by Albert Noyer
“Isis, the Egyptian goddess?” Arcadia asked.
“Yes, Domina, and in a happier time the patroness of this port.”
“Is Sobek another god…or goddess?”
“In the form of a crocodile, Sobek is venerated as creator of the earth.”
“A crocodile?” Getorius barely kept from laughing. “Physician, how is that ‘deity’ explained?”
He replied without mirth, “The creatures live in the waters of life-giving rivers. One legend relates how the god fashioned humans and animals out of mud on the banks.”
“It…it’s idolatry. A ridiculous myth.”
“Truly, Surgeon?” The physician’s patronizing smile returned. “Is it as ridiculous as the Hebrew myth about their invisible God creating the first man from slime?”
Arcadia retorted, “The Hebrew God was not a pre-created, soulless river animal.”
The physician raised a hand to end further discussion. “Let us leave theology to the priests. My excitement results from a report that a priest of Sobek brought to me. The intact mummia of a Kushite prince that recently was discovered in an ancient necropolis near Lake Moeris, has been brought to Sobek’s temple.”
“Moeris? Isn’t that a body of water in the midst of an oasis?”
Papnouthios nodded, “Yes, I was raised nearby, at Arsinoe. Surgeon, you may not know that I am adept in the embalming arts. I went to the Sobek temple and found the mummy magnificently preserved. The painted face of the prince is as fresh as if completed yesterday.”
Excited, Arcadia said, “I would like to see the mummy. Wouldn’t you, Getorius?”
“It would be fascinating. Nothing like that exists at Ravenna.”
Papnouthios half–smiled. “Then I shall ask the priest for permission.”
“Priest? Does the god still have attendants?”
“Indeed, and the temple has pools in which live crocodiles are kept.” Papnuthios reverted to arrogance. “Surgeon, you have much to learn about how the old ways survive in places where Christianity is seen as merely another superstition. In fact, I am on my way to invite Bishop Eusebios to see the prince’s mummy later this morning. The Prefect also should be in attendance.”
“Abinnaeus is at the PELVSIOS now.”
“Then, surgeon, I shall stop there and tell him to be at the temple by the fifth hour. You both may accompany him.”
Arcadia thanked the physician, “We’re grateful. How ancient would this mummy be?”
Papnouthios shrugged uncertainty. “A century and a half ago Christian bishops forbad the dead to be embalmed. Without further examination we cannot know the age of the deceased prince at his death…” He glanced at the sun’s position. “I must hurry and inform Bishop Eusebios.”
As they walked on, Getorius noticed his wife shivering again. “Cara, I’m becoming concerned about you. It is warming up and you’re still cold.”
“I do have a fever.”
“A hot-cold humor imbalance?”
“Probably, yet just the thought of those creatures is frightening enough to make me shudder.”
Getorius chuckled. “You’ve never even encountered a crocodile.”
“I have seen depictions of them in mosaics. They’re ugly and large enough to attack humans.”
“I suppose the temple’s combination of deities is a strange alliance…that bestial animal god paired with a quite benign Isis. At least that’s what we saw of her spring rites in Ravenna.”
“Getorius, we should read Pulcheria’s letter first. I’m anxious about what she might have said to us.”
“Fine, and I can prepare a dose of spirea for your fever.”
The two guards at the pretorium entrance nodded to the couple. They passed though the atrium and hallway to their room without encountering anyone else. Once inside, Getorius sat on a bed, took out the packet, and used a thumbnail to flick off the Augusta’s wax seal.
After he read silently for a moment, Arcadia became impatient. “Husband, what does the Augusta say?”
“Sorry. Ah…she writes, ‘Bardas, the bearer of the unfortunate news of Our involuntary exile at the Hebdomon palace, is also entrusted with this summary of Our request to ascertain the validity of sites venerated as stopovers in Egypt of the Holy Family’…” Getorius looked up to say, “The Augusta reverted to the formal pronoun, perhaps to emphasize her continued authority.”
“Fine, but just read on,” Arcadia urged.
“‘Yet as We also related in the message for you sent to Sergius Abinnaeus, Our esteemed Governor of Augustamnica I, an equally important task is that you discreetly inquire of Egyptian Church presbyters concerning the existence of a rumored ephemeris, a written account of the Holy Family’s journey, dictated to a scribe by Holy Joseph himself’.”
Arcadia exclaimed, “A diary by Joseph telling of his escape to Egypt with the infant Jesus! How can that be?”
“Let me read on. Pulcheria continues, ‘What a precious relic that would be to enhance the Great Church of Holy Wisdom, which Our Most Pious Grandfather, the first Theodosios, dedicated at New Rome, and to reveal the true Infancy of the Blessed Child!’ “‘You recall that We have sworn you to secrecy about this matter, on your Oath to The Physician.’
“‘May a gracious God grant you success in this Holy and Important quest’.”
Neither spoke for several moments. Getorius realized that his wife caught the implication that another message had been sent to Abinnaeus. “Arcadia, you know this means the Prefect did receive the Augusta’s letter to us.”
“Yes, and I’m sure that he read it.”
“Then he probably has told Bishop Eusebios about Joseph’s diary.”
“At Dorothea’s dinner I sensed a growing distance between the Egyptian church and the orthodox Patriarch at Constantinople. What a prize it would be if the Egyptians discovered Joseph’s writing. The Patriarch would fight to keep such a relic at Alexandria.”
“Correct.” Getorius thought a moment before admitting, “Right now I’m puzzled about why those three ruffians murdered Bardas after robbing him. The man was drunk as a Calabrian stevedore and never would have seen them again.”
Arcadia recalled, “One was dark-skinned, perhaps a Kushite.”
“You heard Nepheros, yet is that meaningful?”
“That mummy Papnouthios mentioned was of a Kushite prince.”
“Surely, Arcadia, you’re not making a connection that might be centuries old?”
“‘A time to lose and a time to find’.”
“You haven’t forgotten that zodiac we saw at Paphos.”
“No.”
Getorius recalled, “Didn’t one verse read, ‘A time for silence and a time for speaking’?”
Arcadia reminded him, “Pulcheria wants us to be silent about Joseph’s written account until we reach a place inside Egypt where the Holy Family had sheltered.”
“Bishop Eusebios said the nearest site after Pelusium was Bubastis. Until we reach it, there is no one to whom we might speak or we even can trust.”
“Nepheros?”
“I had started to think so, yet we barely know him.” Getorius folded the vellum sheet, replaced it in its purple envelope, and laid it on the table. “Somewhere along his route Bardas may have boasted about the secret aspect of his mission, Pulcheria’s letter. Word could have gotten to Pelusium.”
Arcadia speculated, “And those three men posed as legionaries to find the letter?”
“Abinnaeus doubted that they were from a unit that far to the south.”
“Incredible! They murdered Bardas and ransacked his belongings in searching for Pulcheria’s message. But…but who sent them?”
Getorius shrugged. “Surely, cara, we’re letting our imaginations run wild.”
Frantic raps on the room’s door interrupted him. After he opened it, a woman wearing a bulky outer cloak and shawl that concealed her face pushed past him. Before he recovered his surprise, Pennuta had removed her head covering. The governor’s dimi
nutive concubine faced the couple, her almond-shaped blue eyes haunted by fright. Arcadia observed the woman. She looks older than she did at a distance in the triclinium. Her hair is short, so those gold-tipped braids she wore while performing are part of an elaborate wig.
Obviously agitated, the Kushite woman spoke first. “I Pennuta, good friend of Sergis.”
Arcadia nodded. “We know. Sergius Abinnaeus, the governor.”
Suspicion tempered the fright in Pennuta’s eyes. “Who tell you?”
Getorius said, “Nepheros told us who you were.”
“Neph’ros good man…” Pennuta smiled and asked in a coy voice. “He tell you Sergis marry me?”
“No, he didn’t mention that,” Getorius replied. And the governor won’t marry you Abinnaeus is merely amusing himself.
Arcadia asked, “Pennuta, why have you come here? You seem afraid of something …or someone.”
“Yes, sit down at the table with us.” Getorius pulled back a stool and tucked Pulcheria’s imperial envelope in his sleeve. “May I offer you wine?”
“I not drink.” When Pennuta moved the stool closer to Arcadia, her cloak fell open, revealing a Kushite tribal tunic. A golden pendant of an African lion gleamed against the brightly patterned cotton material. The woman exuded a delicate balsam odor, an exotic fragrance unlike any available in Ravenna’s shops. Whatever that scent is must be terribly expensive, perhaps a gift to her from the governor, although Dorothea has never worn such a perfume while I’ve been here. “Domina, I am Kushite woman.”
“Yes.”
“Papnouthios say he find mummia of Kushite king at Isis temple.”
Arcadia corrected her. “We were told it was the mummy of a prince brought to the temple from elsewhere. Is that what frightens you?”
“Afraid for Sergis.” Pennuta’s eyes reflected concern now, rather than her earlier fear. “Papnouthios will cut into mummia. Not good thing.”
Getorius said, “The physician told me he apprenticed as an embalmer. If the mummy is ancient, he’s naturally interested in finding out how preparing a body for burial was done back then.”
“Not good,” she insisted. “Kushite mummia give bad…bad maledictum you say in Latin?”
“A curse?” Arcadia was puzzled. “Pennuta, why are you telling us this?”
“Neph’ros say if you tell Sergis, he not let Papnouthios cut mummia.”
“Nepheros sent you here?”
“I love Sergis, not want him to die. Please,” she pleaded, “you tell him.”
The woman is definitely attractive, even sensual, yet seems childlike in her…her…innocence about Abinnaeus and his intentions Getorius said gently, “Pennuta, we would like to help you, yet have no influence with a governor in Egypt.”
The concubine turned to him, tears smudging her antimony eye makeup. “Sergis must stop Papnouthios. If no, Sergis die from curse words.”
Arcadia tried to calm the girl. “I’m not at all superstitious, but I know there has to be a person’s name for such a curse to be effective. We don’t know what the prince was called.”
“Nai, yes, written on mummia. Prince is call Kashat.”
“Kashat? That’s a name of your people?”
“Domina, name is Kashat.” She sniffled, wiping her eyes with a finger. “Prince Kashat.”
Abruptly, Pennuta seemed ashamed of her boldness in approaching the couple. She stood up and lowered her eyes as she tightened the outer tunic around herself. “I leave now. Help Sergis.”
“We’re going to examine the prince’s mummy shortly,” Getorius said as he opened the room’s door. “Let’s wait to see what happens then.”
“Help Sergis!” she repeated, and hurried out without looking back at him.
CHAPTER V
“What do you make of the Kushite?” Getorius asked his wife after closing the door. “The poor woman obviously believes in evil spells and is completely deluded about the governor’s interest in her.”
“True, but don’t you put any blame on him?”
“Blame? Cara, it’s normal for men to take on concubines.”
“Then throw the women aside when they become victims of conceptions or misconceptions? Is that ‘normal’?” When Getorius flicked imaginary lint off his tunic instead of answering, Arcadia opened the wardrobe door. “Fine. We should wear warm clothing, since the weather outside could turn raw again and we’re to be at the temple by the fifth hour.”
* * *
By the time the group left the pretorium a gray fleece of clouds had moved in from the west to veil the sun. An off-sea breeze carried a smell of rain that was tainted by the perennial fish odor of the port city.
Sergius Abinnaeus concealed his face in a blue hooded cape, yet few who had seen the governor could fail to recognize his tall stature and determined stride. Nepheros kept up with him, while Getorius and Arcadia followed with Papnouthios to the residence of Bishop Eusebios.
The churchman was waiting and fell in alongside the physician, who rightly saw his scowling silence as a sign of displeasure on having to enter a pagan temple. Fifty years earlier, the first Theodosius had ordered the closing of pagan shrines, yet many Christian governors who knew the mood of their citizens better than a distant Augustus, selectively followed his orders. Avoiding a major riot and spilled blood took precedence over a minor sprinkling of wine or burning incense to mute idols.
To engage Eusebios in conversation Papnouthios chided, “Bishop, surely you know that our ancestors worshipped gods like Amon, Sobek, and Isis over a millennium before the Hebrew Moses brought his monotheism to Egypt.”
Eusebios snorted, “Moses replaced that satanic pantheon with the One God.”
“The pharaoh Akhenaton worshipped a single god,” the physician countered.
The bishop waved a hand at a cloudy sky that obscured any mid-morning sunlight. “That disc of impotent sun was his ‘god’.”
Papnuthios ignored his sarcasm. “Of course these stone gods and fantastic stories were invented to enthrall the ignorant, yet do not both our religions share a belief in bodily resurrection and an eternal afterlife?”
“Physician, the eternal life which Christ promised is not a return to live in endless green fields and clear blue waterways. Our souls shall dwell in a glorious spiritual realm, present with the Everlasting Trinity and the holy saints and angels.”
“Yet, Bishop, “not all Christians believe that. Nestorius teaches that Christ was born of a human mother and thus cannot be God in the fullest divine sense.”
“Our Nicene Creed teaches that Christ is ‘True God and True Man.’ Nestorius is now confined in a desert monastery, doing penance to save his immortal soul.”
“I accept that man has an eternal soul, a ba that will be reunited with the body.”
Eusebios criticized his medical experiments. “But too often in a needlessly mutilated body! Physician, you must cease these hideous human vivisections.”
“Then, Bishop, you wish to limit medical knowledge?”
Frustrated, Eusebios shook his head. “To what purpose is this discussion? Neither of us will convince the other to change a single iota of our beliefs. Of greater importance is why you wish me to see this mummified body?”
“As a courtesy to your Holiness. Perhaps the Kushite prince was one of the first Christians in that part of Egypt, even a convert of Antony or Pachomios.”
Eusebious scoffed, “As such, unlikely to have been embalmed.”
Walking behind the two men, Getorius and his wife heard snatches of their conversation, while observing the port’s derelict surroundings. They had passed the road to Pelusium’s western gate, through which Getorius had been driven on the way to the indigent hospital. Beyond, in the quarter to the north, crumbling brick buildings, not unlike those in Ravenna’s port quarter, crowded narrow lanes. Houses and apartments were vacant. Only a few shops where owners lived were open. A child wailed from the back room of a butcher’s stall, where a flayed sheep carcass, two fly-infest
ed ducks, and links of dried sausages hung from hooks. Damp, blood-crusted sand covered the vendor’s wooden floor. At the sound of footsteps, he hurried to the open front, eyed five men with a woman, decided they were not buying meat, and shuffled back inside. The next shop smelled less rancid; a tired-looking woman sold household furnishings that unemployed owners had been forced to sell. She held up bronze pans, babbling in a whining Greek that turned into an angry outburst at failing to make a sale.
A salt smell of sea marshes became more intense. The Mediterranean shoreline, which seven mouths of the Nilus had silted up for millennia, now lay about four miles to the north.
When a light rain spattered dark circles on the street paving, Abinnaeus stopped under the sagging wooden roof of a deserted shop to catch his breath. With yet another delay in leaving for Hormos, his mood had become as foul as stretches of odorous water still flooding streets from the previous night’s rain. The city’s ruptured sewer pipes had not been repaired in another sign of Pelusium’s civic neglect.
Arcadia asked Nepheros, “Where are we? Even the port area of Ravenna is not this derelict.”
“This is not the port, Domina. The old commercial wharves are in an eastern quarter of the city, on the river’s Pelusiac arm. Silting renders them almost useless, thus shipping is diverted to a newer port at Gaza’s harbor of Maiumas-Constantia.”
Listening, Getorius commented, “And your more clever stevedores went there to work. Those less fortunate remaining here to sell their belongings. What is this quarter, if not the port?”
“Christians call it ‘Crocodilopolis’.”
“What?”
“Nepheros laughed and moved away from water soaking his cape through a gap in the overhang planks. “That name will become clear once we reach the temple. This is a remaining pagan enclave, Surgeon, indeed festering like a tumor you may have observed in patients.”
“Then why isn’t it treated?”
“To avoid the bloodshed of ‘surgery,’ the governor and bishop prefer to let the ‘patient’ slowly die.” Nepheros fell silent, before admitting, “I fear that violence will yet erupt here if pagans are allowed to stay.”