The Seven Wonders: A Novel of the Ancient World (Novels of Ancient Rome) (41 page)

After a short wait, we were greeted by an imposing figure in green robes and a high headdress—Anubion, the man to whom I had seen Nikanor talking the previous day.

He looked askance at me, and his greeting to Antipater and Isidorus was stiff and formal; that was for my benefit, of course. I felt absurd, going along with the pretense that the three of them shared no special relationship, and that I knew nothing of their conspiracy.

As he led us up the long ramp to the entrance of the Pharos, Anubion recounted various facts and figures about the lighthouse, as if we were ordinary visitors receiving the privilege of a guided tour. The situation seemed increasingly unreal to me. The Pharos itself was almost too gigantic and magnificent to be comprehended, and the playacting of everyone, myself included, made me feel strangely detached, yet acutely aware of everything that was happening.

We passed through the grand entry of red granite, into a large room with a very high ceiling. I was struck at once by the strong smell of the place, a mingling of odors I had never experienced before. Soon I would be shown the source of these odors, but for the moment I was puzzled.

We were given a choice of ascending by an inner stairwell or by an outer ramp; Antipater preferred the more gradual ascent of the ramp, and so up we went, around and around, passing high windows that admitted bright daylight, sharing the way with workers and beasts of burden hauling wagons full of fuel.

“We use a variety of fuels to feed the fire,” Anubion explained. “Egypt is not blessed with forests, but we do have some small trees—the acacia and the tamarisk. Charcoal is also used, as is animal dung, but the brightest flame is produced by liquid called naphtha. Alexander was introduced to naphtha by the Babylonians, in whose lands there are chasms from which this remarkable substance flows like water from a spring. Have you ever heard of such a thing, Gordianus?”

I admitted that I had not.

“Here, let me show you.”

We stepped off the ramp and into one of the adjoining storage rooms, which was crowded with large clay vessels. Removing a stopper from one of these, Anubion invited me to take a sniff. I drew back my head at once, recoiling from the foul-smelling fumes.

“The stuff is highly volatile, meaning it will ignite even before a flame touches it, being kindled by the mere radiance of the fire.”

“It sounds dangerous,” said Antipater.

Anubion shrugged. “Every now and again a worker catches on fire—an example to the other workers to handle the stuff with extreme caution. Water is useless to put out a naphtha fire, so we keep heavy blankets close at hand, which can be used to smother the flames.”

We returned to the ramp. Now I understood why the smell of the Pharos was so peculiar and distinctive—the odors of animal dung and naphtha were mingled with the sweat of human toil and the salty smell of the sea.

At length, after ascending many ramps, we arrived at the level of the parapet where the Tritons resided at each of the four corners, with bronze signal mirrors installed between them. The sculptures and the mirrors alike were on a scale I had not imagined. Without warning, one of the Tritons produced a long, blaring note from its horn. I covered my ears, and the noise was still deafening. Whatever mechanism produced the sound was hidden from sight.

The means for adjusting the signal mirrors was more evident. I saw that Antipater and Isidorus took special note of these metal frameworks and fixtures, which could be made to tilt each mirror at various angles, both up and down and side to side.

Below us, the workers and animals ascending the long entrance ramp looked very small. The harbor was ablaze with morning light and crowded with sails. The city looked like a vast, intricate toy built for a god’s amusement.

We entered the next stage of the tower, which was set back from the lower portion and octagonal in shape. Stairways led upward along the outer walls, which were pierced by tall windows. The central shaft was occupied by an ingenious lift system by which winches and pulleys raised a platform all the way to the top of the tower; by this means heavy loads of fuel could be transported without men having to carry it. Anubion suggested that we should ride this device all the way to the top.

Antipater stared upward. He turned pale and shook his head.

“But I insist,” said Anubion. “You’re already out of breath, good Zoticus, and there are many more steps to go. Not only will this device save you a great deal of effort, but you can say that you have ridden the Pharos elevator—a claim few men can make.”

Antipater’s curiosity got the better of him, and in short order the four of us entered the cagelike contraption and were lifted through the air. The ride was surprisingly smooth, with much less swaying and jerking than I expected. We passed workers who trudged up the stairways around us, and were treated to fleeting glimpses of Alexandria and the sea through the tall windows, which fell below us one by one. At the very end of the ride, the platform gave such a powerful shudder that I gripped the railing and uttered a quick prayer, thinking the cage had broken free of the mechanism and was about to plummet downward. But at last we came to a halt and arrived without mishap.

I was glad for the experience, but relieved to exit the cage. Leaving the others behind for a moment, I hurried past the workers who were going up and down the stairs and stepped outside, onto the open landing with its eight-sided parapet. For a few remarkable moments, I was completely alone. Above me rose the third, cylindrical portion of the tower, shorter than the first two stages, in which the beacon was housed. Peering up at a steep angle, beyond the roofline I could glimpse a bit of the thunderbolt wielded by the enormous statue of Zeus that crowned the Pharos.

Surrounding me on all sides was a truly astounding panorama. Amid a sea of rooftops, the grid pattern of Alexandria was clearly discernible, especially where towering palm trees lined the broad avenues and obelisks marked the major intersections. Even the Temple of Serapis, the city’s highest point, was far below me. In the opposite direction, I gazed at an endless expanse of water dotted by ships near and far. To either side stretched hazy coastlines where sand and water met. To the west was only desert, but to the east I could see the green mass of the Nile Delta.

There was a steady breeze, so strong that Anubion—who had just joined me, along with Antipater and Isidorus—grabbed his headdress with both hands, lest it should fly off.

“What do you think, young Roman?” he said.

“You live in a remarkable city—surely the most remarkable I’ve ever seen.”

He nodded, pleased by the comment. “I’m going to show Isidorus the beacon fire, and the circular mirror mechanism housed above it in the very top of the tower. There’s not a lot to be seen right now—the flames burn low during the day, and the mirrors are turned outward, so as to reflect sunlight rather than the fire.”

“Will I be allowed to see it?”

“Of course—in a little while. But for now, stay here with Zoticus and enjoy the view. I fear your old tutor is not yet rested enough to take the last few flights of stairs.”

So this was the ploy by which the lighthouse master and the librarian would be able to speak privately, away from the inquisitive—but easily distracted—young Roman. Anubion and Isidorus disappeared inside the cylindrical tower. I turned to Antipater.

“Our host thinks you’re too tired to go up a few more steps,” I said, trying to blunt the edge of sarcasm in my voice.

“For the moment. But this bracing sea breeze will soon revive me.”

I could remain silent no longer. “Teacher,” I began, and was about to say more—
why have you deceived me?
—when from the corner of my eye I saw a figure clad in green step briefly onto the landing, then back into the tower. I caught only a sidelong glimpse of his face, but I knew at once it was Nikanor.

What was he doing in the Pharos? Why was he dressed as one of the workers?

I turned my back on Antipater and hurried inside the tower. Above me, heading up the stairs, I saw Nikanor. I followed him.

With every step, the air grew warmer. As I took the final flight of steps, I felt a blast of hot air, as from an oven. The walls themselves grew hot. I ascended to a circular gallery with a stone railing, and saw below me, in a great bowl of blackened granite, the white-hot flame that was never allowed to go out. I recoiled from the rising heat, hardly able to breathe. If this was the fire at its lowest, what was it like at night, when it burned even hotter and brighter?

The workers handling the fuel and tending the coals were covered with sweat and wore only loincloths; their discarded green tunics were hung on pegs around the gallery. I looked up and saw the circular system of mirrors attached to the domed ceiling. Except for the fallen Colossus, I had never seen pieces of bronze so large. Their reflective surfaces were turned away from me, but the very edges, plated with silver, were almost too bright to look at. I seemed to have entered another world where all was fire, stone, and metal—the fiery workshop of Hephaestus.

Anubion and Isidorus stood across from me, at the far side of the gallery, their images blurred by waves of hot air. Nikanor had just joined them; they started back, surprised by his sudden appearance. As yet, none of them had seen me.

I perceived a way to hide myself. I grabbed the nearest green tunic from its peg, stepped back into the stairwell, and pulled the tunic over my own. A scrap of green cloth came with tunic; I tied it around my head, wearing it as I had seen the workers do. When I emerged again on the landing, no one took any notice of me. I appeared to be just another of the antlike workers who tended the Pharos.

Anubion was shouting at Nikanor. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

I could have told him that: with such lax security at the wharf, and so many discarded uniforms lying about, it hardly required the skills of a master spy for Nikanor to impersonate a worker and board the ferry.

Nikanor ignored the questions and shouted back at him. “I told you there were traitors among us—and now I’ve seen you consorting with the worst of them, treating the old Sidonian like an honored guest, giving him and his Roman pupil a tour of the lighthouse!”

“Say not another word, Nikanor. Leave the Pharos at once. I’ll meet you at the ferry landing and we’ll discuss this matter there.”

“Who are you to give me orders, Anubion? You, a latecomer to the cause, a filthy half-Egyptian, half-Greek mongrel? As far as I know, you’re a traitor as well—a double agent—a spy for the Romans. Last night I looked at the Pharos, and I sensed that you were looking back at me. I couldn’t move! The beam transfixed me, as a needle pins a fly! Who knows what terrible powers you wield from the Pharos? You read men’s minds, control their thoughts, paralyze their bodies!”

Despite the blasting heat, Anubion grew pale. “He’s mad, Isidorus. Completely mad!”

Isidorus stared at Nikanor with wide eyes. His hairless, ebony head was dripping with sweat.

Nikanor drew back. “I see it now—you’re all traitors. All against me! You lured me here against my will. You tricked me into coming to the Pharos. You mean for me to die here.”

Isidorus swallowed hard. “Nikanor, stop this talk. We’ll go outside—breathe some cool air—discuss the matter sensibly—”

But the time for talking was past. Nikanor made his move. He pushed Isidorus aside as if he were made of straw.

A man like Anubion was not used to defending himself against physical attack. The struggle was brief, and horrible to witness.

The stone railing of the gallery came almost to my waist, high enough to prevent anyone from falling accidentally into the open furnace. But the railing proved to be no obstacle to an enraged madman determined to throw another man into the flames. I watched Anubion fly screeching through the air. He caught fire even before he landed, his tall hat and green robes bursting into flame. His screams were terrible. I watched for an instant, unable to look away, then shielded my face as Anubion exploded.

The sudden fireball sent the workers into a panic. When I uncovered my eyes I saw that some had been badly burned. Others, their loincloths ablaze, were scrambling for blankets to smother the flames.

That was the end of Anubion. The master of the lighthouse had become one with the beacon.

I blinked and looked about, then drew back just as Isidorus rushed past me, quickly followed by Nikanor. Neither of them took any notice of me.

I stood for a long moment, stunned, then hurried down the steps after them.

I emerged on the lower landing, coughing and gasping for breath, eagerly drawing the cool sea breeze into my scalded lungs. The panoramic view of Alexandria and the sea, so enthralling before, was now disorienting and bizarre. I staggered from a sudden attack of vertigo, and watched an unearthly scene play out before me.

Antipater was still on the landing. Isidorus had joined him. They stood with their backs against the parapet and the sea, expressions of shock on their faces.

Nikanor was nearby. At his feet lay a blazing torch. In both hands he held what appeared to be a heavy clay vessel. While I watched, he slung the contents toward Antipater and Isidorus, dousing them with a clear liquid. From the overpowering smell, I realized it was the substance called naphtha.

Nikanor threw the vessel aside and picked up the torch.

My heart leaped to my throat. I rushed toward Nikanor, but he saw me, swung his left arm, and struck me across the face. I reeled to one side and fell.

Before I could make another move, Nikanor threw the torch toward the cowering figures of Antipater and Isidorus.

Antipater was closest to me. I sprang to my feet and leaped toward him. If we had tumbled only a little to one side, Isidorus might have been knocked to the ground and saved as well. But we only brushed him as we fell, and as we struck the hard stone floor there was a burst of flame behind me, followed by a bloodcurdling scream.

“Isidorus!” cried Antipater. I rolled away from him and looked up to witness the final act of the gruesome spectacle.