'Yes… I… do,' she said, mocking my Roman accent. Alexandrian children acquire a penchant for sarcasm very early in life. 'You do talk funny.'
'Like the other man, you said.'
'Yes.'
'You mean the man in the blue tunic, the one they ran after for killing the cat?'
Her round face lengthened a bit. 'No, I never heard him talk, except when the baker and his friends came after him, and then he screamed. But I can scream louder.'
She seemed ready to demonstrate, so I nodded quickly. 'Who then? Who talks like I do? Ah, yes, the man with the funny beard,' I said, but I knew I must be wrong even as I spoke, for the man had looked quite Egyptian to me, and certainly not Roman.
'No, not him, silly. The other man.'
'What other man?'
'The man who was here yesterday, the one with the runny nose. I heard them talking together, over there on the corner, the funny beard and the one who sounds like you. They were talking and pointing and looking serious, the one with the beard pulling on his beard and the one with the runny nose blowing his nose, but finally they thought of something funny and they both laughed. 'And to think, your cousin is such a lover of cats!' said the funny beard. I could tell that they were planning a joke on somebody. I forgot all about it until this morning, when I saw the funny beard again and he asked me to scream when I saw the cat.'
'I see. He gave you the doll, then he showed you the cat-'
'Yes, looking so dead it fooled everybody. Even the priests, just now!'
'The man with the funny beard showed you the cat, you screamed, people came running-then what happened?'
'The funny beard pointed at a man who was walking up the street and he shouted, 'The Roman did it! The man in blue! He killed the cat!'' She recited the lines with great conviction, holding up her doll as if it were an actor.
'The man with the runny nose, who talked like me,' I said. 'You're sure there was mention of his cousin?'
'Oh yes. I have a cousin, too. I play tricks on him all the time.'
'What did this man with a runny nose and a Roman accent look like?'
She shrugged. 'A man.'
'Yes, but tall or short, young or old?'
She thought for a moment, then shrugged again. 'Just a man, like you. Like the man in the blue tunic. All Romans look the same to me.'
She grinned. Then she screamed again, just to show me how well she could do it.
By the time I got back to the square, a troop of King Ptolemy's soldiers had arrived from the palace and were attempting, with limited success, to push back the mob. The soldiers were vastly outnumbered, and the mob would be pushed back only so far. Rocks and bricks were hurled against the building from time to time, some of them striking the already cracked shutters. It appeared that a serious attempt had been made to batter down the door, but the door had stood firm.
A factotum from the royal palace, a eunuch to judge by his high voice, appeared at the highest place in the square. This was a rooftop next to the besieged house. He tried to quiet the mob below, assuring them that justice would be done. It was in King Ptolemy's interest, of course, to quell what might become an international incident; the murder of a wealthy Roman merchant by the people of Alexandria could cause him great political damage.
The eunuch warbled on, but the mob was unimpressed. To them, the issue was simple and clear: a Roman had ruthlessly murdered a cat, and they would not be satisfied until the Roman was dead. They took up their chant again, drowning out the eunuch: 'Come out! Come out! Killer of the cat!'
The eunuch withdrew from the rooftop.
I had decided to get inside the house of Marcus Lepidus. Caution told me that such a course was mad-for how could I ever get out alive once I was in? — and at any rate, apparently impossible, for if there was a simple way to get into the house the mob would already have found it. Then it occurred to me that someone standing on the same rooftop where Ptolemy's eunuch had stood could conceivably jump or be lowered onto the roof of the besieged house.
It all seemed like a great deal of effort, until I heard the plaintive echo of the stranger's voice inside my head: 'Help me! Save me!'
And of course: 'I'll reward you!'
The building from which the eunuch spoke had been commandeered by soldiers, as had the other buildings adjacent to the besieged house, as a precaution to keep the mob from gaining entry through an adjoining wall or setting fire to the whole block. It took some doing to convince the guards to let me in, but the feet that I was a Roman and claimed to know Marcus Lepidus eventually gained me an audience with the king's eunuch.
Royal servants come and go in Alexandria; those who fail to satisfy their master become food for crocodiles and are quickly replaced. This royal servant was clearly feeling the pressure of serving a monarch who might snuff out his life with the mere arching of an eyebrow. He had been sent to quell an angry mob and to save the life of a Roman citizen, and at the moment his chances of succeeding looked distinctly uncertain. He could call for more troops, and slaughter the mob, but such a bloodbath might escalate into an even graver situation. Complicating matters even more was the presence of a high priest of Bast, who dogged (if I may use that expression) the eunuch's every step, yowling and waving his orange robes and demanding that justice be done at once in the name of the murdered cat.
The beleaguered eunuch was receptive to any ideas that I might have to suggest. 'You're a friend of this other Roman, the man the mob is after?' he asked.
'The murderer' the high priest corrected.
'An acquaintance of the man, yes,' I said-and truthfully, if having exchanged a few desperate words after colliding in the street could be called an acquaintance. 'In fact, I'm his agent. He's hired me to get him out of this mess.' This was also true, after a fashion. 'And I think I know who really killed the cat.' This was not quite true, but might become so if the eunuch would cooperate with me. 'You must get me into Marcus Lepidus's house. I was thinking that your soldiers might lower me onto his roof by a rope.'
The eunuch became thoughtful. 'By the same route, we might rescue Marcus Lepidus himself by having him climb the same rope up onto this building, where my men can better protect him.'
'Rescue a cat killer? Give him armed protection?' The priest was outraged. The eunuch bit his lip.
At last it was agreed that the king's men would supply a rope by which I could make my way onto the roof of the besieged house. 'But you cannot return to this building by the same route,' the eunuch insisted.
'Why not?' I had a sudden vision of the house being set aflame with myself inside it, or of an angry mob breaking through the door and killing all the inhabitants with knives and clubs.
'Because the rope will be visible from the square,' snapped the eunuch. 'If the mob sees anyone leaving the house, they'll assume it's the man they're after. Then they'll break into this building! No, I'll allow you passage to your countryman's house, but after that you'll be on your own.'
I thought for a moment and then agreed. Behind the eunuch, the high priest of Bast smiled like a cat, no doubt anticipating my imminent demise and purring at the idea of yet another impious Roman departing from the shores of the living.
As I was lowered onto the merchant's roof, his household slaves realized what was happening and sounded an alarm. They surrounded me at once and seemed determined to throw me into the square below, but I held up my hands to show them that I was unarmed and I cried out that I was a friend of Marcus Lepidus. My Latin seemed to sway them. At last they took me down a flight of steps to meet their master.
The man in blue had withdrawn to a small chamber which I took to be his office, for it was cluttered with scrolls and scraps of papyrus.
He looked at me warily, then recognized me. 'You're the man I ran into, on the street. But why have you come here?'
'Because you asked for my help, Marcus Lepidus. And because you offered me a reward,' I said bluntly. 'My name is Gordianus.'
