Due to its flat terrain, Alexandria is unusual among great cities for being laid out in a grid, with the streets intersecting at right angles to form rectangular blocks. In Rome, a city of hills and valleys, one comes to a corner where numerous streets intersect, each narrow lane winding off in a different direction, some heading uphill and others downhill; every intersection is unique, and together they offer an endless succession of intriguing sights. In Alexandria the horizon is low, and the broad avenues offer distant views in all directions. The landmark that dominates all else is the Pharos lighthouse, towering impossibly high above the great harbor, its flaming beacon a rival to the sun itself.
It would be hard to say which city seems bigger. Rome is a crowded jumble of shops, tenements, temples, and palaces, with one thing built on top of another and no sense of order or proportion, a once-quaint village grown madly out of control, bustling and swaggering with brash vitality. Alexandria is a city of wide avenues, grand squares, magnificent temples, impressive fountains, and secluded gardens. The precision of its Greek architecture exudes an aura of ancient wealth and a passion for order; even in the humble tenements of the Rhakotis district or the poorer sections of the Jewish Quarter, an invincible tidiness holds squalor at bay. But while the Alexandrians love beauty and precision, the heat of the Egyptian sun induces a certain languor, and the tension between these two things-orderliness and lassitude-gives the city its unique, often puzzling character. To a Roman, Alexandria seems rather sleepy and self-satisfied, and too sophisticated for its own good-sophisticated to the point of world-weariness, like an aging courtesan past caring what others might think. To an Alexandrian, Rome must seem impossibly vulgar, full of loud, brash people, bombastic politicians, clashing architecture, and claustrophobic streets.
We arrived at the great crossroads of the city-the crossroads of the world, some would say-where the Argeus intersects the main east-west avenue, the equally broad Canopic Way, perhaps the longest street in the world. The intersection of these two avenues is a grand square with a magnificent fountain at its center, where marble naiads and dryads cavort with crocodiles and Nile river-horses (or hippopotami, as the Greeks call them) around a towering obelisk. The intersection of the Argeus and the Canopic Way marks the beginning of the royal precinct of the city, with its state offices, temples, military barracks, and royal residences. Occupying each of the four corners of the intersection are colonnaded buildings that house the tombs of the Ptolemaic kings and queens of Egypt. The most opulent of these tombs is that of the city's founder, Alexander the Great, whose mummified remains are an object of wonder to visitors who travel from all over the world to gaze upon them. Great tablets adorn the walls of the tomb, with painted reliefs that depict the conqueror's many exploits. On this day, as on every day, a long queue of people stood waiting for their turn to step inside. One by one, they would be allowed to shuffle past the body of Alexander, so as to look for a moment (and at a distance, for the open sarcophagus lies beyond a protective chain and a row of guards) at the face of history's most famous man. In the years that I had lived in Alexandria, I had never entered the conqueror's tomb; the price of admission had been too dear for a vagabond young Roman with no steady income.
As we passed by the tomb, those in the queue turned to watch the royal procession. On this day, they would catch a glimpse not only of Alexander but also of his living heir.
Beside me in the litter, Pothinus released a heavy sigh. I turned to look at him, and saw that he gazed abstractedly at his fingernails. "At Casium, we almost had her!" he muttered.
I said nothing, but he turned and saw the puzzlement on my face.
"Cleopatra," he explained. "The king's sister. South of the village of Casium, at the outermost eastern frontier, we very nearly had her."
"There was a battle?" I said, striving to show polite interest.
"More precisely, there was not a battle," said Pothinus. "Had we been able to confront her in a decisive engagement, that would have been the end of Cleopatra and her ragtag band of bandits and mercenaries. The king's army is bigger, better trained, better equipped-and far more cumbersome. Rather like matching a Nile river-horse against a sparrow; the beast would have no trouble crushing the bird, provided he could catch it first. Time and again they eluded us. We were in the middle of engineering a trap in the hills not far from Casium when word came that Pompey and his fleet had just arrived off the coast."
"You could have crushed Cleopatra first, then met with Pompey."
"That was what Achillas advised. But the risk seemed too great. What if Cleopatra eluded us once again-and it was to her that Pompey made his overture? Then we would have had Cleopatra and Pompey on one side of us, and Caesar on the other. Not a pretty place to be. Better to deal with each threat, one at a time."
"Starting with the one most readily disposed of?" I suggested. What an easy target poor Pompey had turned out to be!
"We considered the threat posed by Pompey, and, as you might say, decided to head him off." Pothinus smiled and looked pleased with himself. It might have been Achillas who struck the blow, but I gathered that Pothinus was the author of the scheme, and not averse to taking credit for it.
"The king himself approved of that decision?"
"Nothing is done in the king's name that does not have the king's approval."
"That sounds rather formulaic."
"But it is true. Don't let the king's youth mislead you. He's very much the son of his father, the culmination of thirteen generations of rulers. I am his voice. Achillas is his sword-hand. But the king possesses a will of his own."
"Is his sister the same?"
"She, too, is the child of her father. If anything, being a few years older, she's even more sure of herself than her brother."
And even less susceptible to the influence of advisers like Pothinus, I thought. Was that why the eunuch had sided with one over the other?
"And so," I said, "having disposed of Pompey…" "We hoped to return at once to the problem of Cleopatra. But the ships that gave chase to Pompey's fleet returned with fresh intelligence about Caesar. He was said to be anchored off the island of Rhodes, planning to come to Alexandria as soon as possible. Once again it seemed prudent to turn our attention to the 'Roman Problem,' and postpone until a later time our dealings with the king's sister."
"Will Caesar then be dealt with as was Pompey?" I felt a quiver of dread, imagining Caesar's head in a basket next to that of the Great One. What would happen to Meto if such a thing came to pass? I cursed myself for wondering. Meto had chosen to live by guile and bloodshed, and his fate had nothing to do with me.
"Caesar presents a more complex challenge," said Pothinus, "requiring a more subtle response."
"Because he arrives in the wake of his triumph at Pharsalus?" "Clearly, the gods love him," acknowledged Pothinus. "But isn't Ptolemy a god?" "The will of the king concerning Caesar shall be made manifest in the fullness of time. First, we shall see what awaits us in the harbor." Pothinus looked at me shrewdly. "They say, Gordianus-called-Finder, that the gods granted you the gift of compelling outspokenness and forthrightness in those you meet. Strangers confide in you. Men like Caesar and Pompey unburden themselves to you. Even the king does not seem immune to this power of compelling candid speech. Even I appear to be susceptible to it!"
"'They say…'" I quoted back to him. "It's all in your dossier. The king's intelligence is quite extensive. His eyes and ears are everywhere."
"Even in Rome?"
"Especially in Rome. Thus your reputation precedes you. The king himself spent an hour last night perusing your dossier and asking questions about you."
"I suppose I should feel flattered."
"Or lucky to still be alive. Ah, but we've arrived at the gates of the royal residence. Time for more formalities, I fear, and an end to our conversation."
Gates opened, and the procession entered the complex of royal residences along the waterfront. It was said that each successive ruler in the l
ine of Ptolemies had felt obliged to add to the royal habitations; thus, over the centuries, the complex had become the most sumptuous concentration of wealth and luxury in the world-a city within the city, with its own temples, courtyards, living quarters, and gardens, honeycombed with hidden chambers and secret passages.
The gates shut behind us. We were in a narrow courtyard surrounded by high walls. The litters were set upon blocks. Pothinus stepped out and attended the king, who emerged from his litter to the greetings of fawning courtiers. For the moment I seemed to have been forgotten, and I sat back against the cushions of the litter, bemused by the twists of fate that had brought me to such a curious place. I felt a prick of anxiety, wondering what had become of Rupa and the boys, and then a sudden overwhelming homesickness for Rome. What was my daughter Diana, pregnant with her second child, doing at that moment? And her son, little Aulus, and her hulking lamb of a husband, Davus? How I missed them! How I wished I was there with them, and with Bethesda, and that the two of us had never left Rome!
Somewhere in the background of my thoughts, I heard the music of Ptolemy's piper echo between the narrow walls and recede into the distance. The courtyard, which had been thronged with attendants, was now almost deserted. I blinked and turned to see a young woman standing beside the litter, staring at me.
Her skin had the hue and luster of polished ebony. Her hair had been styled to take advantage of its natural coarseness so that it formed a circular nimbus around her face, like a floating frame made of black smoke that trailed into wisps along the edges. Her eyes were an unexpected green, a shade I had never seen in a Nubian before, but her high cheekbones and full lips were emblematic of the beauty of Nubian women.
She gave me a demure smile and lowered her eyes. "My name is Merianis," she said, speaking Latin. "If you care to step from the litter, I'll show you to your room."
"I have a room in the palace?"
"You do. Shall I take you there now?"
I took a deep breath and stepped from the litter. "Show me the way."
I followed her through a succession of passages, courtyards, and gardens. We drew closer to the harbor; every now and again through an opening in the walls, I spied a glimpse of sails and the sparkle of sunlight on water, and occasionally, above the rooftops, I saw the Pharos lighthouse looming in the distance. We ascended several flights of steps, then strode down a long hallway, across a bridge of stone between two buildings, and down another long hallway.
"Here," she said, opening a wooden door.
The room was large and simply furnished, with a bed against one wall, a small table and a chair against the other, and a red-and-yellow rug of geometric Greek design on the floor. The lack of ornament was more than made up for by the breathtaking view from the tall window, from which drapes of pale yellow had been pulled back; no painting or mosaic could possibly compete with the majestic image of the Pharos, perfectly framed in the window, and a view of the great harbor dotted with ships in the foreground.
"Magnificent!" I whispered.
"Does Rome have any sight to match it?" asked Merianis.
"Rome has many magnificent sights," I said, "but no other city has a sight such as this. Have you been to Rome?"
"I've never been outside Alexandria."
"But your Latin is excellent."
"Thank you. We can speak Greek, if you like."
"Which do you prefer, Merianis?"
"I appreciate any opportunity to practice my Latin."
"Then it's a pleasure to accommodate you."
She smiled. "You must be famished after the day's journey. Shall I have food brought to you?"
"I'm not hungry."
"Then perhaps I could help to relieve the strains of the day."
I ran my eyes from the lapis-encrusted sandals on her feet, to the sheer linen skirt that left bare her well-proportioned calves, up to the many-pleated linen mantle that clung to her shoulders and shapely breasts. The mantle left her neck uncovered; a necklace strung with lapis baubles nestled against the silky flesh of her throat.
"I'm rather tired, Merianis."
"It will require no expenditure of energy on your part if I simply give you a massage."
I gave her what I imagined to be a very crooked smile. "I think I should simply lie down and rest for a while. What's through there, by the way?" I asked, noticing a narrow door covered by a curtain in the wall beside the bed.
"Quarters for your slaves and for the young man traveling with you."
"Rupa and the boys? Where are they?"
"They'll be here soon, along with your trunk. The wagon in which they traveled and the mules that pulled it will be delivered to the cousin of the owner, as was your intention."
I looked at her more closely, scrutinizing her emerald green eyes. "I took you for a slave, Merianis."
"I am a slave-of Isis. I serve the goddess and belong to her completely, body and soul, in this world and in the next."
"You're a priestess?"
"Yes. I'm attached to the temple of Isis within the palace. But in her absence-"
"Absence? Surely Isis isn't off on a trip somewhere."
"As a matter of fact, my mistress is away from the palace."
I nodded. "You speak of Queen Cleopatra."
"Who is also Isis. They are one and the same. Queen Cleopatra is the incarnation of Isis, just as King Ptolemy is the incarnation of Osiris."
"I see. Why are you not with her now?"
Merianis hesitated. "When she took her leave, my mistress left the palace… rather abruptly. I was unable to accompany her. Besides, my duties keep me here in the palace, close to the temple. Among many other tasks, I see to the comfort of distinguished visitors such as yourself."
I laughed. "I'm not sure what distinguishes me, except a multitude of misfortunes. But I am thankful for your hospitality, Merianis."
She bowed her head. "Isis will be pleased."
"Will you be seeing to the comfort of that other distinguished Roman who's come to visit Alexandria?"
She cocked her head quizzically.
I strode to the window. "The one in the harbor. Surely you've noticed that fleet of Roman warships out there?"
She joined me at the window. "There are thirty-five Roman ships in all; I counted them myself. Is it true that you know Caesar?"
I drew breath to answer, then stopped short. Weariness and an excess of emotion had dulled my mind; otherwise, I would have realized, before that moment, the likelihood that the woman who stood beside me-exotic, beautiful, well-spoken, enticingly available-was something more than a servant or priestess. With the king and queen at war with one another, the palace must be filled with spies. Glancing sidelong at Merianis, feeling her nearness, smelling the heady scent of spikenard from her dark flesh, I could easily imagine a man letting down his guard in her presence and saying things better left unsaid.
I turned my gaze to the harbor. The long day was slipping gradually toward nightfall. Ships cast long shadows on flat water pierced by dazzling flashes of reflected sunlight. The Pharos cast the mightiest shadow of all, darkening the entire entrance to the harbor. Beyond, the open sea extended to seeming infinity. I thought of the Nile emptying endlessly into that sea, carrying all that was lost or scattered in its waters…
"I'm weary, Merianis. Leave me now."
"As you wish." She departed without another word, leaving a faint scent of spikenard behind.
How long I stood at the window, I had no idea. The sun continued to sink until it touched a point on the horizon where the earth met the sea; it was then swallowed in a great effulgence of crimson and purple mist. The great harbor grew dark. On the Roman galleys, lamps were lit. Lamps were likewise lit on the great causeway, called the Heptastadion, that swept from the city out to the island of Pharos. Beyond that causeway lay another, smaller harbor to the south, the Eunostos, or Harbor of Good Return; near its center, an archway in the Heptastadion allowed ships to sail from one harbor into the other.
There was a knock at the door. Merianis, I thought, and part of me was glad.
But when I opened the door, I saw not the priestess of Isis but the wide-eyed face of Rupa, whose expression declared his astonishment at being inside the royal palace. I lowered my eyes and saw two more astonished faces peering back at me.
"Androcles! Mopsus! You have no idea-"
"How happy we are to see you!" cried the boys in unison, throwing their arms around me. Rupa looked as if he would gladly have hugged me, too, had there been room enough in the narrow doorway.
"But where have you been all this time?" said Androcles.
"And was that really you we caught a glimpse of, on the king's barge?" said Mopsus.
"And look at that!" said Androcles, running to the window. "It's the lighthouse, bigger than a mountain! And all those boats in the harbor! Roman galleys, someone said, with Caesar himself aboard one of them."
Slaves carried my trunk into the room, followed by more slaves bearing trays of steaming food. Until the smell reached my nose, I had no idea how hungry I was.
Mopsus said, "When you were with the king, did he show you Pompey's-"
"Eat now, talk later!" I said, my stomach growling. We would have to be careful when we did speak, for in such a place the floors had ears to listen, and the walls had eyes to watch. But after we ate-great steaming bowls of barley soup, pigeon meat roasted on skewers, spicy lentil wafers, and cups of beer to wash it all down-there was no talk at all, only sleep, as I fell against my pillow and left it to Rupa and the boys to find their own beds.
CHAPTER XI
"Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five. Yes! Thirty-five Roman galleys in the harbor," declared Mopsus, who had just counted them for the second time. Morning light glinted on the water and lit the face of the Pharos. The room smelled of the freshly baked bread that slaves had delivered for our breakfast. I sat back against the cushions on my bed, gnawing a piece of hard crust, while the boys stood at the window. Rupa sat on the trunk, shaking his head, amused at the boys and their perpetual squabbling.
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