‘Alexandria.’ My cabin boy sighs like he’s watching the love of his life. So do I. ‘It’s the shiniest city I ever seen, sir.’
‘Yes, Kelso, it is.’ The haze is still blurring the view no matter how much I squint to pinpoint the Serapeum in the distance.
We hang over the side of the ship, and let the spray pitter-patter up our arms as sailor boys run about the deck, climb masts and shout above our heads. Nearly home. How could I have stayed away so long?
With a jerk and creak the ship is manoeuvred from the open sea into the less choppy waters of The Great Harbour. I wish this boat would hurry up and dock. My childlike excitement matches Kelso’s, but I’m anxious too… how will it be with Rufius… now I’m a man? The saltwater’s left little white splashes on my forearms… will my hard muscles repulse him?
‘Sir, what’s that big gold roof behind the docks?’
‘That’s the Museum.’
The boy’s gaze follows my finger, eager to explore the city skyline. ‘Beyond the Library warehouses is the Emporium, and behind that… can you see those two obelisks? That’s the Agora.’
‘Where’s the Temple of Serapis?’
‘Hidden under the mist. Look to your right where the land rises upwards.’
‘All I see is the city wall… there’s a hill in front of it, but it’s covered in clouds.’
‘Keep your eyes peeled. The mist will rise soon and you’ll see the most magnificent temple in the world on top of that hill.’
Passengers jostle for the best position to see the Serapeum; some mumble to Apollo to give them a view from the harbour. Here comes the Captain with his black-toothed pirate grin, skin more charred than when we set sail from Constantinople.
‘Look everyone, the mist’s rising – keep looking. See her pink walls, like a fortress. These old sea legs go weak every time I see The Temple.’ The aging sea dog will be flogging tourist tickets after he’s whet their interest.
Kelso bounces on the balls of his feet. The mist raises its white skirts like teasing maidens, ever so slow, as the ship glides past the Lighthouse.
‘Keep looking, Kelso, you’ll see it soon.’
‘Serapeum. Starboard,’ bellows the Captain.
‘Ahhh!’ A collective sigh as passengers’ heads turn in unison to their right.
The Serapeum, elevated on its hill above the city, glows bold pink in the morning sun: now I’m home. A deep line of blue tapers into the canal that weaves around the Serapeum and the city walls, then into Lake Mareotis and out to the Nile that snakes into Egypt, green shores and the barren desert beyond.
‘It’s a temple for giants!’
I tousle Kelso’s hair. The nights would have been longer without him… but only one man can quell my loneliness. Can I see Biblos from here?
‘What is that?’ Kelso’s finger points to the sandy dunes outside the city walls, beyond the Western Necropolis.
‘Looks like a plague of locust swarming down the dunes, but they can’t be insects…’ the distance is making whatever that moving herd is appear smaller. Even from the city, the sand dunes of the Western desert are a long way off. If the approaching herd is making any noise, we’re too far away to hear it. The slop of waves against the hull and the yells of the deckhands are all we can hear out here in the harbour. They don’t move like animals. My gut clenches. ‘Captain, what is that?’
Kelso leans further over the side and squints. So do the other passengers.
The Captain frowns and yells up at the lookout, ‘What do you see, boy?’
‘MONKS!’ The panicked yell of the watch competes with the screams of seagulls high above our heads.
‘Monks, sir, they are.’ The Captain’s gruff voice is full of disdain. ‘Religious revolution’s no good for the tourist trade.’
My breath’s caught in my chest. Feels like I’m wearing heavy stones, not sandals, when I try to shuffle down the deck.
‘Just like Athens. That’s how it started there.’ The Captain clears his throat and spits. ‘The bishops calls ’em in from their monasteries and the swine come running in their black rags.’
‘It’s against the law for monks to enter cities.’
The man next to me has been with us from Constantinople. Round his neck hangs a cross. ‘Who’s going to remind that ignorant horde of the law? There’ll be blood on Alexandria’s streets tonight, Captain, mark my words. Best stay away from the temples.’ Even Christians are repulsed by monks.
‘That’s difficult in Alexandria: there’s a temple on every corner.’ My tone is sharp.
‘They won’t touch the Serapeum.’ The Captain spits again, oblivious to the sympathies of his cross-wearing passenger. ‘Not even the monks would dare mess with the jewel of Egypt.’
‘I have to get to the city, Captain, before that black army arrives.’
‘That mob will reach the city before noon.’
‘Fire! Fire! East. Fire!’ The lookout’s voice sends panic across deck. Heads turn away from the army of monks. Over the tiled rooftops of the ghetto a thin flute of black smoke rises into the hazy-blue sky. From this distance it looks harmless like the exhalation of a pipe-smoker.
Get your bearings, Aeson. Where’s the Temple of Dionysus in relation to the smoke?
‘What’s burning?’ My voice is trembling.
The Captain nods, black teeth clench, his attention is on the lookout.
‘What do you see, lad?’
‘Temple of Dionysus on fire,’ shouts the lookout.
‘NO!’
The Captain catches my urgency.
‘And the buildings nearby? Can you see, lad?’
‘Just the temple.’
‘That’s the pattern we’ve witnessed in other cities, sir: the monks target the old religions first.’
A passenger chips in. ‘Same as Athens.’
‘It is, sir, indeed it is. Safer at sea than on land these days. When they’ve destroyed the pagan temples, they’ll move on to the small fry: their own kind, the heretic churches.’
I can’t take anymore of this gruff old sea dog’s complacency.
‘Captain, can’t this boat move any faster?’ My voice trembles with impatience.
‘Calm, sir. That smoke’s no fire. It’s a mere smouldering, a bonfire.’
Henite and Kiya don’t burn their rubbish – it goes to the tips, to avoid drawing attention to themselves.
Passengers look alarmed – heads dart from the smoke to the approaching monks.
‘Stay calm everyone; no need to let a little religious fervour spoil your trip. Serapis is untouchable. The Serapeum is safe to visit. We’ll dock here tonight.’
He’s thinking profit.
‘Get the Artemis docked, Captain!’ It’s an order. I learnt that sharp tone from Rufius. I rarely use it. ‘Back downstairs, Kelso. I need your help.’
‘Egypt.’ The Captain bellows our arrival and frowns as I rush down the gangway before he’s given the signal to disembark, pirate grin set stiff in his face like comic graffiti scribbled on the wall of a public toilet.
‘Sail on the Artemis again. Avoid the temples tonight,’ shouts a deckhand.
The wooden walkway lunges sideways to the mooring as I grab the rope.
‘Tickets for the Museum, Pharos and Temple of Serapis – buy at a discount from your cabin slaves. Disembark for Alexandria.’
The deckhand delivers his stock line to the group behind me. ‘Pleasure to sail with you, sirs. Don’t forget to buy your tickets for the wonders of Alexandria.’
Business goes on as usual in the tourist trade!
Solid ground feels strange. My legs sway with the rhythm of the sea. The hum of the docks waking up comes into earshot: deckhands shout orders, cargoes lugged here and there, roars of wild animals in cages that swing from pulleys. Incense… sandalwood and frankincense… and camel shit: the smell of home.
Library slaves at the customs desk look more like regal concubines. Rufius has certainly made his mark as Director of the Scriptorium.
‘Copy and return service. Declare your books for the Great Library of Alexandria.’
For Serapis’ sake! Rufius has upped security. Every boat moored has a desk at the end of it. I could push past the guards and make a dash for it up Neptune Street… but what if they catch me and lock me up? My priority is to reach my friends to warn them about the monks… if I’m not too late. I’ll have to declare The Book of Wisdom. Rufius will have to help me get it back. I want Kiya to have this one, penned on the best quality parchment in Tyrian ink. It took me ages to copy, hunched over the Library of Constantinople’s version.
‘Any books to declare, sir? Bag for searching, please.’ The slave looks at my bag in anticipation. It was never this strict before. They always searched the boats, but not a passengers’ personal hand luggage.
I look towards the Temple of Neptune. Or shall I make a run for it? Soldiers stand shoulder to shoulder with armed Library Guards along the exits from the harbour. Why all the security?
Passengers from the Artemis shove past me. The two library slaves in pristine white tunics with plaited leather belts both look up at me impatiently. The rope between me and the streets that lead into the city makes my heart leap at the thought of being detained. I need to get to the Temple of Dionysus.
‘Sir, your bag, please… if you could give your papers to my colleague.’
‘Just this book.’ I take the leather bound codex from my bag and put it on the desk.
‘Name?’
‘Aeson Biblus Catamitus.’ Curiosity lights up the official’s face. My cheeks heat under his gaze. These are Rufius’ staff. Everyone at The Library knows the name Biblus and the gossip about the scandalous cinaedus who adopted his lover.
‘Papers, master Biblus.’ Extra polite. This is Alexandria. They don’t care. Rufius is his boss: end of story.
The slave takes my identity papers and copies the description onto his parchment on the large desk. I’d forgotten how beautifully Alexandrian scribes write.
‘Skin: honey-coloured.’ He looks up.
‘Distinguishing marks: none.’
‘Eyes: blue.’ His dark Egyptian gaze meets mine for an instant. Slaves know better than to hold a stare, even Library slaves.
I don’t have time for the bureaucracy.
‘I’m late for an appointment.’ Careful, don’t sound too impolite. This is the only bit of power they have.
‘Welcome home, sir. The new process takes a little longer. Your residence in Alexandria?’
‘Villa Biblos.’
‘First two words of the book?’
‘Aoi, aoi.’
‘What’s that? Spell it please, sir.’
The Library official leans forward to listen to our conversation. Have they been asked to listen out for heretical books entering the city? Officials were confiscating books in Athens. No, Alexandria is not Athens and Rufius is always on the look out for heretical books. It’s his business. I’m being paranoid.
‘Alpha, Omicron, Iota.’
‘Here’s your book collection ticket. It will be ready to collect in one month. There’s a fast service for a fee if you need it sooner?’
My hand shakes as I snatch the small square of parchment.
‘One month is fine.’ Rufius will get it back sooner than that.
‘Thank you, sir.’
At last! His colleague lifts the rope from its bronze post.
Now, let’s get out of here. I duck into a familiar street just before the Temple of Neptune, drop the folds of my toga on the ground and step out of it. Stomach muscles and thighs clench: time to run.
The image of hundreds of monks in black robes racing into the city fires my limbs to a speed I’ve forgotten I had since being chased through these same streets in my youth. Good job I kept up my exercise regime on board ship. The ground beneath me feels as though it’s still swaying with the waves as I speed past familiar buildings. My legs remember the short cuts to Dionysus Street without thinking about the way. Serapis, keep my friends safe.