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.

"I'll go first," I offered after a brief moment of silence.

The Nubian only grunted and shoved me away. He began his ascent before I could voice my protest. 'Amr and I were in close pursuit.

What if he isn't here? I thought to myself, grabbing another rung and heaving myself upward. What if we can never find him?

"Oh for God's sake!" I heard 'Amr exclaim over me.

"What?" I demanded. "What is it? Mundhir?"

I heaved myself over the edge to find...

Mundhir humping a woman.

"Of course he's been philandering all this time," 'Amr huffed with exasperation. "Like....like a..."

"Like a philanderer?" Mundhir guessed for him, giggling all the while. He took a bit off an apple. "You ever had fruit before? I've never! Can you believe how good this thing is?"

The wind lapped at my gaping face and tugged at the tunic beneath my mail shirt. I could not quite process what I was seeing.

"How will you meet Allah?" 'Amr banged a fist against his knee.

"You haven't...you haven't been in trouble all this time?" I asked, incredulous.

"Trouble?" Mundhir asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He has not," a deep voice answered.

We shifted our gazes onto the source of the sound. On the other side of the unlit brazier sat a man in dark robes, his legs folded. His was skin as pale as that of Arcadius – the man from Hispania that had been of my unit when I was an auxiliary in Roman Alexandria. His eyes were of a steely grey shade and his hair straw-colored.

"Roman or Visigoth?" I demanded, stepping forward with a hand on my hilt.

"Neither," he answered in fluent Arabic. The dialect was not one I recognized, perhaps belonging to a northern nomadic tribe, but I recognized it. "You do not know of the people I once belonged to. But that is inconsequential. It does not matter. What does matter is you, Hanthalah ibn Ka'b."

"Yes!" Mundhir exclaimed with glee, his nude body still grinding forward and backward. "That is my friend who I told you about? He's yours if you prefer the silent brooding type. But how did you know he's Hanthalah?"

"You are a criminal, son of Ka'b," the man in black robes continued, moving toward Mundhir. I noticed there was a slur to his speech. But the source of that wasn't that the tongue was foreign to him, I knew, since he swayed slightly while walking.

What was wrong with him?

"Can you please stop doing that?" 'Amr's face flushed beet red, averting his gaze.

"Doing what? Eating my apple?"

"No," 'Amr snapped back. "I was decidedly not referring to the apple."

Mundhir, shrugged, continuing anyway.

"You will answer for your sins at the hands of those who know not death, yet love it as you do life," the pale-skinned stranger conjured a dagger as if from nowhere.

The Nubian hopped back, unslinging the axe that hung from his back. 'Amr and I unsheathed our own swords, falling into a wary stance. The man in the dark robes yanked Mundhir toward him by the tail and away from his woman. He put the dagger to Mundhir's throat. The woman shrieked, fumbling for her clothes before darting down the hole.

"What is it that you want?" I asked. "We can pay any sum you require."

"Climb up the ledge," the bastard ordered Mundhir. There was still a slur to his speech, and the hand wielding the dagger was quivering. "Climb!"

Mundhir acquiesced, clambering up the railing. The man followed suit, though much more awkwardly.

"Y-your money..." the man began shaking. "Your money's not what I want. Only...only your sorrow."

"Who the fuck are you?" I barked.

"The qat," Mundhir told him. "You need the qat. You know you do."

Qat? Why would he need a flowering pla – oh...

The man began shaking more vigorously, hesitating for a short while before fumbling into his robes and pulling out a single leaf. He tossed it into his mouth before beginning to chew, his eyes flashing with tears of relief, moaning with pleasure.

Mundhir winked, tilting his head slightly at us. A signal.

I saw that the man's shaking was dwindling. He was returning to normal. His grip on the blade was tenuous. This was my only window.

I'm not losing someone else, I thought. Not Mundhir. Never a brother.

I bellowed in defiance. Defiance against a world that had shown me only cruelty and unremitting brutality. As they always had, the memories of my bleak past rewinded in my mind's eye, the misfortunes of days past playing out again as though I returned to those wretched days.

And the beast was set free.

Cardinal and animalistic, primal and barbaric, a being that knew only the satiating reward of overwhelming vengeance, a demon from the pits of Muslim Hell that basked in the same callousness I have been weathering since I was little more than a babe at his mother's skirts.

And I lurched forward, roaring.

I hurled myself at the stranger in the dark robes, tackling him off the railing, sending us both plummeting off the uppermost level of the Lighthouse of Alexandria.

And the sea raced up to meet us.