The Gladiator

Yannis steered the boat around Pharos island towards the second, smaller harbour. It was only as they approached the lighthouse built on to the end of the island that Cato fully appreciated the scale of the structure, built on the orders of the second Ptolemy. A vast square base with walls and low towers served as the platform for the main tower, which soared into the sky, over four hundred feet in height.

The first level was square, pierced with rows of windows. Above it was an eight-sided section leading up to the final, smallest level, which was round. The fire was housed in the upper floors of the highest level, and above that gleamed the huge brass reflector. There was a tiny flurry of white specks swirling about the top of the lighthouse as one of its keepers hurled scraps of food to the gulls.

Cato and the other Romans were stunned by the building. In all their lives they had seen nothing to compare to it, not even in Rome, with all its grand buildings. Yannis laughed at their awed expressions.

'Some what humbling, isn't it? Not so sure that Rome is the centre of the world any more?'

'I had no idea it was as magnificent as this,' Cato admitted.' How on earth could they have built it?'

He had been raised with the idea of Roman omnipotence. Rome was the greatest city, its people the greatest race, and its gods were the most powerful. He had not been fool enough to take this smugness at face value, but he had travelled the empire from Britain to Palmyra and seen nothing to compete with the magnificence of Rome. Until now.

The boat passed the end of Pharos island and a short while later Yannis altered course and headed into the port that opened out beyond the lighthouse. The wind was now abeam the fishing boat, and it heeled as Yannis adjusted his mainsheets. The main concentration of shipping was over to the right, and Cato saw a fleet of large vessels heading directly for them. Yannis altered course to avoid them.

'The grain fleet,' he explained.

Cato nodded as he examined the vessels more closely. They were built like the Horus, but on a larger scale, with high sides that bulged outwards. A purple pennant rippled from the top of each mast. He watched them as they sailed past with almost stately grace, as the faint swell had almost no effect on them. Each vessel was filled with grain destined for Rome, where it would feed the common people for the next four months while the fleet returned to Alexandria for the next consignment. Ever since the Emperor Augustus had finally annexed Egypt and made it into a Roman province, the fertile fields watered by the great river Nile had be come the breadbasket of Rome.

Unfortunately the mob had come to rely on the free handout, and successive emperors had not dared to put an end to the dole, no matter how much gold it cost them.

The courses of the fleet and the fishing boat diverged as Yannis steered the craft towards a small port at the base of the peninsula that protected the harbour. A fleet of Roman warships lay at anchor in the sheltered waters, and beyond them steps and ramps rose up from the sea towards a large palace complex.

'That's the old royal port,' said Yannis. And the palaces built by the Ptolemies. Except for that building to the right. That's the Great Library.'

Cato looked towards the building Yannis had mentioned. He had assumed that it was yet another palace, but now that he looked more closely he could see a steady stream of people moving in and out of the vaulted entrance. More were visible on the balconies on the upper floors, scanning racks of scrolls or talking in small groups.

As the fishing boat approached one of the ramps that emerged from the sea, Yannis uncleated the mainsheets and thrust them into the hands of two of Cato's men. 'Let them go the moment I say'

He judged the approach carefully, and when the boat was no more than fifty feet from the shore he called out, ' Now '

The sail flapped up and billowed freely in the wind, and the fishing boat rapidly lost way through the water. Just before it grounded, Yannis heaved on the steering oar and the craft surged round and bumped gently on the stone ramp a short distance below the surface. Their arrival had been noticed by some of the sentries guarding the steps up to the palace, and a section of legionaries led by an optio came marching down the ramp.

'What's all this then?' the optio called out. 'You gypos know you ain't allowed to land here. Off limits. Military only, so piss off.'

Cato felt his temper rise. After eight mostly sleepless days of being confined to the small fishing boat, he was desperate to be on dry land again. He was about to tear a strip off the optiofor insubordination when he realised that he was so tired he was not thinking clearly. His clothes, and those of his men, were grimy, and they had not shaved since leaving Gortyna. It was no wonder the optio had mistaken them for common fishermen.