think the Christians are involved?’ she asked.

  Flaminius shook his head. ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Christians are peaceable people, for all that they denied the emperor’s divinity, and refuse to make offerings to the gods. They swear oaths to do good and righteous acts.’ The druids made similar oaths, he remembered.

  ‘When we were young,’ Nitocris murmured, glancing at Ozymandias, ‘we were told that the emperor is the same as the Pharaohs of old, that he is an incarnation of Horus.’

  Flaminius shifted a little. ‘We don’t really believe that in Rome,’ he said. ‘We don’t think anyone can be a god in this life. But in the East, everyone believes in his divinity. So it’s a little disturbing to meet a cult that so obstinately refuses to do so. The Christians are an offshoot of the Judaeans, of course, so we’re accustomed to the same thing from them.’