I clutched the idol of Hubal swaddled deep within several layers of furs beneath my cloak.

I would not part from it; it gave me a serene sense of safety, and it offered a calming presence, familiar ground within a city that remained wondrous and alien despite a three-year repose.

It was Ruqayya's words of identity and belonging that also lent trouble to my thoughts. I needed to assert my identity, to determine who I was. My gods were a part of this fledgling identity. An identity that included Martha, and children, and a dream of vengeance and violence long abandoned for pursuit of domestication and warmth.

Now, however, I had not yet earned that dream. I needed coin to procure a permanent dwelling in Alexandria and relieve Martha of her occupation. I had earned a steady income from the gambling of my comrades in training, as well as bets placed on the chariot races.

Alexandria was a place of many wonders, and among those was the spectacle of sport, the most popular of which was chariot races, a spectacle held in an encompassing arena to the roars and cheers of zealous crowds.

The Romans were fervent in their support of the two factions of these races – the Blues and the Greens. But I only garnered interest for the nomismata to be earned, Roman coin.

This adventure presented another opportunity to acquire a large sum, or so the tetrarch promised. I weaved through the streets of Alexandria, among the din and raucous of Romans bustling to and fro, my thoughts lent to Martha, nomismata and my alabaster idol.

To either side strode Kulaisa, my Numidian comrade, and Arcadius, the Visigoth. Trudging behind us was the Nubian. Tetrarch Dalmatius had bestowed upon me the responsibility of selecting a handful of men to defeat a cluster of pirates headquartered at the island of Pharos. I was allowed five other men, but I gauged the skill of these three and supposed they were the only worthy lot in our tetrarchia of wielding a weapon.

Kulaisa was a nomad in origin, a man accustomed to hardship and bleak days, not too dissimilar from myself. The scars marring his skin were testimony to that. He owned a curved blade, the only relic of his past that he clung to or deigned share with the rest of us. He had proven himself gifted, and no doubt he would prove efficient when the time was nigh.

Arcadius was no stranger to suffering either. Hard circumstances breed hard men, I always say. And there are few circumstances more arduous than those of Arcadius' upbringing.

His face was smooth and comely, his combed hair boyish, yet there was a raging desire pent up within him, a hatred that burned in his eyes that would see the entire world consumed by its inferno if unleashed. Rivers would run red with his wrath. He too was not dissimilar from myself.

The Nubian. He was not what I would refer to as friend, nor even an acquaintance, yet our task was one of slaughter and extermination, not one of banter and drink. We were instructed to give no quarter. The Nubian would take great delight in a merciless slaying, and he would prove a significant asset to procure my reward. It took me nearly three years to form a strategy to best him in training. The pirates would be petrified by his sheer bulk, his glowering, dead eyes and the brandished sheen of his axe's blade.

And so, our ragged band walked through the streets of an ancient yet dazzling city. Ours was a path paved with blood. Walking through throngs of an innocent, hard-working populace, striving to provide for their families and secure shelter for their kin.

We were wolves among sheep.

We were bound for the island which housed the Pharos, otherwise known as the storied Lighthouse of Alexandria. The pirates occupied the island and garrisoned it with a chunk of their crew; they used their perch atop the lighthouse to spot easy prey bound for shore, and signal those that remained on board their ship, lurking in the shadows as deadly predator.

They were wolves among sheep as we were in the streets of Alexandria, and as we would be on the soil of Pharos Island.

It had taken me some time to formulate a plan; my resources were non-existent and an opportunity to meet these pirates in an open field was not in the realm of possibility. So, the plan I conjured was far from a traditional one. Arcadius and Kusaila balked at it, and even the Nubian raised an eyebrow.

Andronicus only chuckled, a deep raspy voice that thundered against my ears.

"You mad fuck," he'd said.

I smirked. "You're in, then."

It had been a blessing to find that Andronicus had not yet set sail. He was instrumental for my plan to foment. His was a simple merchant vessel, equipped with a mast ready to hoist a single sail, yet was adorned with an array of rowers on benches to either side.

Sucking in the lapping wind sharply through my nostrils, I stood at Andronicus' shoulder, on the raised rowing platform.

The first stage of the plan was about to be tested.

I took a moment to appreciate my surroundings, to thank the gods for this opportunity to leave camp regardless of the circumstances. I breathed in the fresh night breeze on the deck of Andronicus' ship as it lurched into motion, cradling the shore of Pharos Island.

I closed my eyes and imagined myself in Martha's arms once more. I would see her again once our task was completed. I had not seen her since I strangled her priest. I resolved I would not until I had the coin to restore myself to her good graces.

Once I did, I could see her whenever I wanted now. No bribes to sentries, no spiriting away in the dark. Despite myself, I burst out giggling.

And that night, on that ship, was one of the few moments I was truly content.

The sea glimmered with the reflection of the stars above, the waves flashing jewels, blinding in their beauty. I whispered a prayer of thanks to Allat and Allah for bestowing upon us this spectacular phenomenon that was the moon. Perched up high in an otherwise pitch canvas, we take it for granted all too often. We never pause to admire the sheer elegance of the gods' world. The enamoring splendor.

The ship rocked with the motion of the waves and I traced fingers across my idol. We were not a distance away from the docks yet, and so Andronicus had not unfurled his sails. There were no patrols in the area beyond, not a hint of any imperial force or ship. The empire had truly fallen on hard times, it seemed. A time where the cargo of merchant ships was ripe for the plucking. A clever bunch, these pirates, yet they would find deserved fate all the same.

Finally, we were well adrift of the Alexandrian coast and had veered just close enough to Pharos as planned, yet not too close in order to avoid suspicion. The lighthouse was in full view now.

They claimed it was an ancient wonder, a relic of a glorious age, mighty and splendid in its day. It was not absent beauty, I supposed.

On the shores of the island, thick stone walls, plastered white, formed an enclosure about the lighthouse, serving ample protection for the pirates camped within. There was feint firelight flickering on the ramparts of the walls, I saw.

The lighthouse was not without cracks and soiled brick, born of poor maintenance. However, the structure had aged well all things considered.

The fabled Lighthouse of Alexandria boasted of three distinct tiers. The lower tier, which formed the bulk of the construction was of a rectangular shape, dotted with openings and arrow holes. The lower tier was crowned with what seemed like a rampart, a fighting platform, an exotic piece of architecture.

The central tier was of a sleek figure, narrower of base than the former level. It seemed octagonal; a multitude of different faces separated at an angle.

Finally, came the top tier, crowning the structure and serving as the spot where the beacon would be lit. It was circular, curving about the structure. The rafters were supported with what seemed like thick bars, the spaces between them designed to allow full visibility of the fire within.

However, there was no such fire now, the beacon not yet lit. My eyes were fixed on that circular tier, between those bars, searching for any hint of light.

Yet, only darkness crested the Lighthouse of Alexandria, the shadows taunting my ambitions.

I will cement my position in this city, I thought grinding my teeth. I would determine my identity. I would claim my reward off the blood of these pirates, and I would abandon the Roman army in order to grow fat and soft with Martha taken as wife, relieved of her shameful duties at the tavern. We would sire many a child.

I prayed to al-'Uzza, the goddess of fertility and love to make it so. She was the goddess of protection as well, and so I prayed to her see me safe this night and all the nights to come. I prayed my children would inherit their mother's beauty, her smile that burned brighter than any lighthouse beacon, her eyes that were as deep and gorgeous as any sea and shone brighter than any emerald.

I cradled the idol of Hubal she gifted me, seeking comfort and calm from her memory and from the presence of my gods.

Yet, it was not Martha's eyes that lit that night atop the Lighthouse of Alexandria.

It was the beacon.

Our prey was hunting us.

__________

"Spare our lives," I pleaded. "Spare our lives and see yourselves rewarded with piles of solidi beyond your wildest dreams. Gold without end!"

The air was morbidly still, the only sounds audible the gusts of wind and the creak of planks as the man that seemed chief among the pirates crept toward me.

We were all on our knees. Myself, my comrades, Andronicus and his crew. We were displayed to this chief of pirates in a single file, on our knees before him, pleading for our lives.

It had taken the pirate ship, shrouded in a nook at the base of the island, half a heartbeat to infiltrate our own vessel after their fellow brigands atop the lighthouse signaled that vulnerable wealth snaking its way across the waves.

They crashed against our ship and I bit back a laugh at Andronicus' wince as splinters of wood were sent flying. I was asking a great deal of him, I knew; I thanked the gods for his friendship. He had been more than a guiding hand during my time in Alexandria.

The pirates infiltrated our deck in a flash of steel and curses; the sailors and rowers immediately fell to their knees, hands above their heads, Arcadius and Kusaila dissimulated among them. The Nubian was to act as a mercenary charged with the protection of the cargo. It had taken a great deal of convincing for him to agree to putting up a façade of a fight, and refrain from killing any of the infiltrators just yet. The Nubian was unsurprisingly stubborn. But he played his part and did no one lost their lives during the initial boarding.

I was to be the meek merchant in command of the ship, swathed in rich furs and flowing silk. A sight to rumble the hungry bellies of these pirate bastards.

I feigned a shiver and was rewarded by a twisted grin on the pirate chief's face. The lighting was dim, for he obstructed the view of the lighthouse beacon. The moon was poor substitute.

He was not without glamor either, it seemed; rings and necklaces of gold and silver, bracelets and arm-rings, cloth of gold belts, and layers of silk that would not go amiss on the body of the Emperor himself all adorned every inch of this gluttonous brigand.

He hefted a curved blade in one hand and raised my chin with its tip. There was an inscription on the flat of the blade in a script I could not read, but then again, I could read no words at all. I guessed the inscription was Persian by the look of it.

"Reward?" he asked in a voice scarce higher than a whisper, yet seemed to carry across the waves to shore. It saw all on board tremble at the harshness of its tone. "What more reward would I need? I have your...cargo. I have...you. My slaves. My darlings."

He grabbed his crotch with his free hand abruptly and hefted it upward. He licked his lips ever so slowly and continued stroking my cheek with his sword. His accent was odd, certainly not that of a Greek, nor of a Copt, not even that of a Syrian. He was not Arab either.

"I am a man of noble standing at the Emperor's court in Constantinople," I feigned the tremor in my voice.

The pirate licked his lips again and scratched his crotch. "A thing of little concern to me. You have the look of a woman. I like boys that have the look of a woman."

"What you hold now pales in comparison with what you may earn should we find common ground."

"Is such a thing possible? An item that would put...you to shame. You..." He licked his lips again, and my shudder was genuine this time, for I remembered a man called Mas'oud ibn al-Aswad, a relic of a lifetime past.

"My palace in Constantinople is full to bursting with slaves of delight. Women, boys if they are to your liking. Gold! Wealth beyond your understanding."

The pirate made a clicking sound. "I do not like your tone, pretty one."

"I offer something more. I offer ransom. Leverage over the imperial court that would leave the Emperor trembling, the Empire crumbling in all its glory."

"Ransom?" the pirate overstretched the pronunciation of the word, as if it were unfamiliar to him. The sound resembled the rattling of a snake.

"I speak the truth. I told you I am a man of note. Yet, I am not the key to a fortune that would see you elevated to the status of Emperor. It is the governor of Egypt."

The pirate scoffed, and his demeanor became one of hostility, his movements suddenly dexterous yet studious. His blade was at my chest in a heartbeat. "Your corpse will offer sufficient entertainment, I suppose."

"The fat man," I spoke, restoring the tremor to my voice. I recalled the theatrics of Muhammad ibn Maslamah that I witnessed during my youth, whenever he was about to claim the life of one of his targets. Qusayy, the Jewish chieftain at his fortress. "The fat man, the one who is no sailor or mercenary. He is the governor of this province, cousin to the Emperor himself. You have my word that he is worth his weight in nomismata, in gold solidus, I swear it."

I pointed at Andronicus whose eyes were fixed on his knees.

There seemed to be a hint of hesitation to the pirate now, as he considered my words. His blade remained leveled at my chest.

"You lie," he finally spoke, blessedly uncertain this time.

"I do not," I answered immediately, puffing my chest and propping my head up. "You have my word. This man is who I say he is."

"How can I trust...a Roman?" he removed the scarf that cradled his neck, revealing a deep gash dug in his throat. "This I got when last I trusted...a Roman."

That explained the voice.

I paused, as if considering a reply and noticed the pirate smirking to himself, pleased at his superior negotiating position. Finally, with deliberation on my face, I raised my head and met his eyes. "I will be your hostage."

The pirate scoffed again. He drew a lock of my hair back behind an ear with the tip of his sword. "Hostage?" he rattled.

"I will see to it that my men will facilitate negotiations between your faction and that of the Emperor. You will have your ransom within the fortnight. I will be kept hostage along with the Emperor's cousin, the governor. A gesture of goodwill."

The pirate paused again and stroked my chin with the icy tip of his steel. The silence stretched and waned. The wind howled against my head, pounded against my ears. My heart threatened to break free from my chest and leap upon pirate.

I felt the first seeds of doubt forming in my heart. I had dragged us all to our deaths. I would never see Martha again. I would never grow grey and old with her, never hold our child in my arms. All because I overstepped in my foolishness. I reached for the stars only to plummet to the depths of the sea.

I licked my lips and gulped, engulfed with despair. My look of utter haplessness was not feigned this time.

But then I was granted a moment's reprieve by the gods when the pirate chief lowered his blade. He smirked. My shoulders sagged and my breathing steadied.

"Thing I like more than nice boys," he paused for a short while. "Is nice coin. Roman coin."

I would see Martha again.