Chapter Thirty-Seven
Agog defeated Flaccus' troops upon the plains outside the city easily. The Governor fled north toward Rome. Agog let him go because he wanted the Empire to know fully the method of their defeat.
Heron knew this through her discussions with Jarngard while she was sequestered at her workshop. Agog's lieutenant knew only a smattering of Latin and what he did know was mostly crude sayings and anatomical ways to fornicate with a horse.
Jarngard was always laughing. He began every statement with an uptilted laugh. He learned more Latin while she waited to be called on by the new Satrap at the Royal Palace.
Agog knew enough not to call himself King of Alexandria. The people would never stand for it. They were excited about being freed from the Roman yoke, especially through the inventions of her favored son, Heron.
It was enough for them to accept Agog, for now. Though she found Jarngard did not call him Agog. That seemed to be a name he'd taken during his time in Alexandria.
Jarngard called him Wodanaz. She knew enough of his language to know his references made Agog, or Wodanaz, the King of Kings in his lands.
When Heron pressed Jarngard on the subject of his King, he just laughed at her and pulled out his dice.
Heron found his dice as strange as his constant laughter. He threw them constantly, taking some guidance from the numbers shown.
Heron was able to communicate with Jarngard on one important item. Though it took half a day to figure out enough words to understand. Heron had wanted to know the reason why Agog had taken the city of Alexandria, when it was far from his home.
When Jarngard had finally understood her question, he nodded grimly. She reasoned from his gestures and smattering of Latin words, that he had taken Alexandria as a weregild. The Romans believed in equal justice, based on the Babylonian codes of old.
The Northerners were different. They placed a monetary value on their crimes. Heron had heard of a weregild before. She thought its elegance made the Northerners more civilized than most thought. The blood feuds of the deserts could carry on for generations, while a weregild was paid and done.
Agog had claimed Alexandria from the Romans as his weregild for the killing of his wife and people. It was a steep price for a whole people and she would have thought him mad if he'd ever told her his plans. Heron had thanked Jarngard once she'd finally understood.
The anointing of the Satrap would occur in a few days time and Heron chafed at the waiting. She was forbidden to leave the workshop, though Plutarch and the others were allowed. Jarngard indicated that Roman assassins still lurked in the city and until they'd been rooted out, she had to stay in the workshop.
Heron didn't believe the reason. But she couldn't convince Jarngard no matter how she tried. Even Plutarch and Punt seemed to be on Jarngard's side, arguing for her to stay safe.
Her wounds were healing, though she suspected she'd be permanently wedded to her cane. She had a few made for her while she waited, though none of them felt right. She liked the one she'd left under the rubble at the Temple of Nekhbet.
Of the Cult of Ur, there was no further mention. For all she knew, Philo and Ghet were the only ones privy to her knowledge of them. Still, she knew that was improbable. The cult had been around for millennia and was patient beyond the ages of time.
If she was able to exert any influence once the coronation was complete, she would have the Library vet its acolytes and sages more carefully. They would have to double their protections of the valuable information, maybe even copying the Library to hide in another location. That would be her first request to Agog once she got the chance to talk to him.
While she waited, the workshop had been busy making new steam chariots and arrow launchers, but Heron barely paid attention, letting Plutarch manage the daily work.
Since the battle, Heron hadn't put ink to paper, lacking the urge to create for the first time in her life. She hadn't even touched the lotus powder, despite having a full box.
When the coronation came, Heron wore a simple tunic. Her hair had been cut short as it had grown suspiciously long. Despite her friendship with Agog, she dared not let down the illusion of her gender.
Her twin's token lay against her chest, under the fabric of her tunic. It felt heavy against her heart. She touched it often that morning while she waited for the steam chariot to arrive.
Sepharia wore a burgundy ionic chiton with a bright saffron belt cinching the waist. Heron would have never picked that dress for her, but she'd sent Plutarch in her place without proper instruction.
At the appointed time, Jarngard led Heron to a vehicle that she couldn't classify as a chariot. It was three times as large as a chariot with two steam mechanics powering it and a large store of chipped wood on the back.
Gilded metal plates had been hammered into various visages of the gods and displayed along the sides, including a couple that Heron recognized as northern ones. A thin cotton awning protected the occupants from the sun. It was an Egyptian Nile barge brought to land.
Heron climbed up the stairs and took a seat on the bench behind the driver. Sepharia sat to her right and Jarngard to her left. At least another twenty people could ride with them. A wooden wall had been placed between the steam mechanic and the benches providing a quieter space to talk.
Plutarch and Punt had already gone ahead to help with preparations, so the three rode alone.
Heron found it awkward to sit next to Jarngard without speaking so she asked in a smattering of Latin and Germanic, "Do you miss your family?"
Jarngard squinted and then nodded, as he processed her words. "Dead," he said with his characteristic grin and laugh.
Then she remembered Agog's story about the battle with the Romans. She'd forgotten that they'd all lost their families.
Heron grabbed Sepharia's hand. The city passed by them at a comfortable pace. It had a less frantic, compact feel than it had before, like a great load had lifted from its shoulders. The colors burned brighter and the smiles had returned to the people's faces.
"I wish he could be here with us," she whispered, comfortable that Jarngard wouldn't be able to understand them and the driver couldn't hear them. "You deserve to have your father see you like this."
Sepharia peered up, shaking her flaxen hair from her face. Even with the hint of sadness she was a beautiful young woman.
"You don't have to say that, Heron," said Sepharia with particular emphasis on her twin's name.
"I understand this has been so hard on you. Since you've been in my care, I've done nothing but keep you locked in the workshop. I've been a horrible aunt," Heron said.
Sepharia squeezed her hand, shaking her head. "Don't say that. You're not my aunt."
Heron recoiled at first, misunderstanding her niece's words.
"When your twin gambled away his profits, you were the one to work on the designs late at night so the workers would have something to do in the day," said Sepharia. "When they killed him for his debts, you took his name and his place, sacrificing your life to make sure we were safe."
"How do you know this? You were too young," said Heron. She'd never intended for Sepharia to learn that her father had been a gambler.
"I figured it out from the accounting ledgers, though I was too mad at you to understand at the time. All I've ever done is make your life miserable as you've tried to protect me," said Sepharia with downcast eyes.
"It's not fair that you lost your father, and I'm sorry I can't be one for you," Heron told her.
Sepharia squeezed her hand again, almost so hard it hurt. "No, Heron," she said again, with heavy emphasis on the name. "You are my father. Not him. You've protected me all these years. You came for me when Ghet took me. You're not Ada to me any longer, you are Heron. My father."
Heron's heart swelled with those words. Her eyes threatened to tear. She was thankful that Jarngard was too busy ogli
ng the Egyptian women waving to them as they passed.
Heron clutched her twin's token with her free hand. Sepharia leaned on her shoulder for the remainder of the journey.
Despite the cheering crowds that grew as they approached the Royal Palace, Heron remained clutched to her daughter's hand.
With Sepharia's approval, it was easy to think of her as a daughter. In that moment, she knew she'd been longing for that connection with Sepharia. Due to her circumstances, she would never get to have children of her own, so Sepharia was the only child she would ever have.
The steam barge jerked to a halt. A formal Egyptian guard escorted them to the Palace. She'd never been to this section of the city, being of low birth.
The Palace waited on the Lochias promontory. Alexandrians cheered as they walked the hill to the inner wall. The Palace was a site of marble and gilded decadence. Egypt had long been one of the richest countries in the world. A reason for its repeated conquest.
They passed the great theatre and went through the agora, the place of assembly. Free standing colonnades ringed the agora's stadium seating. A high platform denoted the place the King or Satrap might address the land holders.
By the end, Heron barely noticed the opulence as she leaned heavily on her cane and Sepharia's shoulder.
When they finally reached the Inner Palace, Plutarch greeted them with open arms.
"It's good to see a daughter support her father," he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Heron shared a secret smile with Sepharia. Even Plutarch could see their long troubles ended.
"Dear Sepharia, you look quite delicious in that outfit," grinned Plutarch.
"You did your job too well, my trusted foreman," intoned Heron. "I'm afraid I won't be able to hide her any longer from the eyes of the city."
Plutarch threw a casual swirl of his hand. "A flower needs light to bloom and this one has been in the dark too long."
"Is that a criticism?" asked Heron, narrowing her eyes at him.
Plutarch stiffened with faux-horror, "No, No. Just an unfortunate result of circumstance."
They paused and then broke into laughter. Jarngard had been trying to follow their conversation and just shook his head in confusion.
Heron stepped forward and gave Plutarch a hug. "Thank you, for everything."
After the hug, Plutarch stepped back and bowed with great flourish.
"If only Punt were here," Heron lamented.
Behind her came a gruff clearing of the throat.
"Ah Punt, my master of the foundry," she said.
Punt shuffled in, looking uncomfortable with a shirt, tugging at the hem. "Greetings, Master Heron."
Punt stared at his feet until Heron patted him on the shoulder. "Thank you, Punt." She would have given him a hug too, but he might have passed out from the close contact.
The blacksmith mumbled a response, but she couldn't hear it above the clatter that erupted from the Royal Chamber.
Jarngard started tugging on her tunic. Before she followed him, she turned and said, "You all are my family. Thank you for everything you have done."
With those words it seemed a hefty weight was lifted from her heart. There was still darkness clouding it, as all had not been resolved, but rays of light now came through.
She didn’t get to hear their response as she was shuffled down an empty hallway, guarded by two enormous Northmen.
Jarngard led her to a gilded door. Muffled noises carried to their location. She expected him to go through but he waited with his hand on her arm, head tilted listening for a sign.
After a brief knock on the door, Heron was pushed out onto a high stage. Hundreds of eyes turned toward her. The whole nobility of Alexandria was arrayed before her.
She saw Hortio standing near the front. He gave her a tiny bow.
"It seems our humble miracle worker forgot to consult the gods about the proper attire for a coronation," bellowed Agog to the assembled.
The nobles laughed politely as Heron inclined her head. "Apologies."
A great laugh erupted from Agog. "No, the apologies are all mine. I should have sent you a proper entourage, rather than Jarngard."
Jarngard made a comment in Germanic which, after much time spent with the Northman, Heron translated as: "you shouldn't send a stallion to fornicate with a sheep."
Heron stifled a laugh herself while Agog nearly choked. As the nobles watched Agog, Heron glanced out, taking in their awkward embrace of the scene before them. While the Alexandrians were happy to rid themselves of the Roman Empire, they didn't quite know what they had in the Northmen.
Agog turned to her and Heron got to see his royal attire for the first time. He wore an Egyptian tunic that went past his knees and held onto a resurrection staff. His hair kept the top knot and raven feathers had been sewn into hair flowing onto his shoulders.
He also wore a smattering of gold jewelry, but none of the darkened eye makeup the Egyptians favored. The Northman King was a strange mixture of Egyptian and Germanic traditions.
Agog pounded his staff on the stage, silencing the murmuring that had taken to the crowd.
Then, he turned and with open arms addressed them.
"Here stands before you the greatest miracle worker of the past, future and present. Without Heron of Alexandria, your favored son, the oppressive yoke of the Roman Empire would still be around your necks."
There were a great and many murmurs of approval from the crowd. Heron found it hard to believe so many nobles agreed. Usually they were so stand-offish because of her lower birth.
"It is by my decree as the Satrap of Egypt and ruler of Alexandria, that Heron of Alexandria be formally named Michanikos, the Chief Engineer of Alexandria. And with that title, comes dominion over all the workshops of Alexandria. To that end, though keeping individual ownership, the workshops of our fair city will be united in the defense against the further tyranny of the Roman Empire!"
The crowd began speaking amongst themselves again. While the workshops were often run by men of lesser birth like herself, they were usually owned by nobles or gifted by the patronage of them.
Agog had come dangerously close to usurping their property and causing a riot within the nobles. But the Northman had shown great nimbleness in his conquest of Alexandria so far, so she was not surprised at his next words.
"Through this uniting of the workshops under our Chief Engineer, each workshop shall keep the profits gained by it while benefiting from the knowledge of the Michanikos."
Heron barely had time to react when Agog continued and his next words above all, gave her pause to think.
"As the Chief Engineer, I bestow the responsibility and importance of the Great Lighthouse of Pharos," he said and turning so no one but herself could see, winked.
Then she knew for certain that Agog had been behind the investigation of the fires. She'd come to that conclusion already, but his gift to her practically owned up to it.
It was a clever turn as well, because he fulfilled his end of the bargain while dumping more responsibility on her. He'd also avoided the problem with the nobles by letting them keep the profits of her knowledge.
"Lastly," said Agog. "I give a gift of more personal nature, in thanks for the efforts on behalf of my ascendancy."
One of his Northman handed him a long object. Agog motioned for her to move closer.
Quick as a viper, he stole the cane from her hand and threw it into the crowd with a flourish. The nobles laughed and fought for the cane. The Northman had great stage presence.
"For your continued mobility and defense, I offer this new cane," he said and held it out on two upturned palms.
The cane was made of dark luscious wood with an ivory handle and gold inlays. As he handed over the cane, he pulled the hand rest out, revealing to her, the secret shine of a hidden blade.
Heron bowed and then her part of the ceremony was over a
nd she was hustled back through the secret passage. Tired from the walking and the attention of the crowds, she did not try to find her daughter or the others and asked Jarngard to take her back to the workshop.