The Temple of the Muses(75)

I had to give chase, but I had some urgent business to transact. I was tempted to piss on Memnon, but it is inadvisable to abuse the bodies of the dead. I have never been superstitious, but it always pays to be cautious. Look at what happened to Achillas after he dragged Hector behind his chariot. A vase served adequately, and I resheathed my sword without bothering to wipe it off. Another job for Hermes.

I was out the door in time to see Ataxas’s dwindling form disappear around a corner of the theater. I ran after him, to the great curiosity of the citizens who were beginning to populate the streets.

It was an interesting race. Each of us had certain advantages and disadvantages. And the stakes were very high. Ataxas was encumbered by the heavy book. but he had a head start. He was an ex-slave who had probably never spent an hour in the palaestra, much less in the stadium, whereas I had had all the usual military training, although I was out of condition. If he could get to his temple, he would be safe. I was a Roman in a city where Romans were rapidly growing unwelcome and were soon to be targets of hostility.

Here the streets of Alexandria worked to may advantage. The wide boulevards, the long, straight blocks, made it virtually impossible for him to get out of mv sight for more than a few seconds. I was gaining on him, impatient to catch him but knowing better than to put on a sudden burst of speed that would leave me gagging on the pavement before we even reached the Rakhotis.

We passed market stalls and rumbling farm carts, braying asses and groaning, ill-smelling camels and even a couple of elephants bound for some ceremonial in the Hippodrome. Chickens scattered before us and cats watched us warily. People looked at us with interest and then went back to what they were doing. Alexandria is a city of many spectacles, and we made a sorry spectacle, indeed.

I noted that the complexion of the crowd had grown darker. White kilts and black wigs came to predominate. We were in the Rakhotis. Now I became acutely conscious of my Roman haircut and generally Latin features. If I had been chasing an Egyptian, I would probably have been mobbed immediately. I had to catch Ataxas and get out of there before they decided to do it anyway.

I reached him just before the street we were on opened onto the huge plaza surrounding the Great Serapeum. I was tempted to spit him with my sword, but something that public and that outrageous would undoubtedly result in my death, probably on the altar of some disgusting god with the head of a warthog. So instead I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

He was red-faced and gasping, trembling with exhaustion as I shoved him back into a space between two buildings. A couple of cats paused in their contest over the remains of a fish long enough to hiss at us. Triumphantly, I snatched the scroll from his arms. He made a halfhearted grab for his shortened axe, but I kicked him in the crotch and that made him change his mind.

“Don’t mistake me for some helpless mathematician, Ataxas,” I said to him as he writhed on the cobbles. “It takes more than some jumped-up runaway slave to kill a Caecilius Metellus.”

“How much do you want, Roman?” he gasped. “I will make you rich beyond your wildest ambitions. There is a whole country here to loot.”

“I just want to see what Ptolemy does to you. Or possibly your own followers when they see Ataxas is a runaway Greek slave in a wig and a false beard. The king’s soldiers will go into your temple with sledgehammers and smash your trick statue and tear up the floors and walls to find the pipes you used to fake the sound of Baal-Ahriman’s voice. You’ll probably be pulled apart and devoured by priestesses with lacerated backs to avenge.”

“You place great faith in Ptolemy, Roman,” Ataxas said. “His time is over, as is the ascendancy of Rome in Egypt.” He had worked his way back up to his knees.

“Not after I get back to the Palace with this,” I said, shaking the document in his face.

“That may not be as easy as you think, Roman,” he said, with no small measure of truth. I was in the Rakhotis, and these were bad times to be a Roman in that part of the city.

“Farewell, Ataxas,” I said. “I’ll come to your execution, should you live long enough to be sentenced.” I turned and walked to the mouth of the alley. Before going out, I stopped and looked out into the street. It was getting crowded, but nobody was paying me any attention. Just as I stepped out into the street, I heard a horrible squalling sound that cut off suddenly. I could only think that it was Ataxas making some inarticulate sound of rage. Then something hit me squarely between the shoulder blades and flopped to the pavement. I turned, bewildered. Something gray and furry lay at my feet, inert. It was all so unexpected that at first I didn’t recognize the thing. Then Ataxas ran past me into the street, pointing at me, his eyes wide with horror.