Sweet Sophia, what blasphemy! This can’t be happening? Surely that centurion’s not going to hack off Serapis’ head with the axe he snatched from the Commander? He’s no god of mine, but Serapis is as old as Alexandria.
The centurion’s nearly reached Serapis’ shoulder, nearly at our level: neck level. We stare gormless as fools. Aeson, the Librarian and his slave, all of us clench the balcony ledge for support. They’re gobsmacked. My jaw’s slack too.
The centurion looks up from the ladder with greed for the promised gold – then looks down at the upturned faces and waves the axe. There’s no cheer of support. Everyone’s petrified. Will the skies fall? Will the ground swallow us up?
My breath catches high in my chest. What would Dera do now? Should I pray? Yes, I’ll pray. ‘Aoi-aoi-aoi…’
‘Stop that, dear.’
Where is Dera? It’s impossible to single him out in the squash of bodies packed into the sacred precinct below.
‘Aeson, can you see Dera?’
He leans over the balcony, muscles in his forearms tense as he swings forward on the wide ledge to peer under the arcades of the courtyard.
Rufius is wheezing with worry. ‘Can you see my boys? Apollinos, where are you?’
We should have stayed together.
Aeson? His mouth gapes open in shock. ‘Sacrilege. This is sacrilege. That centurion, he can’t… Serapis, stop him!’ Aeson’s words blurt out in a panic.
Turn neck, turn: I must face Aeson to know he hears my words. He must snap out of it. Aeson must keep his wits. Twisting my neck hurts more everyday.
‘Aeson, we are watching Dera’s prophecy unfold. Dera’s teacher, Antoninus, dead and buried now, saw it before him. I have seen it too. Serapis will die today.’ My voice sounds far away from me.
I can’t hold this position: my neck’s seizing-up. Sweet Sophia, keep me supple, at least until Aeson is safe, keep me mobile. Henite would massage my spine when the tightness set in. A tear splats the pink granite ledge. It’s mine but I can’t feel my face.
This scene below, this was in my vision: black-hooded monks, helmets glinting in the sun, the centurion on the ladder climbing in our direction, the tall evil Archbishop, all fade in and out of focus, their edges brushed out like we’re in a desert haze. Rubbing my eyes doesn’t help solidify the scene. My vision is happening now. The marble ledge feels solid but this moment has collided with prophecy.
What’s Aeson saying?
The sound’s gone.
What’s he looking at? Why’s he pointing?
My head turns slowly, movement is thick; everything is slowing down. What’s Aeson shouting about? Why’s he climbing onto the edge? Rufius is trying to stop him. He’s shouting too. They’re looking at the ladder, but it’s not the centurion Aeson’s climbed on to the ledge to meet.
Sweet Sophia, it’s Lanky! He’s on the ladder, close behind the centurion. He’s coming for Aeson.
Come on neck, bend. I know what happens next, but I must witness it, like a compulsion. I have to watch the events for real, for them to be real. That’s it, an awkward angle but if I can hold this contorted body, one arm on the ledge, and lean my weight into my stick, I’ll be able to see the demon coming. Come on, demon. I’m ready for you.
Lanky looks up at the centurion. So do we.
The centurion’s at chin height now, level with the fourth floor. His mouth is wide open, ferocious like a lion roaring before a kill. Serapis waits, bushel of grain on his head – the grain he makes grow when he floods the Nile. The centurion swings the axe in circles to build up inertia, sunbeams flash white off the double-headed blade.
We hold our breath.
The axe swings into his jaw.
His attack gains force. There’s a dent in the metal of Serapis’ jaw. Hollow? The god is hollow! Splinters of wood chip and fly out at every bash of the axe. It’s speeding up now, faster, faster he swings.
Sweet Sophia, the noise! My ears are working again. The mob is wild in the sacred precinct below… no thunder, no earthquake… only the sound of metal bashing metal again, and again, and again. Sobs choke up into my throat with each strike.
‘Fake. Fake. Fake. Fake,’ chant the monks.
Victory and relief heckles from the mob: they’re jubilant.
‘The sky’s still there –’
‘The sun’s still shining –’
‘The old gods are dead –’
Theophilus raises his arms, his black cloak spread out like bat’s wings. ‘In God’s name, bring the false god to his knees. You see what tricks your priests have played with you. Hollow! The idol is hollow…’
The Archbishop rages on, but my gaze is fixed on Lanky. Sweet Sophia he’s jumped on the ledge where Aeson waits for him. The one-eyed devil grins. They fly at each other like gladiators in the arena. Like dogs set on each other in a pit, they bare their teeth and lash their knives at each other. Hate makes men ugly. Their feet shuffle near the edge of the ledge, but they don’t care if they fall…
Sweet Sophia! Aeson’s down. Lanky throws himself on top of him, black cloak shrouds them both…
… Lanky’s up. He grabs a fist full of Aeson’s hair and yanks him up.
‘Prepare to die, Pretty.’ Lanky’s knife is at Aeson’s throat.
‘Cassius, do something!’ Rufius and Cassius try to grab Lanky’s legs. The demon kicks back, sending Rufius flying.
I can’t save him from down here. I need to get up on the ledge.
Sophia, give me the strength. Bless me with mobility, just this once. My arms are strong: I can pull my body up onto the ledge.
‘Cassius, leave me – get Kiya off that ledge, dear.’
Now, crawl, crawl to him. His ankle. If I get his ankle I can topple him.
‘I’ll kill you Lanky.’
Got it.
Lanky lets out a yelp. ‘Snake Bitch!’
Kick as much as you like, Demon. I won’t let go. His free foot kicks me in the face. That hurt. My blood tastes metallic. I’m not letting go.
‘Leave her ALONE!’ Aeson punches him. The demon’s head swivels as if it will turn right round on his neck. He’s losing his balance; now’s my chance… I don’t have the strength to push you, but this broken body can pull you… I’m going to kill you demon. Shift my legs to the edge, that’s it. Now, reach for his ankle with my other hand. Got it. You won’t kick me off like a dog this time. Ready to fly, Lanky?
Aeson runs at us, lands stomach down on the ledge arms out stretched.
‘KIYAAAAA!’
… Oh, Sweet Sophia, what have I done? My heart stabs in shock, my hand releases his ankle; Lanky’s falling faster – he’ll die before me… alarmed faces in the sacred precinct look up, fighting bodies part… we’ll land by the foot of Serapis… the lightness of falling… Sophia will have eaten all the dormice by now. Keep her safe, Sweet Sophia…