When he waited for her to qualify her comment, she added, ‘Look what happened to that centurion! Be careful, Roman. And take care of my brother.’
She turned back to him and, eyes shut, gave him a smile every bit as dazzling as the newly risen sun. ‘I wouldn’t want anything to happen to either of you.’
Flaminius almost choked on his beer. Ozymandias came in with a leather pail of goat’s milk and gave him a quizzical look. As he cooked up some millet gruel in the cauldron, Flaminius’ coughing subsided.
‘Very kind of you,’ he told Nitocris in a gasp.
‘What have you been saying to him?’ Ozymandias asked, handing them both bowls of gruel.
‘Your sister cares about your welfare,’ said Flaminius, ‘that’s all.’ After finishing breakfast, he struggled into his breastplate. Ozymandias offered to help him, but Flaminius shook his head impatiently.
They made their farewells to the Egyptian girl and Ozymandias and Flaminius walked out into the bright morning sunlight, leaving Nitocris behind to tend to housework. The heat was bearable at this time of morning, and a cooling breeze stroked Flaminius’ cheek. The streets were not unduly crowded; they were quite pleasant, in fact, and there was nothing to indicate that last night this had been a city in turmoil. Without a litter, it took some walking to get back to the palace of Hadrian, but within half an hour they were at its gates.
Ozymandias’ replacement, a short, squat, middle-aged Egyptian with a paunch that rolled over the top of his linen kilt, looked up from his abacus as they entered.
‘You can’t go in,’ he said, shaking his head as if the very idea was absurd. ‘Not unless you’ve closed the case already. The commander is in urgent conference. You may not have noticed it, but there’s been rioting in the city.’
‘Yes, we did notice,’ said Flaminius. ‘I can’t say I was impressed by your commander’s response.’ He leaned over the sitting man. ‘It’ll all be going in my report.’
‘The tribune,’ said Ozymandias quietly, ‘reports directly to his imperial majesty.’
‘And by the way,’ Flaminius added, ‘I may very well have closed the case.’ Ozymandias shot a startled look at him.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said the older scribe, getting unsteadily to his feet. He waddled into the inner office.
‘I’ve been wanting to do something like that since I started here.’ Ozymandias clapped his hands. ‘He’s no fun to work with, that one.’
Flaminius grunted, and gazed round the office. He didn’t want Ozymandias’ gratitude right now.
‘Something’s troubling you,’ the Egyptian said. ‘What’s the matter? Is it the case? You really think you’ve solved it?’
‘It could quite well be,’ said Flaminius. ‘But I don’t want to discuss it until we’re speaking with Paulus Alexander.’
Ozymandias stared resentfully at him. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘You’re better than I thought, if you’ve solved it without even seeing the body.’
The scribe scurried back into the room. ‘The commander is not to be disturbed,’ he told them. ‘If you have a report to make, he says, after such a brief time, it can be committed to writing. You may dictate it to me.’ He sat down on his mat and dipped a reed into his inkpot before placing a new roll of papyrus on his writing board.
‘It cannot be committed to writing,’ Flaminius contradicted him. ‘Paulus Alexander can listen to what I’ve got to say and he can listen now. Dealing with the riots now, considering he was so dilatory when they were raging, can wait.’
‘What’s got into you?’ Ozymandias demanded as Flaminius marched towards the inner office and the scribe struggled to get up again, squeaking warnings. ‘That blow to the head… are you feeling alright, Roman?’
Ignoring him, Flaminius pushed his way into Paulus Alexander’s office.
Inside, the commander looked up irritably from the reports he was studying. ‘No, scribe. I told him. Keep him in the…’ He broke off, seeing the armoured figure.
‘Reporting for duty, sir,’ said Flaminius with a smart salute. ‘Or at least, reporting.
Ozymandias appeared behind him, looking nervous. Paulus Alexander glanced from one to the other.
‘What’s the meaning of this, tribune?’ he blustered. He gave Ozymandias a scowl. ‘Please show the tribune out.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Ozymandias humbly. ‘We were caught in the riot. The tribune fought valiantly against the rioters, but he was hit by a flying cobble, and’—he lowered his voice— ‘I think it’s affected his wits.’
‘Take him to the medic,’ Paulus Alexander snapped. ‘Don’t let him wander round my headquarters making a nuisance of himself.’
‘Don’t you worry about me, commander,’ Flaminius said cheerily, pulling up a stool and seating himself on it. ‘Ozymandias has been taking good care of me. Even introduced me to his sister.’
‘What is all this about, tribune?’ said Paulus Alexander frostily. ‘I have reports to read. I have also to prepare my report to the prefect. Haterius Nepos has taken a keen interest in these riots, and wants an explanation for them now that martial law has been lifted.’ He mopped his brow. ‘Frankly, your eccentric behaviour is not helping. Now will you please go to see the medic. A blow to the head could be serious. I’m surprised Ozymandias didn’t think of that beforehand, instead of taking you home to meet his sister. The pair of you! Get out. And send the scribe in. I have a report to write.’
‘I also have a report,’ said Flaminius, and he placed his plumed helmet on the marble surface of the desk.
‘Nonsense,’ said the commander, looking at the helmet with distaste. ‘Your wits are addled. You’ve only been here a day and you’ve not had a chance to investigate due to the riots. Isn’t that right, scribe?’
Ozymandias nodded. ‘We couldn’t get near the place,’ he admitted. ‘By the way, I have an expenses claim to file. For entertaining the tribune.’ He looked hopeful.
Paulus Alexander shook his head, thin lipped. ‘You took it on yourself to do that,’ he said. ‘You have no grounds for an expenses claim. Now get out of my office and take this witless fool to see the medic.’
Taking umbrage, Flaminius leaned his elbows on the desk. ‘May I remind you that I am an agent of the emperor himself?’
‘How can I possibly forget?’ said Paulus Alexander. ‘So you outrank me. However, the prefect is equal in status to you. I wonder what Haterius Nepos will say about your conduct.’
‘Should I call for the guard?’ Ozymandias said nervously. He turned to go.
‘You can stay here,’ Flaminius told him. Ozymandias hovered, looking resentfully from one to the other, then sat cross legged, his back against the frescoed wall.
‘No, you don’t need to call for the guard,’ Paulus Alexander told the scribe. ‘I’m sure the imperial agent here can give good reasons for his conduct, although I do think, for his own safety, he should allow himself to be examined by the medic. You say you’ve got a report to make,’ he told Flaminius. ‘May I suggest you make it promptly, if it’s worth making?’
‘Not just yet,’ said the tribune. ‘Before I draw my conclusions, I wish to ask you a few questions.’
Paulus Alexander was taken aback. ‘Me?’ he said. ‘How could I possibly aid your investigation? I’m the commander of the civic guard!’
‘You were the first to see the body, by your own account,’ said Flaminius. ‘Since I have been unable to visit the Old Judaean Quarter due to these riots, your own testimony will be invaluable.’
Paulus Alexander subsided. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Well, that’s perfectly reasonable. Yes, I was the one who found the corpse.’
‘Please tell me what happened,’ Flaminius prompted him.
‘I told you yesterday,’ said the commander impatiently
‘In detail, please,’ Flaminius said.
‘On the evening of the Calends of November, Ozymandias brought me a message from Julius Strabo. It said he had confirmed all th
at he suspected, all that he had discussed with me. It vindicated him, he felt.’ Paulus Alexander looked away. ‘I had expressed… some scepticism about his claims. They were very wild, after all.’
‘This supposed Bacchic cult,’ said Flaminius. The commander nodded.
‘Julius Strabo claimed he had infiltrated the cult, as he had intended to do, and that he finally had evidence that would persuade me. But that I was to meet him in the Old Judaean Quarter, at the ruined temple, in the second watch of the night.’
‘Just a moment,’ said Flaminius. ‘Ozymandias, come here.’ The scribe rose and came forward to the desk. ‘Where did you receive this message? What form did it take?’
‘I received it at my home,’ Ozymandias said. ‘It was on a scrap of papyrus. It said what the commander says it said, and urged me to take it to him.’
‘Who delivered it?’ Flaminius asked.
Ozymandias spread his hands helplessly. ‘I don’t know. I just found it on my threshold one morning. Nitocris said she had seen no one deliver it.’
‘I see,’ said Flaminius. ‘And you brought it to the commander straightaway?’ Ozymandias nodded. Flaminius turned to Paulus Alexander. ‘And you went to meet Julius Strabo, commander? Alone? Despite his claims?’
‘I had no reason to expect to find him dead,’ the commander said, ‘nor to be at any risk myself. I have no enemies in Delta Sector.’
‘Julius Strabo did,’ said Flaminius. ‘Julius Strabo had enemies who hated him so much they stabbed him at close hand and then carved a strange word into his brow. Go on. What happened when you got there?’
‘I rode down to Delta Sector,’ Paulus Alexander said, ‘with an escort. But I left them outside the Quarter. I went hurriedly through the streets. It was dark by then, and I was afraid I might meet thieves. At last I came to the ruined temple. There was no sign of Julius Strabo at first. Then I found him, or at least his body. It was as I have said, naked.’
‘And what did you do then?’ asked Flaminius, leaning forward.
‘I raised the alarm, naturally,’ said the commander. ‘The body was taken away for embalming and I went for a long discussion with some of the inhabitants of the new Judaean settlement outside the city walls. They were shocked, as was I.’
‘Did you tell them what Julius Strabo had told you?’ Flaminius asked. ‘About this Bacchic cult?’
‘I did,’ Paulus Alexander replied. ‘Many of them were dismissive. Such rumours are disseminated all the time by the Greeks. One of them was more sympathetic, however. He had heard of various aberrant cults with a fascination with sorcery and diabolism. The others denied their existence. They seemed frightened.’
‘And then this riot,’ said Flaminius.
‘That was nothing to do with it,’ said Paulus Alexander. ‘Both I and the Judaeans did our utmost to ensure that no word of the murder reached anyone’s ears. It was a coincidence. The Greens and the Blues, their usual hooliganism. Nothing to do with the murder.’
‘You’re probably right,’ said Flaminius. ‘But I don’t like coincidence.’ He was pensive for a while. Paulus Alexander and Ozymandias exchanged glances. At last the commander spoke.
‘You say that you have a report to make?’
‘Yes,’ said Flaminius. ‘I think I know the identity of the murderer.’
Paulus Alexander sat up, shocked. ‘After so short a time? With no real investigation?’
‘Yes,’ said Flaminius simply.
Paulus Alexander’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who killed Julius Strabo, then? Anyone we know?’
‘Yes,’ said Flaminius. ‘It was Ozymandias.’
Astonished, the Egyptian scribe leapt to his feet, his brown skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. Paulus Alexander burst out laughing.
—10—
Palace of Hadrian, Alexandria, November 3, 123 AD
‘Sit down,’ Paulus Alexander told Ozymandias when he had regained control of himself. He turned to Flaminius, who was staring at him.
‘I’m so sorry, tribune,’ he said. ‘But the whole idea is ridiculous. What evidence can you have to base this wild accusation upon? You’ve not even been near the body.’
‘I don’t need to,’ Flaminius said confidently. ‘Very well, I don’t have any solid evidence yet. But I know this much: Ozymandias is not what he seems to be.
The scribe had returned to sitting on the floor. At this, he looked up, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Silence, scribe,’ said Paulus Alexander. ‘I’m speaking with the tribune. Flaminius, just what do you mean?’
‘Ozymandias,’ Flaminius said, turning to the scribe, ‘what are your connections with the Old Judaean Quarter?’
‘Connections?’ said Ozymandias. ‘None! I was born and raised in Rachotis. When I was a slave, I worked in the Greek Quarter. Of course, I’ve visited Delta Sector in the course of business, with Julius Strabo for example...’ He looked from Flaminius to Paulus Alexander. ‘Just what is this about?’
‘What about your sister?’ Flaminius said. ‘What does she have to do with the Old Judaean Quarter?’
‘Even less,’ said Ozymandias with a snort.
‘But she was late getting back home last night,’ Flaminius said, ‘because of the riots.’
‘I should think a lot of people were inconvenienced by the riots,’ said Paulus Alexander drily.
‘But the riots were in the Old Judaean Quarter, Delta Sector if you’d prefer,’ said Flaminius. ‘So how could they make Nitocris so late unless she was there?’
Ozymandias shook his head. ‘I don’t know where she goes,’ he said. ‘For all I know, maybe it is Delta Sector. But she’s not Judaean and nor am I. And nor are the people who live there these days. Besides, what if we were?’
‘Who knew where Julius Strabo was waiting?’ asked Flaminius. ‘When you brought the message to the commander here, this message that so mysteriously appeared, who else knew of the centurion’s location?’
‘Other than the commander?’ said Ozymandias. ‘Why, me alone.’ He put a hand to his mouth, as if realising he had just cast suspicion on himself.
‘I see what you’re saying,’ said Paulus Alexander pensively, addressing Flaminius. ‘Ozymandias was the only other person who knew the location and time of the meeting. But how could he have gained access to the ruined temple? No non-Judaeans are allowed in there, even now it’s in ruins, even now the Judaeans have been relocated outside the walls. Ozymandias would only have been granted entry if he was Judaean.’
‘Just as his sister could only have been there if she was Judaean,’ said Flaminius. Paulus Alexander whirled round to look at Ozymandias.
‘But he’s not Judaean,’ the commander said patiently. ‘How his sister got there, I don’t know. I don’t even know if she was there; the riots went on in adjacent sectors, not in the ruined temple itself. But Ozymandias is not Judaean.’
‘I know where the riots took place,’ Flaminius told him. ‘I was involved in fighting the rioters, if you recall. After the riots, Ozymandias was good enough to take me to a bathhouse and then to his home.’
Paulus Alexander glanced at the Egyptian. ‘I knew nothing of this.’
Ozymandias looked baffled. ‘He couldn’t get back to his camp, so I put him up for the night. He was filthy from the riots, and of course he had been knocked senseless, so I took him down to the bathhouse. Do a Roman a favour, and he accuses you of murder!’ he muttered bitterly. ‘And now I’m refused expenses, too!’
‘What has all this to do with the case?’ Paulus Alexander asked Flaminius, who had been listening patiently.
‘When Ozymandias was in the bathhouse,’ said Flaminius, ‘he was naked, naturally, like everyone else. That was when I saw it.’
‘Saw what?’ said Paulus Alexander testily. ‘I can’t imagine there was much to see on his scrawny body.’ Ozymandias was glaring at Flaminius.
‘This so-called Egyptian has been circumcised,’ said Flaminius.
Paulus Alexander stared
at him in puzzled silence.
‘He is not an Egyptian but a Judaean,’ Flaminius amplified his point. ‘Why he’s been posing as an Egyptian all this time, I don’t know. Or he’s a convert. But one way or another, your freedman has been concealing his Judaean connections so thoroughly that you, his patron, had no notion of them. He even has an image of Isis in his home. He has been thoroughly concealing his true affiliation. Why that should be so, I do not know. But it is in itself suspicious. And it also means that as a Judaean he could have gained access to the ruined temple and murdered Julius Strabo before you went there, Paulus Alexander.’
Both men were staring at Flaminius open mouthed. Ozymandias opened his mouth to speak, but Paulus Alexander quietened him with a glare.
‘Your contention, then,’ the commander began softly, ‘is that Ozymandias is in actual fact a Judaean, who for reasons of his own is posing as an Egyptian. That his sister is also Judaean. That Ozymandias, knowing that Julius Strabo wanted to speak to me to disclose what he had learnt, sneaked ahead and murdered the centurion beforehand, no doubt because he feared that Strabo would reveal unwholesome secrets of the Judaean people.’ He turned his eyes on the scribe. ‘What do you say in your defence?’
Ozymandias shook his head. ‘With all due respect, the imperial agent doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I have an alibi; I was working in your outer office until late, while you went to meet Julius Strabo—as well you know, sir. The guards can back me up on that.’
‘Alibis can be faked,’ said Flaminius dismissively. ‘Why did you pose as an Egyptian?’
Ozymandias shook his head. ‘I am a Roman freedman, an Egyptian by birth. And I have never converted to Judaism. As for my circumcision, you’ll find all male Egyptians are circumcised. It’s one of those Judaean customs that hark back to their Egyptian origins.’
Flaminius struggled to keep calm. The whole solution to the problem had come to him last night, the moment he saw the Egyptian was circumcised. Now it was all falling apart. He put a hand to his brow, feeling an utter fool. He panicked.
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