Alexandria

LVII

Uncle Fulvius and my father decided I had no work to do, so I could help them. They confessed they were trying to find Diogenes' coin hoard. He had lingered, but had now died of his burns. He expired without regaining consciousness, which spared him great pain but left our pair in a big loss-making situation. Since he seemed to have been a loner, their chances of discovering what he did with their cash were slim.

'You paid him up front?' I emphasised my astonishment.

'Who – us? We just paid him a little deposit, Marcus. Showing good faith.'

'You lost that then!' I said, without much sympathy.

I refused to be inveigled into helping. Since living in the same house as such a moaning bunch of martyrs then became unbearable, we did what we had come to do. I took Helena, and all the rest of my party, to Giza to see the Pyramids.

I am not writing a travelogue. Phalko of Rome, long-suffering son of the conniving Phaounios, is a Greek comedy playwright. All I have to say is that it was near enough a hundred miles. It took us two weeks in each direction, travelling at a suitable pace for a family with a pregnant wife and young children. Twenty days of leisure with my dearest relations is of course an unbroken delight for me, always a good Roman, model husband and affectionate father. Trust me, legate.

When we got there, a sandstorm was blowing. Sand whipped across the raised ground where the three enormous Pyramids were placed all those centuries ago. The sand hurt our bare legs, stung our eyes, tore at our clothes and made it even more difficult than it would have been anyway to deflect the attentions of the guides, with their interminable inaccurate facts, and the leather-faced local hawkers, who were lying in wait to fleece tourists. It was all exhausting. The best way for visitors to avoid the misery of the storm, was to turn their backs on the Pyramids.

We saw the Sphinx the same day, of course. In the same weather. We stood about, all trying not to be the first to say, 'Well there it is, so when can we go home?'

'Juno!' cried Helena breezily. 'Who is having a good time then?' That was her mistake. Several of our party told her.