by Ben Kane
It was here, therefore, that Tarquinius came to study each day. It was the fulfilment of a lifelong dream to do so, and his grief lifted a fraction each time he crossed the threshold. Inside were many tens of thousands of papyrus rolls on poetry, history, philosophy, medicine, rhetoric and every other subject one could think of. Collected for more than two hundred years, the library of Alexandria comprised the single greatest collection of information in the world. As well as his future path, Tarquinius also hoped to find a clue to the mysterious origins of his people. Despite decades of searching, the haruspex was no wiser about where the Etruscans had come from.
The complex was far more than a library or a storage place for scrolls. It was a combination of school, shrine and museum, also containing immaculate gardens, a richly stocked zoo and an observatory. Naturally, the temple was dedicated to the Muses, and was overseen by a priest of high rank. For generations, Greek scholars from all over the Mediterranean had come to the library as paid tutors, working together and sharing their knowledge with those who came to learn. Men who knew far more than Tarquinius did had spent years here: Archimedes, studying the rise and fall of the River Nile and inventing the screw which could lift water up great heights; Eratosthenes of Cyrene, who lectured on the route to India by sailing west from Hispania, who posited that the world was round and who had calculated its circumference and diameter. Others had propounded theories about the sun's effect on the planets and stars, or had advanced medical science by their study of human anatomy.
Humility became a new emotion for Tarquinius as he paced the covered walkways of the library's various wings, discovering the existence of more information than he could absorb in a lifetime of study. To him, the shelves filled with linen- and leather-covered scrolls and parchments were like all the gold and jewels in the world. Even though the majority of the information had been catalogued, he found scant word of the Etruscans. A few fragments of crumbling papyrus referred to a people who had journeyed from the lands beyond Asia Minor. There was mention of a city called Resen on the River Tigris, and little else. Nothing to fill in around these skeletal details, which Tarquinius already knew from Olenus. In turn this made him wish that he'd had an opportunity to do some investigation after Carrhae. It was a futile thought, for he, like all the other Roman captives, had been kept under lock and key day and night when in Seleucia. Soon Tarquinius began dreaming about a return trip to Parthia.
Perhaps that was where his future lay? While part of Tarquinius' heart rejoiced at this thought, much of it ached at its utter finality. Would he ever see Romulus again? Although there was no guarantee of a reunion by remaining in Alexandria, the haruspex was reluctant to leave until he unearthed, or was given, some kind of meaningful sign of his purpose.
For weeks, Tarquinius concentrated his search in the library section which contained material on astronomy and history. It was no good. He found nothing. Keen to keep a low profile, he did not ask too much of the librarians, translators and scribes, who tolerated his presence with reluctance. It was Tarquinius' fluent Greek and medical knowledge which had allowed him entry in the first place, but that did not mean that they liked the silent, scarred stranger wandering up and down the covered walkways, or sitting alone, watching the debates between the resident scholars. He did not fit in.
There was, however, one scribbler, as the translators were known, who enjoyed Tarquinius' company. Aristophanes was a stout, balding Greek in late middle age, whose main interest was in astronomy. Like his colleagues, he wore a nondescript off-white short-sleeved tunic. Stooped from a lifetime of leaning over documents, his fingers had been stained black from the ink in his reed stylus. Aristophanes' work area was one of the small courtyards which bordered the book-lined corridors. Perched on a mat surrounded by scrolls and parchments, he deftly copied ancient tracts on to clean pieces of papyrus each day. This part of the library was also where the haruspex spent a lot of time. Inevitably they had spoken; Tarquinius wanted to read a particular text about Nineveh, but could not locate it and had asked the Greek for help. As they searched, a prolonged debate about the merits of papyrus versus those of calf-skin parchment developed. Although they never found the relevant scroll, a friendship developed, one based on scholarly topics, and which avoided personal matters. Other than the fact that he was Etruscan, Tarquinius mentioned little about his past, and Aristophanes was content not to ask.
That morning was no different, and the two men resumed their discussion of the previous day, about whether it was possible to accurately measure the movement of the stars.
'They say that there's a box-like device on Rhodes which shows how the sun, moon and planets travel through the sky,' the scribbler confided. 'Made of metal, with dozens of little hidden wheels and cogs which move in unison. Apparently it can even predict lunar and solar eclipses. Not sure I believe it myself.'
Tarquinius laughed. He'd heard rumours of such a thing when visiting Rhodes himself.
Aristophanes frowned. 'What?'
'Look around you. Think of the wealth of knowledge which has been gathered here,' he replied. 'Why wouldn't that appliance exist?'
'Of course, you're right.' Aristophanes smiled ruefully. 'I've spent too long here. Can't see what's in front of me any more.'
Tarquinius thought for a moment. While the data he studied in the library was fascinating, all too often it felt sterile, even dead. 'Rhodes, you say?' he asked.
Aristophanes nodded. 'In the Greek school there. One day I'll visit it,' he said wistfully.
Perhaps I should also go, reflected Tarquinius. He'd stolen enough for the passage. Suddenly, the library's tranquillity was broken from outside by the distinctive tramp of men marching in unison. The noise came to a halt by the main gate, and was followed by the hammering of a weapon butt on the timbers. Shouted commands rang out, demanding entry.
Aristophanes looked perturbed. Even the recent fighting had not affected the library's status as an island of calm in the city. 'What in the name of Zeus do they want?'
Tarquinius was on his feet before he knew it, clutching for a sword that wasn't there. The orders had been given in Latin, not Greek or Egyptian. That indicated Roman soldiers were present, which meant trouble. Legionaries might ask awkward questions. He felt the air about him move. Danger, the haruspex thought. Was it to him, though, or to someone else?
'What's wrong?' Aristophanes had seen his response. 'Are they after you?'
Calm down, thought Tarquinius. Few, if any, Romans in the city would recognise me. He took a deep breath. 'Not exactly,' he said slowly, knowing that the only exits apart from the main entrance were locked. He'd tried them already, seeking an escape route in advance — in case it should ever be needed. 'I don't like them, that's all.'
The Greek gave him a sceptical look. He knew that Tarquinius was from Italy, and had gleaned that he'd served in the army. There was more occurring here than his friend was letting on. Yet, like most residents of the city, whether Egyptian or Greek, Aristophanes had little love for the new effective rulers with their arrogance, crude manners and martial tendencies. 'Go back under the portico,' he advised quietly. 'Even if they come in here, the sunlight is so bright that they'll only see a shadow. Just another scholar studying some old tome.'
Grateful, Tarquinius rolled up the tract on Assyria which he'd been perusing and did as Aristophanes said. Facing the rows of shelves, he could peer over his shoulder at anyone who came into this wing. What then, though? There was still no way out. With his heart thudding in his chest, he looked up at the patch of sky that was visible overhead. The air was calm, and the clouds made no sense. Tarquinius cursed under his breath.
To his surprise, the soldiers who clattered into the courtyard a few moments later were a mixture of Romans and Egyptians. First came two squads of ten well-presented legionaries, then the same number of royal guards, resplendent in green tunics, Greek helmets and bronze breastplates. Taking half of the area each, the two groups spread out in a protective screen, thei
r spears and swords ready. Aristophanes and his accoutrements were simply stepped over and ignored. An officer whistled the all-clear and in walked a striking young woman; she was accompanied by several fawning courtiers and senior librarians. Tarquinius' mouth opened. Knocking his pots of ink flying, Aristophanes jerked up and prostrated himself face first upon his reed mat. He had no time to warn Tarquinius, but there was no need.
Here was Cleopatra, sister to the dead king Ptolemy. Lover to Caesar, she was now the sole ruler of Egypt. A goddess to her people. What was she doing here? the haruspex wondered.
'Abase yourselves,' cried one of the officials.
Hastily Tarquinius went down on his knees, and then, responding to a sidelong glare from the prone Aristophanes, he leaned forward and placed his forehead on the tiled floor. He had only had a few heartbeats to study Cleopatra, but that was enough to take in her assured manner. Clad in a flowing cream linen gown hemmed with silver thread, the queen's hair was tied up in braids. Long ringlets fell on either side of her pale-skinned face, and ringing her head was a uraeus crown, symbol of the Egyptian pharaohs. Made of solid gold, it was encrusted with jewels and featured a rearing cobra at the front. A string of massive pearls hung round Cleopatra's neck; gold and silver jewellery winked from her wrists and fingers. Her big mouth and hooked nose were easily compensated for by a curvaceous and attractive figure. Full breasts moved enticingly under the see-through fabric of her dress, the well-cut folds of which clung to her belly and thighs. She was a riveting sight.
The official spoke again. 'You may rise.'
Carefully averting his gaze from the nearby soldiers, Tarquinius got to his feet. He recognised no one, but there was no point tempting fate. It would only take a single challenge for him to be skewered by a pilum, or tied up like a hen for the pot and tortured. Aristophanes was now just a few steps from Cleopatra, and dared only to rise to his knees. 'Your Majesty,' he said, his voice trembling. 'You honour us with your presence.'
Cleopatra inclined her head. 'I come seeking knowledge. It is important that I find what I am looking for. Apparently this is where the relevant scrolls are to be found.' Her voice was deep and attractive, but there was no mistaking the threat within her words.
A cold sweat broke out on Aristophanes' brow. 'What type of information does Your Majesty require, exactly?' he asked.
There was a long pause, which Tarquinius used to study Cleopatra sidelong. A jolt of energy shot through him as his eyes passed across her flat belly. She is pregnant, he thought, shocked as much by this as by the sudden return of his divinatory skills. Cleopatra is going to bear Caesar a child. He glanced again. A son. The man who is set on being the sole ruler of Rome is to have an heir. Cleopatra is here to find out what the future holds for her and her offspring. Immediately he thought of Romulus. Was this the threat he'd sensed?
Cleopatra turned coy. 'Not much,' she purred. 'Just the pattern of the stars over the next year or so. The outlook for each sign of the Zodiac as well.'
Aristophanes looked aghast. 'Your Majesty, I am no expert in these matters,' he stuttered.
Cleopatra smiled. 'You only have to find the correct scrolls. These men will interpret the meanings for me.' She indicated the robed figures behind her, every one of whom now looked terrified.
Aristophanes' swallow of relief was very loud. 'Of course, Your Majesty. If you would follow me?' With a quavering arm, he pointed at the corridor behind Tarquinius.
The haruspex froze. He had anticipated none of this. All he could do was to try and remain calm. Any sudden move would bring down the most unwelcome attention.
'Lead on,' Cleopatra ordered Aristophanes.
The Egyptian guards parted at once, allowing the scribbler to scuttle away. Forming up in four files of five, with Cleopatra in the middle, they held their spears upright now. Half followed Aristophanes, then came the queen and the sweating scholars, followed by the remaining ten. The little column moved off the courtyard and on to the covered walkway where Tarquinius stood, rigid as a statue. The smell of sweat and oiled leather filled the air as they passed. Most barely gave him a second glance, just another badly dressed scholar.
Tarquinius bowed his head as Cleopatra went by, but his senses were on high alert. He felt a joyous air about her — a pride in her pregnancy. What a catch she has made for herself, he thought. No less a man than Julius Caesar. Of course her play was not that surprising. A shadow of their former selves, the Egyptian royal family had been reliant on Roman military power for some years. To first gain Caesar's affections and then become pregnant by him, Cleopatra had shown her desire to remain ruler of her country, and more. The recent battles had left her teenage brother Ptolemy dead; with her sister Arsinoe a prisoner, she now had no real rivals.
There was something else in the energy surrounding her. Tarquinius closed his eyes, using all his ability to discern what it was. The shock of it rocked him back on his heels. While Cleopatra would move to Rome for a number of years, she would not rule by Caesar's side. Their son would die young. Violently, too. Murdered by the order of… a thin young noble Tarquinius did not recognise. Why? The haruspex could see that this man loved Caesar, yet he was responsible for the killing of his son. Which meant that he would hold no love for Romulus either. Rome is at the centre of all this, the haruspex thought. Should I go back there?
'You!' demanded one of the legionaries. A dark-skinned veteran with heavy stubble covering his jaw, he glowered at Tarquinius' ragged appearance. 'What's your business here?'
Too late, the haruspex realised he'd been muttering to himself. 'I'm studying the ancient Assyrian civilisation, sir,' he answered obsequiously, proffering his scroll in evidence.
The soldier's eyes narrowed.
Tarquinius' heart stopped. Worried about Romulus and startled by the command, he had answered in fluent Latin rather than the more common Greek. Which was not a crime, but with most scholars in the library being Greek, it was a trifle unusual.
The legionary thought so too. 'Are you Italian?' he demanded, moving a few steps closer. He lowered his pilum until the pyramidal iron head pointed straight at Tarquinius' breastbone. 'Answer me!'
The haruspex had no wish to start justifying who he was and why he wasn't in the army. 'I'm from Greece,' he lied. 'But I spent some years in Italy as a tutor. Sometimes Latin seems like my native tongue.'
'A tutor?' The other's expression turned sly, and he poked his pilum tip at Tarquinius' scarred, caved-in left cheek. 'Explain those injuries then.'
'The Cilician pirates raided the town where I lived,' he replied, his mind racing. 'They tortured me before selling me as a slave on Rhodes. Eventually I escaped and made my way here, where I've made a living as a scribe since.'
The veteran considered his words for a moment. Until Pompey had crushed them twenty years before, the bloodthirsty Cilicians had been the scourge of the entire Mediterranean. Once, they had even had the gall to sack Ostia, Rome's port, thereby threatening grain supplies to the capital. The legionary had heard the tale from his father and plainly this pathetic figure was old enough to have been around then.
They heard Cleopatra's raised voice coming back down the corridor. Aristophanes had found the texts she required. The soldier's attention turned away, and Tarquinius breathed a long sigh of relief.
Surrounded by her guards, the queen emerged, her cheeks aglow with excitement. Hurrying behind came Aristophanes, his arms full of tightly rolled scrolls, which were giving off a fine cloud of dust. Last came the learned men, now looking frankly petrified. With the correct texts found, the full weight of Cleopatra's expectation would soon be on them.
On the other hand, Aristophanes was jubilant. Catching sight of Tarquinius, his face lit up. 'Guess what I also found, my Etruscan friend?' he called out in Latin. 'That text from Nineveh which you gave up looking for weeks ago.'
In slow motion, Tarquinius' gaze moved to the swarthy legionary.
It only took a moment for the scribbler's words to sink in.
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'Etruscan?' snarled the soldier, wheeling towards the haruspex. 'You lying bastard. Probably a Republican agent then, aren't you?'
Too late, Aristophanes realised what he'd done. His mouth opened in an 'O' of shock as Tarquinius dropped the scroll he was holding and ran for his life.
'Spy!' screamed the legionary at his comrades. 'Spy!'
Tarquinius ran as if Cerberus and all the demons in Hades were after him, but the heavily armed men in pursuit were younger and fitter than he was. Despite his small head start, he had little chance of reaching the main entrance, let alone the streets outside. He cursed the lapse of concentration that had made him speak in Latin. Dread filled him as he pounded through the gardens, drawing startled looks from the slaves tending the plants. His claim of being a scribe would not bear up to any scrutiny, so the legionaries really would take him for a spy.
His real story was too fantastical; he also had to keep his divining abilities secret. Which meant there would be only one outcome. Death, by torture. The haruspex' lips twisted with bitterness. So the return of his abilities had been a cruel joke by the gods, devised to let him know that he could do nothing further to help Romulus, whose life he had ruined.
Then, perhaps fifteen paces away, Tarquinius saw the open door in the wall. Beside it stood a terrified-looking scribe, who was beckoning frantically. If he got through it, there was the smallest chance that the portal could be closed before the legionaries saw where he'd gone.