‘Of course. But you had better do it without breaking any laws, Roman or Egyptian. Or religious. Or Greek, or Alexandrian, or Jewish, or… or… gods, I wish I was back in Rome.’
‘You don’t have any advice for us about how to go about our search?’ asked Marcellus.
‘No. I’m sorry.’
Marcellus’ shoulders slumped.
‘But,’ continued Juncinus, ‘I can introduce you to someone who may be of more use.’
‘Oh?’
‘His name is Canopion. He is my hypomnematographus.’
Silus glanced at Marcellus to check if he was being stupid. But Marcellus looked equally confused.
‘The hypomnematographus is an Alexandrian citizen, and a member of the Boule. He is the chief of my chancery.’
‘Boule?’ asked Marcellus.
Juncinus threw his hands in the air. ‘I did tell you it’s complicated. Go and see Canopion. He can explain the intricacies of Alexandrian society better than I will ever be able to. But I suggest you take a number of wax tablets with you so you can make notes.’
* * *
Canopion the hypomnematographus had offices in the prefect’s palace, and after Juncinus had introduced them and retreated, he cleared his schedule for them. Silus would have preferred to talk to him on his own. Marcellus was too emotionally involved. But Marcellus insisted, and in any case, Juncinus told them that as a local aristocrat, there was no way that Canopion would see someone of Silus’ sort without someone senior present. Silus tried not to take offence at the prefect’s words – he was used to being looked down on by the higher ranks of Roman society. But it was clear that the hypomnematographus also considered himself vastly superior to a mere foot soldier from the remote north, no matter how skilled or respected others thought him.
Canopion had typically Greek features – a long straight nose lacking the Roman bump, wavy dark hair, liberally salted with grey in his case, and large brown eyes with a full mouth. He used that nose to full effect, looking down it from his elevated chair at the two men before him, not even attempting to keep the sneer from his lip whenever he regarded Silus.
Silus decided he would take the initiative.
‘What exactly does a hypopneumoniagrapus do?’ he asked, taking pleasure in deliberately mispronouncing the title.
‘A hypomnematographus,’ said Canopion, emphasising the correct form, ‘is a senior magistrate and advisor to the prefect, assisting with judiciary matters. He is selected from the senior ranks of the Boule. The council,’ he added when Silus continued to look blank.
‘Sounds important. But you have no authority of Roman citizens, is that correct?’
‘I… no, that is not my jurisdiction. But there are others who…’
‘Thank you. We would like to ask you some questions. The prefect said you wouldn’t mind assisting the governor here.’
Canopion’s eyes flicked between the two, clearly wondering about the dynamics at play. Which one actually spoke with authority?
‘Of course. However I can be of assistance.’
‘The governor’s son has gone missing, and we believe he was brought here to Alexandria. With the bad weather, he cannot have arrived long before us. How would you advise we go about enquiring about the arrival of his ship, and tracking him down in Alexandria?’
Canopion sat back and spread his hands.
‘The first part is easy. The second, I really couldn’t say.’
‘Tell us the first part first, then.’
‘You need to go to see the procurator Phari.’
Marcellus sighed. Silus knew why – the administration in Alexandria seemed to be completely different to any other part of the Empire and Marcellus, who was from Syria, had fought in Britannia, who had followed Severus in Africa province and had held high office in Rome, felt totally out of his depth here.
‘Who is the procurator Phari?’
‘He is the official who collects the harbour dues at the ports. He is also responsible for protecting the shipping lanes against piracy and attack from foreign threats. And importantly for you, he strictly regulates the flow of persons and goods into and out of the port.’
‘We didn’t report to him when we arrived,’ said Marcellus, confused.
‘A man of your rank would not have been detained, but you can be sure your captain will have given a full inventory of crew, passengers and goods to the office of the procurator Phari as soon as you arrived.’
‘So we can find out when this ship docked, and who was on board?’ asked Silus, interest now piqued.
‘If you have enough detail, the procurator’s civil servants will be able to look up its arrival. As for who was on board, that will depend on what name they used, of course. But it may be that you will be able to find the official from the procurator’s office that inspected the boat, and he may recall some detail of use.’
‘Thank you,’ said Marcellus, and Silus also nodded his thanks. The pompous aristocratic official was being of more use than anticipated.
‘And the second part?’ asked Silus. ‘How might we find a missing boy in this city?’
Canopion steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips.
‘I presume you intend to go and talk to people and see if you can find him with a combination of bribes, threats and appeals to good nature.’
Silus shrugged. Put like that, it didn’t seem the most solid of plans, but he didn’t have anything better at this stage.
‘Then I think you need to understand how Alexandria works a little better.’
Marcellus inclined his head, indicating for the hypomnematographus to continue.
‘Alexandria was founded over five hundred years ago by Alexander the Great when he…’
Marcellus held up his hand. ‘Is a history lesson really necessary?’
Canopion looked put out. ‘It certainly helps to understand the interplay of races here. But if you want the short version…’
‘It would be a help. Time is pressing.’
‘Alexandria has a diverse population made up predominantly of Greeks and native Egyptians, plus Romans – mainly in government in the army – and Jews. The number of Jews is relatively small, although once more growing. They revolted a hundred years ago, and at the time many were killed or forced into exile.
‘The Greeks are descendants of the men who came with Ptolemy when he took Egypt as his prize when Alexander’s empire fell apart. The Egyptians have been here since before time began.
‘In terms of social ranking, ignoring the Romans who govern by right of conquest, the upper echelons such as myself are Greek. We have our own council, the Boule. We administer our own taxes, and our families are part of the Bouletic class – the aristocrats. All others in Alexandria are just part of the ochlos – the mob – be they Greek, Alexandrian, Jewish or anything else.’
Silus was beginning to understand where Canopion saw his position in society. Just like the Greeks in their home country, he paid lip service to his Roman overlords while not so secretly considering himself and his friends and family vastly superior to them, and indeed to everyone.
‘What about the Christians?’ asked Silus. ‘I heard there are a lot of them here.’
Canopion considered the question. ‘It’s hard to tell. The Emperor’s father, blessed be his name, ordered the Alexandrian Christians purged about ten years ago. Many were killed. Those who didn’t flee or hide were beheaded or burnt. It was a difficult time, even for those of us who stick to the faith of the old gods. But slowly they returned, and even though the divine Septimius Severus decreed a ban on conversion to Christianity, they now preach openly in the city. And it is not like with the Greeks and the Jews and the Egyptians – you can’t tell a Christian from the colour of his skin or the shape of his nose, even though some think of them as a separate race.’
‘So the city is volatile because there are so many factions?’ asked Silus.
‘Maybe. Pagans hate Christians, Christians hate Jews. Native Egy
ptians hate the Greeks. The Greeks look down on the native Egyptians. Everyone hates the Romans. Well, not everyone,’ he said hastily, as Marcellus’ eyes narrowed. ‘Of course I have the utmost respect for the culture and power of Rome.’
‘You said maybe,’ said Silus. ‘Why else is there so much trouble here?’
‘The native Egyptians trace their history back longer than anyone, and feel they are owed more respect than they get. Then there is the unique nature of Alexandria, which they think is part of Egypt but also somehow separate from and above it.
‘But I think really it is just in their nature, the mob. They are volatile from birth, and take offence at anything and everything. A missed greeting. Being turned away from the baths. A lack of a certain type of vegetable at the market.’
‘This is all fascinating, but how is this going to help me find my son?’ asked Marcellus.
Silus put a hand on his arm. ‘Sir, we are both foreigners here. We need to know how to talk to the locals without causing offence to get them to help us.’
‘Good luck with that,’ said Canopion. ‘They wouldn’t spit on a Roman to put him out if he was on fire. Not unless they owed you.’
Owed me? thought Silus. Did the priestess owe him for saving the sacred cat? He suspected it was more the other way round. She had saved Atius and himself by her quick thinking and her calming of the mob. But she was the only native he had met so far, and he doubted it would be easy to get other introductions. Besides, though he only half admitted it to himself, he had another reason to see her again. Her face and her body in its damp tunic had remained in his mind’s eye since he had first seen her. He should pay her a visit, he thought, with Atius. On second thought, no, he couldn’t trust Atius not to say the wrong thing, especially as she was a priestess of Isis and Atius was a follower of Christos. He would see the priestess on his own.
* * *
As Silus approached the Temple of Isis on the Lochias promontory, his heart was beating faster than it should be from the short walk from the Imperial palace. The temple was near the water’s edge, built on top of a small mound of earth to raise it above the other buildings nearby. An open outer space was surrounded by columns, with the temple itself entered through an ornate doorway. He walked into a brightly lit room painted with colourful frescoes of scenes from the stories of the Egyptian gods, with a red and white background colour scheme throughout. A few worshippers sat in quiet contemplation, and a temple servant swept the corners of sand and dust. His footsteps echoed in the calmness.
One picture caught his attention – a painting of a goddess he presumed to be Isis, with a serpent wrapped around her wrists and some sort of mythological creature at her feet. It was a long green animal with scales and a lengthy tail, and a strange mouth like a huge beak full of teeth. His head was tilted to one side as he tried to work out what it could be when a voice made him jump, and his heart, which had calmed, began to race again.
‘Silus, wasn’t it?’
He whirled to find himself face to face with Tekosis, and his heart missed a beat. She was wearing a long robe that led down to her feet, and a scarf was pulled over her hair. Only her forearms and her face were visible, but her beauty was enough to render him speechless. Strands of dark hair escaped the scarf to hang over her forehead. Intricately applied kohl accentuated her already large eyes, no longer smeared from her dip in the harbour.
She smiled gently, and the breath caught in his throat.
‘Have you forgotten your name?’
‘Yes. No. Yes, it was Silus. It still is.’
She let out a little laugh that was like a sweet melody plucked on the high notes of a lyre.
Pan’s balls, Silus. Get a grip. You’re on a mission, stop behaving like a love-struck boy who has only just cast aside his bulla and donned his toga virilis.
‘Well, I’m glad we have established that. Are you here to worship Isis, or for some other reason?’
‘I’m here to see you, actually.’
‘Well, isn’t that sweet.’
Silus bit the inside of his cheek hard to restore his concentration and studiously kept his gaze locked on her face so his eyes didn’t inadvertently roam her body.
‘It’s not a social visit. Is there somewhere we can talk?’
Tekosis did not seem disappointed at this news, and although the upward tilt at the corners of her mouth straightened, the smile remained in her eyes.
‘We can talk in my chambers.’
Tekosis led the way and Silus found himself captivated by the sway of her hips as she walked. Damnit!
Her chambers turned out to be a small suite of rooms, including a bedroom and a reception-cum-living room. She gestured to him to sit on a wooden chair with a cloth seat, and she sat opposite him. The bedroom was visible through a drawn curtain, with a luxuriously upholstered bed, nightstand and a basin and chamber pot in the corner. She caught the direction of his gaze.
‘Is this uncomfortable for you?’
‘I just worry about… propriety. Not for my sake, of course, but as a priestess, are you allowed to receive a man alone in your private quarters?’
She let out that melodic laugh again. ‘As a priestess of Isis, I can do what I like. This is Egypt, not Rome. I’m not a Vestal Virgin.’
At the mention of the priestesses of Vesta, Silus grew sombre. He had tried not to think about that horrific incident, but suddenly he was transported there again, watching the terrified expression on the young girls as they were taken down to be buried alive, hearing once more the terminal thud of the falling vestal who had tried so desperately to escape.
He was brought back to the present by a touch on his knee. Tekosis leaned forward, concern on her face.
‘I’m sorry. We heard of what happened to those poor girls. Were you there?’
Silus nodded, and this time it was not the priestess’ beauty that choked his voice.
Tekosis stood, walked to a side table and poured two glasses of wine from a jug. She handed one to Silus and sat back down. He looked down into the liquid and swirled it around. It was blood red, much darker than he was used to. Tekosis saw him looking at it suspiciously.
‘When the great sun god Ra became old, men made fun of him. So he summoned his daughter, the goddess Hathor, mistress of the stars, mistress of love, protector of the sun god, and ordered her to punish the blasphemers. But once she had a taste for killing, she would not stop, and continued to slaughter mankind indiscriminately, taking the form of the lioness Sekhmet and drinking the blood of men. Ra, realising mankind was about to be totally destroyed, began to feel sorry for the humans, but even the gods could not stop her blood lust. So while she slept, the gods mixed wine with red pigment and poured it over the land. When she woke, she thought the wine was blood and drank it all. She then became so drunk she forgot about killing, and became calm and merry.
‘We drink blood red wine to this day. And in some places, they still celebrate the festival of drunkenness in her honour.’
‘Well, that sounds like it could be fun,’ said Silus, and took a deep draught. It was very sweet, flavoured with herbs and spices he couldn’t identify. It was a far cry from British beer, but he decided he could get used to it.
‘Are you ready to tell me why you are here?’ asked Tekosis. ‘It isn’t to worship Isis, and it isn’t to visit me. And I’m sure you didn’t come here just to sample my wine.’
Silus took another drink. ‘I didn’t intend to come to Alexandria. Before I arrived, I knew hardly anything about the city, and knew nobody here. But I am on a mission, a search for… something. And I will need the help of someone who knows the city well. So far, I have been introduced to the prefect, who knows nothing, and the hypomnema… hypoenema…’
‘The hypomnematographus,’ supplied Tekosis helpfully. ‘There is a man who believes he knows his worth.’
‘He did seem rather full of himself.’ Tekosis was good at putting him at his ease, just like she had calmed the rioting mob. Was it a pr
ofessional skill, or was she just a natural? he wondered.
‘So tell me about your search.’
‘I am looking for a boy.’
Tekosis raised her eyebrows.
‘No, not like that. I mean, a specific boy. One who has gone missing.’
‘I see. And you think he is in Alexandria?’
‘I do. We know the ship he was taken on set sail for Alexandria. We have checked with the procurator Phari and it arrived here three days ago. The boy was not declared as part of the ship’s manifest, but we are sure he must have been on board. The ship has now departed, but before it went, it was thoroughly searched by the procurator’s officials, and he is certain the boy was not on board. So he must be hidden in Alexandria somewhere.’
‘I’m sorry to hear of these troubles. But I don’t see how I can help.’
‘If this was Britannia, or even Rome, I would talk to witnesses, follow leads, sneak into houses, kick down doors, maybe bribe, maybe threaten. But I have a feeling, after our welcome yesterday, that that approach may not be successful here. Alexandria seems to be a uniquely dangerous city, and to be honest I’m at a loss how to proceed.’
Tekosis nodded. ‘I can see your problem. How well do you understand the politics here?’
‘The hypomnemomomo… Canopion… tried to explain it to us. But he seemed to have his own perspective on things. To him, if you weren’t part of the aristocracy, you didn’t seem to be worth notice. I doubt it is among the upper echelons of society that I am going to need to look for the kidnapper.’
‘As you said, he is full of himself. He belongs to a race and a class who believe in their innate superiority over all other men. But he forgets he is a newcomer to our land. Our civilisation is vastly older than his.’
‘So you are a native Egyptian?’
‘To my shame, I am half-Greek. My father’s side. But I was raised by my mother, and I am Egyptian and Alexandrian before all else. And my greatest hope is that one day Egypt will be free of the Romans and the Greeks who stand on the bent backs of my people.’
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