by Jack Massa
“May he live forever!” Harnouphis intoned. Neksapthis was the Sem-priest, the supreme cleric of the temple. When he at last “passed into the West,” one of the nine first servants would advance to take his place. This in turn would open a seat in the Inner Circle. Thus it was an event that many priests had anticipated for many years.
“May you also serve the god long and well.” Paramses smiled heartily and took his leave.
Harnouphis completed his bath quickly, then found a seat on the bank. While a barber scraped a bronze razor over his scalp and neck, Harnouphis contemplated. Paramses was definitely a man to be mindful of.
By tradition, 29 men held the rank of second servant of Ptah, and there were 59 third servants. Fully two-thirds of these men were nonentities—unimaginative creatures who had inherited their places in the temple and cared only to preserve their comfort and security. To Harnouphis, such men were sheep and of little concern. It was the remaining one-third who interested him, and they were of several types. A few were authentically holy, mystics who truly loved Maat, the Divine Law, and lived to serve it—men like Amasis, the master of the House of Life. These men were falcons, aloof from worldly affairs and, because of their aloofness, generally not a concern. Other men had ambitions, desiring wealth, prestige, power. With varying degrees of ruthlessness, they would use any means to attain their ends—bribery, flattery, pandering, blackmail, betrayal, and of course magic. The ones drawn to magic were the most interesting of all. Some were like lions, powerful, but not clever enough. Others were jackals, cunning but not strong. Then there were the serpents—stealthy, wise, formidable.
Harnouphis styled himself a serpent. From a poor scribe, the son of a laborer, he had risen to second servant through excellent work, subtle political maneuvering, and even subtler magic. Paramses acted the part of the lion, but he just might be a serpent in disguise.
Shaved and anointed, Harnouphis donned his ritual vestments. He slipped into a long tunic with shoulder straps. Servants tied white sandals on his feet and a scarlet sash around his waist. They affixed a heavy gold pectoral collar over his breast. A plaited wig went over his head, covered with a ceremonial headdress. The servants handed him a ritual scroll and staff.
Arrayed for the rites, Harnouphis marched with his fellow priests along a path of white paving stones. His mind moved quietly, sinuously, like a serpent through deep rushes. Understanding the minds and motives of men, their strengths and weaknesses; tapping mystic energies to strengthen your own mind and will; coaxing gods and spirits to reveal their secret knowledge; combining all of it—understanding, will, knowledge—into a design of your desire, then impressing that design onto the malleable flow of events. That was the game, the ancient game of pharaohs and wizards that Harnouphis relished playing.
And where did this young Greek fit into the game? A most intriguing question. A player could make all the best moves and still never advance past a certain point—unless he was given the right chance, by fate or the gods. Harnouphis had waited years for such a gift to appear. A small, eerie thrill at the base of his spine told him that this was the role written for Seshsetem, his obedient scribe.
The sky reddened in the east. Harnouphis arrived at the front steps of the main sanctuary. Colossal red pillars loomed overhead. The servants of Ptah assembled at their various posts. Some prepared incense burners, some filled vessels with holy water, some tightened the strings of sacred harps.
Harnouphis moved easily through the crowd, greeting fellow priests he had not seen these past three months. He conversed affably with all, regardless of their rank or status. Harnouphis cultivated his reputation as a good friend to all.
He noticed Shepseskaf standing on the portico, conversing with another high priest. Shepseskaf was the temple chief treasurer and Harnouphis’ immediate superior. Harnouphis had spent all of yesterday afternoon giving the man a complete report on the Synod in Alexandria. Still, Harnouphis made it a point to approach and greet him this morning. As he drew near, he saw that the other priest was Peherenptah, another member of the Inner Circle.
“Greetings, your Excellencies.” He bowed.
“Ah, Harnouphis.” Shepseskaf exhibited a brief smile. He was an aristocrat of ancient priestly lineage but no particular intellect or ability. He regarded Harnouphis as a social inferior, though a talented and useful functionary. Harnouphis in turn regarded him as a sheep who pretended to be a lion.
“Good morning, Harnouphis.” Peherenptah’s eyes shone. “I’ve heard excellent news about the success of your mission to Alexandria.”
Harnouphis shrugged diffidently. “The credit belongs to the priests of all the temples. Of course, I did my humble best to represent our interests before Pharaoh and his ministers.”
Peherenptah laid a hand on his shoulder. “You are too modest, my brother. Your skill and hard work are inestimable assets to the mansion of our god.”
Harnouphis bowed, pleased at the approbation. Peherenptah was the temple’s chief steward and a formidable member of the Inner Circle. Some counted him the frontrunner to replace the current Sem-priest. Harnouphis had his doubts. Peherenptah was a potent magician, but also a notorious libertine. Neither lion nor serpent, he seemed more like the powerful hippopotamus who wallows too much in the mud. Of course, that beast’s true nature often remained hidden below the surface. And when roused to anger, the river horse could be terribly dangerous.
Meditating thus, Harnouphis courteously withdrew to allow the two first servants to continue their conversation.
Presently a procession appeared at the gates, coming from the outer courtyard. Temple bakers, cooks, and brewers carried offerings of bread and cakes, roasted flesh, beer, and wine. Gardeners brought bowls of fruit and flowers. Arriving at the base of the steps, the marchers presented their offerings to the priests who would carry them into the sanctuary. The gold vessels, bowls, and platters they bore were immeasurably old and exquisitely crafted. Ptah was the great artisan god who had fashioned the world. The artifacts of his temple were renowned as the finest in all Egypt.
From a gallery high overhead, a horologer priest called out a chant to announce that the sun was rising. The priests arranged themselves before the tall doors to begin the morning rite. Harnouphis took his position among the second servants. He watched Neksapthis, the frail and withered Sem-priest, step to his place at the forefront. Leaning on a ceremonial staff, Neksapthis chanted the opening prayers in a quavering voice. Harps and cymbals sounded. The assembly of priests chanted replies in chorus.
Thou art risen, Great Ptah
Risen in peace!
Arise! Arise in peace!
The great doors swung inward with a groan of bronze hinges. The Sem-priest led the procession into the first chamber, a vast hypostyle hall containing a forest of rose-colored pillars. Flickering torches lit the way through the darkness. At the west of the hall, the procession halted before doors of gleaming bronze. Attendant priests fumigated the air with incense and sprinkled holy water over the offerings. Neksapthis sang more prayers, and the chorus answered.
They passed into the next chamber, a gallery not quite so vast, where only consecrated priests could enter. Painted statues lined the walls and stood before supporting pillars. The priests set offerings before some of these personages—different ones being honored each day of the month. By the time the procession reached the far wall of the sanctuary, the sun had risen high and daylight slanted through the clerestory windows under the distant ceiling.
Now it was time for the climax of the rite. A first servant would break the clay seal and enter the sacristy. Alone in this sacred place, he would bathe the statue of Ptah, clothe him in new raiment, and serve his morning meal.
But as Neksapthis ambled toward the golden doors, and the priests chanted the holiest invocations, disaster nearly struck. The aged Sem-priest stumbled and started to fall.
The assembled priests sucked in their breath. This would be a terrible omen indeed. In the crucial moment, Ha
rnouphis saw that Shepseskaf and Peherenptah both stood within reach of the staggering Sem-priest. But both remained rooted in their places. Instead, it was the nimble Paramses who darted forward from the ranks of the second servants and saved Neksapthis from falling.
Steadied, the supreme cleric smiled benignly at his rescuer and clasped him by the arm. Paramses bowed respectfully before backing away.
Yes, Harnouphis reflected, Paramses was decidedly a man to be watched.
* * * * *
“Our master Harnouphis commands me to educate you in certain practices,” Mehen said to Korax. “These are basic exercises that will improve your mental stability and balance your life-force, which we call ka. Listen to me carefully, Seshsetem.”
Korax nodded eagerly. They stood inside his tiny room, dusk thickening outside the window. Korax had returned from his third day of work in the scriptorium to find the chief scribe waiting.
“Stand with your feet together, thus,” Mehen instructed. “Straighten your back. Now stare at the lamp. Concentrate solely on the flame. Breathe slowly and deeply.”
Korax continued this activity for several minutes. Then he was told to shut his eyes and visualize the flame, placing it above his head. Gradually, he willed the flame to gleam brighter, until it shone like the dazzling sun. Next, he envisioned a ray of this sun descending to create a second light at the center of his head. After a time the light lanced down again, igniting a pulsing sphere at his throat, then his heart, then the base of his spine, and finally the space between his feet.
Korax experienced this inward sunlight with a numbing intensity. The radiance seemed almost to lift his body and make it float in the air.
Finally, Mehen told him to open his eyes.
“Repeat this exercise each morning and evening,” he said. “Consider it part of your duties. Do not fail.”
When the chief scribe had departed, Korax stretched out on his bed. His mind was dazed, yet calm and relaxed. A strange power thrilled inside his body.
He had felt such power before.
Chapter Eight
In the twilight, a gentle breeze floated through the streets of the harbor district. Sounds of song and feasting flowed from the open doorways of taverns and inns. Korax marched along in his navy trappings, a leather headband confining his black hair, a sword in bronze sheath hanging from a baldric, his lyre in a drawstring bag tucked lovingly under his arm.
All day he had strolled through the city, enjoying the revels of Dionysus. He had marched in processions, danced in jubilant crowds, played and sung on street corners. Always, he felt the presence of the god he had conjured, throbbing in his veins, filling his mind with poetry, his heart with wild joy.
He crossed the Square of the Colossus, where torches burned brightly amid groups of revelers, their boisterous laughter drifting through the dusk. Below the statue’s huge pedestal, a circle of women dressed as maenads danced barefoot in the shallow pool, kicking up water while the crowd around them whooped and cheered.
The guild hall of Aphrodite stood on a narrow street at the edge of the temple district, not far from the main harbor gates. As Korax approached the brightly-lit portico, he could hear music within and smell the clematis vines draping the entryway.
Inside, he found a tiled antechamber illumined by cressets. Young women and boys of the prostitute’s guild stood in a line, wearing short, diaphanous costumes. Coronets of polished bronze sparkled on the heads of some, while others had flowers woven in their flowing hair. The sensuous music of flutes drifted from the inner hall.
Behind a wide table facing the entrance sat Lady Emerine’s enormous steward Cleonides, a wreathe of ivy on his head. He was flanked by two muscular giants with folded arms. They were made up with brown body-paint and horns to look like satyrs, but the stout clubs at their sides were not just for ornament. They were guards, assigned to keep order.
“Welcome, young sailor!” Cleonides cried. “We are honored by your presence.” He waved to indicate the smiling boys and girls behind him, who regarded Korax with knowing eyes. “All sensual pleasures await you within, for the small donation of five obols to the goddess.”
Korax took the purse from his belt. He counted out five obols, dropping them into the fat man’s palm, then added a sixth. “For your trouble, good steward.”
Cleonides smiled with delight. “Oh, a noble youth indeed! May the Lady of Love favor you always.”
He put the coins away and clapped his hands sharply. A boy and young girl skipped forward to take Korax by the arms.
“Treat this one with special attention, my lovelies,” Cleonides told them. “He is a gentleman of the finest breeding.”
The young courtesans led Korax to a fountain at the rear of the chamber. They removed his sandals, washed his feet with a sponge and basin, dried them with a soft towel. They tugged felt slippers onto his feet. Korax stood, enjoying the softness against his toes. The boy took his cloak and the girl removed the sword belt from his shoulder.
“I will keep the lyre,” Korax said.
The courtesans conducted him to the doorway of the main hall, a large rectangular chamber with pillared alcoves along the sides. Graceful friezes of mythical love scenes adorned the upper walls under gold-painted cornices. At the front of the hall, a lifelike statue of Aphrodite smiled down from behind a flower-draped altar. In the absence of a true temple in Rhodos, this hall served for worship as well as celebrations.
Couches and tables were spread along the walls in front of the alcoves. Places were set for perhaps a hundred dinner guests, many already occupied. The young cadets of the Rhodian navy lounged on pillows or stood in small groups chatting, each with a wine cup in hand. Korax scanned their faces, saw some he knew from the School of Bellerophon, others he recognized from his naval service last summer. Patrollos and his followers were nowhere in sight.
Courtesans of both sexes glided about the hall, carrying pitchers of wine or trays overflowing with grapes, pears, and pomegranates. A trio of flute girls stood in the center of the floor, playing a sweet, languid air. Berenicea was not among them.
Korax found himself an empty couch before an alcove, an inconspicuous location. He accepted a wine cup from a serving boy, but took only a sip. With the god’s presence throbbing in his blood, he needed no more intoxication.
Presently, Patrollos and three of his band arrived, marching across the open floor and taking couches near the front. Their faces were nervous, as though striding into battle, though the plush slippers on their feet made that impression incongruous. Among the party was Cimon, a tall and brawny kinsman of Patrollos; Lyceas, the son of a wealthy banker; and Amynias, a cousin to Korax, though never his friend. Korax bore grudges against them all, but especially against Amynias. His cousin was the worst kind of fraud and parasite. Amynias seemed to believe he could join with Patrollos and his band in humiliating Korax in public, yet still pretend friendliness to him whenever family occasions brought them together.
Korax caressed the strings of his lyre. These four enemies had no idea what lay in store for them this night.
Shortly, a trumpet flourish sounded at the front of the hall.
“Young gentlemen of the Navy of Rhodes,” a herald announced, “your hostess, the Lady Emerine.”
The famed hetaira appeared from a doorway, leading a train of guests arrayed in rich and colorful costumes—leaders and friends of the courtesans’ guild. These dignitaries were accompanied by the prettiest boys and girls of the house of Emerine. Korax sucked in his breath when he saw Berenicea. She wore a short lilac tunic and high-strapped sandals. Her red hair was piled on her head, tied with a purple scarf and a wreath of wild daisies.
The guests took their couches, the young courtesans attending behind them. Lady Emerine sat in a cushioned chair at the center, a commanding woman of legendary beauty. Her costume deliberately imitated Aphrodite: a sheer gown of white silk cinched by a golden girdle, earrings and coronet of gold set with coral and rubies.
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��Young men of the Navy of Rhodes, I bid you welcome,” she announced. “The Guild of Aphrodite is honored by the presence of so many handsome and gallant young sailors.”
A rowdy cheer started up from several quarters, and soon guests and courtesans alike had joined in. Smiling, Emerine waited for the applause to subside.
“As promised, we offer you the finest wine and feasting and the prettiest companions to be found in Rhodos. And I also know there are many skilled poets among you who are ready to entertain us with their hymns composed for this occasion. To judge the lyric contests, we are honored to have as our guests three preeminent performers and poets: Anasicrates and Moerocles of Rhodes, and Apollonius of Alexandria.”
These three gentlemen stood, waved their hands with elaborate flourishes and bowed, first to Emerine, then to the hall.
Emerine stood as a boy brought her a goblet on a silver tray. She poured a libation to Dionysus, then a second one to Aphrodite.
“And now, let the feasting begin!”
Parades of servers appeared from several doorways, carrying baskets of bread and heavy, covered dishes. A clatter of pottery echoed through the chamber as the dinner guests served themselves. As promised, the feast offered delicacies of every kind: roasted beef and mutton, sea bass and perch, crayfish and eel. The courses were served with sauces of every description, both sweet and briny—cooked from olive oil, garlic, spices, cheeses, fruits, and honey.
As the feasting commenced, the actor Anasicrates called all poets who would sing in honor of Dionysus to come forward. Korax noted that the line included Amynias, Cimon, Lyceas, and about ten others. The young men drew lots from a clay jar to decide the order of performance.
Next, the poet Moerocles invited all who wished to sing for Aphrodite to approach. Korax lay still and watched as Patrollos and six others walked to the front of the hall. Patrollos was the only contestant from the School of Bellerophon. He had actually discouraged other students from entering the competition. As was well known, he hated losing any contest, and no one at school wanted to earn his enmity. It was even whispered that he had paid the school music master to secretly write a lyric for him. Patrollos had boasted that when he won the crown of Aphrodite, he would claim Berenicea as his prize.