"Divinity! It seems to have faded a little," he said. "But I suppose that is to be expected after all its adventures. I see that some of you bear scars and bandages. Tell me what happened."
I told my tale, omitting the fact that this was not the original robe, the remains of which reposed at the bottom of my duffel bag.
"Would I had been with you!" exclaimed Python—a sentiment which I privately doubted. "But if what you say be true, then the rogues may still be after the thing, eh?"
"I suppose so, sir. Hadn't you better post a guard over it?"
"I will do better than that. I will have this ship on its way by sundown. Let's get the polluted rag into the king's hands and let him worry about his criminal class."
Python carefully folded the robe and placed it in a large box with a lock, which already held Demetrios' hat, tunic, and shoes. When he had locked this box, he put the box into a chest, like the god Thôth with his boxes of gold, silver, and so on, one inside the other. He locked the second chest—a new one, bolted to the floor—hung both keys about his neck, and ordered the four marines who happened to be within earshot to arm themselves and mount guard over his cabin.
"Let them try to steal it now!" he said.
The flat, sandy shore of Egypt, with the endless forest of palms behind it, becomes a weariness to the eye long before one reaches Alexandria. Past Kanopos and Boukiris the last stretch of shore rises in a slight ridge or hill—or what seems like a hill in the mirror-flat Delta. Then the palm forest breaks up into groves, with fields and farms, villas and gardens, and then comes the wall of Alexandria.
Here, in contrast to the deadly peaceful monotony of the Egyptian littoral, all is bustle and building and change. This became evident as we swung to seaward to pass around Cape Lochias, whence rose, inside the wall, the temple of Artemis and the royal palace. From the end of Cape Lochias a string of islands forms an arc, bowing out from the coast and swinging back at its western end to meet another point of land beyond the city. These islands comprise the large isle of Pharos, several islets, and some mere points of rock.
Cranes and scaffolding rose from these isles; barges lay alongside them; and everywhere men toiled to extend the harbor works. Some were joining the end of Cape Lochias on the left to the nearest isles by a mole, while others strove to unite the farther isles with the Pharos, leaving but a single channel into the Great Harbor.
A little pilot boat, flying the red-lion standard, came bobbing through the chop. The pilot yelled and gestured until the Halia followed him through the Bull Channel into the harbor. Inside the harbor the king was making an even nobler improvement: a vast five-furlong mole, connecting Pharos with the shore and dividing the whole harbor into two huge basins.
We moored at the quay in the naval district, between the base of Cape Lochias and the islet of Antirrodos. Captain Python conferred in his cabin with the commandant of the local naval station. Then, gleaming in freshly polished armor, he drew us up on the deck and said:
"Boys, you are on leave for three days, so you may take life easy." (Cheers.) "Collect your pay from the boatswain and find yourselves quarters. Everyone shall report back to the ship at muster time each morning; that is, one hour after sunrise. Anybody who misses muster shall have his pay docked. After this three-day leave, we shall have exercises every day save feast days and days of bad weather.
"One more thing: Keep out of trouble. If anybody is caught fighting or stealing or otherwise misbehaving, he shall have trouble with me as well as with the local authorities, and he will find me the harder of the two. Dismissed!"
The commandant climbed down the ladder into a waiting boat. After him went Python, and then Python's cabin boy, carefully carrying the box containing Demetrios' garments, and lastly all ten marines as an escort.
I plunged into the bustle of this burgeoning city and gaped at the new tomb of Alexander and the other public structures a-building. Having avoided by a hair's breadth being run over by carts lurching through the broad, straight, swarming avenues with mighty beams and stones for the king's vast construction projects, I arrived at the shipyards on the morning of my fifth day in Alexandria. When roll had been called, Python said:
"See me after dismissal, O Chares."
Some of my shipmates chaffed me, calling: "What have you been up to?" Python, however, explained:
"The king has invited the officers of the Halia to dine with him tomorrow night. As our most junior officer, you are included. Be at the main gate to the palace, properly shaved and oiled and in your best civilian dress, an hour before sunset."
"How goes the mission, sir?"
Python grunted resentfully. "I had to wait three days for an audience, sitting in the king's waiting room and clutching the robe to my bosom like a shipwrecked man clinging to an oar. That Athenian exile, Demetrios of Phaleron, seems to be in command of arrangements at court. He's the rascal who imposed upon the Athenians those austere laws regulating conduct while wallowing in Persian luxury and filling Athens with statues of himself."
"No wonder the Athenians kicked him out! Then what?"
"When I finally got in to see the Ptolemaios, he seemed mightily pleased with the garments—so much so that he invited us all to dine—but he evaded my requests for aid. Despite the good omens, I fear that our trip may be wasted. At best it will be too late in the season to return to Rhodes, so we shall have a three months' layover."
When we were all gathered in front of the palace—Python, his executive officer, his first lieutenant, the marine officer, the boatswain, the coxswain, and myself—an usher led us in. It was a large complex of buildings, decorated in what seemed to me like overly ornate taste. The usher took us into the main building, where a stout middle-aged man with long hair of a startling yellow hue awaited us.
A closer look showed the hair to be dyed and the full, jowly face to be rouged and powdered. His perfume was overpowering. The usher said:
"The king's guests, my lord!"
The man smiled. "Ah, my good Python! Rejoice, dear friends! I am Demetrios of Phaleron, sometime Athenian scholar and politician and now fixer-in-chief to the Great King."
Python presented us, and Demetrios Phalereus led us into a banquet hall, gaudy with gilded plaster wreaths and painted rose gardens all around the walls. Here were an Admiral somebody-or-other, and the king's brother Menelaos, and several other officials and military personages. Presently a trumpet blew, and in came the king with a golden wreath on his balding head.
Ptolemaios son of Lagos was a short, heavily built man with a paunch, in his early sixties. A thick bull's neck jutted forward from heavy, fat-padded shoulders. His jaw was massive, in keeping with his general build. Across his receding forehead ran a strong flange or bar of bone, and from this sprouted bushy gray brows that shadowed his deep-set eyes. His nose was short, albeit high-bridged, hooked, and prominent, so that it had the look of a parrot's beak. He wore Demetrios' spangled robe, with the hem curtailed to suit his stature.
The king strolled in, nodding and flipping his hand in response to our bows, smiling easily and casting polite comments as he was introduced around. To me he said, in a strong Macedonian accent:
"Chares of Lindos, catapultist? You must talk to my chief engineer, here. Perhaps you can tell him something new about catapult design; we cannot let others get ahead of us in military science. Arc you a professional soldier or a militiaman?"
"The latter, sire."