Vespasian turned to Hortensius who now had an escort of only eight legionaries, the others being busy dealing with the Jew’s murderers. ‘Let’s get going, optio,’ he ordered wearily, ‘I’ve got much to do.’
‘It ain’t good when people start getting murdered just for being Jewish,’ Magnus observed to Vespasian as they set off again.
‘People get murdered just for having a weighty purse on them.’
‘That ain’t what I mean, sir. The way I see it is that if more of them get murdered for being Jewish then it won’t be too long before they retaliate and people find themselves getting murdered just for being Greek or Egyptian or, the gods forbid, Roman.’ He looked pointedly at the senatorial stripe on Vespasian’s toga. ‘If you take my meaning?’
Vespasian did indeed.
It was the fifth hour of the day by the time Vespasian and his depleted party reached the Forum, which was, like everything else he had seen in Alexandria, truly impressive. With a panoramic view over the Great Harbour it was set between the theatre, seating over thirty thousand, to its east and, to its west, the Caesareum, the palace, guarded by two needle-like obelisks, built by Cleopatra for her lover and named after him. Two hundred paces long and a hundred across and surrounded by a colonnade of immense proportions constructed of different coloured marbles, the Forum teemed with people of many races going about their business; it was the beating heart of a great city.
Thales proved easy to find as he turned out to be one of the most important and respected bankers in the city. Vespasian’s senatorial toga enabled him to jump the queue but to the relief of the other disgruntled clients his business did not take long. He left within a quarter of an hour with a receipt for his bankers’ draft and a promise from the bald and immensely overweight Thales that upon his return the following morning there would be 237,500 denarii in cash, paid in gold for ease of transport back to Rome. Thales had made 12,500 denarii commission on the deal but Vespasian did not let that sour his mood as they made their way past the extensive Gymnasium complex and found the Alexandrian abode of his late benefactress.
Magnus pulled on the bell chain and almost instantly the door was opened by a dark-skinned, wavy-haired slave who looked very much like Ziri.
‘Senator Titus Flavius Vespasianus here to see Marcus Antonius Felix,’ Magnus announced.
They were immediately granted entry and were escorted through to an atrium with many fountains, not just in the impluvium but at intervals all around the room, cooling the atmosphere and filling the air with the constant but gentle sound of falling water.
‘Senator Vespasian,’ a voice said from the far end of the room, ‘what a pleasure to see you; I had heard that you had arrived but did not expect to be honoured with a visit so soon into your stay.’ Felix appeared from behind a statue of Poseidon — a small replica of the one crowning the Pharos but, nevertheless, twice life-sized; it gushed water from its open mouth.
‘That is because you said to come if you could be of service, Felix,’ Vespasian replied, walking towards his host, ‘and, most certainly now, I do need your help.’
‘I didn’t say that it would be impossible,’ Felix quietly reminded Vespasian and Magnus, ‘I said it would be difficult but not impossible.’
‘Well, it looks impossible to me,’ Magnus muttered.
‘But it has to be done,’ Vespasian said flatly but wondering nonetheless how Felix thought that it could be achieved.
They were standing in the dim interior of the burial chamber in Alexander’s Mausoleum at the heart of the Soma, the sacred enclosure where the bodies of his heirs in Egypt, the Ptolemys, rested. Before them, ten feet away, resting on a granite slab supported by two similar slabs on their sides, lay a sarcophagus of translucent sheets of crystal set in a latticed bronze framework. It shimmered orange and golden in the flickering light of three flaming sconces burning on its far side from low down, giving the impression that it glowed with a light generated internally. Cocooned tightly within it, Vespasian could see the silhouetted outline of the mummified body of the greatest conqueror known to the world: Alexander of Macedon.
Although the sarcophagus could be viewed by means of a shaft cut through the ceiling to the temple, thirty feet above, the chamber itself was not open to the public. However, the priests of Alexander’s cult were happy to allow access to the body for visiting dignitaries, and as the first senator to visit Egypt for over four years Vespasian was admirably qualified and they had been honoured to grant his request. Only Ziri had been refused access because of his slave status and he now waited in the Temple of Alexander above them.
Despite the practical reason for his visit, Vespasian still felt overawed to see physical proof that Alexander had existed and was not just some hero conjured out of myth. He had felt close to the great man in Queen Tryphaena’s palace in Thracia standing by the desk that Alexander had used and gazing at the same view that he had seen every morning when he had come to raise Thracian mercenaries for his conquest of the East; but that was as nothing compared to being in the same chamber as his preserved remains.
Vespasian walked forward to get a better view of the body and also to examine the sarcophagus to see how it might be opened.
‘You may approach it, master, but it is forbidden to touch,’ the priest standing behind them in the chamber’s entrance warned.
Vespasian looked down through the crystal and found himself staring at a face that was at the same time both ancient and youthful. There were no lines on the smooth, brown skin, coloured by age not race, which stretched over the skull and jaw like the finest vellum; but neither was there substance to it, so the outline of the bone beneath was plainly visible giving the impression of great age. However, the mouth was closed with the thin lips pulled slightly up in a faint smile; the eyes, which had seen more wonders and riches than any others before or since, were shut as if sleeping. Long hair, still abundant and blond, covered the ears and lay perfectly dressed on the pillow framing the face with a soft outline of ochre; all this combined to give the effect that here was a young man resting peacefully. Vespasian drew his breath and looked closer; the only blemish was that the nostril on the shadowed side of the face had fallen away.
‘The great Augustus did that by accident when he had the sarcophagus’ lid removed so that he could touch Alexander,’ the priest said, realising what Vespasian was examining.
‘Was that the last time the lid was taken off?’
‘No, Germanicus brought his sons here and also we take it off every year to replace the spices that surround and preserve Alexander.’
Vespasian walked around the sarcophagus looking at the seal between the top and bottom halves of the sarcophagus and saw that they were held together by nothing more than the weight of the lid. ‘Do you think two men could lift that?’ he whispered to Felix and Magnus who had joined him as he completed his circuit.
Magnus shrugged. ‘If they can’t they could certainly lift one end enough to get to the breastplate.’
Vespasian’s eyes moved down to the object that Caligula had sent him to Egypt to steal; it was not what he had expected: gilded, inlaid and adorned with jewels. It was evidently the actual breastplate that he had worn in battle and not one made especially for his eternal rest. Just like Marcus Antonius’ sword it was the choice of a fighting man: made of hardened leather moulded in the shape of the muscles it concealed. Its only decoration were two rearing horses of inlaid gold facing each other on the chest and bronze edgings around the neck, shoulders and waist to give it added strength.
‘Can you memorise the inlays?’ Vespasian murmured to Felix.
‘There’s no need to; almost every statue of Alexander in the city depicts him wearing this.’
‘In which case our work here is done.’ Vespasian straightened up and turned to the waiting priest. ‘Thank you for allowing me the honour of gazing at the greatest man who ever lived,’ he said with genuine feeling.