by Peter Tonkin
*
It was the scale of the place that Artemidorus remembered most clearly. And yet he was struck by it all over again, almost as though this was his first visit. The gigantic statues, the towering colonnades, as though the place had been designed for gods to inhabit, which, in a way, it was and yet beyond the massive magnificence of the bright-lit porticoes, lived mortal men and women.
‘That’s the Jewish quarter down there,’ observed Quintus, looking right.
‘They’ve been here even longer than in Rome,’ nodded Artemidorus. ‘Mercenaries mostly, brilliant soldiers; they’re dangerously adaptable, as good with bows as Parthians, as good with slings as Thracians, as accurate as Greeks with their pilae spears and as effective as Gaulish Auxiliaries on horseback. I hear they even built and manned a fleet when they were stationed on Elephantine Island near Aswan. They’re supposed to be up with our Roman legionaries in the use of sword and shield, ruthless, disciplined and damn-near unbeatable under most conditions.’
‘And, best of all,’ added Quintus thoughtfully, ‘it was an army of Judean soldiers who rescued Divus Julius, Queen Cleopatra and us during the Battle of Alexandria back in 706. I’ll never forget them; brilliant warriors.’
‘They’re keen businessmen too,’ called User. ‘Bankers rather than traders I suppose, but none the worse for that. Accurate, honest, their word is their bond. No wonder the Ptolemies have worked so hard to keep them here.’
‘Like Divus Julius in Rome,’ nodded Artemidorus.
‘I heard they went into formal mourning for him after he died,’ said User. ‘What do they call it? Shiva?’
‘I believe that lasts seven days,’ answered Artemidorus. ‘There’s a longer period called Sloshim, lasting thirty. I think they held that for him as well, but I was in and out of Rome quite a lot at the time and can’t be certain.’
‘Still, the point is well made,’ said User. ‘They are a people who respect anyone who treats them with fairness and consideration. Divus Julius did. The Ptolemies do.’
This conversation took them past the first few blocks with cross-roads geometrically positioned to right and left. Then they fell silent and simply looked, wide-eyed at the massive magnificence all around until they came to the greatest cross-roads of all. Artemidorus and Quintus saw it coming, memories stirring once again. The promise of even greater brightness. The nearing bustle of hundreds of feet. Of hooves. The creaking of wheels. Coughing, bellowing, neighing and grunting of dozens of beasts of burden. The chatter of crowds of people talking in so many different languages, thought Artemidorus, finding it hard to contain his excitement at being back, that you would have thought there was no room for so many different countries in the whole world – let alone the Roman Republic.
And then they were there.
‘This is Meson Pedion, Canopic Street,’ said User. ‘The greatest thoroughfare in the world.’
The wide road reached right through the heart of the city. So broad, Artemidorus remembered, that Divus Julius could march his legions down it in full battle order, twenty abreast even allowing for the square decorative pools and fountains that stood down the centre of it. Now, even in the middle of a balmy, star-filled night, it was bustling. Men and women of all races, costumes and cultures strolled – or hurried – by. There were more wagons; chariots with two or four wheels. Silken-walled litters – wheeled or carried by litter-bearers. Laden pack-horses, mules, oxen and camels. The scent of spices mixing with the odour of the animals and the rich pungency of their droppings. Macedonian and Jewish soldiers in scale armour with pointed helmets sprouting long, thin horsehair crests. ‘Those are the city watch if I remember right,’ said Quintus. ‘Hard bastards every one.’ Familiar figures in Greek and Roman clothing, Egyptian men and women wearing much less. Strangers from the Great Sand Sea wrapped in black and white robes and head-dresses with only their eyes showing – and the massive curved swords that they wore at their belts, mostly riding camels – with one hump or two. But some, like kings and conquerors themselves, astride the most beautiful stallions Artemidorus had ever seen, leading long strings of ebony-skinned, exotic looking slaves.
As they turned into this massive thoroughfare, so Artemidorus’ view broadened. The enormous star-filled sky seemed to settle like a dark silk cover on the red rooftops, dimmed by the earthly brightness all around. To their left, the Alexandrian Acropolis containing the tomb of Alexander himself, the gilded corpse in a crystal coffin that all the world could look upon. And the Serapium, the famous Temple of Serapis with its gigantic statue of the God. Both stood on the crest of Mount Copron, whose lower slopes were clad in yet more buildings in Greek and Roman design, columned and colonnaded in marble, tiled in terracotta. Illuminated by sconces, torches and lamps – flames flickering in the warm north wind. Alexandria was said to be fire-proof because its buildings were all made of brick, limestone and marble. But both Artemidorus and Quintus knew that was not true, for they had seen Alexandria ablaze.
The one thing that seemed to be missing as far as Artemidorus could remember, were the enormous statues of past pharaohs, lines of sphinxes with the faces of women and the bodies of seated lions and carvings of strange, animal-headed gods and goddesses. Or were they to be found in the great temples around Memphis? He shook his head. He would check with Quintus later. In the mean-time there was far too much of immediate interest clamouring for his attention, to their right, the Gymnasium, with the Public Gardens beyond. The tops of the palm-trees black against the stars. Then the Macedonian Camp where the City’s legions were housed, ready to protect the palaces which stood tall and bright beyond them on the sickle-shaped isthmus of the Lochrias and on the island of Antirrhodos close by. Cleopatra herself was up there somewhere, thought Artemidorus, and was surprised at how the notion tugged at his heart.
v
User was shouting over the bustle that seemed to have intensified all around them despite the midnight hour and the unrivalled width of the street. ‘On your right, after Temple of Isis is the Broucheiron, the Royal quarter, where the main Library is situated.’ Artemidorus smiled at the sudden pride in the usually taciturn Egyptian’s voice. ‘The smaller Sister Library is there too. Too close to the Royal Docks, as Divus Julius discovered when he set fire to some of it as he burned Ptolemy’s fleet.’
Artemidorus remembered that. He and Quintus had been there when it happened. Then stationed out on Pharos Island.
But User was continuing, ‘Beyond that, though you cannot see it, is the Caesarium, the temple to Divus Julius that the divine Queen Cleopatra is having built. She plans to erect two tall stylae obelisks or needles in front of it as it overlooks the sea. And there beyond it are the Agora marketplace – though it is also used as a school for philosophers – and our Tychaeum where we worship the Tyche, Goddess of Fortune, who brings the city its luck! And there, beyond that, as I’m sure you can all see, the Pharos stands upon its island. But on the left is the real heart of the city. The Museon which the Greeks call the Musaeum, the Temple Of The Muses, where all knowledge is stored, is discussed, is explored and expanded.’ A fluke in the breeze brought a cacophony of snarls, roars and howls together with a feral animal stench. ‘And that is where the Menageries is,’ added User. ‘Just as we try to collect a copy of every book and at least one representative of every philosophical, astrological and mathematical discipline, so we try to collect a member of every family of animals. We keep them in the Menagerie.’
‘If I remember correctly,’ said Quintus, his voice low, ‘they’d do better to put some of their philosophers in the cages and let the animals go free.’
But User didn’t hear. He turned to the driver and whispered an order. They swung left. ‘And so we enter my domain,’ he announced. ‘The ancient city of Rhakotis. Keep looking to your right, though, and you will see how the city’s temples, public buildings and villas are little by little replaced by warehouses, docks and shipping. The two halves of the sea-port divided by the great Heptastadion, a man-m
ade roadway seven stades, nearly a Roman mile, in length, reaching from the shore to the Pharos Island itself. With a fort at either end – usually manned either by Macedonian or Judean troops. It stands tall enough never to be threatened by the highest tide and the arches beneath it allow the water to flow freely from one side to the other
‘To the east of the Heptastadion is the Great Harbour which contains the Royal Harbour, islands and island palaces, temples and so-forth. To the west, the Eunostos harbour where my ships are docked at my quays in front of my warehouses. And here, overlooking it all, is the villa that my father’s father built and which I now share with my brother. And, as you can see, like everything else in Alexandria, it is large enough to accommodate us all, either in the main house or in the out-houses and servants’ quarters that surround it. Though on a night as warm as this, you can sleep out in the gardens if you like.’
*
Artemidorus was put in mind of Divus Julius’ dead assassin Minucius Basilus and his magnificent villa in Pompeii as he followed User and the wagons up the paved roadway through User’s gardens towards the enormous dwelling erected by his father’s father. It seemed to him more like a village than a family villa, with its stables, store-houses, out-houses, slave quarters and guest quarters. Even so, the central villa easily dominated. Designed after the style of the Greeks and Romans rather than the Egyptians, it sat perfectly in the Graeco-Roman extravagance of the Golden City – in the Greek style, but not on the Greek scale. User’s villa was huge. Columns towered, holding the roof so high that there must be room for three stories within. The monumental statuary in the gardens, with their decorative temples and grottoes, was also represented standing tall between the columns not to mention the carved marble crowns, coronets and coverings almost on the same level as the columns’ capitals which were carved in the Egyptian fashion as lotus or papyrus flowers. All brightly painted and gilded.
The doorkeeper saw them coming and by the time the wagons drew up at the foot of a flight of steps leading to the main door, the entire household was awake. Wiping sleep from their eyes, a squad of slaves rushed out to unload the carts, followed immediately by a man who could only be User’s brother and a woman no doubt his wife. And so it proved. Introductions were made as the wagons were unloaded and the legionary slaves helped the house slaves put everything away. Then Artemidorus and his contubernium were welcomed and assigned rooms. They were given a light, late cena under the eye of User’s sister in law as User and his brother disappeared into the capacious tablinum study to discuss their financial losses in the destruction of Xanthus. And the tragic loss of family to judge by the howls of distress that came echoing from the distant room. But at last the bustle died, the rooms were prepared, the contubernium conducted to their chambers and their beds.
A kind of peace settled on the huge villa, and Artemidorus at last fell into an exhausted, if uneasy sleep. Alone.
Until, mere heartbeats later, so it seemed, User was shaking him awake, his muscular forehead folded into a frown. ‘There are soldiers at the door waiting for you,’ he said. ‘You’d better hurry up.’
‘Soldiers! What soldiers?’ Artemidorus was fully awake and sitting up at once. He glanced out of the lightly curtained window to see that it was full day outside. ‘What soldiers, User?’ he repeated.
‘Queen Cleopatra’s guard.’
XII: Isis
i
‘Tell them they’ll have to wait,’ said Artemidorus as he swung his legs out of the bed. ‘And send someone to wake Quintus. He’ll be coming with me. Ask him to select some of the legionary slaves who packed our stuff away last night to bring our full uniforms, our documents and the gifts Antony sent for us to deliver.’
User was more at ease with giving orders than receiving them. But it wasn’t every day that a squad of the Queen’s guard came hammering at his door, so he hurried to obey. He had no sooner departed than a house slave arrived with a bowl of warm water and the household’s tonsor. Artemidorus was more used to shaving himself – but he made an exception today. ‘Do your worst,’ he said. The tonsor smiled and bowed, stropping his razor.
By the time Quintus arrived with several laden legionary slaves in tow, Artemidorus was washed, shaved, trimmed and glistening with aromatic oils. They put the boxes on the bed and began to open them. The first contained dress uniforms. The second, armour from the brothel in Brundisium. The third contained a range of weapons but Artemidorus contented himself with gladius and pugio as though he was going on parade. Something further emphasised when he pulled out his badges of rank and the phalera battle honours that would be attached to the front of his uniform. The fourth contained the documents Antony wanted him to hand to the queen. Personally. And last were two identical boxes made of cedar-wood, bound in gold and richly inlaid, each measuring more than two cubits, three pedes feet, square and heavy enough to bring beads of sweat to the face of the legionary slaves carrying them.
At last, both Artemidorus and Quintus were ready. Fully armed in new red tunics, armour in place, steel hoops laced up the front; sagae cloaks swinging from their steel-banded shoulders and helmets resting on their hips. With their legionary slaves behind them carrying the document cases and gold-bound gift boxes, they marched into the atrium of User’s villa. The rest of the contubernium were there, together with User, his brother and sister-in-law, their children, servants, and slaves. A muted gasp went through the crowd – exactly the reaction that Artemidorus was hoping for. After all, someone had sent Cleopatra’s guards. So, it was conceivable that they were being summoned to see a living goddess. He wanted to make the best impression possible because, of course, he was standing in for the most powerful man in the Republic; perhaps in the world.
A unit of Macedonian Guards was waiting patiently at the door. Fully armed, but with their arms and armour practical workaday – very much less impressive than Artemidorus’ and Quintus’ parade kit. But the looks the shining legionaries received reminded Artemidorus of those he tended to give Antony’s pretty Praetorians.
‘We have brought you litters, if you wish to ride,’ said the Macedonian commander. ‘And a tumbrel for anything that might prove heavy.’
‘Thank you. We will march with you. But we have boxes that might well go in your tumbrel.
‘As you wish.’ The Macedonians formed up and set off at a fast march. Artemidorus and Quintus had no trouble keeping up, but Artemidorus and the legionary slaves, no doubt, was relieved the heavy boxes were in the little horse-drawn cart.
*
Canopic Street was even busier than it had been last night but the path in front of the Queen’s guard and the impressively turned-out legionaries cleared almost magically. Artemidorus was bursting with questions but the Macedonian commander seemed more focused on getting where they were going as quickly as possible than in conducting conversations. Artemidorus didn’t mind, he was content to look at the buildings they were passing and to plan precisely what he was going to say to Cleopatra.
The Macedonians stopped at the steps of the Royal Harbour. Artemidorus found himself looking down at a royal barge. Nothing so huge or magnificent as the one in the Lake Harbour, for this barge was not designed to go up and down the Nile. Rather, it was designed to cross the salt-water harbour to the various islands within it. He stood back to allow the contents of the tumbrel to be carried down the steps and aboard. As he did so, his narrow eyes raked the harbour, cataloguing the range of deep-water vessels moored or anchored there. And there, amid them, was the largest of the Roman Libertore quinqueremes that had been trying to stop or capture Glaros and her passengers.
ii
Artemidorus and Quintus ran down the marble stairs together and stepped aboard the barge. Quintus gritted his teeth, compressed his lips and no doubt, thought Artemidorus, sent up a quick prayer to Poseidon. It seemed to work. The legionary stood firm and was not sick. The Macedonian Guards followed them, and the oarsmen pulled away. There was ample seating but Artemidorus walked up to the
bow so that he could see precisely where they were headed. Keeping close to the land, with Cape Locrias behind them crowned by the Temple of Isis and the Macedonian Acropolis, the barge swung south of Antirrhodos Island. It seemed for a moment that the oars must strike against the Island’s rocky southern point, as the current rushed them westwards, but in a moment they were through the narrows. Ahead of them, the isthmus with the temple of the Timoinium on its tip reached out into the bay with the arches of the Heptastadion further beyond. But then the barge swung round to face north and Artemidorus’ view changed as the boat moved onto its new course, apparently heading straight for the Pharos itself. The barge swung eastwards into the bay formed by the curve of Antirrhodos Island. The island stretched away on either hand for several stadions. Right ahead, dominating the high, curving sliver of land and the bay itself was the palace.
If User’s villa had seemed gigantic and ornate when they first saw it last night, it was less than nothing compared with the palace on Antirrhodos Island. Marble steps led up from the royal dock, continuing to rise long after the rocky surface of the island itself leveled off, leading up to the gigantic white-columned frontage, as though the Acropolis in Athens had an older, bigger brother – taller, wider, more exotic, and infinitely more overpowering. The palace behind this overwhelming frontage seemed to reach away forever – though of course it could not have done so for it was constrained by the island’s width.
The oarsmen guided the barge to the bottom of the steps with ease. They were met by stipare dockers who took the thrown ropes and held the vessel steady as the passengers climbed ashore. The largest Macedonians each took one of the boxes Artemidorus had brought. Their leader gestured that the legionary slaves should wait. Then they all ran up the steps together. To be met at the top by the next level up in palace guards. These ones wore armour made of gold.