Keeper of the Flame

by Tracy L. Higley

  The young man, though half her age, stood much taller than Sophia. He gave her one of his crooked half grins. “It is a long climb.”

  She shoved the papyrus back into his hand and turned away. “There is nothing in the Library that cannot be brought here to me. Send a message to Sosigenes that he may visit me here in the lighthouse if he wishes.”

  “The message sounded urgent.”

  She whirled on him. “Then I suppose he should run!” Ares pursed his lips, and Sophia exhaled. This boy knew her well by now. He had long ceased to be offended or intimidated by her moods. “Why can Sosigenes not send a report as usual?” she asked herself aloud.

  “Perhaps he thinks it is time for you to emerge from hiding.”

  “I am not hiding!” Sophia put a hand out to the door. “I rarely need to leave the lighthouse. Why should today be different?”

  “Because today someone has asked.”

  The door blurred before her. It was true, no one had requested her presence in the city for a great while. “They fear me.”

  Ares’s laugh was soft. “Yes, the mighty Artemis, commanding the world from her high tower.”

  Sophia’s lips curled into a sneer and she faced the boy again. “Which am I, Ares, a lion or a goddess?”

  He lowered his eyes. “Both need sometimes to emerge from solitude.”

  “Well, not today. Send the message to Sosigenes. And send ten drachma with it, to remind him under whose patronage he spends his hours.”

  Ares bowed his head and turned to the ramp, his silence seeming to condemn her.

  Sophia closed her eyes and pressed her fingers into the bridge of her nose. She disliked leaving the lighthouse, and it annoyed her that the old scholar would summon her. She pushed back the thought that Ares’s comments were the true source of her irritation, then reentered her private rooms and lit several lamps. The flames played on the deep reds and blacks of the room’s furnishings, on which she had spared no expense. The luxury of her chamber rivaled any in the palace. The money that flowed continually to the lighthouse enabled her to live as she wished.

  She retrieved the wine Cleo had poured. At the window she lifted the cup to the harbor in a silent salute, then sipped the wine, ignoring its bitter finish. Yes, I live as I wish.

  And every day the ever-present sea breezes whispered in her ear like a spiteful friend who would never let her forget.

  She spent an hour over the charts, fine-tuning the plans for the coming month, searching for the slightest opportunity to increase efficiency. When the first noises shot up the cylindrical core of the lighthouse, Sophia barely noticed.

  Moments later she dropped her reed on the desk, startling Cleopatra. The girl gasped, then heard the shouts. She turned wide eyes to Sophia. “Who is it?”

  Sophia tilted her head to the noise again. Her fingers tightened on her chair.

  “Soldiers.”

  Two

  Sophia placed herself between the door and Cleopatra. Cleo’s servant, Apollodorus, was the first through the door. He burst in without knocking and scanned the dark room, his swarthy features tense.

  “I am here,” Cleopatra said, standing.

  “Soldiers, my queen.”

  “Ptolemy’s?”

  He shook his head. “Romans.”

  Sophia crossed to the door. “Do they know she is here?”

  “I know nothing more.” The servant circled Sophia to stand near Cleopatra.

  “Stay here,” Sophia said. “I will get rid of them.”

  Cleopatra bit her lip. “Be cautious.”

  Sophia nodded, then left the room and began the descent down the spiral ramp, her chest pounding. Cleopatra should not have come, should not have risked capture. And I should have sent her away to safety. A sheen of perspiration broke over her forehead. She would keep her word and get rid of the Romans.

  Sophia’s quarters were in the first of the three tiers of the mighty lighthouse, also the tallest. If she tilted her head backward while descending the interior ramp, she could see straight up through the octagonal second tier and cylindrical third, to the final platform, where the light guided ships into the harbor.

  The first tier held nearly fifty rooms, positioned around the spiraling ramp that led to the massive Base. Sophia ran lightly down the ramp, accustomed to the incline’s pull on her legs. Over the rail she could see the torch-lit bottom floor filling with the clanking ranks of barbarians.

  “They’ve all gone to bed,” Ares was saying to one of them. “You will have to come back another time.”

  “We have orders, boy,” a strident voice answered. Sophia could see the speaker advance on Ares. He did not look into the gloom above him to see her descent.

  She reached the bottom of the spiral and pushed into the ranks that crowded the center hall. “What is this?” She raised her voice above the shuffle of studded sandals on the stone floor.

  The group turned as one. A soldier stepped forward, the air of command about him.

  “Are you master of the lighthouse, sir?” He spoke in Latin.

  Sophia raised her head, let the torchlight play on her face. The soldier stepped back. “I ask your pardon, mistress. I did not realize—”

  “Yes, I am Keeper of the lighthouse. What is the meaning of—of this?” She extended her hand to the sweating mass of leather and metal packed into the chamber. The torches rammed into wall sockets reflected from a thousand metal discs.

  “We are here at Caesar’s request, mistress. He wishes to meet with Cleopatra Philopator and her brother Ptolemy XIII, and has summoned them to the royal palace.”

  Sophia shoved aside the soldiers to face the one who addressed her. His uniform differed from the others, with a crest of horsehair across his helmet. A red cloak of fine material hung from his left shoulder, and he wore waist-length chain mail armor and an ornate belt. Sophia did not miss the sword and dagger strapped to his body.

  “Summoned them to the palace?” she repeated. “Do you mean to their own palace?” She looked him up and down, not even trying to hide her disdain. Two soldiers lowered long pila across the commander, the spears forming an X across his chest.

  “Julius Caesar has taken up residence there, yes.”

  She laughed. “You say ‘taken up residence’ as though you are civilized men and not a plague of insects that has crawled out of the harbor to gorge on the wealth of Egypt.”

  The soldier removed his helmet and glared at her. “I am Lucius Aurelius Bellus, Pilus Prior of the First Centuria of the Sixth Cohort.” He took a step toward her. “Men have been killed for words less offensive than yours.”

  “Perhaps I should use a language other than your own then to tell you what I think of you and your Sixth Cohort. What shall it be? Greek? Egyptian?”

  Bellus straightened and pierced her with his hard gaze. “The choice is yours, mistress,” he said in Greek, and then switched to Egyptian. “I would be happy to debate you in any language.”

  A learned Roman soldier? She fought to keep the momentary admiration from her expression and instead lifted her chin. “I was not aware that Caesar trained his soldiers in anything more than separating men from their heads.” Inwardly she cursed the note of respect that had crept into her voice.

  Bellus grinned. He pushed aside the crossed pila and stepped from the ranks to speak to her quietly. “He does not. But we have some moments of leisure to pursue other interests.”

  Sophia looked away from his smile and smoothed a hand over her tunic. Learned in languages or not, the man was a Roman, and he had brought his beasts into her lighthouse.

  “The queen, mistress.” Bellus murmured, too near her ear. “Is she present?”

  Sophia put a hand to the back of her neck, to the hair she kept trimmed too short. “Of course not. She would not be so foolish. Take your cohort and leave at once!”

  “Oh, this is not the cohort, mistress. This is only the first centuria of the sixth cohort. A cohort—”

  “I care nothi
ng for your military organization! You do not belong in my lighthouse or my Egypt, and I would see you all drowned in the harbor!”

  Bellus’s pleasantry faded and his hand drifted to his sword. “Take care, mistress. Or I may forget again that you are a woman.”

  Sophia blinked once then crossed her arms. “You are not welcome here,” she said in a low voice.

  Bellus tilted his head to look up the ramp, and Sophia’s shoulders tensed. She stilled herself, purposing that he should not see her concern. But then he gave her another piercing stare, replaced his helmet, and commanded his men to exit the lighthouse. They filed through the courtyard to the south entrance in pairs, with Bellus at the rear. Before he disappeared through the doorway, he turned. Sophia could see his glare burning past the cheek plates of his helmet. “If you should see the queen—”

  “If I should see the queen, I should tell her that Egypt is in grave danger and she must find a way to secure her from foreigners who would take the best of her and feed it to blood-thirsty soldiers.”

  Bellus’s eyes hardened, and his right hand crossed to his left side, where his pugio hung from his belt. He turned back to his men without a word, and they slipped into the Egyptian night to cross the lengthy causeway that separated her island from the city.

  Sophia expelled a nervous breath and leaned back against the wall. She braced her fingers against the cool stone behind her and slowed her breathing and her heart. The image of Bellus’s intriguing smile rippled through her memory and she brushed it aside. Better to remember his insults.

  “Interesting Roman.”

  Sophia spun to find Ares at the base of the ramp, arms folded and a sly look in his eyes. Sophia straightened and lifted her chin. “He may know languages, but he does not know Egypt. And he does not know Cleopatra.”

  She crossed the hall, pushed past Ares, and began the ascent to her private quarters.

  Several more lamps had been lit since she had run down to deal with the intrusion. Apollodorus stood in the center of her room.

  Sophia searched the chamber. “Where is she? What has she done?”

  Muted laughter came from the side of the room where one of her tapestry carpets had been partially rolled. Apollodorus shrugged, went to the rug, and lifted it from the queen. She looked up from where she lay on her belly, then propped herself on her elbows with a cunning wink. “It is time, Sophia.”

  Sophia jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Caesar’s troops are prowling for you. Ptolemy’s spies are everywhere. And you expect to walk out of here?”

  Cleopatra jumped to her feet and embraced Sophia. “Not walk, no. Quickly, find Apollodorus some clothes, something to make him appear a merchant.”

  “A merchant?” Sophia looked to the servant, who again had nothing more than a shrug for her.

  Cleopatra’s eyes flashed. “A merchant with a special gift for Caesar the conqueror. For his eyes only. An expensive carpet.”

  “This is madness, Cleo. You will never reach Caesar without being spotted. And who knows but his summoning of you is only a ruse to bring you out, where he can make an end of you?”

  Cleopatra was tying up her hair. “The clothes, Sophia! Quickly!”

  Sophia exhaled her frustration, went to her door, and called down the shaft of the lighthouse to Ares, directing him to bring the appropriate clothing.

  Minutes later they were all assembled in the South Wing of the Base, with Cleopatra stretched upon the carpet and Apollodorus in a tasseled cap and wide belt. Apollodorus rolled the queen into the rug. Ares helped him heave it upon his shoulder. The carpet balanced there, bent slightly at both ends, and Cleo grunted. “Make quick work of this, Apollodorus,” she said.

  Sophia rested her forehead on the rough underside of the carpet. “Promise me, Cleo,” she whispered. “Promise me you will be safe.”

  The wriggling of the carpet ceased, and Sophia strained to hear Cleopatra’s muffled response. “No one has taught me better how to be a woman of great strength, Sophia. Now it is time for you to see what I can accomplish.”

  Sophia nodded to Apollodorus. “Go,” she said. And then called after him as he moved through the doorway, “And I want my carpet back!”

  She followed them out, watched the rolled carpet bounce on the servant’s shoulder as he climbed down the steps from the Base, its massive red granite blocks joined with molten lead and looming over them. He scrambled down the steep path, slid once and used a hand for balance. Their small boat was moored on the western side of the lighthouse island. Apollodorus would row around the tip of the island that separated the two harbors, then across the Great Harbor to the other side, where the royal palace boasted its own private quay. It would be the middle of the night before they arrived. Strange time for such a gift.

  The Roman had no idea what a gift he would receive.

  To her left, a lone figure with a small torch crossed the causeway to the lighthouse. Sophia reentered the lighthouse but did not return to her chamber, knowing that some message approached.

  The servant that entered was from the Library, sent back by Sosigenes, perhaps.

  “What is it?” she said.

  The boy looked both surprised and frightened to be greeted by Sophia herself. His mouth dropped open, and his torch-hand lowered until the flames nearly licked his chin.

  Sophia braced her hands on her hips. “Well? Do you have a message for me or not? Does Sosigenes refuse to come?” She had been sure a reminder of who paid for his lifestyle would have brought submission.

  “He has fled, mistress. They all have.”

  Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “Romans?”

  His lower lip trembled. “Yes, mistress. Soldiers. In the Library.”

  “Not reading, I suppose?” She looked toward the eastern windows, across the Great Harbor, to where the Library and Museum stood near the palaces.

  “No, mistress. They scatter the scrolls like kindling.”

  “Yes, of course they do. Looking for coins, no doubt.” She looked through an eastern window, toward the royal quarter. “The addle-brained fools do not realize that they shove aside something far more valuable.” She turned on the boy. “But you said that Sosigenes and the others have fled?”

  He bobbed his head and blinked. “They are saying that Caesar wants to gather up all of them, to force scholars to give him their secrets.”

  Sophia rubbed at the tension in her forehead. “Perhaps one Roman does see more value in understanding the world than conquering it, then. Do you have any message for me?”

  He seemed to remember his duty at last and pulled a rolled papyrus from his belt with shaky fingers.

  She grabbed it from him. The note was from Sosigenes, short and dire: “Sophia, All that we have worked for is in danger. Your husband’s work, my own, and the others. I have news too important to write. Take care and trust no one. I will send word soon. Sosigenes.”

  She waved the boy away then went to the nearby window, the scroll held loosely at her side.

  Sosigenes had been friend and mentor to her husband many years ago. Since then, she had flooded the Library and the Museum with the support of her money, enabling dozens of mathematicians, astronomers, and inventors to pursue their theories without thought of earning their own bread. Kallias would have been proud of her efforts, pleased that in spite of everything, she still believed that the scholarship flowing from the Temple of the Muses would one day change the world.

  The Great Harbor crawled with the lamps of a hundred ships at port, floating with fragrant Arabian myrrh and cinnamon from India, silk from the Far East and cedar from Lebanon. The ships would disgorge their luxuries into the insatiable city, then feast again on Egyptian emeralds and amethysts, on Nubian gold and ivory, even salt from the mines of Mali.

  Alexandria, center of the world.

  And yet, all of it now threatened by family betrayal and foreign intervention. The Museum, the Library, the scholars. These were Sophia’s only reason to continue. If they fell, if they wer
e trampled under the sandals of Roman soldiers, what would become of her?

  She squinted into the night, her eyes roaming every craft in the water.

  Somewhere out there, in one small boat, a young Greek woman rolled in a carpet had the power to change history.

  Sophia spread her fingers against the glass.

  Have you any idea of what is at stake, Cleopatra? You hold us all in your hands.

  Three

  The little boat surged and dipped through the waters of the Great Harbor, until Cleopatra, in her flax cocoon, thought she might be sick. The idea amused her, actually. What would Sophia say about her precious carpet then?

  Ah, Sophia. Cleopatra smiled and felt her tense muscles relax. She’d counted on her former tutor for reassurance and support, and Sophia had not failed. It had been good to spend the hours with her. Cleopatra felt strengthened for the task ahead.

  “How much farther, Apollodorus?”

  The servant shushed her. “We are too near other ships for conversation, my queen. It is not much farther. I can see the entrance to the royal harbor.”

  I have been gone too long.

  She rubbed her cheek against the roughness of the fibers and sighed, remembering the lovely harbor built at the base of her palace, exclusively for royal use. Wrapped up as she was, she regretted that she would see none of the marble steps that led from the harbor to the palace entrance, the terra-cotta pots overflowing with yellow chrysanthemums, the jumping fountains in the center of the royal gardens.

  Ah well, tomorrow all would be changed.

  Cleopatra had no doubts regarding her plan, nor her ability to succeed. She had been trained for this moment by a family of ruthless politicians, a city obsessed with beauty, and a tutor who had filled her mind with enough knowledge and quick thinking to impress any man. Yes, she was well equipped to deal even with Julius Caesar, the Conqueror.

  “Quiet now, my queen,” Apollodorus warned, and then she heard the bumping of other small craft tied up to the dock and the lap of seawater against the stone pilings. She remained motionless, ears sharp to identify her servant’s every movement as he climbed from the boat, pulled the rope, secured it to the cleat, then returned, steadying himself in the bottom. She felt his hands under her body and turned slightly to face downward as he lifted.