The first tier of the building was an enormous square structure, aligned to the four quarters of the compass. Looking up, I could see it was topped by a huge decorated cornice that seemed to replicate the waves that I could hear pounding the outer walls, with massive tritons blowing their horns from each corner. This great tower tapered slightly, for stability. Above it stood a second tier, which was octagonal, and high above that, the circular fire tower, crowned with a tremendous statue. Row after row of rectangular windows must light the interior; I could not stop to count but it looked as though there might be nearly twenty floors in the first tier alone.
When I went inside I found that the interior was a vast space dominated by a central core that bore the weight of the upper storeys. There was what seemed to be accommodation for the keepers just inside the door. They resented disturbance, but unlike the soldiers they could pretend not to understand any languages I tried out. I could get no sense out of them.
I knew the basement housed stores for arms and corn. This place was vast enough to house several legions, if threatened. But currently there was no permanent garrison.
Long ramps wound up the inside walls. Up those ramps, which were wide enough for four beasts abreast, trains of donkeys toiled slowly, taking combustible materials for the light - wood, with which Egypt was poorly supplied, mighty round amphorae of oil and bales of reeds as supplementary fuel. Once they reached the top of the grand spiral, they unloaded, turned around and plodded back down again.
Nothing for it. I climbed to the top of the first, square tower. It was much the largest stage. The donkeys stopped here. Men unloaded their heavy packs and took the fuel manually up the remaining distance.
Doors led out on to a big, railed observation platform running round the exterior. Food and drink were being sold to visitors - of whom I found more than I expected. The view was staggering. On one side was the distant sweep of the city, faintly picked out by the glimmer of thousands of tiny lights. On the other, the dark emptiness of the Mediterranean, its ominous night presence confirmed by the sounds of fierce surf breaking on the rocks far below us.
Up here were lamps, men with trays, guides spouting facts and figures, and a festival atmosphere. I had never been anywhere like it that was man-made. The Lighthouse had always been a tourist attraction. Even at night, supper parties must come out here in fine weather. Rich fathers arranged birthday and wedding celebrations. Ordinary families came sightseeing, for education, fun and striking memories. There were people up here now - not throngs, but enough to make it dangerous if Diogenes had brought trouble - enough people for me to have lost sight of him and not to know either whether his two cloaked pursuers had followed him this far.
I walked around, on the way meeting Tiberius, the tough soldier from the gatehouse, together with Titus, his companion, who was carrying signal torches and what I recognised as the codebook. We failed to find Diogenes at this level, so while the soldiers cleared a space on the viewing platform and began to send their message shoreward, I left them to it, gritted my teeth and began to climb up inside the next tier.
L
Now I was making my way up the octagon. By the time I staggered out on to the next viewing platform, I was nearly done in. For those who wanted to make this additional climb to the top of the eight-sided tower, and who could find the stamina, a smaller balcony gave a truly spectacular view. This must be over three hundred feet above the sea. It was wonderful and horrific at the same time. Anyone here needed a head for heights that I unfortunately lacked.
Far down below in the courtyard, men swarmed like insects. On the wind came faint ululating cries. I had heard such sounds in terrible places and situations - the rebellion in Britain was the worst; remembering, I shuddered. As I leaned over, way down there on the ramp to the main door, it looked as if one scarlet blob - Tiberius? - held the riot at bay, a latter-day Horatius defending the wooden bridge. If I made it out correctly, as men from Rhakotis ran across sporadically, they were whacked and tipped off the ramp. The spectacle added to the madness of this unexpected night.
On the first viewing platform below me, I saw the soldier Titus diligently shepherding the public inside the tower for safety. On his own, he was not having much luck. People were milling about hopelessly, of course.
Drawn by the crackle of the great fire, I climbed into the cylindrical lantern area, just as a bunch of the stokers came pushing out in panic. Not waiting to say what disturbed them, they scattered down the octagon.
At the top, I found a frightening scene. I had entered the eerie, perpetually mobile, orange light of the beacon. A strong steady wind blew constantly, its noise lost in the roar of the fire. I was sure I could feel movement. The lantern tower was substantial but it seemed to sway.
The Pharos had stood here for three hundred and fifty years - but the Greeks and Egyptians never had a beacon fire. It was our introduction; we Romans added it, because ever-increasing night-time sea traffic required better safety features. Cassius had given my children a model lantern, which they loved and used as a nightlight. That showed the ancient design; it was topped by a pillared tower, covered by a cupola - a feature that still lived in folk memory and would probably persist. But to accommodate a massive fire-basket, which had to be open to the skies, the round turret's root had now been dismantled. The open top of the Pharos glowed like a lurid scene from Vulcan's forge, with dark figures tending the terrific fire.
On my face I felt the burning heat, a blaze so fierce it was barely approachable. You wouldn't toast your lunch bap here. Sweating stokers tended the fire with long metal rakes. Behind, from my viewpoint, stood an enormous curved metal reflector. Mirror-bright, it gleamed red in the light of the beacon. From out to sea, some said a hundred miles away, this light would shine like a huge star, low on the horizon, bringing hope for anxious sailors and a dramatic statement of Alexandria's power and prestige.
To my astonishment, I made out Diogenes. Even more out of breath than me, he had staggered to the foot of a colossal statue, a leftover that had once topped the old covered tower - Zeus? Poseidon? One of the heavenly twins, Castor and Pollux? It was no moment for art appreciation. Diogenes was slumped and on the verge of collapse.
Suddenly, from behind the reflector leapt one of his tormentors. Bat-like and shrieking, the wild figure ran at the trader. Diogenes stumbled to his feet, trying to flee. Cowering away from the cloaked figure, he tipped over a low wall that contained the beacon and fell right into the roaring flames. He began to scream. Ablaze from head to foot, he floundered there; but it can only have been moments before he desperately clambered out. Intentionally or not, he launched himself towards his assailant, a fiery human torch. The man in black lost his cloak as he tried to get away. Holding up an arm to shield his face from the beacon's hot glare, he ran blind. He crashed against the outer balcony parapet. Unable to regain his balance, his momentum toppled him right over. His cry was lost as he vanished.
Diogenes fell to the ground. His clothes, hair and skin were alight. By the time I reached him, a stoker had aimed the contents of a fire-bucket over the writhing figure, but in that great heat the water sizzled uselessly. We dragged the attacker's discarded cloak over the prone man, then people brought more water pails. But some fool pulled the cloak away, so the flames broke out again spontaneously. At last stokers dragged up a heavy fire-mat and rolled Diogenes in it; they must have had experience or training. He was still alive when we finally put him out, but his burns were so bad he could never survive. Ghastly shreds of skin from his back and arms just fell away. I doubted he would even make the journey down to ground level.
Sickened, I crouched beside him. 'Diogenes! Can you hear me? Who were those men? What did they want you for?' He mumbled. Someone put a flask to his charred lips. Most of the liquid ran away down his neck. He struggled to speak. I strained to hear.
'Stuff you, Falco!'
He sank into unconsciousness. Despairing, I left the stokers to bring the body down.
People who had been shepherded into the interior were crowding on the spiral ramps. White-faced, they gazed upwards in terror, aware that some tragedy had unfolded high above.
'Everyone stay inside, please - for your own safety. Make your way quietly down to the bottom now. Leave this to us!' One of the soldiers, Titus, came out on to the platform with me. We took lamps and searched the four long sides of the observatory area. Together we found the motionless form of the man who had gone over.
Titus bent. 'He's done for.' He twisted and looked up at the lantern, high above us. 'Must be what - eighty feet?' Who knows? He was guessing. 'No chance.'
'There was another man.'
'Must have scrammed.'
Titus moved back. I bent to inspect the dead man's face. 'What?'
'Know him, Falco?'
'That's unbelievable... He works at the Museion zoo.' I looked twice, but there was no doubt. It was either Chaereas or Chaeteas. That took some comprehending. Whatever had turned those two calm, competent zoo assistants into vengeful furies, hunting a man to his death? Risking their own lives to do it, too. 'I'll have to go after the one who's made a run tor it - how can I get out of the building safely? Are those rioters in the courtyard?'
'All be sorted by the time you reach the door. 'Titus looked over to confirm: I joined him, though with trepidation. My nerve had vanished up on these windy platforms where I had just seen two men die.
Titus was right. All the men from Rhakotis were running for home. A red column of soldiers, so far away it looked stationary, was marching through the enclosure. 'Landed by boat, Falco.'
The way the waves beat against the Pharos base, that could not be easy. I was surprised they had arrived here so quickly, but of course Titus took the credit for his dextrous signalling.
'You're whacked, Falco. You'll do no more good tonight. Tell us who the other fellow is, and let the military track him down.
Those words seemed as sweet as a lullaby.
LI
Even the worst nights end eventually. So, although my head still thronged with images of dark figures gesticulating against towering flames, I awoke to the hard clear sunlight that for several hours had been streaming through an open shutter. It must be mid-morning, maybe later. Subdued murmurs told me that my little daughters were close by, playing quietly on the floor together. When I had had adventures, they would often creep up near me while I recovered. I lay for a while, drowsily fighting wakefulness, but then let out a grunt to tell Julia and Favonia they could now scramble on to the bed with me. Helena found us all cuddled up together when she brought a tray of food for me. One arm around each, I kissed the children's soft, sweet-scented heads and gazed at Helena like a guilty dog.
'I am in disgrace.'
'Was it your fault, Marcus?'
'No.'
'Then you are not in disgrace.' I smiled at my tolerant, wise, forgiving girl with all the adoration I could muster. As smiling goes, it was fervently meant, though perhaps rather pallid. 'Don't do that again,' she added waspishly. ' - Ever!'
I remembered that I was delivered home by soldiers, filthy and exhausted. I thought it had been in the dead of night, though Helena reckoned closer to dawn.
'You were sensible enough to order people to look for Pastous at the Library. He was found safe, incidentally. A message came from Aulus. Aulus is coming here later, to see what needs doing.'
She propped me up on cushions while I ticed down a late breakfast. I had little appetite. I let the children steal most of it. Helena perched on a stool, watching without comment. When I pushed away the tray and slumped wearily, she told the girls to run off to see Albia, then we two settled down alone to catch up on all that had happened.
I tried to narrate the story logically, to make sense of it myself.
Helena listened, her great dark eyes thoughtful. It all took time. My words came sluggishly. Left to myself I would have lain still and closed my eyes again.
No use. I had to decide what to do.
'So... where are Fulvius and Pa?'
'They went out, Marcus.' Helena appraised me. I must look a wreck, but she was cool, clean, beautiful in garnet reel and a russet stole. Her face seemed pared and hollow, but her eyes were clear. Although she wore no cosmetic tints, she had dressed her fine hair meticulously, holding it in place with a full pantheon of long ivory pins, topped with little goddesses. Her custom was to be carefully groomed after I had had a scrape - to remind me that I did have someone worth coming home to. 'I had told them you got into trouble in a bar... they believed it very readily. Perhaps you should buff up your reputation, dearest.' She spoke as a long-term partner discussing work, reasserting her own importance. I knew that attitude. It posed no threat. Her sniping tone would be temporary. 'I believe they are hoping to meet Diogenes.'
'He won't turn up!' I shifted about; every joint ached. I found it impossible to get comfortable. 'The military will try to keep a lid on what happened - the Pharos is remote enough, but there were members of the public all over the place. Rumours will leak out.'
'Well, when you came back last night, I rushed down and took over. I have done my best to hide what happened.'
Helena had been magnificent: alarmed, naturally, she pretended to be coping with a reprobate husband; shooed everyone else back to bed. I had heard her rapid enquiries of my escort, their sheepish answers. I remembered her scanning me for wounds, or possibly wicked women's perfumes.
That made me smile at her, a long, deep smile of reassurance and love. Accepting it, Helena hauled herself from her stool, and came across to me. After moving the tray to a side table, she took our daughters' place in my arms, as we held one another for comfort, reconciliation and relief. Once it would have led to more. I was too exhausted; she was too pregnant; we were too intrigued by our enquiries. We lay there, thinking. Don't sneer until you've tried it.
Aulus turned up. He said he had told Pastous to go into hiding - it was either that or protective custody. The fish restaurant where we ate lunch the other day had rooms for hire; Pastous was now secretly staying there. I gave Aulus directions and cash for reward purposes, then sent him across the city to recover the cartload of scrolls that Diogenes abandoned in the street last night. Albia went with him for the adventure.
'I warn you, the man took it into his head I was entrusting him with pornographic literature.'
'I wonder why he would believe that?' mused Helena.
I went to the baths as soon as they opened, then spent the rest of the morning at home. Once I would have bounced back faster, but I had reached an age when a whole night of strenuous activity - not the kind involving women - left me in deep need of recovery time. I consoled myself that Egypt was famous for its sensual baths and exotic masseurs - only to find that the baths near my uncle's house had nothing better to offer than a miserable washing-slave from Pelusion, who slathered me in sickly iris oil then gave me a half-hearted neck massage while he endlessly told me his family problems. It had no effect on my aches and made me utterly depressed. I advised him to leave his wife, but he had married her for her inheritance, which due to the complicated Egyptian inheritance laws, where property was divided between all the children, came to thirty-three two-hundred-and-fortieths of their building.
'Nevertheless, trust me - leave your wife and get a dog. Choose one who has his own kennel, then you can share that and live with him.'
It went down badly.
Chewing gloomily on a quid of papyrus he sold me, I crawled home to Helena. She met me in the courtyard with a warning that the old men had come in; they had gone into a huddle upstairs. Cassius had told her they had heard that Diogenes was in a coma, in military custody, and it was certain he would not live. Before they could tackle me,
I commandeered the palanquin and fled. Helena came with me; we set off for the Museion.
LII
Philadelphion was gazing at a herd of gazelles, perhaps trying to seek solace in the company of animals. Gazelles were not the best choice; they grazed in a spacious enclosure, indifferent to his mournful scrutiny. Occasionally they would stiffen, heads up. then bound away from imagined danger. He simply continued to stare across their pasture.
We dragged him away, chivvying briskly. I was in no mood for melancholy.
'Leave me alone, Falco. I've already had that centurion down here, making my life dreadful.'
'He told you one of your staff died last night at the Pharos?'
'It was Chaeteas. I identified the body. Since his cousin seems to have gone missing, I shall take responsibility for a funeral...'The man who had seemed so competent and restrained when he conducted the necropsy - when was it? - only six days ago - had sunk into unexpected misery.
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