Keeper of the Flame (24 page)

They reached the central gallery with its branching lecture rooms that altogether could have held the entire Roman legion stationed in Alexandria. Bellus read aloud the words carved high on the wall of the Great Hall: “The Place of the Cure of the Mind.”

Sophia showed Bellus the remaining halls, but he was clearly overwhelmed by what he had seen and grew silent long before they circled back to the main entrance and emerged into the sun. She stopped him on the Library’s portico and gripped his arm. “Do you see,” she said, her eyes pleading with him, “why Rome must not be allowed to overrun Alexandria?”

He covered her hand with his own. “What will be, will be. But I have also seen a thirst for knowledge in Rome, Sophia. What the Greeks have accomplished will not be forgotten. It will be built upon and expanded, I am certain.”

She looked over the marble city and exhaled. “Would that I could be as certain.”

“Come. I am hungry.” He took her hand and pulled her down the Library’s grand steps, then down the street to their waiting
horse and cart. Two obols to the boy, and they were on their way again, side-by-side through the city.

Sophia let him take the lead now, and soon saw that they would enter the agora.

After the sacred hush of the Library, the noise and heat and color of the market was like an assault. They left the cart once again and Bellus led her through the agora, as though he knew his destination. Fabric dealers called out to Sophia, their reds and yellows and oranges heavy and inviting. She and Bellus crossed the perfume section, then through the spices. Sophia’s head swam, and still Bellus led her forward.

But when a jewelry dealer hailed Bellus and suggested he take home a bit of gold to his woman, he finally slowed.

The merchant saw his invitation and bustled forward, bony fingers draped with delicate chains. “You and your friend will find good deals here for your ladies,” he said, then flicked a glance at Sophia. She looked away, not needing to see the usual surprise, followed by distress. “Begging your pardon, my lady.” He bowed, bending his ropy neck toward the dirt. “I did not—”

“How much for this one?” Bellus said, and Sophia eyed the beautiful piece, beaded with lapis lazuli on links of gold. She wondered whose neck it would adorn and moved away to study the wares at the next table.

“Sophia, come and try it on.”

She turned back to Bellus. “I am not a fitting subject on which to test its beauty. You should find someone young and pretty to see how it looks.”

Bellus frowned. “But it is for you.”

Sophia jerked her head toward the next merchant. “That is not amusing.”

Bellus returned the necklace to the dealer and drew close to her. “I was not trying to amuse you. I was trying to buy you a gift.”

She studied his face.
Is he in earnest?
“Look at me, Bellus.” She indicated her tunic, her hair, everything. “I cannot wear that.”

He reached a hand to her throat and traced a line where the necklace would lay. “I think you would look beautiful with those beads around your neck.”

She wanted him to take his hand away before he felt the frantic pounding in her throat. She licked her suddenly dry lips and swallowed. “Even so”—the words came out in a raspy croak—“I cannot accept it.”

He dropped his hand and nodded, as though he knew it had been a foolish idea. “Come, it grows late.”

Indeed, the sun had begun to dip below the marble façade of the city, and the merchants they passed were packing their treasures into crates to await the next market day. Bellus hailed a meat merchant as though he were an old friend. The man’s stained apron stretched over his ample belly, and he swayed as he walked toward them.

“You are late today, centurion.” The big man grinned, a partially toothless smile that brought to Sophia’s mind one of the monkeys they had seen in the Museum’s zoo.

“On a tour of your great city.” Bellus gripped the man’s arm. “Couldn’t pull myself away.”

“Ah”—the merchant bowed to Sophia—“and you have a most knowledgeable guide, I see.”

Sophia nodded a greeting.

“Any pheasant still left?” Bellus peered over the merchant’s shoulder.

“For you, I will find something.” He retreated to an iron pot
suspended over a smoldering fire, dug out some brownish stew and ladled it onto a stone plate. He tossed some flat bread on the plate, then brought it to Bellus and glanced at Sophia. “For the lady, as well?”

Sophia shook her head. She had never eaten in the agora, nor eaten standing on her feet.

Bellus scooped a piece of pheasant with the bread and held it out to her. “Oh, but you must try Barakah’s stew, Sophia. He is a magician with meat.”

Nor had she ever eaten food from someone’s hand. She hesitated only a moment, then let Bellus place the meat and bread into her mouth. The pheasant was tender, with a mild spice she did not expect.

“You see?” Bellus nodded and winked at Barakah. “She will be down here next market day, I know it.”

“Come early!” Barakah said, laughing. He wiped his hands on his apron and returned to packing up his stall.

They wandered away, strolling through the stalls that were being broken down as they passed. The crowds had gone, and a quiet serenity spread through the agora, replacing the usual chaos.

It is good to walk here this late in the day.

They reached the edge of the open market, where an old Egyptian sat cross-legged. He struggled painfully to his feet at their appearance and hobbled forward to Sophia. He was dirty and unshaven, and reeked of too many days without a home.

Bellus stepped in front of her and held out an arm.

“All is well, Bellus,” she said. “He is here often.”

Bellus lowered his arm, but still kept a scowl on his face for the beggar’s benefit.

The old man bobbed his head. “Thank you, mistress. The
gods bless you, mistress.” He grabbed her hand and pressed something into it. She glanced at the flash of turquoise, closed her fingers around it, then fished out a few obols from her pouch, and dropped them into his hungry palm. “May the gods bless you as well,” she said.

He seemed surprised at her generosity, and a wide smile split his face.

Do not expect as much the next time.

They walked on, finding the horse and cart guarded by yet another Egyptian, this one much younger, like the boy at the Library. Bellus paid the lad, then helped Sophia onto the cart.

“What did the beggar give you?” he asked, turning the horse toward the lighthouse.

“Give me?” Sophia turned innocent eyes to Bellus and slipped her left hand between the folds of her himation.

Bellus gave her a sly look. “Don’t try to fool me. He gave you something. Pressed it into your hand. What was it?”

Sophia held up her right hand and wiggled the fingers. “I have nothing in my hand.”

Bellus laughed. “The other hand!”

She grinned and brought out the stone. It was no wider than an obol, though heavier, and the color of the sea.

Bellus peered at it. “Turquoise?” he asked, surprise in his voice.

“Look again.”

“It is only painted!”

Sophia used her finger to roll the stone in her palm. “Pretty though, don’t you agree?”

“He gave you a bit of painted rock and you paid him for it?”

The cart wheeled through the streets, now darkening where
the setting sun could not penetrate. Ahead, the lighthouse stabbed at the sky, but Sophia did not look at it. “Ah, I see your Egyptian history is not as good as you think.”

Bellus’s forehead creased, then cleared. “It represents a scarab beetle!”

He reminded her in that instant of the young Ptolemies she had tutored years ago, when they discovered the answer to a sticky verb conjugation. She laughed. “Yes, it brings good fortune to its owner.”

The cart sped on, and Sophia held the stone out to Bellus. “For you,” she said lightly. “You need it more than I.”

Bellus switched the reins to one hand and plucked the stone from her palm with the other. His eyes lifted from her hand to her face, and he closed his fingers around the stone. “I will treasure it.”

Sophia straightened and looked toward the lighthouse. “It is only a piece of stone.” She could feel his eyes still on her.

“It is a gift. From a friend.”

She turned back to find him smiling, the open, joyful smile that had been the first thing she noticed about him. For a moment she thought to touch his lips, to discover what made that smile possible. She gripped the front edge of their cart and turned her face toward home.

The lighthouse swelled ahead, dark and foreboding as a tomb. Was it only a few hours ago she had feared to leave it?

They rode in silence now, but Sophia was acutely conscious of the air between them, though something invisible pulled at both of them, drawing them together, wearing down her resistance.

She felt some relief when they rolled to a stop outside the entryway. A servant hurried out to relieve Bellus of the reins.

Inside the lighthouse Bellus took her hand with his own cool one and gripped it firmly. “Thank you, Sophia, for the most enjoyable afternoon I’ve had since arriving here.”

She nodded, too quickly. “I thought it time that you understand our city better.”

He smiled a little and released her hand. “Good evening, my friend.” With that, he turned and slipped into the first storage room she’d allowed the soldiers.

Later, when darkness had fallen completely and her restlessness had abated, Sophia lay still on her bed and relived the afternoon in her thoughts. She came to several conclusions.

I am a fool.

I must stay away from the Roman.

And I fear I cannot.

Twenty-Six

F
or Bellus the day in the city with Sophia marked a change. No longer could he see her as simply the angry, bitter Keeper of the lighthouse. She had shown him a human side, and in spite of himself, he was drawn to that humanity. A day or two later she invited him up the ramp to see a particular work of Aeschylus’s they had been discussing. He stayed the evening, poring over the book by lamplight, and then another and another of her collection, with Sophia at times watching, at times leaning over his shoulder where he sat at her desk, to point out some part of the text.

Soon their evenings settled into this pattern. After the soldiers finished their last meal of the day and Bellus inspected the ranks, he would collect an amphorae of wine from the servants in the kitchen, ascend to Sophia’s luxurious private chambers, and spend the next few hours in exhilarating discussion about history, philosophy, anything their minds found to probe. They conversed in Greek, then wandered delightfully to Latin, to Egyptian, and back to Greek.

This evening, a hint of the coming autumn chilled the air. Bellus had drawn a chair to the fire, a scroll of Arcesilaus on his lap. Sophia had burned some incense in the room before he came, and the spicy scent still lingered, making him think of Rome in late summer.

Sophia looked up from where she reclined on the couch across the room. She, too, pored over a scroll—the Septuagint, she called it. The Greek translation of the Jew’s holy books, created here in
Alexandria by seventy Jewish scholars two hundred years ago. “You know Arcesilaus?” She pointed at his work.

Bellus yawned. “No. And I am struggling, I am afraid.”

“Is that the Arcesilaus or the wine?”

He laughed and looked to her. One of her rare smiles played about her lips. “Are you accusing me of having too much to drink?”

She shrugged, still smiling. “I noticed you brought the wine from Kos tonight.”

“Hmm.” Bellus lifted his cup from a table at his side. “I suppose I was feeling indulgent. But it is not the wine, I assure you. I find Arcesilaus’s arguments a bit—”

“Circular?”

“Exactly!”

Sophia rose from the couch and crossed to him. “Show me.”

He straightened and smoothed the crisp scroll, the papyrus unyielding. Sophia rested her hand on the back of his chair and looked over his shoulder.

Outside the wind rose and whistled a melancholy tune through the windows. Bellus looked up at Sophia and smiled. It felt as though they were alone in the world.

“Here,” he pointed to the book.

They spent some minutes arguing over Arcesilaus’s work. Finally, Sophia said, “ ‘
It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.
’ ”

“Plato?”

She smiled and returned to her Septuagint. “Aristotle.”

Bellus went to the window.

In the Eunostos Harbor below, a few ships burned small fires, creating pinpricks of light in the inky sea. But beyond,
there was only darkness, and Bellus again had the notion that they were at the edge of the world, the last remnant of humanity. All that darkness out there, all that isolation.

He turned back to the light and warmth of the room and found Sophia watching him, her expression relaxed. Perhaps even happy. She saw him differently now, too, he could sense. It was all quite surprising.

Less than an hour later, a timid knock sounded at Sophia’s chamber door. Sophia frowned her puzzlement, then crossed to open it. A man stood at the door, and Bellus invited the young Egyptian to enter.

“Who is this?” Sophia’s voice faded as she saw the lyre in his hands.

“I found him in the agora,” Bellus said. “I asked him to play for you.”

Sophia’s eyes found his own and remained there for a long moment until the musician began to play. She sank to her couch and closed her eyes.

Bellus had only half-expected the emotion the music evoked in her. The mute lyre on the wall had testified to a lost musician, but the sweet sadness on her face, the tears left unchecked, caused him to fear he had made a mistake.

When the Egyptian finished, Bellus paid him and sent him on his way. Bellus stood at the door, waiting for Sophia to meet his glance. When she did, still misty-eyed, there was nevertheless gratitude in her shy smile. He nodded, then returned to his musing over another work, leaving her to regain composure.