“That’s the end of our surprise attack,” Caesar said, “We move now.”
“Yes Sir,” Burrus said.
He drew his sword and at the top of his voice he yelled, “Charge!” and dashed out into the street, the rest of his men running after him.
Varius whirled around, his sword a whirling arc. The Egyptian sword longer and heavier than its Roman counterpart and useless for stabbing with. The big, Egyptian Captain was still fending them off. The rest of his men were dead or writhing in agony, dying. One Roman had fallen. Varius whirled again, his sword crashing down on the blade of the Egyptian sword striking sparks. Again and again the swords clashed. Then the sword Varius was wielding shattered. He stared in disbelief at the broken blade, the haft still in his hand. The big Egyptian spoke in a gutteral tongue. He pulled Varius close and head butted him hard in the face. Blood spurted. Varius knew instantly that his nose was broken. He staggered back bringing his free hand up to his nose. The pain was excruciating. In a rage he hurled the broken haft of his sword hitting the Egyptian in the forehead. At first it didn’t appear to have any effect, but then, suddenly, he collapsed to one knee. In that instant the Romans were on him, thrusting their swords again and again into his flesh.
The big Captain still wasn’t finished. He was fighting on with animal instinct. Varius, almost unable to see through watering eyes, picked up a javelin and charged the man, running him through.. The Egyptian threw his head back and roared in anguish as a Roman sword decapitated him. Varius collapsed to his knees.
The street was becoming light as the Romans parted to allow Caesar to the front. One man he noticed had what appeared to be a broken nose. Even so the man stood to attention.
“Well done men. Despite being out-equipped you fought well.”
“Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!” they shouted.
Lepidus made a sweeping arc with his arm towards the large double doors at the front of the lighthouse complex.
“The lighthouse belonged to Achillas last night, this morning it belongs to Caesar!”
A great cheer went up.
“Thank you Lepidus.”
Julius saw men cowering in the dirt, standing alongside them were Egyptian guards. Caesar strode over to them. The sweating, grimy, men in loincloths glanced up, saw the great dictator and cowered further into the dust.
“Look at me.”
The cringing men looked up, clearly terrified.
“They operate the lift that brings the wood up to the fire sir.”
“Slaves?”
One of them raised his head. Caesar pitied them. He clicked his tongue and jerked his head.
“Go while you can.”
Incredibly, they got to their feet, bowed to him and ran for their lives. Now Julius focused on the guards.
“There were three sir. One of them leapt to his death.”
“You are under Achillas’ command?”
“No Caesar. We are palace guards. As are the men you have killed. This is our regular post.”
“Then why did your men fight?”
“Probably because your men were not in uniform Caesar. They first appeared to be bandits or pirates. There are many strange ships in the harbour.”
Julius studied the man, judging him.
“Where do your loyalties lie? Ptolemy or Cleopatra?”
“To the royal throne Caesar. No matter who sits on it.”
“Very well. You can report back to the palace, to your commander. You may well tell Achillas, if you should see him again, that Caesar has compassion.”
The guards saluted formally.
“And them Caesar? Lepidus nodded towards the dead lying in the street.
“Burn our fallen brother. As for the Egyptian dead….” Julius gazed across at the horizon. It would be sunrise soon, “….Throw them into the sea.”
Burrus returned. He had been running.
“That’s it Caesar. We’ve secured the district. The island belongs to you.”
A great cheer went up from the Romans.
“Thank you Burrus. Send a message down the coast to Calvinius. Tell him his ships are safe to land as soon as he is able.
“Yes sir.”
The Romans made way as Caesar entered the building. It took him ten minutes to climb the many staircases to the top. He walked out at the base of the huge flames. The city was sprawled out to the East. He felt the sun on the back of his neck and he turned to face it. There were thin strips of red cloud in the distance. The sunrise was perfect. He could see his three ships still beached and the many ships in the harbour. His own fleet still in the royal harbour and the temple of Osiris and the tomb of Alexander. The morning was beautiful. Caesar took a long deep breath and held it until his lungs were aching.
The sound of another horn drifted across to him. His eyes searched for the source. He had been smiling to himself. Then the smile vanished, replaced with a frown.
A flotilla of ships was heading for Alexandria. On their sails the enemy’s symbol. Caesar turned at shouts from below. He leaned over the edge and looked down. He saw his men running back towards his ships. He looked up. Hundreds of the enemy were running across the sand towards his beached galleys.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Julius Caesar was sitting at his writing desk on board his ship writing reports. It had been a month since his arrival in Alexandria. A long and difficult time for the Roman dictator.
It had been a long and troubling week since the water supply was sabotaged and then fixed easily in one night by his men digging down to the fresh supply. That night had been dangerous, Caesar was sure, on the point of mutiny.
Then the Romans had conquered the island of Pharos with just over a hundred men, defeating a force of three times that number. They had re-floated their three beached ships and without fighting men on board they had rowed the five miles along the coast to Calvinius, linked up with him and towed his supply ships back to the royal harbour to a raucous applause from the Romans watching.
It had been a great victory for Caesar. Another in a long line of triumphs. At daybreak their elation was short lived. They had seen Achillas’ fleet blockading the harbour. The Roman ships under protection from the island now only able to seek safe passage in the royal harbour. The Romans had enjoyed a brief victory on that day when they had returned. News had soon got out that Caesar’s ships were seriously undermanned and the Alexandrian fleet had awaited them. On that first day of battle at sea Caesar had managed to sink one Egyptian ship and damage many others.
Now today news had reached Julius that the Alexandrians had begun a new fleet and in four days had constructed twenty seven new warships. The Alexandrians driven by the knowledge that they were, indeed, masters of the sea.
“Twenty seven in four days,” Caesar said to himself.
He read on.
In addition to the twenty seven the locals were also dragging rotten hulls from the seabed and mud and were even tearing down rafters from public buildings to create their new navy. Julius knew in the safety of the calm water of the harbour that this was a formidable force.
Then just one hour ago Caesar had received a report that a reserve fleet from Rhodes and Turkey flying the Roman eagle had been sighted off the coast and news that Mithridates’ great army had entered Egypt. Now nothing could stop the mighty Roman war machine. Could it?
“And what about Cleopatra?” Julius asked himself, feeling his heart flutter at the thought of her.
“Ah! My love I haven’t seen you for a week.”
“BALLISTA!”
Caesar heard the shout come through his window.
“BALLISTA!” the voice shouted again.
Julius heard the whoosh of the huge stone as it flew past and hit the water, sending up a spume of spray.