“A bit bruised. Nothing broken. Where’s Anubion?”
“Nikanor threw him into the furnace. There’s nothing left of him.”
Antipater looked aghast, then gave a start. “How do you know that man’s name?”
I sighed. “I know a great deal more than that. I saw Nikanor in the street yesterday and recognized him. I followed him. I know what he was up to, in Olympia and here in Alexandria—spying for Mithridates. So was Anubion. So was Isidorus—and you!”
Antipater drew a sharp breath. His eyes darted this way and that.
“Teacher, why did you deceive me?”
He bit his lip. At last he looked me in the eye. “It was for your own good, Gordianus. Had you known, there were times you might have been in great danger.”
“Are you saying I wasn’t in danger, because I didn’t know? That’s no answer, Teacher!”
“Do you regret coming on our journey, Gordianus? Do you wish you’d never left Rome, never seen the Wonders?”
“That’s not an answer, either. You deceived me. I still don’t know what you were up to, in all the places we’ve been—I can only guess. It’s not a question of whether or not you put me in danger. I was tricked. Tricked into aiding and abetting a spy in the service of an enemy of Rome!”
“Rome is not at war with Mithridates—”
“Not yet!” I shook my head, hardly able to look at him. “At the Great Pyramid, do you remember what you called me? ‘A solver of riddles, like your father.’ You said I had a special ability, a gift from the gods—”
“And so you do, Gordianus.”
“Yet all the time, I didn’t see the riddle right in front of me! What a fool you must think me. Pouring praise in my ear, but secretly despising me.”
“No, Gordianus. That’s not true.”
“Tell me one thing: how much did my father know?”
“About my mission? Nothing.”
“Are you saying you fooled him, as well?”
“I convinced him that I wanted to disappear without a trace, for reasons of my own.”
“And he believed you?”
“It’s not such a far-fetched idea. Beyond a certain age, many men harbor such a fantasy—including your father, I imagine. You wouldn’t understand, Gordianus.”
“Because I’m too young?”
“Exactly. The world is not as simple as you think. Did I deceive you? Yes. As for your father, he had his own unspoken reasons for sending you away—he knew that Rome and her Italian allies were on the brink of war and he wanted you well out of it. So he took the opportunity I offered, and didn’t question me as closely as he might have. That doesn’t make him a fool, only a caring father. As for the choices I’ve made—I have no regrets. Friendship matters, Gordianus, but there are things in this world that matter more. Rome must be stopped. Mithridates offers the only hope. If you had to be kept in the dark, what of it? In the meantime, you went on a journey such as most men can only dream of. You followed your aspirations, Gordianus, and I followed mine.”
I shook my head. I searched for words to rebut him. Suddenly he pushed me away.
“Step back, Gordianus,” he whispered. “Get away from me!”
I wondered at this abrupt change, until I heard the sounds of footsteps coming from the tower. At the same time, the Tritons on the lower parapet began to blare discordant notes.
“I’ll think of some way to explain my presence here, and some explanation for what happened,” he whispered. “But for you, it may not be so easy. Go now! Make your way down the tower and back to the mainland.”
“But how can I—”
“They’ll think you’re a worker. Hurry!”
A group of soldiers poured onto the landing, drawing their swords as they did so. They hardly noticed me. Wearing the green tunic, I appeared to be just another worker, and quite a young one at that. Their attention was drawn to Antipater. Our eyes met a final time, and then he was hidden from sight, encircled by the guards.
One of them began loudly to question him. “What happened here? Who fell? Where is Anubion?”
“It was a terrible thing to witness,” cried Antipater, “the ghastly act of some madman!”
I quietly stepped toward the doorway and into the stairwell leading down. As I descended, trying to keep my face a blank, more armed men passed me coming up the stairs. Still more were ascending by means of the mechanical platform in the central shaft. No one challenged me.
I made my way out of the Pharos and down the long ramp. Above me, the Tritons continued to blare. Some of the workers had gathered in groups and were conferring in agitated whispers, but others went about their business, as yet unaware of what had happened. The crowded ferry was just leaving as I arrived. I was the last person to board—just one more figure in a green tunic among so many others.
As we cast off, I suddenly realized that I had no reason to flee the Pharos. I had done nothing wrong. It was Antipater who had insisted that I go. Was it because he wished to spare me the ordeal of an interrogation—or because he feared that I might blurt out the truth to the guards and expose him as the spy of a foreign king? Once again, I had unwittingly allowed him to manipulate me.
I turned and gazed up at the Pharos. At the uppermost parapet, amid the glitter of soldiers’ helmets, I saw a shock of white hair. That was my last fleeting glimpse of Antipater.
* * *
After landing at the wharf, I discreetly discarded the green tunic and went directly to the dwelling of Isidorus. Soldiers had reached the house ahead of me and were swarming in the street outside. There could have been no better demonstration of the swiftness and efficacy of the Pharos signaling system.
I walked away as quickly as I could without drawing attention to myself. In my mind I enumerated the few possessions I had kept in my room. I would have to do without them.
I slept that night in the open, not a terrible hardship in such a warm, dry climate. The next day, I tried to think through my position. As long as Antipater made no mention of me to the authorities, no one had any reason to connect me to the deaths at the Pharos. Isidorus’s slave might have overheard my name, but the woman knew nothing else about me. No one else in Alexandria even knew of my existence, except the professional receiver of letters and the banker who was holding the funds from my father in trust for me. As I saw it, I had no cause to fear the authorities.
Later that day, I decided to pay a visit to the banker—or more precisely, to one of the clerks who met with clients on his behalf. I half-feared that some of King Ptolemy’s soldiers would appear from nowhere and seize me, but the man was happy to give me the minuscule disbursement I requested.
“Also, a message was left for you this morning,” he said, producing a small scroll of papyrus tied with a ribbon.
I went to a public garden nearby and found a patch of grass next to a palm tree. A mule was tied to the trunk—his young owner was nearby, talking to some other boys—so I chose a spot on the opposite side of the tree, sat with my back against it, and opened the letter.
There was no salutation and no signature—nothing to compromise either of us, should the letter fall into the wrong hands.
I hope you will remember all that was good in our travels. Forget all that was bad. If that means forgetting me, so be it.
I will not ask you to forgive me, for that would imply remorse, and I do not regret the choices I made. I promised to show you the Seven Wonders; I did. I promised your father that I would see you safely to our final destination; I did. You will say I hid things from you, but every man has secrets, even you.
I am leaving Egypt. You will not see me again, at least not here.
You should stay in Alexandria, if you wish. I had intended to leave a few drachmas for you with the banker, adding them to the funds from your father; but the record of such a deposit might someday be misconstrued as a payment—evidence of an affiliation between you and me that does not exist. I would not want that to happen; nor would you, I think. Eventually you may need to find work, but for a young man as clever as you, that should be no problem.