Historia Alium - Chapter 5

Mightier than the Sword

1633 AUC 

“The students! United! Will never be defeated! The students! United! Will never be defeated!”

The chant echoed around the harbour as the column slowly marched towards the temple built by Cleopatra in honour of her dead lover, the ancient dictator Caesar. An old man hurriedly packed up his fish stall as the vanguard of the protesters passed him.

“Damn students!” he muttered to himself, “They’re never happy! Those damn, stinking students!”

“Have no fear, sir!”

A student sporting an unkempt beard and a smug smile stopped in front of the stall.

“We’re fighting on your behalf! For every peasant in the Empire!”

“You ain’t helping me!” said the fishmonger, “We just want peace and quiet! But you lot keep picking fights with the government!”

“Here, let me help”, said the student, picking up a box of fish

“Hands off, you pest!”

A roar came from the Caesareum down the street.

“Shit, it’s started” 

He ran down the road, darting between his comrades. Before long he reached the crush, and he had to push and jostle his way to the front. Eventually, having forced his way through the tight phalanx, he burst onto the prow of the protest. There were a few feet of no-man’s-land between the soldiers, rectangular red shields in one hand and wooden swords in the other, and the boiling, seething sea of students.

“You motherfuckers!” he screamed, “You sons of syphilitic whores! You flaccid dicks! Go back to the brothel, you cunting cocksuckers! We’ll sodomise the lot of you! Eat shit and die!”

He saw, behind the first few lines of soldiers, there were centuries in reserve with real, steel swords. And behind the Caesareum was the Tribune’s Palace, the lair of the local oligarch and imperial stooge, Agathon. Between the unarmed army and the armed one, there were two timeworn obelisks, and with the help of some friends, a girl clambered onto the high plinth of one. She turned her back to the soldiers and addressed her fellows with a clenched fist held high:

“Free the prelum! Free the mind! Free the prelum! Free the mind!”

The chant quickly caught on, and got faster with every utterance.

“Free the prelum! Free the mind! Free the prelum! Free the mind!”

The student didn’t join in, but absently gazed at the girl. She had flowing red hair that undulated in the wind, and she wore strange Celtic-looking garments that didn’t cover her slender midriff. 

Suddenly someone grabbed his collar and pulled him away from the soldiers and back into the throng of students. Despite his protests, he was dragged into a deserted alleyway.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” asked the man who had plucked him from the crowd, who was pale and had jet black hair and a matching toga

“It’s a march against the prelum restrictions, Stolo. If anyone’s going to protest, it should be us. I mean, it’s why we-“

Stolo pushed him against the wall and, being a tall man, stood menacingly over him.

“You idiot, Barbatus. That’s precisely why we should not protest. What if you got arrested? What if they tortured you until you told them?”

“I wouldn’t tell them a thing!” insisted Barbatus

Stolo sighed, “Listen, I came to find you after you didn’t turn up this morning. Do you remember? That we arranged to meet up at the villa today? Come on, let’s go”

Stolo walked away, and Barbatus, after a look back to the march, hesitantly turned and followed. Cries of anguish and anger rose up behind as the battle started in earnest, making Barbatus curse under his breath. The pair walked to the Macedonian quarter, where the villas were large and there were almost no horse droppings in the streets. Stolo kicked on the door of a villa that looked like any other. A frail old man with a beard down to his waist answered.

“Ah, boys! Here to ask me more questions about your essays, are you?” he said loudly, “Come in, come in!”

“Thank you, magister Vetus”

The three went to Vetus’ study, and moved his large desk to reveal a trapdoor. They went down the rickety wooden staircase into the dark basement. Tuditanus, a stocky engineering student, was already there, slotting some parchment into the prelum. The prelum was an imposing, monolithic machine: a wooden structure which held a large screw which pressed down on a piece of parchment and some metal tiles with moveable letters. Barbatus went to a table in the corner, where waiting for him was a copy of ‘On Platonistic Historiography’ – a surprisingly boring title for the most widely read monograph since the invention of the prelum twenty years ago – by the radical philosopher Malleolus.  The copy was in Latin, and Barbatus started to write out the third chapter on a wax tablet, except in Coptic, the language of the native Egyptians. He was originally from Neapolis, but having finished his universals with flying colours he moved to Alexandria two years ago to start a course in Egyptian Studies.

“I’ll leave you to it, boys,” said Vetus as he went back upstairs, “I’ve got a lecture on heart failure to prepare”

On a table next to the prelum was a stack of Coptic copies, each of them poorly bound and with a Latin cover for disguise. Stolo, who was in charge of distribution, loaded a bag with a few monographs and left. He would come and go several times, meeting various members of the native community who were eager to spread Malleolus’ ideas, despite the fact that being caught with material printed in any language other than Latin could land you a public flogging. The punishment for printing such material was crucifixion, something the four men tried to put out of their minds as they went about their work.

***

The sun was approaching the horizon. Barbatus and hundreds of other students had been sitting in the academy’s open-air lecture theatre since midday. His bum had passed through pain to stiff numbness, and the end of his stylus had nearly been chewed off. The lecture was on the Ptolemaic period and was, despite the magister’s excruciating monotone, fascinating – there was a small pile of wax tablets by Barbatus’ feet – but both body and mind have their limits. He looked around his fellows, and his eyes stopped on a mass of red hair a few rows below him. Could it be?  

“Okay, that’s it for today,” said the magister, his voice echoing around the stone theatre, “please read the first five chapters of ‘On the Annexation of Egypt’ for next week”

Barbatus threw everything into his bag and darted past his neighbours as they yawned and stretched their limbs. He reached the red-headed girl as she was making her way down.

“Hi!” said Barbatus, “Pretty interesting lecture, huh?”

“Er, yeah I suppose”, she said in an accent he couldn’t place

“I saw you at the protest the other day”

Her eyes lit up.

“You were at the battle too? By Mars’ prick, that was the best one I’ve been at for ages. Were you there when we stormed the Caesareum?”

“Yeah ... I remember kicking a soldier in the colei”

The girl looked intently at his face, trying to judge his character.

“Fancy going to the shisha tavern? I’m Illica, by the way”

“I’m Barbatus”

They left the theatre and walked across the plaza of the academic district. In the centre was a naked man, lying face down on a bench, his hands and feet tied down. A soldier stood over him with a whip in his hand. Barbatus could see trickles of blood flowing down his sides, and a sign hung around his neck that read ‘NLL’ – short for non-Latin reader. He yelped in pain as the whip came down again, and Barbatus gulped. Maybe he had read something he had translated.

“Isn’t that wrong? Just for reading a monograph”, said Illica

Barbatus nodded. The tavern was opposite the temple of Thoth, a magnificent building with towering columns and artful carvings of scholars in profile at the heart of the academic district. Above the entrance to the tavern were a wooden head and a hand holding a pipe which swung to and from his mouth. Although his hair was green and his eyes were red, the bushy beard was deliberately reminiscent of Malleolus’. Barbatus often frequented this haven for free-thinkers.  The two lay down on some cushions, with a bright blue glass shisha between them.

“So, Illica, where are you from?”

“Brittannia”

“Aha, Londinium?”

Illica rolled her eyes, “We’re not all from Londinium. I’m from Eburacum, in the north”

An attendant brought them some unleavened bread, placed a small block of hashish on the tray of the shisha and lit it with a candle. Barbatus took the pipe and drew the smoke through the water, down the tube and into his lungs. As he exhaled and watched the smoke billow then fade, he felt a blanket of relaxation slowly descend and embrace his body and mind. He passed the pipe to Illica. As she smoked, Barbatus was suddenly struck by the beauty of the scene: the vivid colours of the tavern’s decorations, the laughter coming from other parties, the lamps being lit by slaves on the street outside as the city darkened, the delicate features of Illica as the veil of smoke was lifted before her face. He wanted to tell her all this, but knew that to attempt to articulate it would take too long.

“So, what do you think of Malleolus?” asked Illica

She nodded towards a large fresco of him, with a book in one hand and a hammer in the other.

“He’s absolutely right,” said Barbatus, leaning forward with fire in his eyes, “Utopia’s just around the corner, it has to be. The prelum has changed everything, nothing will be the same again. Plato’s ideal polis is not only possible, it’s inevitable. Maybe Alexandria will be the first one! All we need to do is educate the peasants in the possibility of a better life, a better world. Once we have them on side, there’s nothing we can’t do. As a united city, or even a united Empire, we can forge any sort of society we want”

“And why would we create Plato’s utopia?” asked Illica, “Philosopher-kings who decide who gets to fuck who, every child brought up by the State ... it seems a bit random”

Out of the blue Barbatus’ mind effervesced with a realisation.

“I suppose ever since Caepio took over, the whole Empire’s been wondering what the future will look like,” he said, “ironically, a vision of the future has come from the past. That’s why Malleolus’ ideas are so popular. Have you never read On Platonistic Historiography?”

“Philosophy’s not really for me,” she said, “I’m more interested in the fighting. We need to show Empress Bitch the error of her ways”

“Surely you have a modicum of respect for her?” he asked, “Galeria invented the prelum, after all”

“She built up the intellectual class, then stabbed us all in the back by imposing all these restrictions. We can’t even read a monograph in Greek, and all because of this ‘incentive to Romanise’ nonsense. No, I don’t respect her. She’s just an old hag who’s bitter because she never married Caepio and now he’s dead”

“I suppose so”, he said

“Goes to show how important it is to do what you want to do, when you want to do to it”, said Illica with a smirk, her eyes giving him a look that seemed to ask “Do you dare?”

Barbatus smiled and took another drag from the pipe. After the hashish was finished and they had eaten their meal, the two walked through the city together to Barbatus’ building, a towering student insula with cheap rents and cheaper building materials. As they ran up the rickety wooden staircase, the occasional stair dislodged and fell down the shaft. They ignored noisy revelers and irritated essay-writers on their way. When they got to his room, Barbatus lit a single lamp, hoping to disguise how dank and cramped it was. Illica closed the door. The two of them stood face to face, breathing heavily with anticipation, waiting to see who would make the first move. Then Illica undid her belt and pulled off her tunic. Her body was slender but in no way dainty, and despite being from the frozen north every part of her had tanned nicely from the Egyptian sun. She lay down on the mattress on the floor, and Barbatus hastily threw off his clothes, revealing a hairy chest and a soldier standing to attention. He knelt at her feet, leant down and kissed her bellybutton. Slowly, one kiss at a time, he made his way up to her lips. With Barbatus gazing into Illica’s bright eyes, his hands brushing through her ginger locks, the night of passion began in earnest.   

***

The sun peeked through the slits of the wooden window shutters, forming a dozen rays of light that arced across the dirty room. Barbatus lay on his back, watching specks of dust dance between the rays, flitting in and out of invisibility, as his mind slowly returned to the waking world. He noticed that Illica had gotten up. She put on her tunic and made for the door.

“Wait,” he said, “do you want some breakfast? There’s a place downstairs that does the best dormice”

“I had a good time last night Barbatus, but I can only spend time with people who fight for change”

“I fight for change!” he said, unable to hide a quiver in his voice

“You know the theory, but you’re not a man of action, are you? I wouldn’t want a civilian to get hurt, just because he was close to me”

Barbatus stood up, “I am a man of action. Let me show you”

He got dressed, grabbed Illica’s hand and pulled her out of the room, down the stairs and onto the street. She kept asking where they were going, but he said nothing. They went to the Macedonian quarter. Illica, who seemed amazed by the size and beauty of the villas, had clearly never been to this part of the city. They came to Vetus’ home. Barbatus kicked on the door.

“Ah, Barbatus my boy, and ... who’s this?”

Vetus stood in the threshold and held onto the door.

“Don’t worry magister, this is a friend”

“My name’s Illica”, she said with a saccharine smile

“Pleased to meet you, young lady, but I’m afraid I don’t invite strangers into my house. I’m just an old man, after all”

“She’s one of us,” said Barbatus, “she wants to free minds. We won’t be long”

He took hold of Illica’s hand and slipped past Vetus, pulling her inside. In the study, Barbatus pushed the desk out of the way as Illica watched with intrigue and Vetus shuffled around indecisively. He opened the trap door, and invited Illica to descend the rickety stairs first. Vetus hesitantly handed him a torch. The light fell upon the towering frame of the prelum. Illica’s eyes widened.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” said Barbatus

She went over to it and examined the tiny tiles.

“Is this Greek?”

“Coptic”

She turned to him, “So you are the real deal”

He nodded with a smug smile.

“So do you come down here often?”

“You’ll forgive me, young lady,” said Vetus from the stairs, “but the less you know the better”

“Of course, magister, pardon me,” said Illica, “we’ve taken enough of your time, we should leave you in peace. Thank you for allowing me into your home”

The old man muttered something under his breath as he climbed up the stairs.

On the street outside, Barbatus leant against a wall as casually as he could.

“So, what do you want to do now?” he said with a smile

“I’ve got to go back to my place, but I could come over to yours again tonight? Does that sound good?”

“Sounds wonderful, see you later”

As he watched her walk away, it dawned on him that he was behind with his work. He started to walk towards the sea, imagining what they would get up to tonight.

***

An hour later, Barbatus walked out of the Library with several monographs. The gigantic building, with its familiar columns and triangular pediments, overlooked the docks. He found a spot on the sea wall where he could read in peace and watch the sailors and fishermen going about their business. Seagulls skulked around, waiting for the opportunity to steal some food. Towering over the harbour was the lighthouse, that ancient wonder that resembled a fortress. For more than a thousand years it had shown the way through the dark. Not unlike the Library, thought Barbatus.   

Before he could finish the first page of ‘On the Annexation of Egypt’, he became distracted by a conversation on the street behind him.

“You heard the news, right? About the humanities?”

“Yeah, there’s going to be a riot, you can feel it in the air. Look, some soldiers running towards the academic district”

Barbatus turned around and accosted the two students.

“Excuse me, what’s this news you’re talking about?”

“Arts and humanities have been taken off the universal curriculum, and only some academies can teach them. Alexandria can’t anymore. You’d have to be the son of senator to afford to learn philosophy or whatever now”

“I guess Empress Galeria decided it was a waste of money,” said the other student, “after all, the point of education is to make the Empire stronger, not to turn it into a giant art gallery or symposium. Anyway, we’re doing medicine, so it doesn’t affect us”

Barbatus grabbed his collar, “Galeria sticks another knife into academia, into the very mind of the Empire, and you say it doesn’t affect you?!”

“Mate, I heard people are gathering at the temple of Thoth,” said the first student in a calming tone, “go vent your anger there”

Barbatus let go and started walking briskly towards the academic district, leaving his monographs on the sea wall. If what they said was right, his course in Egyptian studies was over. What would he do? If I’m lucky, he thought, I could stay in Alexandria and become a fisherman or something. I might have to go back home to Neapolis and beg father to let me help with his carpentry business. If I grovel enough, maybe he’ll forgive me for everything I said before I left. Then that will be my life, drab, uninspiring, back-breaking manual labour. No, I can’t accept that. Galeria has to be persuaded to change her mind. We have to get the message through her thick skull – a barracks burnt to the ground might do the trick. She has to learn that she can’t destroy people’s lives without consequences.

When he reached the temple of Thoth, there was already a crowd which filled the street. Standing on tiptoe, he could see there were only half a dozen terrified-looking soldiers at the entrance of the temple. There was a surge forward, and the soldiers were simply pushed out of the way as the crowd cheered. Everyone piled into the temple, and Barbatus followed. The temple was spacious, and there was easily enough room for the hundreds of students among the gigantic columns. Some of the priests scurried around with fear in their eyes, others simply stood and looked sternly down their noses at the intruders. A tall dark girl stood up on a dais at the front.

“We will occupy this temple until our demands are met”, she said, her voice echoing around the chamber, “I propose that our first demand be that the academy of Alexandria publically denounce Empress Galeria’s plans, and that they assure the students that all courses will continue as normal. All who agree say aye”

“Aye!” shouted the crowd, their assent resounding around the temple

Those closest to the entrance announced that there were many soldiers gathering outside, but still they methodically formulated their demands. Barbatus could see some nervousness beginning to dent their initial determination – worried looks, whispers in friends’ ears, people wondering how exactly this was going to end. But then the people near the entrance gave some surprising news: there was a crowd of locals on the street outside as well, growing in size and in anger. Relief swept through the temple. If the students and locals worked together, they could push the army back.

“Does anyone speak Coptic?” called out the girl at the front

Barbatus raised his hand.

“I’ll talk to them”

He made his way to the entrance, with people moving out of his way. Outside, the sky was orange and pink as the sun approached the horizon, and the streets were beginning to darken. He was taken aback by the sheer number of locals who had appeared, a sea of people flooding the street, but he was not heartened. They were trying to push their way towards the temple through the army, but their anger was not directed at the soldiers. There were several lines of infantry between them and the temple, but they were struggling to hold them back.

“Friends!” Barbatus shouted over the soldiers, “Let’s fight these dogs together! Let’s build a better city!”

“Get the fuck out of our temple!” the closest locals shouted in response

He persevered. “You’re playing into their hands! They want us divided!”

“You students, you spoiled brats,” one dirty young man yelled, “you always bring the city to a halt to complain that you’re not pampered enough. What about the hard working people of the city? We’ve had enough! We’re not going to take it anymore!”

Barbatus didn’t have time to reply as a surge from behind the locals he was conversing with suddenly pushed them forward and broke the line of soldiers. Only briefly surprised by their own strength, they trampled over infantrymen and clambered up the steps of the temple like some hungry polycephalous monster. Barbatus ran back into the temple, a second before his comrades shut the gigantic doors – except the mass of people hit the doors before they were completely closed. They tried to force the doors open by their sheer weight, but the students pushed back. Dozens of them formed a phalanx, digging their heels into the floor and pushing the person in front. Through the gap between the doors, the two multitudes shouted insults and claims of ownership of the temple at each other. Barbatus noticed that the man beside him had tears streaming down his cheeks, pushing with all his might but driven purely by fear.

“Hey, this temple is our fortress,” he said, “from here we’re going t-“

But Barbatus never finished his encouragement. The locals pushed the doors open wide, causing a hundred students to topple like dominos. The locals flooded in, and before Barbatus could get up he saw one with a hammer swing it into the face of the crying man. Barbatus scrambled up and ran with the rest of the students towards the back of the temple in the hope of another exit. He was dimly aware that he was stepping on people and that his brave words had been rendered utterly meaningless, but instinct had taken over and his one and only goal in life had become to get away from the mob. The screams of fright and agony behind him only made him faster. They came across a back entrance, but it was only small and in the funnel everyone shoved and elbowed each other in a mad attempt to get out sooner.

Once outside, Barbatus stood in the street. He realised he was drenched in sweat, and was grateful for the relatively cool air. The street was full of young people, some discussing what their next move should be, others slowly making their way down the street, presumably to home. At the end of the street closest to the main entrance of the temple there were several rows of soldiers blocking their way. Barbatus stood there watching them for a few minutes, as they stood and watched him. Then he heard a centurion bark an order, and the soldiers parted like the Red Sea. Dozens of horses appeared as though from nowhere, thundering towards them. Instinct took over again and the students ran, but of course seconds later the cavalry smashed into the crowd. Barbatus was hit from behind and flew face first into the ground. He leapt back up and darted between the horses, but didn’t escape being hit on the crown with a wooden sword by one of the riders. He slipped into a dark alleyway. His nostrils were filled with a metallic smell, and he realised he was dribbling blood. He spat some of it out, along with two of his teeth. He took deep breaths. They had lost. It was time to go home.     

Half an hour later, night had descended on the city. The streets were still busy, mostly with people hurrying home to avoid getting caught up in the violence, although there was the occasional troop of soldiers or band of rioters running to another quarter of the city. When Barbatus was nearing his insula, he heard noises from down the street and his heart dropped. When he got there, he saw soldiers guarding his building. Students were being led out, some confused, some quietly fuming, as their rooms were ransacked and monographs were thrown out of the windows. Barbatus simply stood and watched, their defeat made crystal clear in his mind. Eventually it occurred to him that he needed somewhere to sleep tonight. All of the other student buildings were no doubt being subjected to the same treatment, so the only safe place he could think of was Vetus’ villa. Stolo and Tuditanus would probably also be there. So he made his way to the Macedonian quarter.  

Even in this affluent part of the city there were crowds of people in the streets, all with worried expressions. He reached Vetus’ street, but as he got closer the throng seemed to thicken and he had to squeeze between people. Only after he had got through a group of motionless people did he realise they were watching something. There were soldiers outside the villa. Some were carrying monographs and what must have been pieces of the dismantled prelum from inside. Vetus was on his knees, his hands chained, looking at the ground. Illica was there, and Barbatus stared at her. Their eyes met for a second before Illica said something to one of the soldiers and pointed at Barbatus. He realised he’d been gawping at the scene for far too long and launched himself back into the crowd. 

But someone grabbed his tunic and pulled him back. Suddenly he was surrounded by soldiers, two of them holding him in place as the others punched him in the face and kicked him in the groin. He felt his cheek bones crack. His body went limp and numb, seemingly knowing there was no point resisting. Confident he had got the message, the soldiers let go of him and he dropped to the floor. They put chains on him as his face began to swell and throb. His vision was blurred, but he could see a mass of red hair appear in front of him.

“I never did thank for you for last night”

Illica shook a small bag she was holding, and coins rattled within.

“Thanks to you, I have this. Maybe I’ll use it to finish my education. And perhaps I’ll talk to the Tribune on your behalf, try to persuade him against crucifixion. Something a bit quicker. It’s the least I can do”

She got up, patted him on the head and walked away. Barbatus looked down, no thoughts going through his mind, and watched the blood drip from his face onto the stone.