I found that the beauty of Alexandria was compounded from such a great height, if that was even possible.

The city was sprawled before me, in all its glimmering magnificence.

I whispered a prayer of thanks to Hubal for creating such a wonder. For lending me eyes to appreciate the glean of the morning sun on the domes of palaces perched upon hills, or the blinding reflection of the golden dew on the ornaments of glass and gold and silver that adorned the lavish churches of this city of splendor. I thanked him for lending me ears to listen to the sweet tunes of seagulls and pelicans, the flapping of their wings as they journeyed to and fro far shores. The chirping of early morning birds was always a welcome melody.

Such was the privilege of being the hostage of a pirate that roamed the Mediterranean. I was granted access to the topmost tier of the lighthouse in exchange for promises dealt with the pirate chief, who introduced himself as Hyrkon.

"I would see myself and the governor well fed and well rested during our sojourn among trusted friends," I told him on the very first day.

Hyrkon traced a finger across my arm. "Why would I consent to your...demands?" his voice was no louder than on the ship.

I stopped in my tracks. "I would see you well rewarded for your treatment of me, a reward from my own purse. And when our business is concluded..."

I paused to bite my lower lip and gaze into Hyrkon's dark eyes, sunken deep in a thin and leathery face. "My services may remain available for dear Hyrkon. But only afterwards."

"The way I see it is I have you...and you have something I want," Hyrkon was watching me intently.

I took a step back. "No, Hyrkon. If you touch me now, no money. Only after. Understood?"

He only stared back with deep-sunken, glowering eyes. But he didn't attempt anything after that.

May Martha and the gods forgive me, I thought, disgusted at my actions born of necessity. Yet, it was fun toying with this pirate.

The man cared for naught but his purse and his loins. Once I dangled bait of either before him, I could manipulate him in whichever direction I pleased.

I secured decent quarters for Andronicus and myself within the lighthouse, and the meals we were served here put the rations of the barracks to shame. It did not come to me as a surprise that even a bloody pirate was more gracious than Tetrarch Dalmatius.

I had not slept in four days. Tonight was to herald the fateful conclusion, the moment of truth, the final stage of my plan.

I prayed to every god known to the Arabs that I would be seen safe and unscathed, in order to return to Martha's arms; perhaps spend a lifetime within them. I would need to convert to the odd Christian cult in order to fulfill my dreams, but that was a small price to pay. My beliefs belonged in my heart, not on my tongue.

I caressed the alabaster idol of Hubal, feeling the ridges and curves of his beard, thinking of Martha and what the future would hold. I studied the clear rippling waters of the sea below. I heard the deafening chiming of bells carry across the city, drowning out the gentle brush of the waves and the diverse sounds of a plethora of birds lurking on this shore.

And imagined myself an old man, hunched and grey and beaming. With Martha in my arms.

_____________

"If your plan gets us killed, I'll fucking murder you," Andronicus said, as we stood at the foot of the lighthouse, the light from within the entrance spilling out into the night and bathing us in its illumination.

"I'll try to avoid that," I promised.

We stood in a wide courtyard before the gate of the lighthouse's white walls. Andronicus and I stood side by side, behind Hyrkon whose eyes were fixed on the closed gate in anticipation.

Two files of Hyrkon's men stood to either flank of the entrance as though part of a procession; there were eight men to either side, all of them with drawn blades catching the firelight of torches flickering on the walls.

Two more men stood on the ramparts above the gateway, each of them with an arrow nocked to their bows.

"Those archers may prove a problem," Andronicus pointed out.

I grunted.

But then we heard the rumbling of wheels outside followed by a distinct bellow. One of the pirates stepped forward and heaved the heavy oak doors open with a deep grating noise accompanied with the creak of hinges.

It was then that the Nubian came into view. He shoved a lumbering cart through the gateway, rumbling his way past two rows of hostile brutes. There was a sheet draped over the cart, its contents concealed.

The Nubian, Arcadius and Kusaila had feigned correspondence with the Emperor for the past week. They haggled in his name, pleaded with Hyrkon to lower the demanded sum in an act to rival Muhammad ibn Maslamah himself.

Now was the hour agreed upon, the culmination of all our efforts; the Nubian was acting as the Emperor's envoy, delivering the first installment of the approved ransom.

The Nubian shoved the cart with a leisurely pace, taking his time to glare, snarl and bare his teeth at the spectating pirates. I was pleased to see that several of them shied or cringed away from the hulking dark figure of the Nubian, while others attempted to hold their ground and look threatening. But the trembling of their swords betrayed their true sentiments.

The cart lurched to a stop directly before Hyrkon, and there was a moment's silence as Hyrkon stroked his chin and licked his lips, evidently pondering the situation. In this intermediate period of silence, my eyes raced between the archers on the ramparts and the men on the ground, trying to gauge whether we were in bowshot.

Finally, Hyrkon shrugged and snapped his fingers at one of the men standing in the column to his right.

Reluctantly, the homely looking man stepped forward and yanked the sheet off the top of the cart, inviting death and destruction to the very doorstep of the Lighthouse of Alexandria.

Almost immediately, the tip of a sword poked out of the back of the pirate's neck. He fell gasping to his knees, writhing and clutching his wound. His own sword clattered to the cobbled stone of the ground.

The Nubian plucked his axe out of the cart and with a bellow that shook the foundations of the lighthouse to their core, swung the weapon around in broad arcs, severing the heads of two men who dared challenge him.

Arcadius, Kusaila and three of Andronicus' sailors leapt out of the cart, weapons in hand. Arcadius tossed me a sword and Kusaila a spear to Andronicus. Hyrkon was nowhere to be seen.

"Murder the bastards, every last one of them," I boomed, though I doubt any of them heard me over the din of the slaughter, the excitement of the carnage.

I rushed forward as an arrow whizzed past overhead and kicked the upper rim of the cart down with a foot. It now stood sideways on the ground before me, acting as a makeshift shield against the archers on the elevated platform.

One of the pirates sounded a wordless war cry and charged at me, his blade raised high above his head. A fool, I thought. He left himself exposed.

Almost effortlessly, I lunged at his chest, finding his heart. I grinned as his face twisted in agony as blood spurted from his body, splashing my arm. And twisted.

The elation of taking life. I had not felt such a surge since before I set foot in this city. I relished the sheer delight I took from the demise of my enemies, their pained expressions as they caressed mortal wounds, their shock as they realize they had been bested. That they were to meet whatever god they believed in.

It was a sort of complete control mustered over adversary, over another life, that no one other than a warrior could truly grasp. The power to decided whether to show cruelty or clemency. To take or give life.

I was a god.

I strolled through the courtyard, the site of a massacre, as though it were my own private garden. The din of slaughter dwindled, vague as though I were submerged beneath water. I felt my cheeks flush and the dexterity of my mind soar. I had been feeling a tad groggy only minutes ago.

Now I felt intoxicated. Drunk on battle.

I splashed through the pools of blood beneath feet, crossing swords with one opponent or the other, but their fates were intertwined.

They all fell to my sword.

My strokes and lunges found their throats or their hearts, or I pierced their armor and undergarments to bite past bellies. I would watch the latter fumble at their protruding entrails, earning themselves a slow and painful death.

I stabbed others in the back, or sliced their throats, a less skilled ordeal yet it spared my men time and energy, and it depleted enemy numbers.

We were not murdering this sorry lot for the glory or for the reputation. We were effectively mercenaries, dirtying our hands for promises of gold. Gold that would see me wed to Martha. Gold to bury any slivers of a bleak past that yet lingered.

The noise of the slaughter dimmed down as the last of the pirates perished. The Nubian was still hacking at the corpse of one of his victims, spraying a steady stream of blood on his face and bare top. His once white loincloth was now stained entirely red.

Arcadius and Kusaila splashed through the streams of blood flooding the courtyard, plunging their swords in the backs or throats of the wounded, the moaning and crawling.

"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit," Kusaila announced before each kill. He would then cross himself.

Butcher's work for barbarians.

We were wolves, cloaked in the guise of sheep, yet only carnage and chaos followed when we shed our false skins.

"You fight well for a chubby old man," Arcadius said.

Andronicus cackled. "I was a navy man when I was younger and fitter."

"Hard to imagine," I quipped.

Arcadius looked him up and down and wagged his sword at him. "Much fitter, hopefully."

I paused for a moment, taking the welcome sights of the fighting in. I'm not ashamed to say that I had missed this. I missed the frantic pleas of men begging for mercy, the sight of entrails strewn among the pools of blood.

The limp, lifeless limbs, the glassy eyes, the grotesque gashes and wounds. Yet, it would be my life no longer, I knew. I decided I would open up a stall with whatever portion of my reward that remained after I had secured marriage and a house.

Perhaps, I would flourish under the expert guidance of Andronicus and eventually expand my mercantile career to sea, and elsewhere from Alexandria.

I smiled at the image of gold and silver adorning Martha's neck and arms. I would see her elevated to the status of goddess, one most befitting.

Thoughts of a utopian future were interrupted by the Nubian going into a mad episode. He abandoned his disfigured corpse and shifted his enraged gaze at me. He exhaled deeply and let out a bellow as deafening as thunder and twice as frightening.

He did not give me a moment's respite before he snarled in my general direction, hefted his monstrous war axe. And sprinted at me.

I was not provided any time to process his berserk charge. I was still lounging on my feet, daydreaming.

I was utterly motionless, defenseless as the Nubian edged forward to cut me in half. His mouth foamed with spittle and blood.

He bellowed again and raised his axe high above his head. The courtyard dimmed further then as the colossal man clouded any vestige of torchlight.

It was one terrifying moment being engulfed in the immense shadow of the Nubian. I remember whispering a frantic prayer to the gods for a swift and painless end.

I had hoped to die a feeble old man in the arms of Martha and my grandchildren. Yet, it seemed the Nubian's bellow was to be the last sound I ever heard, the brandished tip of his axe the final sight I would behold.

Martha...

The Nubian struck down with his axe and I winced, preparing myself for impact. My thoughts were of Martha. Over shut eyelids, I heard a distinct crack and a low grunt. I felt the splash of liquid upon my face and skin.

I opened my eyes to see the Nubian hunched over the handle of his axe, panting and glaring. His massive arms were soiled with blood and gore.

I blinked, scanning my immediate surroundings.

I saw the Nubian's axe buried deep within Hyrkon's skull behind me. Hyrkon's eyes were milk white, and his curved Persian blade clattered to the ground from limp fingers. I was bathed in the brains and gore the impact had splashed on me.

The Nubian yanked his axe free and headbutted the dead man, exploding what remained of his head. A flurry of brains and bits of bone flew off, littering the ground about the Nubian and Hyrkon's indistinguishable corpse.

The Nubian looked back at me with feral eyes, and for a moment there, I thought I saw a tinge of warmth to them.

I nodded at him in gratitude. He smiled and spun.