He went to the door and locked it and put the chain across. Next he went to the windows and peered out briefly before drawing the curtains. This made the room dark so he put a bedside light on. He emptied every drawer he could find, tipping the contents on the floor to make it look like an attempted burglary. He took one of the new stockings and lifting her head pulled it tight around her throat. So tight it should cause bruising.
Next he wiped the glass he had used with a cloth to eliminate his fingerprints. Then he picked up the telephone. The wire had been yanked out and he repaired it with a screwdriver. He set it down and picked up the receiver. After a moment there was a click and then a dial tone. He rang the police, gave the address, refused to give his name and told them that there had been a disturbance above his mothers flat.
“What is your mother’s name please?”
“Frau Drescher.”
He promptly hung up. They may try to trace the call but he doubted it very much. He quickly went round the apartment and took what he wanted. He found some cash amongst her underwear and left closing the door quietly after wiping the handles. He tiptoed silently past the next floor and once clear he hurried to the lobby. Once outside he took a deep breath. It was late afternoon now, the sky grey still from the rain that had just stopped. He got to the corner of the street when he heard the first of the police cars approaching. Three of them. They sped past him, painted black with the bells ringing. No one paid him any attention. He watched as the men in leather coats jumped out of the cars and rushed inside the apartment block. He would get his friends to give him an alibi for this afternoon. He hadn’t actually told them he was going home to see his wife.
’I’ll tell them I was with another woman,’ he said to himself.
After a minute he saw the curtains of his wife’s apartment open and faces peered out of the windows. Seven storeys straight down to the street. No escape there for the assailant. He had to have gone down the stairs. The Drescher woman would be taken in for questioning.
’Hopefully they’ll be a bit rough with her.’
He hadn’t thought about where he was going to go next. He decided to call on an old friend.
’Will I recognise that bastard of a Colonel again?’ he asked himself.
Otto Wurtz continued watching the windows of the apartment for a few minutes more from the street corner. He could see shadows moving within the room. Then he turned away and headed off as the air raid sirens began sounding across the city.
PART TWO
CHAPTER TWO
Small waves lapped at the Roman fleet as it lay at anchor half a mile offshore from the city. Apart from guards and a handful of officers patrolling, the decks appeared deserted. Marines and legionaries were in their bunks getting much needed rest or playing dice. A common source of entertainment for the many hours, days or weeks at sea. The slaves chained to their oars slept where they sat.
Admiral Menenius Agrippa was patrolling his ship. He stopped at the stern and watched as men, his men, clad in only loincloths tied ropes around their waists, put knives in their mouths and dived over the rail cleanly into the sea. He peered down and watched as they broke the surface of the water, took a deep breath and dived. Their job was to clear the hull and steering oars of barnacles and any other parasites clinging to them. Each man carried a small very tightly knitted mesh net and they would work feverishly to be the first to fill their own net. It was a personal competition amongst them.
Agrippa admired these men. The way they held their breath for minutes at a time. The way they showed no fear as to what could lurk beneath the waves. He had been a sailor all of his adult life. He had been overboard twice in his career, once in a storm and it was a miracle he’d survived both times and he’d never lost respect for the power of the sea.
He reached into his tunic and pulled out his small leather purse and reached in and extracted a fairly large coin. He gave it to the supervising officer.
“This to the winner.”
“Yes sir. Thank you sir.”
Pleased, he moved on, leaving the officer watching the lifelines for any signs of trouble. He stopped a short way away and bellowed at a sailor coiling ropes.
“These knots are not tied correctly. Do them again.”
The sailor dropped what he was doing and rushed to the admiral.
“If I see sloppiness like this again you’ll take your place at the oars with the slaves. Do I make myself clear.”
“Yes sir. Sorry sir.”
Agrippa watched until he was satisfied the knots had been re-tied correctly then continued on his round. At the Corvus he met General Marcus Marcellus and Centurion Falco. Agrippa nodded towards the shore.
“Everything seems quiet now.”
“Yes,” Marcellus replied, “The crowd that had gathered at the dock this morning has now gone.”
“And probably just as well. They seemed to be quite angry.”
“Angry at us sir, but why?” Falco asked.
“Who knows what Pompey has told them?”
“If he even landed here.”
“He did Falco. he must have,” the Admiral replied, “There is nowhere else he could have fled to, to get help.”
“But will they help him?” from Marcellus.
“We’ll know soon enough,” Agrippa replied.
The men looked at the city for a few moments before Falco said.
“I didn’t realise Alexandria was so big, is it as big as Rome?”
“Almost certainly. A population of at least one million. A mix of Greeks, Egyptians, Arabs and Jews.”
“And one wonder,” Marcellus added.
“Yes,” Agrippa gazed at the lighthouse on the nearby island of Pharos. At a height of four hundred and fifty feet, it’s fire could be seen for miles.
“It is truly remarkable what men can achieve.”
They all turned as an Egyptian war galley passed on the port side. On its bow and sail a brightly painted Egyptian eye. The five banks of oars pulling her along in perfect unison. The sound of the drumbeat drifting across to the Romans. The ship was returning from a two week patrol of the Egyptian coastline. On her deck the Egyptian sailors and warriors stood and stared stonily across at the Romans. The last marine on deck grinned at them and then drew his thumb across his throat from ear to ear. Anger flushed through the Romans at the implied threat. Marcellus’ hand went down to the handle of his sword. For a moment he was tempted to draw it and brandish it.
Agrippa grabbed the hand.
“Easy lad. Easy,” he said to the much younger General.
“You saw that. Deliberate provocation,” Marcellus replied taking his hand off his sword.
“I did. But don’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they riled you.”
The marine cocked his head and winked at Falco who just stared back, studying the face, memorising it. Hopefully one day soon their paths would cross again.
The galley got ahead of them and soon pulled away joining the other ships and boats in the sea lanes as they made for the harbour. Halfway it changed course and now the Roman officers saw the royal barge heading towards them.
“Now what do we have here?” Agrippa said watching the ship still some distance away.
“An ambassador possibly or an envoy, Ptolemy perhaps or Cleopatra,” from Marcellus.
“Really,” Falco said studying the barge, “The King and Queen of Egypt coming here. If I’d known that,” he said laughing, “I would have worn my best armour.”
“Me too,” Marcellus replied.
“It won’t be Cleopatra,” Agrippa said.
“Oh?”
Both men turned to look at him.