Our Man in Alexandria

by Gavin Chappell

  He obeyed, and found himself plummeting through the air for a split second of eternity before he too hit the damp surface of the sewer with a jarring splash. It was black as the blackest of all the watches of the night, and he peered around futilely in the impenetrable, stench filled darkness.

  A slim hand slipped into his own, and sweet breath tickled his cheek. ‘Follow me,’ whispered Nitocris.

  He followed her through the darkness, bare feet splashing in the noisome stream, wondering if she had led Julius Strabo this way too. Remembering the centurion’s fate, he wondered if he should not be more than a little perturbed. He hoped the sewer waters would not wash the stain from his skin, that indeed he would pass for an Egyptian, and that Carpocrates would not recognise him.

  He shivered in the bone numbing cold, gagged in the stench, peered blindly as he passed on through the tenebrous night. How could Nitocris know where they were going? It was as if she was some strange Eastern spirit leading him into the Underworld.

  At last a faint light glimmered ahead of them. He saw the outlines of Nitocris’ slender form, illuminated as if by moonlight. The source of the dim haze lay ahead and above them. Nitocris halted, and turned towards him.

  ‘We’re there,’ she whispered.

  ‘This is where the Christians meet?’ Flaminius hissed.

  She shook her head impatiently, and pointed upwards. ‘This shaft leads to the exit from the sewers. Now we climb.’

  She suited actions to words; Flaminius watched her as she swarmed up the carven rungs. The light filtered in through the edges of the shaft cover above, he surmised. Soon Nitocris’ ascending form blocked out all light and Flaminius was plunged into darkness.

  Again he felt as if he was incarcerated in some sinister Egyptian underworld, the place where the sun went at night, where the dead descended to be judged by the infernal gods. Would he be judged? He had enough sins on his conscience. But he wasn’t dead. Not yet. Nor for a long time, he hoped.

  But if the Christians recognised him for what he was, he might learn only too late how Julius Strabo met his end.

  There was a grinding of stone on stone echoing from above, and the dim light filtered in. Nitocris stood silhouetted in starlight, peering back down.

  ‘Hurry…. hurry…’ Her voice reverberated weirdly down the stone shaft. ‘What are you waiting for? … waiting for? …waiting for?’

  Even as her words resounded in the stagnant air, Flaminius was hauling himself up the slippery stone ladder. He had been paralysed by… what? Fear? It was a terrifying journey he was on, an expedition into the dark places of the soul.

  At last he came out into the sweet air of a square. Nitocris crouched there waiting for him in silence.

  ‘Stop wasting time,’ she said without otherwise greeting him, ‘and follow me.’ Before he could ask her if his colour had run she turned and glided away.

  Hoping not, he followed her. Muted sounds filtered in from elsewhere, but this part of the city was quiet. As he followed the Egyptian girl, he realised that they were approaching the ruined temple from the far side.

  She looked over her shoulder at him, giving him an enigmatic look. Again Flaminius thought of the sphinx, and his heart was heavy with trepidation. How did he know he could rely on her? Julius Strabo had trusted her.

  Julius Strabo had been murdered.

  Fragments of rubble crunched beneath their feet as they crossed the temple forecourt. Nitocris led him towards a ruinous wall. Abruptly vanished.

  Hurrying to where he had last seen her Flaminius discovered that she had gone down a narrow stairway leading into the ground itself. It seemed to lead to the entrance to a cellar or crypt beneath the main temple. There was a reddish glow from somewhere deep inside, like the fires of Tartarus.

  As he joined Nitocris down in the stairwell, out floated a distant subterranean chanting from many voices: ‘Iao, Iao, Iao! Iao Abraxas, bornless god!’

  Now a single voice, dark and evil, descanted, ‘Ιao Abraxas Αdon Ata, Ιao Abraxas Αdon Ata, Ιao Abraxas Αdon Ata!’

  Another weird voice spoke: ‘I conjure you by Iao Sabaoth Adonai Abraxas, and by the great god, Iaeo…’

  Nitocris gripped his arm fiercely. ‘We’re too late,’ she hissed. ‘The ritual has begun!’

  —28—

  The chanting died away. Flaminius looked urgently at Nitocris. ‘We’ve got to see it,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to see what they do! If it’s incriminating, we can arrest them all and…’

  ‘It’ll be incriminating,’ Nitocris reassured him in a whisper. ‘But we can’t go in there. It will be guarded. Carpocrates’ friends…!’ She broke off. The chanting had ceased now, and they could hear someone speaking. Her slim eyebrows rose and she tightened her grip on his arm.

  ‘We’re not too late,’ she told him excitedly. ‘That was only the beginning. We can still join them. Follow me!’ She let go his arm and ducked under the arch.

  ‘What about Carpocrates’ thugs…?’ he asked of her retreating back, but she didn’t hear him. Cursing, he followed her.

  The littered ground beneath his feet was a mass of snags and rubble that shifted in the dark. At one point he stubbed his toe and had to stifle a curse.

  The ruddy light grew brighter. Nitocris was speaking hesitantly with a burly man Flaminius recognised in the red light as one of the rioters. The man looked up as he joined them, and his broken face brightened in a gap-toothed grin.

  ‘Your little brother gonna join us?’ he cooed. ‘Ah, that’s nice. You’re late! Get in there, and get that off you, girlie.’

  He reached out to snatch at Nitocris’ dress. She pulled away, scowling, then took Flaminius’ hand and led him past. Flaminius gave the man a dark look as he went past and the man chuckled good naturedly.

  ‘He’s right, though,’ Nitocris said as they came through an arch. The lamplit chamber beyond was crowded with naked people, one of whom was speaking to the others. ‘We must disrobe.’ She began to struggle out of her dress.

  ‘What?’ Flaminius hissed in her ear.

  About ten people stood there, men and women, the ruddy light of a lamp flickering on the curves of their olive skin. In one corner a dog lay curled up, a leash running from its neck to the lampstand. In their centre stood Carpocrates, holding some kind of rod as he addressed the gathering. The floor was painted with strange occult symbols. Arranged on the walls were paintings of people, in direct contravention of Judaean law which forbade such representations as idolatry. Some of them depicted Greek philosophers such as Plato, Pythagoras, and Aristotle, as well as one Flaminius didn’t recognise, a man who had been crucified. He guessed that it represented this thaumaturgist Jesus, the one who they believed to be the Christus whose coming had been foretold by the Judaean prophets.

  As he removed his kilt and skullcap, he remembered Basilides had said that this Jesus was the Logos made flesh—a Platonic concept. These Christians drew from Greek sources as well as Judaean, cooking up the whole thing in an unholy cauldron of magic rites and superstition that would disgust the witches of Thessaly.

  Naked, he stood beside Nitocris and listened to Carpocrates.

  ‘Abraxas’ righteousness is universal equality,’ he was saying. ‘In the all-encompassing heaven exists equality. The night shows the stars all equally. Abraxas sends down the sunlight in equal measure upon everyone with eyes to see, and everyone sees in the same way. No distinction exists between rich and poor, people and ruler, genius and idiot, man and woman, free and enslaved. Even the animals who lack souls are treated equally: Abraxas sends down the sunlight upon all beasts and birds. He lavishes his righteousness on good and evil because no one receives more than his own share, and no one can take more or take it away from others, to his own gain. The sun makes food grow for everyone living. Universal righteousness is bestowed upon all in equal measure. There is no difference between all oxen and a single ox, all pigs and a single pig, all sheep and a single sheep: Abraxas’ justice is manifest in all. And al
l plants of all kinds grow equally upon the earth. Beasts have a common source of nourishment. No law governs it, instead it is available to all through the gift of Abraxas.

  ‘And no law has been written concerning birth. All give birth and are born, and have Abraxas’ justice within themselves. Abraxas did this just as he gave eyes to everyone so they could see his works. He made no distinction between female and male, sane and insane, nor between anything else. He shared out sight equally; it was given to all by his same command. Because the laws could not punish those who were ignorant of them, they said that men were transgressors. But law, which believes property can be privately owned, shattered the equality decreed by Abraxas. Abraxas made the vine for all to use, which is clear because it is not protected against birds or thieves, and the same with grain and other fruits. The thief only came into existence when private property began, contrary to the laws of Abraxas.

  ‘He made woman to be with man and did the same with all beasts. He showed justice to be universal equality. Yet others have denied the universality of their birth, and decree that one man should keep a woman, when in fact all can take her, like the beasts. Wishing the race to survive, he has given men a strong desire, and no law or custom can restrain it. It is Abraxas’ will.’

  Flaminius listened uneasily. Just where was all this leading? The ritual seemed to be breaking up, or at least going into recess as the cultists drew apart into little groups.

  Carpocrates came over.

  ‘I see we have a new lamb in our flock,’ he said, turning his blazing eyes on Flaminius. He looked inquiringly at Nitocris, who glanced awkwardly at the ground. ‘You never said that you were bringing another, sweet child,’ he added. ‘I did not know that you would return, indeed. I thought that you had left us.’

  ‘That was me,’ Flaminius said easily. ‘When I heard where Nitocris was going at night, I told her it had to stop. We quarrelled. She asked me to attend one of your rituals before I passed judgement. I’m her brother, Ozymandias. It all sounds very… interesting.’

  Carpocrates fixed him with his eyes. ‘And indeed it is,’ he said. ‘Very interesting. Attaining enlightenment must be the most “interesting” achievement in any of our many lives. Learning how to escape the cycle of reincarnation and return to the bornless god at the end of a single lifetime, to escape the imprisonment our souls know on this plane… And you would do this, would you?’

  Flaminius shrugged. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But look, you say that it is your god’s decree that men should fornicate?’

  His own Epicurean philosophy said that fornication was better than love, since love brought misery as well as joy, and misery is evil. How well he knew that. But the law had other ideas.

  ‘The myste is full of questions,’ Carpocrates said sonorously. He clapped his hands. ‘Listen to me, my flock,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘We have another seeker after knowledge, who would pry into the secrets of enlightenment. He is brother and husband of our myste Nitocris—not that this means he has any ownership over this girl in the eyes of Abraxas. Shall we initiate him, then?’ He cocked his head as if listening to a voice no one else could hear, then added: ‘My daemon tells me yes.’

  Pythagoras and Socrates had also listened to voices. So had Moonstruck Marius, a poor man who lived in the hills where Flaminius’ parents had their little villa, but no one had regarded him as a great philosopher, rather as an idle and vainglorious vagabond to be beaten from the door.

  A youth with a family resemblance to Carpocrates said loyally, ‘We are all equals here, but if my father’s daemon tells him we should initiate this man, and if we have the means, why, then I say we initiate him.’

  The other Christians nodded eagerly. Flaminius glanced at Nitocris. She was shivering. Was it the cold air on her bare skin, he wondered, or did she have another reason for this reaction? She looked at him suddenly, and her eyes were very wide.

  ‘We have the means,’ Carpocrates sniggered. ‘We always have the means. And afterwards, we will devour the body and blood of Christus.’

  Going to the lamp, he produced a length of metal that had been sitting in its flame. It was red hot. He beckoned to Flaminius, who went to him unwillingly.

  ‘I see by your brows that at one time you were initiated into the mysteries of the Persian god Mithras,’ Carpocrates commented. ‘You must abjure that false daemon just as you abjure all the gods of this world—the god of the Judaeans most of all, that blind deity who deems himself to be the creator! You will now wear this new brand to show that you are an initiate into the mysteries of the bornless god, Iao Abraxas!’

  He seized Flaminius’ head, hauled it down, and applied the brand to the Roman’s right earlobe. Flaminius snatched his head back in shock, stared at the man, clutching at his ear. When the Mithraists branded him, in the middle of his brow, it had barely hurt. But this hurt like Hades, and bled copiously. Carpocrates looked back unafraid. After a moment, Flaminius bowed his head again.

  ‘And am I initiated now?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Carpocrates. ‘There is one other ritual that you must perform.’

  He departed the room accompanied by two of the men, and returned shortly after followed by them carrying a salver on which lay a heap of meal. ‘Come with me, Ozymandias,’ he said, handing him a wooden stave. ‘It is time for your initiation.’

  In alarm, Flaminius looked at Nitocris again, remembering what Dionysius had said about the Christians indulging in Thyestean feasts. But what the men lay down on the ground before him was surely a pile of flour or meal. He gripped the stave uneasily. ‘What do I do?’ he asked Carpocrates.

  ‘Beat the meal,’ the man said, and Nitocris put her hands to her mouth. ‘Beat it into dough,’ Carpocrates said, ‘and you will be initiated into all our mysteries. You will know all that a seeker after enlightenment could ever need to know.’

  Flaminius shrugged, hefted the stave, raised it high, then brought it down with all his force on the white pile. Flour flew into the air, but there was something beneath, something like meat. Was this the sacrifice? Carpocrates nodded, and Flaminius belaboured the pile of meal again and again.

  The flour clogged, running red with the blood of whatever beast was concealed within. Flaminius’ face was spattered with gory dough. He had to witness this ritual, he told himself, he had to arrest them all, he had to find out who had murdered Julius Strabo. Only then could he hope to depart this dark land of Egypt and return to the civilised barbarians of the north.

  ‘Enough!’ Carpocrates cackled at last. ‘Enough!’

  But Nitocris wept.

  Now Carpocrates gestured to the two men, and they gathered the bloody dough and took it to some of the women who kneaded it into cakes which they fried on a griddle held over the lamp. Now Carpocrates placed the cakes in the salver and went around the congregation, presenting each one with a cake, and saying, ‘Blood of Christus.’

  Flaminius took his cake in a daze and ate it, barely noticing its coppery taste. Nitocris did the same, shuddering with horror. Flaminius remembered his initiation into the Mithraic mysteries, how he had been showered from above by the blood of the dying bull. This seemed mild by comparison, although he still did not know what beast he had sacrificed.

  The dog had watched the proceedings lugubriously, but as the cakes cooked on the griddle he sat up and paid closer attention. Now Carpocrates teased him with a cake, waving it under his nose then snatching it away. At last he flung the cake through the door into the passageway and the dog raced after it.

  As it did so, the lamp toppled over and the place was plunged into darkness. Carpocrates called: ‘This, the body of Christus!’

  Groping hands fondled Flaminius body, naked flesh against his naked flesh. He heard people on the ground all around him, sounds of lovemaking. Nitocris’ voice tickled his ear and he smelt her hair and felt the soft warmth of her as she embraced him. ‘We must join them,’ she whispered, ‘or else they will suspect us.’

  ‘
What is happening?’ he hissed. He was confused, bewildered. It sounded as if the most decadent of Roman orgies was breaking out under cover of darkness.

  ‘It is the agape,’ she said. ‘The love feast of the Christians. Here they demonstrate their love for their neighbour. We must join them. And I would rather lie with you than with Carpocrates…’

  High praise, Flaminius thought wryly. Naked they sank to the cold floor of the crypt and, under the unseeing gaze of Plato, Pythagoras, Aristotle, and Jesus, made awkward love.

  —29—

  The importunate smell of burning pestered Flaminius’ nostrils. He lay panting for breath beside the Egyptian girl, who had proved athletic and inventive in her lovemaking. All around he could hear similar sounds of satisfaction, and occasional whimpering. Absently, he wondered which of the women Carpocrates had seized in the darkness. His nose twitched.

  He coughed. Rolling over he reached out and laid his hand on Nitocris’ bare shoulder. ‘What is it?’ she murmured drowsily.

  ‘That smell,’ Flaminius said. ‘Can’t you smell it? Something burning…’

  ‘Burning?’ came another voice. ‘Burning!’ others echoed it.

  Nitocris cursed. ‘That dog with the lamp,’ she hissed in the darkness. ‘I always thought it was a stupid trick! The lamp must have spilt its oil. Now something’s on fire….’

  ‘The clothes!’

  Flaminius leapt to his feet, remembering the pile of garments to which they had added their own. A wall of flame was visible beyond the doorway, cutting off their retreat from the crypt. A burly man was trying to stamp it out. Smoke billowed in the firelit air. The man went down, choking.

  Flaminius wheeled. ‘Carpocrates!’ he shouted into the turbulent darkness. ‘This is your doing, you maniac!’

  ‘Never mind him!’ said Nitocris, joining him. ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’

  ‘What about your brother?’ Flaminius demanded. ‘He’s supposed to be bringing the guards here.’