Atius joined in with the prayers and hymns in the little church, but his mind was elsewhere. He was disgruntled that Silus hadn’t taken him along to see the priestess, partly because it felt like his friend didn’t trust him, and partly because he would have liked to see the pretty young woman again himself. And though he was tempted to explore Alexandria, the chaos on the docks and the worry that someone who might still be bearing a grudge on behalf of the cat might recognise him made him more cautious. The overt religiousness of every aspect of the city, with its temples and sacred symbols and animals, made him realise it had been a long time since he had shown any proper devotion to his own god. So he had spied a palace slave with a necklace in the shape of a fish, and asked where he might find a place to worship the Christos.
The church was sparsely decorated, little more than a room for worshippers to gather. It was not purpose-built, just a private dwelling that had in the past opened its doors to become a meeting place for Christians, and eventually had become purely a place of worship, a so-called domus ecclesia. At one end was an altar with a marble cross. The walls were painted in a rather amateurish way with scenes from the life of Jesus – the feeding of the 5,000, the sermon on the mount, the birth and the crucifixion.
He wasn’t sure why he had gone to worship. He had been a follower of the Christos all his life, had been taught the tales and the instructions of the Messiah and his followers by his mother since he was in the crib. He had always taken his beliefs for granted, never questioned them, but equally never taken them particularly seriously. He broke some of the ten commandments on a regular basis, particularly the ones about lying, killing and adultery. He even recalled once when he had coveted a female servant that his neighbour had purchased, before he remembered that too was forbidden.
The room was half full of worshippers on their knees. They seemed to come from the whole spectrum of races and classes in Alexandria – Greeks, Romans, native Egyptians, those from the eastern Empire such as Syrians and Jews. Some wore expensive clothing and jewellery, while others wore little more than rags. Atius suspected that the wealthy worshippers wouldn’t even acknowledge the poor ones if they met on the street, but in this service, they shook hands, sang, prayed and venerated the Christos together.
The priest who led the ceremony had red-grey hair, a high forehead and a long, pointed nose. He had been looking nervous and unsettled throughout. Atius assumed it was either his usual manner, or that he was in constant fear of the authorities in a city that had experienced a massacre of Christians just a decade before.
But after another prayer, the priest cleared his throat and announced in a wavery voice, ‘Brothers and sisters in the Christos. We are hugely honoured today by the presence of one of the greatest among our number. Origen, son of Leonides the martyr, will lead us in the Eucharist.’
A gasp went out among the worshippers as a figure at the front, who until now had been hooded, stood and threw his hood back to reveal a man in his late twenties with Greek features, jet black hair and a round, slightly effeminate face. Atius looked at him with mild curiosity. His name obviously meant something to the worshippers, but Atius had never heard of him.
He clasped the priest’s hand firmly. ‘Thank you, Brother John.’
He remained respectful as he took the loaf of bread that was offered to him by the priest, and broke it in half. He spoke in a clear, unwavering voice.
‘Our Christos broke the bread at his last Passover meal, saying this is my body, given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’
He passed the halves to the congregation, who each took a piece and swallowed with heads bowed and eyes closed. When all had eaten, the bread was passed back to the priest, who consumed the remainder. The priest then blessed a silver goblet of wine and passed it to Origen. Origen spoke again. ‘He took a cup and after giving thanks he gave it to them and they all drank of it, and He said, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many.”’
He passed the wine around, and everyone took a respectful sip before passing it on. The wine was sweet to Atius’ taste, and strong, so he could feel it slide down his throat and settle in his stomach. He had taken the holy Eucharist before, although it had been admittedly some time. But it felt somehow different this time. He wasn’t sure why. Was it the foreign setting? Origen’s sincere tone? Or was there something more? Was the Christos really with them?
When the ceremony was over, and the priest, John, had drunk the last of the wine, they all sat in perfect silence, heads bowed, eyes closed. It had been a long while since Atius had spent any time in quiet contemplation. Usually the strong wine or beer, and the perfume of the women in his company, overpowered his thoughts. But now he found himself alone, in the dark behind his closed lids, in near silence, broken only by the breathing sounds of the other worshippers.
His thoughts drifted over his recent past. There was a lot of violence. Battles, fights, murders. What would his mother make of what he did now? What would the Christos say, if he returned in all his glory, this very day? They were uncomfortable thoughts.
‘Brothers and sisters, followers of the Christos.’ Origen’s words cut through his reverie. ‘Our world is a wonderful place. God’s creation includes the delicacy of a sparrow, the beauty of a rose, the might of the mountains and the river. But the devil also works on this earth, and he tempts us perpetually to turn away from God and his teachings. Some say that the outward world is so constituted that it is impossible to resist it. But he who says that, look inward, and see whether there is not some other motive that would account for his approval or assent to the misdeed.
‘For example, should a man have decided he will refrain from sexual intercourse with a woman, and then a woman comes to him and solicits intercourse from him, she alone is not sufficient to make him break his resolution. He does so because he likes the pleasure and does not want to resist it. But a man of greater discipline and knowledge will suffer those same incitements, and his reason and virtuous convictions will stop the excitement and weaken the lust.
‘So it is with all our temptations, whether it is to neglect the poor and needy, to indulge in sins of the body, to fail to show proper adoration and worship to our Lord, or even to deny our faith in times of trial, it lies within each of us to resist those temptations, and to take the righteous path. Each and every one of us can be everything the Lord wants us to be.’
There was a moment of silent contemplation of the words. Then the priest read a passage from the Septuaguint, finishing with, ‘This is the word of the Lord. Amen.’
‘Amen,’ replied the congregation.
The priest said, ‘The Lord’s blessings be upon you. Go in love and peace, in the name of our Lord. Amen.’
‘Amen,’ chorused the congregation again. They rose, briskly or slowly and stiffly depending on their age, health or weight, and clasped each other’s hands, offering each other the peace of the Lord.
One pretty young girl, long dark hair concealing half her face, with piercing blue eyes and full red lips, clasped Atius’ hand for longer than was necessary and held his gaze with a coquettish half-smile.
He let her hand drop and turned away. At the front of the room, Origen was shaking hands with members of the congregation, who were treating him with the respect and awe of royalty. Atius walked to the front, leaving the rejected girl behind him. He waited his turn as the congregation queued up to show their respect to the revered Christian.
When he came face to face with the kind-looking, sombre man, all the words he had been rehearsing in his mind disappeared, and he stood before him, opening and closing his mouth like a beached fish. Origen smiled at him, and his anxiety eased, although he still couldn’t remember what it was he wanted to say.
‘What’s your name, brother?’
‘Atius,’ he managed.
‘A Celt?’
Atius nodded. ‘Celtiberian, sir.’
‘You need not address me as sir. We are all equal under the eyes of God.’
‘Yes, s… brother.’
‘When did you begin to follow the Christos?’
‘All my life. I learned the stories of the Lord at my mother’s knee.’
‘And yet you seem uncomfortable here.’
He was perceptive, thought Atius.
‘I am not as devout a follower as I should be,’ he said, dropping his head and feeling himself flush in a most uncharacteristic way.
‘None of us is as devout as we should be. Only the Lord himself is perfect.’
‘But I have committed many sins.’
‘None of us are free from sin. But brother, you seem troubled.’
Atius had to admit to himself that he was. It had been so long since he had really stopped to just think, and now his thoughts were threatening to overwhelm him. To his acute shame, he felt tears welling up in his eyes, and to his horror they began to fall to the floor.
Origen put a finger under his chin, raised his face so he could look into his eyes.
‘Brother, you are new here, so you may not know that I am in hiding. The authorities have taken issue with my preaching. But I reside with a wealthy widow who is a fellow follower of the Christos. She lives in a villa near the Park of Pan, next to the cisterns that supply the baths. Her name is Phryne. She would be very happy to receive you in the fellowship of the Christos, and I can talk to you more there.’
‘I would like that.’
Origen nodded, the matter settled. ‘Go in peace, Atius.’ He clasped Atius’ hand.
‘Go in peace, sir… brother.’
Atius stumbled out into the bright light outside the domus ecclesia and blinked. Then, mind whirring, he walked slowly back to his quarters.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Silus. Atius was staring down into a cup of grape juice, swirling it absently.
‘Nothing,’ said Atius defensively. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Nothing either,’ said Silus, who had until that moment had his head in his hands, face like a professional mourner at a funeral.
They were quiet for a moment longer. They sat at a table outside a tavern near the prefect’s palace. Silus had yet to explore the city, only seeing the sights on the short walk from the palace to the Temple of Isis Lochias. But the city was parading past him, and he was able to observe the sheer variety of peoples present. Rome of course had a diverse population, but was predominantly Italian in ethnic origin, whereas Alexandria had Jewish, native Egyptian and Greek ethnicities from its very founding. Beside this was the immigrant population, made up of the various peoples of the Empire, mainly Asian and African – Syrians, Mauretanians, Galatians, Aethiopians – as well as traders from even further east such as Parthians and Indians.
‘I met someone,’ began Atius, just as Silus said, ‘I like the priestess.’
They looked at each other for a moment in surprise.
‘You met someone?’ asked Silus.
‘You like the priestess?’ asked Atius.
‘No, no. You first. Tell me everything.’ Atius hadn’t had a serious relationship since Menenia, their old commanding officer’s daughter who he had rescued from the barbarians in Britannia, and even that probably didn’t count as serious. Atius had never shown any intention of making things more permanent with her. So for Atius to have met someone, enough to make him look morose and thoughtful, was interesting news.
But he wasn’t forthcoming.
‘Tell me about the priestess.’ Silus realised that, equally, he had had no relationship of any sort since his wife had died. He hadn’t even indulged in prostitutes, not for moral reasons particularly but for lack of desire. The closest he had come to love was his fellow Arcanus Daya. And he had killed her.
‘I… it’s nothing. She wouldn’t help.’
‘But?’
Silus clamped his mouth shut, then decided there was nothing wrong with opening up to his best friend.
‘There is something about her. Something… captivating.’
He waited for Atius to laugh or make some sarcastic comment. But his friend just listened patiently.
‘It doesn’t matter, I suppose. Of all the ridiculous fantasies, a beautiful young Egyptian priestess.’
‘Stranger things have happened. There is no harm in seeing her again anyway, is there? Maybe she will have heard something.’
‘Maybe. I might visit again tomorrow. Purely for the mission, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘Your turn then. Who is she?’
‘It’s not a she.’
‘Oh?’ Silus was surprised. He didn’t care whether someone was into same gender relationships, though he shared the Roman prejudice against a male taking the submissive role, whether that involved being dominated by a woman or a man. He couldn’t imagine Atius playing the submissive, but it was strange that he had never noticed him show any interest in men before. Maybe he hadn’t met the right one.
‘Do you want to tell me about him? What caught your eye?’
‘It’s not my eye, Silus. It’s my heart.’
Silus blinked. ‘Your heart? Already? It must be someone special.’
‘It is, but not in the way you think.’
‘I’m listening.’
Atius ran a hand over his face.
‘Why is this so difficult to talk about?’ he wondered out loud. Silus correctly figured that was a rhetorical question and kept quiet.
‘Well,’ continued Atius. ‘You know I am a follower of the Christos.’
‘I knew from when we first met in the prison cell of the Caledonian fort. You were singing hymns of praise to your God.’
‘Yes. I was raised to believe that way by my mother. But I have never really thought about it before. Believing in Christos was just a part of me. An important part, but something like supporting a faction at the races. Christos and his father were my team, and for someone else it may be Mithras, or Isis, or Minerva.’
‘Most worshippers of other gods don’t see it like that. They may have a favourite, but they don’t care who other people follow, as long as it doesn’t inconvenience them. And they will often worship multiple gods themselves, depending on what they are praying for, or which deity the festival is in honour of.’
‘I know. But we are commanded to worship only God and no other.’
‘It’s what has been getting your lot in trouble since the time of Nero. And the Jews before that, of course.’
‘What I’m trying to say is that my faith was a part of me, but not a major part. Just something that was often at the back of my mind, unless I was actually in an act of worship or prayer, which honestly wasn’t that often.’
It was true, Silus was much more likely to disturb Atius in the company of a woman than his god.
‘So what has changed?’
‘This man. Origen his name is. He spoke, and his words meant something. I don’t know. It sounds stupid to say it out loud.’
‘Go on,’ encouraged Silus.
‘It wasn’t what he said, although his words were deep and important. It was how he said them. Like… like God was speaking to me directly.’
He flushed and stopped talking, looking down into his cup again.
Silus reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Thanks for sharing with me, friend. It’s hard to open up those inner feelings sometimes, isn’t it? Whether it is about love, or loss, or something else.’
Atius looked up and smiled gratefully.
‘You could do something to help me.’
‘Name it.’
‘Come with me to see him.’
Silus was taken aback. ‘Atius, you know that I am no Christian. Why would you want me there? Are you trying to get him to convert me?’
‘No, no, it’s not that. It’s just… I’m nervous.’
Silus let out a laugh, then choked it off when he saw how embarrassed his friend was.
‘I know, mock me. I’ve faced down hordes of barbarians, been tortured, helped assassinate dangerous men. And I am scared of seeing a preacher.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Silus. ‘Some men have a power that far exceeds their physical size or apparent position in life. If you want me to come with you, I will. Just don’t expect me to leave singing hymns of praise to the Christos and all his angels.’
‘We are here to see Phryne,’ said Atius.
The porter, a bulky native Egyptian, looked them up and down disdainfully.
‘The mistress is busy.’
‘We came at the invite of… one who is a guest here.’
The porter looked half-interested, but said nothing. Atius wet his finger and drew the sign of the fish on the wall of the vestibule. The porter looked at the sign for a moment, drying and leaving a mark in the sheen of dust. He rubbed it away with the sleeve of his tunic hastily, then scowled at them.
‘Wait here.’
‘Is the worship of Christos so dangerous?’ asked Silus.
‘I have never really thought about it too much. There have been edicts and persecutions, but I have always kept my head down, and it never seemed to be relevant to me personally. But in Alexandria they had a big massacre of Christians not so long ago, so they are understandably still cautious.’
They waited at the entrance to the impressive villa in this beautiful area. They had walked past a theatre, baths and beautiful, well-maintained gardens that citizens could relax in. All the houses around the Park of Pan were large, ornate, and decorated with statues and friezes. This was definitely a well-to-do area, not quite on the same scale as the Palatine in Rome, but maybe one of the other more expensive areas, like parts of the Esquiline.
After a few moments, the porter returned and beckoned them through. They were shown into a room filled with plushly-upholstered furniture, and settled into softly cushioned chairs. Silus looked around at the wall paintings. The subjects were peaceful and neutral – the Nile and the sea, trees and birds. No religious symbols at all, be they Christian or any other god. Presumably another sign of caution – people of all religions, including Roman and Greek officials, would be received here, and they might object to overt signs of Christianity.
A slave girl, a dark-skinned Aethopian, came in and offered them water and some dates. Silus took them, but Atius waved them away. Silus realised his friend was too nervous to eat anything. They waited in silence, until eventually an elderly lady entered. Both of them stood straight way, inclining their heads in respectful greeting. The lady took each of their hands lightly, before indicating they should sit. She took a seat opposite them and accepted a cup of water from her slave.
‘I am Phryne.’ Her voice creaked with age, but was clear and firm. ‘My porter said you wished to see me.’
‘Yes,’ said Atius. ‘Well no. Not you exactly. Which isn’t to say… I mean, I’m sure you are…’
‘My friend was told by a man called Origen that he may find him here.’
‘Is that so?’ She tutted and shook her head. ‘That young man is altogether too trusting. After what happened to his father, too.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Atius. ‘Silus, we should go, we are being a bother.’
Silus marvelled at this new, diffident Atius, and wondered if it was an improvement over the previous brash, sarcastic model. If it was a permanent change, he would miss his old friend.
‘Nonsense,’ said Phryne. ‘I am just being a fussy old woman. Nyx, summon the house guest. I believe he is at prayer currently; make sure you wait until he has finished.’
‘Yes, mistress,’ said the slave, and left.
‘So you two are fellow travellers on our path?’ asked Phryne.
Silus waited for Atius to reply, but when he said nothing, Silus filled in. ‘My friend Atius here is a follower of the Christos. I am here merely to keep him company.’
Phryne smiled, and her expression was kindly.
‘Well, maybe you will see or hear something today that will affect your journey.’
‘Maybe,’ said Silus, unable to help himself smiling back.
Presently, Origen entered the room, with Brother John from the church service at his side. Silus rose to shake his hand, but Origen gestured to him to sit. Then, most bizarrely, Origen took a bowl of water from the slave, and knelt at Silus’ feet. He unlaced his sandals and removed them one at a time. Silus looked across to Atius in bewilderment. His friend just shrugged.
Origen took a cloth and bathed the dust and sand off his feet. Profoundly weird as the situation was, Silus had to admit that having his feet cleansed was a pleasant sensation. When Origen had finished, he patted Silus’ feet dry with a towel, then moved over to Atius and repeated the process. Atius stared down at the holy man in awe throughout.
When it was finished, Origen sat down and smiled at them both. Phryne bowed respectfully to Origen, ordered her slave to remove the bowl and said, ‘I will leave you brothers to your discussions.’ She shuffled out, her slave taking her arm to aid her.
‘Iesous the Christos said, “Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.”’
Silus looked confused, but Atius and Brother John nodded their agreement.
‘What is your name, brother?’ Origen asked Silus.
‘I am Silus.’
‘A friend to Atius, our brother in Christos, am I right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Please, do not call me sir. I am a servant of the Lord and of all who follow him or seek to know his word.’
‘I’m here just to keep Atius company… brother.’
‘I see.’ Origen turned to Atius.
‘And you, brother, what brings you to the home of our friend in Christos, the Lady Phryne?’
‘You said I could visit, sir, brother. And I wanted to hear more of your words.’
‘I am not going to preach to you. But I can listen. And we can converse about life and the ways of the Lord.’
‘I would like that.’
Silus sighed inwardly. This was clearly going to be a fascinating morning.
‘Before we begin to discuss religion and philosophy, may I ask a favour?’ he asked Origen.
‘If it’s in my power.’
‘I’m not sure if Atius has told you why we are in Alexandria.’
‘He has not.’
‘We are on a mission on behalf of Sextus Varius Marcellus, the new Governor of Numidia.’
Origen stiffened. ‘You work for Rome?’
‘We do.’
‘I see. Brothers, I think maybe I am prevailing too much on the Lady Phryne’s hospitality. She is a poor and simple old lady, and it is unfair of me to invite guests that become a burden to her. I think I should ask you to retire. Maybe we will meet another day…’
Silus thought that Phryne looked anything but poor and simple, and was sure she would resent the description. Still, he was pleased that they would now be able to leave without him having to find some other excuse.
But Atius spoke.
‘A centurion came to the Lord and said, “Lord my servant is lying at home, and is paralysed and suffering.”’
Origen looked at Atius through narrowed eyes, but said nothing. Atius looked upwards, seeming to search his memory. ‘The Lord said he would go to the centurion’s house to heal the servant, but the centurion said, “I am not worthy to have You under my roof. But say the word and I know my servant will be healed. For… for…”’ Atius stumbled.
‘“For I too am a man with authority,”’ supplied Origen. ‘“With soldiers under me. I say to one go, and he goes, and to another come, and he comes, and to my servant do this, and he does it.” And Iesous said, “I tell you in truth that I have met no one in Israel with this man’s faith.” And he said to the centurion, “Let it be done as you say.” And the servant was healed.’
Atius nodded in thanks for the help with the story.
‘Tell me why you mention this tale of the Lord.’
‘My mother told me that story. She said it didn’t matter if you were Jewish or Roman, or Celtiberian. All you needed was faith in the Lord.’
Origen pursed his lips, then bowed his head. ‘You shame me.’ He looked at Silus. ‘Ask your favour.’
‘We seek a missing child. The son of Marcellus. He was abducted and brought to Alexandria, and we followed the kidnapper here. But now we are at a loss. Alexandria is a big city. And a confusing one.’
Origen nodded. ‘It’s a noble mission. From the look of you both I expected that maybe… well, no matter. But how can I help you?’
Silus wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended by the comment about their appearance. He ran a hand over his unruly beard, noted a few shallow scars under his fingertips, and thought that maybe he did have the countenance of a man of violence.
‘I think you know many people in Alexandria. And people trust you. Or at least your people do. Have you heard anything about a missing child? An important one.’
‘I’m sorry no, I haven’t. But you are right, people do talk to me. How old is the child?’
‘Around eight or nine years.’
‘His name?’
‘Varius Avitus Bassianus.’
‘And is there anything else I should know about him?’
Silus hesitated. Avitus’ religious beliefs wouldn’t endear him to Origen, but it would be useful information for him nevertheless.
‘He is a follower of an eastern god, called Elagabal. He is meant to be high priest one day.’
Origen frowned. Then he said, ‘Well, there are a lot of false religions in Alexandria. And if he is just a boy, it is not his fault how he was raised. He has plenty of time to see the light and be brought to the true path.’
‘So you will help us?’
‘My power to assist you in this is very limited, but yes, I will find out what I can. There is a poor innocent child separated from his parents. And the Lord said that the Kingdom of Heaven belonged to such as these.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And now, to heavenly matters. Tell me, Atius. How good is God?’
‘God is… great?’
‘Of course. But how great?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘That is the correct answer. I think deeply about these things and pray on them for guidance. I have proved on first principles that God is not corporeal. Therefore, God is incomprehensible, and incapable of being measured. So if we were to obtain any knowledge of God, from our own thoughts or reflections, God must by necessity, by necessity mark you, be many degrees greater than we could possibly imagine.’
Atius opened his mouth and closed it again, eyes narrowed as his brain tried to follow the argument. Silus didn’t even attempt it.
‘This type of argument is fascinating for philosophers and followers of your faith,’ he said. ‘But I think it is maybe too theoretical for a simple soldier like me. And I do have a mission – a boy to find. Atius, please, stay here and talk to the wise man. I will take my leave.’
‘As you wish,’ said Origen. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you.’
Silus rose, bowed respectfully to Origen and patted Atius on the shoulder. His friend acknowledged him vaguely, then returned his attention to the holy man. Silus left the sounds of theological conversation behind him.
Silus found himself wandering through the streets of Alexandria on his own. He didn’t know how he felt about his friend’s newfound fascination with Christianity. He hoped it wouldn’t interfere with either their friendship or their work. But Atius was his own man, and Silus had never tried to stop him doing anything before. Well, not unless it was really stupid.
The Park of Pan was a short distance from the Via Canopica, the huge tree-lined boulevard that bisected the city from east to west. It was impressive, on a level with the Via Sacra that ran through Rome. And as busy, with a constant heavy flow of traffic, as well as professionals and artisans of all types crying out for business. To the west he could see the huge marketplace, the agora, which was a rough equivalent to the Roman forum. He was tempted to go and lose himself among its attractions, and forget the rest of the world – his mission, his job, the alluring priestess.
But the job needed to be done, and he was making scant progress on tracking the boy down. For all he knew, he had already been smuggled out of the city, and was on his way to another place in the vast Roman Empire.
But he didn’t think so. Why go to the trouble of making the long and hazardous journey from Syracuse to Alexandria when other cities were nearer? They had come to Alexandria for a reason.
Should he go and see Tekosis again? Maybe she would have some information for him. Or maybe he just wanted to see her, ridiculous as that was. He sighed, and set off east down the Via Canopica, admiring the awe-inspiring temples, monuments and other buildings. He would have to find someone who could tell him what they all were when he had time.
He passed the royal quarter, where the prefect’s palace was, and turned north towards the Temple of Isis Lochias. His heart started to beat a little faster in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was from nervousness or excitement. He swallowed the fluttering sensation in his stomach down as he approached the temple.
A woman ran out of the temple, screaming, the hem of her tunic flapping around her knees in the breeze she made from her flight. Silus stopped in surprise as she fled in his direction. She saw him, screamed again, and veered off.
What was going on?
Now a man ran out, a temple servant with a shaven head and a long tunic.
‘Help!’ he cried. ‘Thieves.’
Silus caught him by the arm as he passed by, pulled him up short.
‘What is happening?’
‘Men in the temple. Thieves, murderers. I must get help.’ He ripped himself free and hurried off.
Silus drew his sword and ran.
The temple was dark inside, and it took a moment for his vision to adjust. Then he saw two burly men. One grabbed a marble statue of a cat and dashed it to the ground. It was solid, so it didn’t shatter, but the head broke off and rolled away. He laughed.
The other had a priest by throat, pressed up against a wall, and was pounding his fist into his face. Blood spurted from the bald man’s nose, and he struggled feebly against his attacker. Then, before Silus could react, he drew a blade from his belt and thrust it up under the priest’s ribs.
Silus flew into motion. With the priest still sliding slowly down the wall, clutching at his killer, Silus hit the attacker in the back with his shoulder, smashing his face into the wall. The man crumpled to the floor, stuporous.
The other attacker recovered after a moment’s shocked immobility. He took the cat’s head and hurled it at Silus. Silus ducked to his left, and the head smashed against the brickwork. The attacker drew an axe and said something that sounded like an Egyptian curse. He charged at Silus, and Silus raised his sword to block the attempt to hack at his head. He turned the blow away and downwards, then raised his sword to counterattack.
The man was not a skilled fighter, but he was big and aggressive. He waved his axe left and right at waist height, making Silus jump backwards, once, twice.
It was nicely predictable. On the third swing, Silus stepped outside the arc and thrust his sword into the man’s guts. He twisted and pulled his weapon free. The Egyptian grabbed at the hole in his abdomen, which was leaking large quantities of blood and foetid-smelling brown liquid. Then he toppled forward.
Now the noise of combat had died down, he heard more commotion from further inside the temple. A man yelled, another laughed, and then a woman screamed, high-pitched and despairing. Silus ran into the large meeting room that was adjacent to Tekosis’ chambers.
The noise was not coming from the chambers, but from the sanctuary. The great wooden door was hanging wide open. Silus sprinted through.
Three men were inside. One held the golden statue of Isis aloft in both hands, a look of wonder on his face. The other two held Tekosis down on the altar. Her robe had been torn apart, and her lip was cut and bleeding. She struggled and wept as one of her attackers positioned himself between her legs, leaning forward to pin her down with one hand on an exposed breast.
With a cry of rage, Silus gripped his sword with two hands and swung with all his strength. The carefully maintained edge cleaved straight through the neck of Tekosis’ attacker. His head parted from his body, and tumbled sideways through the air, rotating as it went, to land on the floor with a heavy thump. The decapitated corpse toppled forward onto Tekosis, pumping blood from the meaty wound over her face and body.
Tekosis screamed hysterically, and the man on the far side of the altar who had been holding her shoulders stared in disbelief. His paralysis was fatal. Silus leapt onto the altar, stood towering above the man, sword still in a double-handed grip. The man let go of Tekosis and raised his hands in defence.
He might as well have been holding his hands up against a collapsing tower. Silus thrust down with all his strength and all his weight. The sword entered behind the man’s collarbone, and went deep down into his chest, lacerating heart and lungs. The killing blow of a gladiator. He fell backwards with barely a sound, dragging the sword out of Silus’ hands.
Silus whirled, aware that there was a third attacker, and he was suddenly unarmed. But the third man was gone, and he had taken the gold statue with him.
Silus briefly considered giving pursuit. But Tekosis was still struggling to push the dead body off her chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Silus jumped down from the altar, grabbed the body by the collar of its tunic and hurled it to one side. Tekosis threw herself off the altar, landing on her backside on the floor, and scuffled backwards away from Silus until her back hit the wall.
She sat there, gasping and choking on her sobs, one hand extended palm out to Silus, fending him away, the other hand clutching her torn robe closed. Silus squatted down on his haunches a respectful, safe distance away.
‘Tekosis,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s me. Silus. Do you remember me?’
She stared at him for a moment, then put her hand to her mouth. Unable to stop the reflex, she leaned to one side and vomited, her body convulsing heave after heave as she emptied her stomach contents. When she was done, she looked up at Silus in misery. Strands of saliva and vomit hung from her mouth. Her white robe had turned as red as a butcher’s apron. Tear tracks stained her cheeks.
Silus looked around him, found a relatively unbloodied part of one of the attacker’s tunics, and ripped free a cloth. He moved towards Tekosis and she shrank back further against the wall. He made a soothing noise, as if he was talking calmly to a frightened animal. He spat on the cloth, then reached out and wiped her face in long slow strokes, cleaning away the blood spatters and tears and vomitus.
When she was a little cleaner, he held a hand out to her. She hesitated, then took it, and he helped her to her feet. She tried to push him away, then her knees gave way, and he caught her, supporting her weight until she found her strength again. Slowly he helped her out of the sacrarium. As she walked through to her chambers, she took in the destruction and the dead bodies of the priest and his killers. Once she was inside, he stepped out, shut the door, and went to inspect the surviving assailant. He was breathing noisily through his smashed nose, conscious but only just. Silus tore his tunic into strips and twisted them together to form two ropes with which he bound him hand and foot. Then he went to retrieve his sword. He heaved it out of the chest of the dead man and cleaned it thoroughly on the man’s clothing. When he was satisfied it was spotless, he sheathed it and stood outside the closed chamber door, his arms crossed.
From inside came little sounds, splashing water, scrubbing, soft crying. After a long while, Silus knocked tentatively on the door. He was rewarded by a scream.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to check all is well.’
For a moment there was silence – no movement, no words. Then the door swung open.
Silus looked inside. Tekosis was standing in the middle of the room. Her long hair was wet. Her face was clean. She wore a clean robe, pristine white. She looked incredibly vulnerable, and incredibly beautiful, and Silus’ heart caught in his throat in wonder and pity.
She remained still for an extended moment. Then she took two rapid steps forward and clutched him, crying into his shoulder. He hesitated, then wrapped his arms around her and held her close until her sobs subsided.
When she was cried empty, he carefully released her. She stepped back and wiped her tears and nose.
‘Thank you, Silus. You saved me from…’ She couldn’t finish the sentence. Silus just nodded.
‘Who were they?’ he asked.
‘Native Egyptians. Hired thugs who live in the countryside. Someone paid them to come here and do this.’
‘Who would do that?’
‘The Jews.’ She spat on the floor. ‘They hate other religions. They have their one god, and no one but Jews are allowed to worship him, but neither should they worship anyone else because in their eyes all other gods are false.’
‘Are there many Jews in the city?’
‘Fewer than there once were, praise be to Isis. Many were killed when they rebelled a hundred years ago. They destroyed and desecrated many temples, the Serapeum, the Nemeseion, temples to Greek and Roman and Egyptian gods. They damaged my own temple, this Temple of Isis Lochias. And for it, they were punished. The Greeks and Alexandrians slaughtered them, once the Romans had regained control. But they have crept back into the city and grown in number since then. Even though they keep their heads down and don’t take an active part in city life now, it is still rumoured that they murder non-Jews, desecrate our temples, and steal our babies for their rituals. They should all be thrown to the beasts.’
Silus listened to this diatribe in shocked silence. He was aware that Jews were not well-liked throughout the Empire, but there had been none where he grew up, and he wasn’t sure if he had ever met one. Some of the foreign soldiers in the auxiliaries in Britannia may have been Jewish, but they were all easterners to him and he hadn’t enquired that closely.
The Romans were intrinsically xenophobic, with no respect for other cultures or peoples. But he hadn’t come across such naked hatred for other inhabitants of the Empire before. External enemies, yes, but not fellow citizens and residents. He wondered why the Jews were tolerated at all if they were so evil.
‘I think you should drink some wine.’
Silus went to the side table from where Tekosis had poured him wine before. There was still some in a jug, and he poured a generous quantity into a cup and handed it to her. She drank, and he watched her trembling hands as she tried not to spill any.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Priestess? Priestess!’
Silus opened the door to come face to face with a Roman legionary, sword drawn. Behind him, three others were looking around at the death and destruction within the temple.
‘Who are you?’ barked the legionary, pointing his sword towards Silus’ throat. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I am Centurion Silus,’ said Silus calmly. ‘Of the Arcani. Working for Governor Sextus Varius Marcellus.’
‘Oh,’ said the legionary. He dropped his sword and saluted. ‘Sorry, sir. What happened?’
‘I’m trying to find that out myself. The priestess has been assaulted and a priest has been killed. There has been a theft, too.’
‘Theft?’ asked Tekosis, confused. Silus realised that in her fear and distress, she hadn’t noticed that the statue of Isis had been taken.
‘The big gold figurine of your goddess,’ said Silus. ‘The last surviving attacker took it and fled.’
‘Oh no.’ Tekosis held her hand to her chest and paled even more than Silus thought was possible.
‘Was it very valuable?’ he asked.
‘Its value doesn’t matter,’ she snapped. ‘It is my goddess, the personification of her here on earth. It is blessed and sacred. And now the Jews have it, and they will do unholy things to it.’
She put her face in her hands and began to sob again.
‘The Jews?’ asked the legionary, confused.
‘She believes the Jews are behind the attack.’
‘Probably right,’ commented the legionary. ‘Nasty, untrustworthy bunch.’
‘There is no evidence it was them.’
The legionary shrugged non-committally.
Tekosis clutched Silus’ tunic. ‘Silus. Will you find it for me? Please? Bring back our sacred statue. Or the temple will be desecrated.’
Silus hesitated. ‘Legionary, can you give us some privacy for a moment? And can a couple of your men take the man I tied up to a cell at the royal palace so I can question him later?’
‘Of course, sir.’ The legionary left the room and closed the door behind him. Tekosis looked at Silus questioningly. Silus thought for a moment, unsure how to put into words his thoughts, or whether he even should. Tekosis filled the silence.
‘You saved my life.’
‘Maybe. They may not have killed you.’
‘Why not? If they were prepared to desecrate a priestess, why would they stop at killing her? They killed my fellow priest.’
Silus acknowledged her point with an inclination of his head.
‘What did you want to say to me, Silus? Will you help me?’
Silus’ mouth worked as he formulated the words.
‘Yesterday, I asked you for help.’
Tekosis looked at him steadily, face expressionless. Silus continued.
‘You said it was none of your business and you weren’t interested.’
‘I didn’t use those words.’
Silus searched his memory. ‘You said you belong to Isis, and the goddess has no interest in the fate of a Roman boy.’
‘Yes. Something like that.’
‘So tell me, why should I, and the all-powerful Emperor of Rome whom I serve, have any interest in the fate of the religious symbols of your goddess?’
Fury flashed in Tekosis’ eyes. But it didn’t last. Too much fear and emotion had gone through her in the last hour to sustain anything as powerful as anger. Her shoulders slumped.
‘Won’t you do it for me?’
‘Why do you need me? I’m not a native, I don’t know my way around Alexandria.’
‘I know of the Arcani. I know your reputation. I know what you do. I don’t have men working for me who could do this on my behalf. And as you have said, of what interest would it be to the Roman authorities?’
Silus cocked his head on one side. ‘And what will be in it for me?’
Tekosis flushed and pulled her robe tighter around her.
‘Of what help will this be to my mission?’ he clarified.
‘Oh.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Listen. I have no men, no network of spies gathering intelligence on my behalf, no assassins who work for me. But I do know people in this city. People who respect me. I can ask questions on your behalf. Words in the right ears. I can’t guarantee anything. But I can do what I can.’
‘A trade then. My help for yours.’
‘If that’s what it takes to get your help, then yes.’
Silus nodded and extended his hand. ‘We have a deal. I will look for your goddess. You will look for my missing boy.’
Tekosis shook his hand, and he noticed it had regained some strength.
Silus looked around. Tekosis’ private chambers had not been damaged, but he knew the rest of the temple had taken a beating. ‘Do you live here all the time?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you like me to arrange somewhere else for you to stay? Until the place is repaired?’
Tekosis smiled. ‘I will not be driven out of my home and my holy temple. I will stay here.’
‘Very well. I will go and talk to the attacker who survived. And I’ll make sure the legionaries guard the temple, at least for now. I’ll come back when I have more to tell.’
‘Thank you. And I hope I have something for you then as well. And Silus. Keep the theft secret. If it gets out that someone has stolen the sacred statue, the city will explode. That will help no one. I will keep the sacrarium locked, and say I am rededicating it.’
Silus nodded. ‘I’ll tell the legionaries to keep it to themselves too. They won’t want to see a riot either, as it would be them that would have to deal with it.’
Tekosis gave a half-smile. ‘Thank you, Silus. For all of it.’ She took his hand and squeezed it gently, and all the images of snot and tears and vomit and blood and angry words vanished from his mind.