Shadow of Death (Book 2 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 26

I rode side by side with a wide-mouthed 'Amr ibn al-'Aas. We were in the rich district, inhabited mainly by Greeks. Our horses' hooves trotted on paved stone roads, interceded with expertly crafted marble statues and stone sculptures that formed the heart of one square or the other. Some buildings were yet set ablaze, the glaring infernos illuminating the glittering gold of the lavish palaces and ordinate churches.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I asked the veteran general. His eyes sparkled with the burning splendor.

"It is a city of wonder," he replied, voice full of awe. "A piece of paradise on this earth."

My ruse had worked. After our inconvenient detour at the tavern, we managed to open the gates of the city from within, holding off the garrison all the while until the streams of warriors beyond dashed into the city. We eventually overpowered the garrison, pushing them further back into the city.

Alexandria was ours.

To appease the Christian population, 'Amr ibn al-'Aas called for the restoration of the exiled Miaphysite religious leader, one Pope Benjamin, who capitulated to 'Amr's demands of paying regular tribute to the Muslim leaders in exchange for being allowed to practice their faith in peace, unhindered by Chalcedonian restrictions.

But before all that happened, there was business to attend to.

____________________

The day after Alexandria fell to Muslim hands, three men stood on the opulent bridge leading to Pharos Island. Looming over the Nubian, 'Amr and myself was the storied Lighthouse of Alexandria.

"You sure this is the place?" 'Amr asked.

I nodded. "It references the presence of three prophets of Islam in Egypt. The cove and high place among birds and clouds narrows it down to a high place near a water source. But it also said flames."

"But there are no flames," 'Amr pointed out.

"It's only set alight at night," I told him. "Now, let's move."

We crossed the bridge, passing through sturdy arches engraved with images and depictions 'Amr sniffed at with disapproval. Iconography was looked down upon by Muslims, no matter the context. It veered too close to idolatry.

The white plastered walls of the lighthouse, firm and robust, guarding the courtyard beyond as though it would a sanctuary greeted me; familiar to them from years past, though I returned a stranger. The man that had once graced these cobbled stones, cleansed this venue from the plague of pirates, was long gone. He died on a chilly night in a tavern. In the midst of betrayal and lies.

"It is marvelous what these Romans can craft," 'Amr exclaimed as we climbed the steps of the lighthouse.

"Wasn't Romans that built this," I corrected him.

"It is a wonder all the same," he insisted. "It makes you wonder whether we are fit to govern these lands."

"Doesn't matter. We won't be staying in this city anyway. Well, at least not most of us. Bar the simple garrison ibn al-'Aas is leaving here, we won't be staying in the cities of the populace. Khalifa's orders."

"Where go, then?" the Nubian asked, his first contribution to the conversation.

"Tent cities," I answered. "A sort of stable nomadic dwelling. Like in 'Iraq. The troops there did not occupy any of the Persian cities. Instead, they built the tent city of Basra by the river."

It took what seemed like a million flights of steps and all the energy we had and then some to finally reach the uppermost tier of the Lighthouse of Alexandria. A simple wooden ladder barred our path at the end of the wide hallway. There seemed to be no other chambers in this level.