‘You’ve been under considerable strain recently,’ said Paulus Alexander, his voice dripping with condescension. ‘We all have. Also, you had that blow to your head, and you have been acting quite eccentrically. It’s heartening to know that even imperial agents can err! I think you would be well advised to apologise to the scribe, however.’
Flaminius turned to Ozymandias, laughing nervously. ‘How can you ever forgive me? You offered me your hospitality, and I accuse you of murder and conspiracy!’
Ozymandias gazed at the mosaic floor. ‘We all make mistakes,’ he muttered. ‘Think no more of it.’
Paulus Alexander laughed. ‘The scribe’s a stoic,’ he said. ‘“Let the fool strike you, by Zeus, for you will come to no harm if you are a virtuous man”, as Socrates said.’
‘Truly magnanimous,’ Flaminius agreed. He couldn’t complain about Paulus Alexander’s quote: he had indeed been something of a fool. He rose. ‘If you don’t mind, commander, I will take you up on that offer. I’ll go and see the medic at once.’
‘Very well,’ said Paulus Alexander, and he picked up the report again. ‘I do have work to do,’ he added, with only the slightest note of reproof in his voice, and bent over the papyrus, not looking up again. ‘Ozymandias will take you there. If the medic thinks you’re in a fit state, you can continue your… investigations.’ The downturn of his mouth suggested to Flaminius that Paulus Alexander had little faith in his abilities.
As they walked down the corridor towards the surgery, Flaminius glanced worriedly at Ozymandias. The Egyptian noticed the look.
‘You certainly made yourself look like an idiot there,’ he commented. ‘Me, I’m putting it down to the blow on the head. I’m sure an imperial agent wouldn’t make wild, baseless accusations under any normal circumstances.’
Flaminius sighed. ‘Of course not,’ he murmured.
He remembered the chaos that had broken out in Britain, how the governor had held him responsible. This posting to Egypt was an opportunity for him to regain credibility in the eyes of Probus. And he was doing a good job of botching it.
The medic examined him, listened to Ozymandias’ account of his behaviour, and seemed very eager to carry out what he called a “craniotomy”. When Flaminius realised that this meant the trephining of his skull, he demurred, and the disappointed medic prescribed a solution in which soothing herbs had been steeped. It tasted foul, but Flaminius thanked the medic, and followed Ozymandias from the building.
Out in the sun he squinted painfully and placed his helmet on his head to avoid sunstroke more than anything else. They were on the edge of the wide street leading towards Delta Sector. None of the buildings round here showed any signs of involvement in the riots, but a subdued air hung over the city, and the heterogenous crowds that moved along its dusty streets looked wary and uncertain.
Patrols of legionaries stamped past, and civic guards stood on every corner. Flaminius felt a sense of foreboding, a sense of mystery. What had sparked off the riots? The rivalries of the different factions of chariot supporters? Ethnic hatreds? Or something else?
Again he was sure that someone was working against him.
He started walking and Ozymandias hurried after him. ‘Are we going to Delta Sector?’ the scribe asked.
Flaminius nodded. ‘If the gods allow it,’ he said ironically. He was beginning to understand something of that famous Eastern fatalism. ‘I don’t see any other way of solving this mystery.’
‘Do you realise what state Julius Strabo’s body will be in after more than a day in this climate?’ Ozymandias asked him.
Flaminius made a disgusted noise. ‘I suppose that’s why your people developed embalming,’ he said. ‘We won’t be able to get much information out of a rotting corpse. But I think I’d first like to have a look at this ruined temple. I’d also like to talk to some of these Judaeans.’
He kept walking. Ozymandias scurried to keep up.
‘Don’t you think they may not want a Gentile poking around in their temple?’
‘I will look forward to their cooperation with my own investigation,’ said Flaminius. ‘And I hope I’ll get it. I’d recommend it. Anything else will look very suspicious.’
‘Do you think the Judaean authorities were at the back of the murder now?’ Ozymandias asked as they strode down the dusty street.
‘I’m not going to formulate any more theories based on sparse evidence,’ said the Roman wryly. ‘Just look where that got us this morning.’
‘Yes,’ said Ozymandias. ‘I still can’t believe you thought I was the murderer. Didn’t anyone tell you Egyptian men are circumcised? What were you doing looking, anyway?’
Flaminius flushed. ‘I just happened to notice, that’s all,’ he snapped. ‘It got me thinking. I had just recovered from being knocked senseless, if you remember. Obviously, I’d not recovered all my senses.’
‘And you have now?’ Ozymandias asked.
Flaminius glanced at him. ‘Paulus Alexander doesn’t seem to think so,’ he said gloomily. ‘I don’t think he’s got a very high opinion of my abilities.’
‘You think he’ll try to get you replaced?’ Ozymandias asked. ‘Sarapis! Just when I’ve started getting used to you, crazy Roman! Nitocris likes you, too,’ he added.
‘I hope he won’t try,’ said Flaminius. ‘This assignment is my last chance. Things went very badly in Britain, and I was held responsible by the governor for a lot of the mayhem.’ He found himself telling Ozymandias about his last assignment. When he had finished, the Egyptian nodded sympathetically.
‘You’re under a lot of pressure. Paulus Alexander could run to the prefect or the legate and request you are replaced. Then where would you be? This Probus of yours sounds like he’s done his best for you, but even he can’t do magic. You’ll have to get results and get them fast. Real results, this time, not wild accusations.’
‘And the only place I’m likely to get them,’ said Flaminius, ‘is in Delta Sector.’
‘You know,’ said Ozymandias, as they walked on, ‘we’re not so unalike, you and me. We both have something murky in our histories. Me, with my tomb robbing and my time as a slave. You with your… activities in Britain. Yes, we’re alike in that much at least.’
‘If you think an Egyptian freedman has anything in common with a Roman equestrian who can trace his ancestry back to a hero of the Republic,’ Flaminius told him sternly, ‘you’ve got another think coming.’
—11—
Villa of Dionysius the Judaean, suburban Alexandria, November 3, 123 AD
Half an hour later they sat in a well-lit atrium in a pleasant townhouse in the new Judaean Quarter outside the city walls. Their host was Dionysius, one of the remaining Judaean elders of the Sanhedrin, the council that still governed the Judaeans. A tall, dignified man wearing a Greek chiton and the kohl that most Alexandrians wore as well as the native Egyptians, he knelt beside the pool in the centre of the atrium while Flaminius sat upon a couch, Ozymandias at his side. Dionysius’ servants and family had been banished to elsewhere inside the house.
‘You must understand,’ said Dionysius, ‘that you do not see us at our best. Once a Judaean temple stood in every sector of the city, and a million Judaeans lived within the walls. Now we are outcasts here, in the suburbs, subject to the poll tax like the native Egyptians. And the Greeks and other people consider it their duty to persecute us. If it were not for Haterius Nepos, why, I believe we would have been entirely extirpated.
‘My wife’s family has moved to Jerusalem as have many survivors who could afford to leave. It is the flight from Egypt all over again.’ He shook his head. ‘But I do not blame the Romans. I do not even blame the Greeks, despite their arrogance and their hatred of us. It was always the zealots among my own people who were to blame, the Pharisees, the sicarii, and all the new militants who refuse to even try to live side by side with the Gentiles. In particular, it is Lukuas the Cyrenaican.’
‘Yes, I heard that things went from bad to worse when his r
ebel horde came to Alexandria,’ Flaminius said.
He was impressed by this Judaean elder, a thoroughly urbane and civilised man, whose wine, which Flaminius was now drinking, was a tolerable Falernian, or at least a very passable counterfeit. His father had a saying: You can always judge a man by his wine cellar. If that was any yardstick, this Dionysius was a decent sort. On the other hand, if the Judaeans were taxed as badly as the Egyptians, what was the source of all this wealth?
‘What inspired the rebellion?’ Flaminius added. ‘Your people were privileged, and lived well, allowed to live by your own laws and so forth. The druids certainly didn’t get the same treatment in Britain and Gaul.’
‘I know nothing of barbarian lands,’ said Dionysius. The sentiment coupled with his name could have persuaded Flaminius that this man was as Greek as Agamemnon. ‘All I know is that my people have been angry with the Romans since the destruction of the Temple. That made you seem, in my people’s eyes, to be as bad as the Babylonians of old. They it was destroyed the First Temple, you understand, and took us into captivity. In those days, as now, Judaeans hoped and prayed for the coming of the Anointed One.’
‘The Anointed One?’ Flaminius’ Greek was rusty, and the man spoke little Latin. ‘I’ve not heard of this… Christus.’ And yet the name seemed oddly familiar from some other context. For a moment, the word “incendiaries” floated through his mind.
‘The Christus,’ said Dionysius, ‘the Messiah, in Hebrew, is a saviour of our people whose coming was first foretold by Isiah, one of our prophets. Since then, the story has grown. He will be a descendant of our first king, David, and will reunite our people, defeat our enemies, rebuild the Temple, and begin a golden age for the Judaeans. Many men have claimed to be this Christus, mountebanks and bandits and warlords, Lukuas being only the most recent; yet none have succeeded in fulfilling the Prophecy.’ The elder looked mournful. ‘It is a story that has resulted in bloodshed and woe, particularly for our own people.’
‘Ironic,’ said Flaminius, ‘that this prophecy should cause such suffering. Thank you, Dionysius. I think I understand something more of your people and their ways.’
‘Would that all Gentiles were so understanding,’ said Dionysius heavily, ‘and yet would that my people were equally accommodating. Gentile and Judaean are locked in a war that will only end with the destruction of one side or the other.’
‘You don’t believe in this Christus?’ asked Flaminius. ‘As someone who will come to help your people in the future, I mean, not the likes of Lukuas.’
Dionysius looked sadly into the distance. ‘We live now like beasts, on the edge of the city, hated and reviled. Can I truly believe that my people will ever become rulers of the world?’
Ozymandias coughed and looked at Flaminius. The tribune had been so absorbed in the man’s story that he had almost forgotten his own mission. ‘We have yet to see the place where my late colleague’s body was found,’ he said. ‘I will have to ask you to take us there.’
‘Very well,’ said Dionysius, ‘although I did not see the body myself. It is being embalmed in the City of the Dead, I believe, and will be sent to the man’s family for burial.’
‘What do you know of Centurion Julius Strabo?’ Flaminius asked. ‘Did you know him in life?’
Dionysius nodded vigorously, and his long beard shook. ‘He questioned me several times,’ he said, ‘and with considerably less tact than you, young man. He had some curious notions concerning Judaean cults dedicated to orgiastic rites and human sacrifice.’ He shook his head. ‘These fantasies are common among the Greeks, who believe that because we seek to live our own lives under our own laws, we must have something to hide.’
‘There are no Bacchic cults in existence among the Judaeans?’ Flaminius asked.
Dionysius shook his head. ‘Judaism is the antithesis of the ecstatic Greek cult of Dionysus,’ he said. ‘I say it as a man named after that false god.’
‘Why is that?’ Ozymandias asked suddenly. ‘I’ve been wondering why you’ve got a Greek name since we came here.’
‘The Greeks once tried to force us to worship that god,’ said Dionysius, ‘Dionysus, or Bacchus if you will. It did not succeed, but moderate Judaeans who would follow a middle way, not the antagonistic way of the zealots, often bear Greek names. We would rather not cut ourselves off from other people, but instead live in peace with the Gentiles.’
‘But others have different ideas?’ Flaminius suggested.
‘Alexandria is a large city,’ said the elder, ‘and many cults and gods exist within its walls. Some Judaeans have taken to worshipping false gods, some Greeks have incorporated our own deity into their beliefs. Many cults and sects exist somewhere between Greek and Judaean, outcasts from both. There are the Therapeutae, who dwell upon a hill outside the city. And there are other cults. I have heard rumours of one sect that thrives in the Old Judaean Quarter.’
‘What is the nature of the cult?’ asked Flaminius, sitting up and placing his wine down on the ground beside him. This sounded like they were going somewhere at last. If Julius Strabo had been investigating strange Judaean cults, a chat with this cult leader could prove fruitful.
Dionysius looked weary. ‘I know very little about it,’ he said. ‘They have renounced many of our customs; circumcision, for example.’ Flaminius and Ozymandias exchanged rueful looks. ‘And they use many terms taken from Platonism, I believe.’
‘Oh?’ said Flaminius, even more interested.
‘And they believe that the Christus has come and gone,’ said Dionysius; ‘absurdly, considering the state of the Judaean people. They think that he was not a war leader like Lukuas, but a wandering thaumaturgist who learnt magical arts here in Egypt, the son of a carpenter executed by crucifixion when Tiberius was emperor. They say that this Jesus, was the son of God as well as the Messiah, the Christus. Because of these strange beliefs, they are known as the tribe of Christians.’
‘Christians?’ Flaminius snorted. He had thought the Judaean elder could give him something to go on, and all he had to offer were Christians. ‘They’re nothing new. There are Christians all over the empire, in scattered groups. There were some in Rome, back in Nero’s day.’ Of course: incendiaries! ‘They were blamed for the Great Fire, and Nero had them all killed. But other groups crop up from time to time. Trajan of Blessed Memory had them investigated when they cropped up in Asia Minor, and he concluded that they were harmless.’
‘Harmless?’ Dionysius was indignant. ‘Not from what I have heard. Some of them say that the Lord God is no more than an inferior demiurge, a demon who has the world in his thrall. That is the excuse they give for committing every sin possible; they believe that somehow, in this, lies their salvation.’ Flaminius thought that Dionysius had kept quiet about this earlier, since it might bring the Judaeans into discredit by association. ‘And they have terrible orgies,’ Dionysius added, ‘in which men lie promiscuously with women, and… Thyestean feasts!’
‘Thyestean?’ Ozymandias queried.
‘Named after Thyestes, who seduced the wife of his brother and in revenge was fed the flesh of his sons at a banquet,’ said Flaminius knowledgably. ‘Try to keep up.’
Ozymandias pulled a face. ‘Anthropophagi? Osiris forbade the Egyptians to eat people long before Rome was even dreamed of.’ He frowned. ‘This is what you said the Greeks say about the Judaeans, though. How do you know it’s true about these Christians?’
‘It’s not,’ said Flaminius dogmatically. ‘Trajan had them investigated when they were reported in Bithynia. The Christians meet on a certain day to sing a hymn to this Christus, bind themselves by oath to commit no crime, then assemble to eat food; wholesome food, not human flesh. The emperor’s verdict was that although their beliefs were superstitious they should not be executed, merely given the opportunity to redeem themselves by offering sacrifices to the gods and himself. The current emperor says that being a Christian is not grounds for action, and that they must be proved to have com
mitted illegal acts before they can be punished as any other criminal would be.’
Dionysius said, ‘If they fornicate publicly and eat human flesh, surely that is grounds for prosecution!’
‘His Imperial Majesty has also indicated,’ Flaminius went on, ‘that slanders against the Christians are not to be tolerated, and that anyone making accusations without proof will be punished.’
Dionysius went quiet. ‘I don’t think we have any more to discuss,’ he said eventually. ‘I will have my servant take you to the ruined temple where the murdered man was found. If you go on to the City of the Dead, you can examine the body—what’s left after the embalmers have finished with it.’
He departed the atrium at a dignified hobble, leaving Flaminius and Ozymandias alone.
‘That went well,’ said the Egyptian drily.
‘A man in his position should know the law,’ Flaminius replied. ‘Eating people! You’re right, it’s exactly the sort of rumour the Greeks spread about the Judaeans. He went from denying these rumours to spreading them himself.’ He wondered briefly if the equally lurid stories about the druids might also have been exaggerated, but then he remembered his experiences in Britain.
‘You’ve just managed to alienate our one friend among the Judaeans,’ Ozymandias said. He shook his head. ‘You’re as bad as Julius Strabo. Watch out, or you’ll end up with a dagger in your ribs too.’
‘Is that a warning?’ Flaminius’ eyes narrowed. ‘Or a threat?’ Ozymandias looked away with a snort.
The Egyptian had a point, Flaminius realised. This investigation needed to be carried out quietly and unobtrusively. But the emperor had forbidden the ill treatment of Christians simply because they were of that cult. Only actual lawbreaking was liable to be punished, although since this included refusing to worship the emperor’s image, Christians would have to compromise their principles to escape the penalty.
Flaminius felt a sneaking sympathy for them. They were often lumped together with Epicureans as ‘atheists’, refusing to believe in the gods. Flaminius wasn’t an atheist, he just didn’t think any god worth the name would spend their time in this appalling world, so sacrificing to them was pointless, particularly if a man could achieve what he desired by his own efforts. Also like Epicureans, Christians were willing to accept slaves and women into their ranks, unlike many other more self-important sects—Mithraism, for example, a cult Flaminius had joined against his will and under decidedly peculiar circumstances. There were too many cults in the empire, all offering salvation for the immortal soul, and all of them, to his mind, futile.
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