Creticus snorted. "First off, the Macedonians beat him, Last word we had, he hadn't yet been relieved. It's a bad time of year to move troops by sea, and Macedonia is a long way from here by land."

"Then what is to be done?" said the book exporter.

"If you men feel all that concerned," Creticus said, "perhaps now would be a good time to take a vacation from Alexandria. Cyprus is a pleasant place, as is Rhodes or Crete. Take your families there and leave your business interests in the hands of your freedmen."

"But we cannot just leave!" protested Fundanius. "We are men of substantial property. Our homes and warehouses will be looted and burned. Most of our freedmen are Romans, too. They will be killed."

"Gentlemen," Creticus said, "there is no need to grow so alarmed. Events may not take so grievous a turn. I shall continue my efforts to get Ptolemy to take action against this absurd cult." He rose and, on that unsatisfactory note, the audience ended.

"How is Ptolemy really acting?" I asked when they were gone.

"Like a flute-player," Creticus said. "He refuses to believe that this activity presages anything important. He says he has instructed Berenice to have nothing further to do with Ataxas, but I doubt that bubblehead pays much heed to the old drunk."

"Have you sounded him out about that arsenal on the lake?"

"I have. He professes total ignorance and insists that Achillas is the most loyal of his servants. Funny thing about that:"

"What?"

"Well, whenever he spoke of Achillas, he had the unmistakable air of a man who speaks of someone who terrifies him."

"Achillas is overweening and ambitious. Even little Cleopatra says he and Memnon behave insolently, and she's only ten years old. What do you think are the chances of Achillas pulling a coup?"

Creticus cogitated for a while. "The Egyptians are resistant to any sort of change. There hasn't been a change of dynasty since the first Ptolemy. They don't like rule by non-natives, but they haven't much choice in that. Before the Macedonians it was the Persians and even the Nubians. Conquest by Alexander wasn't so bad, since they think he was a god. In any case, they're used to the Ptolemies now, and they don't want to see anyone else on the throne. Achillas is just another Macedonian upstart to them. Even if he married one of the princesses, they wouldn't recognize him as legitimate ruler."

"And with the nomes in a state of unrest, the whole country could dissolve in civil war."

"That makes it all the more unlikely that he's planning a takeover, doesn't it?" Creticus said.

"If he could build a reputation as a great general," I pointed out, "he would be more palatable to the Egyptians. And the only people left for him to fight are the Romans. How many of our recent wars have begun with an uprising of the local populace against Romans?"

"Most of them," he admitted.

"Mithridates did it, and so have others. It's what will precipitate the war with Gaul, if that comes. The local king or chief or whatever sends out agitators to stir up bad feelings against the local Romans-never difficult to do at the best of times. The next thing you know, there is riot and general massacre. By the time people have come to their senses, it's too late. They're at war with Rome and they have no choice but to support the leader who encouraged their folly in the first place."

"It's effective," Creticus allowed. "The Roman public is always for war when foreigners slaughter Roman civilians. If Egypt wasn't so damned rich and tempting, I wouldn't mind a quick war of conquest myself. But it's the wrong time for a war in Egypt. Macedonia's a fiasco and we're preparing for war in Gaul. Even Roman legions can get spread too thin, and there would be that many more veterans to settle."

"Keep working on Ptolemy," I advised. "If he's afraid of Achillas, he might not be upset to see the man out of the way."

"What are you suggesting?" Creticus demanded.

"Just that one less troublesome, subversive soldier would be infinitely preferable to riot and war, both civil and foreign."

"Why, Decius, I never took you for an assassin." There was something akin to family pride in his voice.

"Nothing underhanded about it," I said. "As far as I'm concerned, it's open warfare between me and Achillas now, and the better man will walk away from it."

"Spoken like a true Roman," he said, chuckling.

Back in my quarters, I made preparations for a foray into the city. First I laid out my weapons: caestus, dagger and sword. I decided against the rather bulky legionary gladius I wore when in uniform. Instead I had a very nice short sword of the sort favored in the arena by certain types of gladiator. It was about three-fourths the size of the military sword, light, wasp-waisted with a narrow point for stabbing and edges so sharp you could cut your eyes just looking at them.

"You're not really going out in the streets, are you?" Hermes asked with a touching concern for my safety.

"I'll be safe enough," I assured him. "As long as I'm not dressed as a Roman and don't speak Latin, nobody will notice me." In our travels down the river I had picked up some good desert garments for protection from the sun. I had an excellent striped robe with a hood that would conceal my Roman coiffure. I kicked off my Roman sandals and slipped my feet into a pair of light, camel-skin slippers such as the caravaneers favor.

"Got your will made out?" Hermes said. "The one where you give me my freedom in the event of your death?"

"If I ever made such a will, I'd live in fear every day of my life. Don't worry, I'll come back safe." Actually, I'd long since made out my will and registered it at the Temple of Vesta, with manumissions and stakes for all my slaves. But you must never allow a slave to think you softhearted.

With my weapons concealed about my person, I slipped on the long desert robe. I fought the temptation to darken my skin. Such subterfuges are rarely convincing and would make me that much more likely to be uncovered. The fact is, fair-skinned people are not all that rare in the East, what with the mercenaries who had policed Persia's far-flung empire and Alexander's rampaging armies and the equally polyglot Successor armies, which for the last two hundred years had included Gauls from Galatia. My typically Italian features would pass easily enough, as long as I watched my tongue. I could butcher Greek with the best of them.

"Good luck, then," Hermes said.

"Stay out of the wine," I cautioned.

Out in the street, I made an effort not to walk like a Roman. This was not too difficult as the desert men also have a very erect posture, but they walk more slowly. We are accustomed to the quick legionary pace, while they adopt a stride calculated to avoid heat stroke. My main worry was that I might encounter real desert men who would want to converse, but that was no great danger. There are a number of languages spoken in the dry parts of the world, and I could always pretend to speak one of the others. In any case, the desert people are very haughty and rarely deign to acknowledge someone of another tribe.

I walked casually, as if I had already sold my goods and was engaged in a little sightseeing before mounting my camel for the caravan homeward. In a city like Alexandria such a one was all but invisible, which was what I most desired.

Most of the city streets through which I walked were quiet, if a bit uneasy. Few of these people were Egyptians and they did not look like good material for a rampaging mob.

In the Rakhotis it was different. Here there was an air of tension. People spoke in mutters instead of their usual cheerful babble. They drew away from foreigners and generally exhibited the mannerisms of people who were on the verge of violence directed against outsiders I had seen it at work elsewhere. I had seen much the same in my recent visit to Gaul, although we had managed to temporarily calm matters there.