“The Roman has killed a cat!” he shouted, then, in a hysterical shriek: “THE ROMAN HAS MURDERED A CAT!”
The people in the street stared, mouths agape. They stared at me, then looked down at the wretched beast, as if they could not comprehend the sheer sacrilegious horror of what they saw.
“He killed a cat!” they began to murmur, in both Greek and Egyptian. “The Roman killed a cat!” It did not take them long to get over their shock as I sidled away from the little corpse. Then:
“KILL THE ROMAN! KILL THE CAT-MURDERER!”
I began to retrace my steps at great speed. This time I was encumbered with the heavy book, and it was my second life-and-death race of the morning. I thought of that Greek with the interminable name who had run from Marathon to Sparta and back to Marathon and then all the way to Athens, where he dropped dead, which served him right. After all, he didn’t have a rampaging Alexandrian mob on his heels.
Every time I looked back over my shoulder, the mob was getting bigger. News of the enormity I had committed flew faster than I would have credited possible. They were calling not just for my death but for the death of all Romans. But they wanted to start with me.
It seemed ridiculous to me to be rent asunder by a rampaging mob for killing a cat. But to have this happen over a cat-slaying of which I was entirely innocent was beyond endurance. I had little love for the slinky beasts, but it never would have occurred to me to slaughter one.
I was out of the Rakhotis as if I wore the winged sandals of Mercury, but I was far from safe. The mob rampaged into the Greek quarter and picked up strength even there. There are Egyptians in all the quarters of Alexandria, and there are always people in any city who will jump at any chance to join a riot. I had done it myself, when the riot was in a good cause.
I ran by the Macedonian barracks, screaming, “Riot! Riot! Turn out the troops! The city is aflame!” The soldiers on parade looked bewildered, but officers barked orders and the drums began to beat and the trumpets to bray.
I looked behind me to see the soldiers boil out of the gates and collide with the following mob. Many got through, and they continued to pursue me. I tried to turn up a street that led northward, toward the Palace, but members of the mob had got there ahead of me and cut me off. That was more of Ataxas’s doing. Why hadn’t I killed the fiend when I had him at my mercy?
There was nothing for it but to continue fleeing east, all the way to the delta if need be. I was gasping heavily by this time, bringing up phlegm with every wheeze. I began to see men in long robes wearing pointed caps and their hair loose about their shoulders. That meant I was in the Jewish quarter. These were the traditional Jews, for most of the Jews of Alexandria were dressed and barbered like Greeks, and many of them spoke no language except Greek.
With a final burst of speed I got far ahead of the cat-avengers and darted down an alley. It was intersected by another alley and I took that one. This was refreshing, almost like Rome. I pounded on a door.
“Let me in!” I begged.
“What is it?” The voice came from overhead. It belonged to a man with thin features, dressed in a red-and-white robe. His eyes had a slightly fanatic gleam.
“The Egyptians are after me!” I said.
“I don’t like Egyptians,” the man remarked. “They kept my people in bondage for many generations.”
“Then you’ll save me from them! They think I killed a cat!”
“The Egyptians are uncircumcised idolaters,” he said. “They worship animals and animal-headed gods.” That was certainly true, although I had no idea what the state of their penises had to do with anything.
“The Macedonians went out to suppress the riot,” I said, “but some got through and they’re after me. Let me in!”
“I don’t like the Macedonians either,” he said. “King Antiochus Epiphanes killed our priests and befouled the Holy of Holies!”
I was growing impatient.
“Listen. I am a Senator of Rome, attached to the diplomatic mission. Rome will reward you richly if you will just let me in!”
“And I don’t like Romans!” he screamed. “Your General Pompey stormed the Temple Mount and violated our Holy of Holies and seized the Temple treasury!” I had to run into one who held a grudge. Somebody rugged at my shoulder and I turned to see a man in Greek dress.
“Come with me,” he said urgently. “They are no more than a street away.” I followed him down the alley and through a low doorway. The room we entered was modest, with spare furnishings. “Amos is the wrong man to ask for aid,” he said. “He’s half cracked. My name is Simeon son of Simeon.”