To my astonishment, I made out Diogenes. Even more out of breath than me, he had staggered to the foot of a colossal statue, a leftover that had once topped the old covered tower - Zeus? Poseidon? One of the heavenly twins, Castor and Pollux? It was no moment for art appreciation. Diogenes was slumped and on the verge of collapse.
Suddenly, from behind the reflector leapt one of his tormentors. Bat-like and shrieking, the wild figure ran at the trader. Diogenes stumbled to his feet, trying to flee. Cowering away from the cloaked figure, he tipped over a low wall that contained the beacon and fell right into the roaring flames. He began to scream. Ablaze from head to foot, he floundered there; but it can only have been moments before he desperately clambered out. Intentionally or not, he launched himself towards his assailant, a fiery human torch. The man in black lost his cloak as he tried to get away. Holding up an arm to shield his face from the beacon’s hot glare, he ran blind. He crashed against the outer balcony parapet. Unable to regain his balance, his momentum toppled him right over. His cry was lost as he vanished.
Diogenes fell to the ground. His clothes, hair and skin were alight. By the time I reached him, a stoker had aimed the contents of a fire-bucket over the writhing figure, but in that great heat the water sizzled uselessly. We dragged the attacker’s discarded cloak over the prone man, then people brought more water pails. But some fool pulled the cloak away, so the flames broke out again spontaneously. At last stokers dragged up a heavy fire-mat and rolled Diogenes in it; they must have had experience or training. He was still alive when we finally put him out, but his burns were so bad he could never survive. Ghastly shreds of skin from his back and arms just fell away. I doubted he would even make the journey down to ground level.
Sickened, I crouched beside him. ’Diogenes! Can you hear me? Who were those men? What did they want you for?’ He mumbled. Someone put a flask to his charred lips. Most of the liquid ran away down his neck. He struggled to speak. I strained to hear.
‘Stuff you, Falco!’
He sank into unconsciousness. Despairing, I left the stokers to bring the body down.
I stumbled my way off the fire tower and back down the octagon. When I reached the public viewing platform at the top of the big main tower, it seemed deserted. I felt cold and desolate. This night had turned as sour as it could be - and still gave me no answers.
People who had been shepherded into the interior were crowding on the spiral ramps. White-faced, they gazed upwards in terror, aware that some tragedy had unfolded high above.
‘Everyone stay inside, please - for your own safety. Make your way quietly down to the bottom now. Leave this to us!’ One of the soldiers, Titus, came out on to the platform with me. We took lamps and searched the four long sides of the observatory area. Together we found the motionless form of the man who had gone over.
Titus bent. ‘He’s done for.’ He twisted and looked up at the lantern, high above us. ‘Must be what - eighty feet?’ Who knows? He was guessing. ‘No chance.’
‘There was another man.’
‘Must have scrammed.’
Titus moved back. I bent to inspect the dead man’s face. ‘What?’
‘Know him, Falco?’
‘That’s unbelievable . . . He works at the Museion zoo.’ I looked twice, but there was no doubt. It was either Chaereas or Chaeteas. That took some comprehending. Whatever had turned those two calm, competent zoo assistants into vengeful furies, hunting a man to his death? Risking their own lives to do it, too. ‘I’ll have to go after the one who’s made a run tor it - how can I get out of the building safely? Are those rioters in the courtyard?’
‘All be sorted by the time you reach the door. ’Titus looked over to confirm: I joined him, though with trepidation. My nerve had vanished up on these windy platforms where I had just seen two men die.
Titus was right. All the men from Rhakotis were running for home. A red column of soldiers, so far away it looked stationary, was marching through the enclosure. ‘Landed by boat, Falco.’
The way the waves beat against the Pharos base, that could not be easy. I was surprised they had arrived here so quickly, but of course Titus took the credit for his dextrous signalling.
‘You’re whacked, Falco. You’ll do no more good tonight. Tell us who the other fellow is, and let the military track him down.
Those words seemed as sweet as a lullaby.
LI
Even the worst nights end eventually. So, although my head still thronged with images of dark figures gesticulating against towering flames, I awoke to the hard clear sunlight that for several hours had been streaming through an open shutter. It must be mid-morning, maybe later. Subdued murmurs told me that my little daughters were close by, playing quietly on the floor together. When I had had adventures, they would often creep up near me while I recovered. I lay for a while, drowsily fighting wakefulness, but then let out a grunt to tell Julia and Favonia they could now scramble on to the bed with me. Helena found us all cuddled up together when she brought a tray of food for me. One arm around each, I kissed the children’s soft, sweet-scented heads and gazed at Helena like a guilty dog.
‘I am in disgrace.’
‘Was it your fault, Marcus?’
‘No.’
‘Then you are not in disgrace.’ I smiled at my tolerant, wise, forgiving girl with all the adoration I could muster. As smiling goes, it was fervently meant, though perhaps rather pallid. ‘Don’t do that again,’ she added waspishly. ‘ - Ever!’
I remembered that I was delivered home by soldiers, filthy and exhausted. I thought it had been in the dead of night, though Helena reckoned closer to dawn.
‘You were sensible enough to order people to look for Pastous at the Library. He was found safe, incidentally. A message came from Aulus. Aulus is coming here later, to see what needs doing.’
She propped me up on cushions while I ticed down a late breakfast. I had little appetite. I let the children steal most of it. Helena perched on a stool, watching without comment. When I pushed away the tray and slumped wearily, she told the girls to run off to see Albia, then we two settled down alone to catch up on all that had happened.
I tried to narrate the story logically, to make sense of it myself.
Helena listened, her great dark eyes thoughtful. It all took time. My words came sluggishly. Left to myself I would have lain still and closed my eyes again.
No use. I had to decide what to do.
‘So . . . where are Fulvius and Pa?’
‘They went out, Marcus.’ Helena appraised me. I must look a wreck, but she was cool, clean, beautiful in garnet reel and a russet stole. Her face seemed pared and hollow, but her eyes were clear. Although she wore no cosmetic tints, she had dressed her fine hair meticulously, holding it in place with a full pantheon of long ivory pins, topped with little goddesses. Her custom was to be carefully groomed after I had had a scrape - to remind me that I did have someone worth coming home to. ‘I had told them you got into trouble in a bar . . . they believed it very readily. Perhaps you should buff up your reputation, dearest.’ She spoke as a long-term partner discussing work, reasserting her own importance. I knew that attitude. It posed no threat. Her sniping tone would be temporary. ‘I believe they are hoping to meet Diogenes.’
‘He won’t turn up!’ I shifted about; every joint ached. I found it impossible to get comfortable. ‘The military will try to keep a lid on what happened - the Pharos is remote enough, but there were members of the public all over the place. Rumours will leak out.’