Selene of Alexandria by Faith L. Justice Read Free Book Online Page B

lucrative appointments if it wasn't too excessive.
    The lowering sun found Orestes with his entourage of city officials and their assistants on the bank of Lake Mareotis. Mud brick buildings sprawled along the shore behind them and stone docks thrust into the lake. The harbormaster, a bluff man with graying beard, barrel chest, and the bandy legs of a sailor, greeted them with a bow. "Lord Prefect, welcome! All is ready for your inspection."
    Orestes looked around curiously. Trade was the lifeblood of Alexandria. All the goods to and from the Egyptian hinterland went through this city. Dock workers swarmed like ants to discharge the cargo: amphorae of wine and oil, barrels of fruits and vegetables, bales of wool and linen, stone from the quarries, pottery from the kilns. This bustling freshwater harbor saw as many boats and more barges than the seaward harbors. Orestes marveled at the sheer volume, as well as the variety of goods that moved through this port, but his primary responsibility lay with one particular export.
    "I should like to see the granaries first."
    The harbormaster bobbed and waved a hand to the east. "This way, Your Excellency. This month of July the Mother Nile begins to rise, bringing life to the land. Last year's harvest is arriving from the central granaries established along the river. We are in the middle of our busiest season." He waved toward the lake. "See, even as we speak, barges arrive from the south."
    Orestes squinted at a small fleet of nine barges crawling across the horizon toward the grain docks. The flat-bottom boats wallowed with their heavy loads. Bargemen strained at their oars. The last barge straggled some distance from its fellows.
    Orestes and his entourage continued down the docks toward the towering stone granaries. The harbormaster explained the intricacies of wheat inspection to insure its quality was "unadulterated, with no admixture of earth or barley."
    As they approached the docks in front of the granaries, a shout went up.
    "There, Master." Demetrius pointed to the incoming barges.
    A dozen men in small round boats attacked the straggling barge with spears and slings. The other eight raced for shore, leaving their companion to its fate. One bargeman was in the water. Two others fended off the coracles with their oars, but there were too many. A pirate climbed over an undefended side, clubbing one bargeman, before the others tipped the marauder into the water.
    "You!" the harbormaster shouted at several lounging sailors, "take The Egret and go to their aid." He pointed to a trim little sailing vessel tied to the dock.
    One of the sailors stood up and spat something dark on the ground before putting his hands on his hips and cocking his head. "'It's too late. By the time I get'er under sail, the pirates will be back in the reeds."
    The harbormaster's face turned red. "There might be survivors, man!"
    The sailor spat again, this time marking a stone bollard.
    Orestes stepped forward and flipped a silver coin at the sailor's feet. "Another one for every live man you bring back. I'll make it gold for a live pirate."
    The sailor picked up the silver coin and tucked it into a pouch. "Yessir." He turned to his crew and cuffed the nearest one on the head. "You heard the man. Git!" They raced to the end of the dock and jumped aboard, loosening the lines from the bollards and raising sail. The crowd watched helplessly, as The Egret sped away.
    The pirates grappled the barge, pulling it toward tall reeds screening the bank.
    "If the pirates make it to the reeds, they will disappear into the hidden by-ways. The barge will be lost, its cargo disappearing into the villages on the shores," the harbormaster explained. "My apologies, Augustal Prefect. I've asked for shore patrols, but the council has yet to hear my petition."
    "Do you lose many ships?"
    "More as the season waxes. Mother Nile was not generous last year and the harvest thin. There is hunger in the hinterland. Desperate men do