SPQR IV: The Temple of the Muses

by John Maddox Roberts

  “You know something, Decius,” he said. “You can’t fool me. You bet on chariots and gladiators because you fancy yourself an expert. You wouldn’t offer a wager like that if you weren’t privy to some inside information. What is it? Have you been seeing one of those priestesses for a bit of clandestine flagellation?”

  “Not at all,” I said, my dignity offended. “I have arrived at this conclusion through a process of deduction.” They all laughed and hooted at me.

  “You’ve been hanging out with those old philosophers too much, Metellus,” one of them said. “You’ve begun to fancy yourself one of them. Deduction, indeed!”

  “And,” I went on, ignoring them, “I want you all to testify to Creticus that I predicted it beforehand. He’ll think I made it all up afterwards, otherwise.”

  “You’ve delved too deep into the wine, Decius,” Rufus insisted. The rest of them agreed loudly, pelting me with some of the rose blossoms that littered the palanquin.

  “Then,” I said through my teeth, scenting blood, “you won’t all mind betting me five hundred denarii that I’m wrong.”

  That gave them pause, but Rufus assented and the others, not wishing to appear timid, one by one agreed to the wager. Hermes leaned forward and refilled my cup.

  “Where are you going to get twenty-five hundred denarii?” he muttered in my ear.

  “Have no fear. Just start planning how you’re going to steal it from me.”

  As we passed the Great Serapeum we saw the crowds backed up on its steps, so dense was the crush in that part of town. This, I thought, was the result of more than a sudden, flying rumor. Some real advance planning had gone into getting this mob assembled here on this day. The whole polyglot fabric of Alexandria was there, people of every nation present to enjoy the spectacle, but there was a huge majority of native Egyptians, more even than one would expect of a district like the Rakhotis. Most looked like peasants out of the fields, but there were a good many townsmen of the merchant, artisan and scribe classes. The only group that seemed conspicuously absent were the priests of the traditional gods, although some might have been present in disguise, which for an Egyptian priest consisted of doffing his leopard-skin cape and donning a wig.

  At our arrival, the acolytes and priestesses flocked from the Temple of Baal-Ahriman and shoved the mob aside to clear a space for the royal party. Then they prostrated themselves on the pavement and yowled praises of the princess and the royal family. As we descended unsteadily from our litter, they screeched slightly more moderate praises to Rome in the aggregate and to ourselves in particular. We walked ankle-deep through flower petals across the pavement and up the steps of the temple.

  Atop the stone platform musicians played endlessly and dancers twirled, sending their skimpy white garments flying. The music was an ear-grating racket, but the dancers were restful to the eye. We assembled atop the stops, waiting for Ataxas to appear. I saw Achillas and edged over toward him.

  “Taking time out from your military duties for the good of your spirit, General?” I said.

  “When one is a servant of the king,” he answered, “then one humors the whims of princesses.”

  “Nothing else could have dragged you here, eh? Any idea what old Baal-Ahriman is going to say?”

  He frowned. “How should I know that?”

  “Did you know,” I said, exaggerating my tipsiness a bit, “that a man answering your description was seen in Iphicrates’s chambers just before his murder?”

  “Are you accusing me of something?” His leather harness creaked with tension.

  “Just sharing with you some of the fruits of my investigation.”

  “Roman.” He stepped close and all but hissed his words. “Many here are sick of your arrogance and your meddling. Egypt would be far better off without your kind. Your absence would not be difficult to arrange.”

  “Why, General Achillas,” I said, “one might almost suspect your devotion to King Ptolemy’s pro-Roman policy.”

  “Careful, Senator,” he said. “You’ll need more than a caestus. and a trick punch to deal with me.”

  I had goaded him as far as I dared. “Look!” I said, pointing to the arriving Ataxas. “The spectacle begins!” Achillas backed off. This was more important to him than our feud.

  Ataxas strode from within the temple like a man sleepwalking. His arms were crossed over his breast and his long, ringleted beard trembled as if in ecstasy at divine visitation. His eyeballs were rolled back in their sockets so that only the whites showed, perhaps another reason for his cautious gait. He stopped before us and everything fell silent.

  “Great Baal-Ahriman will speak!” he shouted. “Come within, all ye that are chosen!” He turned around and sleepwalked back into the interior. The acolytes and priestesses quickly sorted out the chosen from the unchosen. The whole royal party went in, of course, cheetahs included. That included the Roman presence. A great crowd tramped after, and soon the whole inside of the temple was jammed with the faithful.

  The interior smelled somewhat better than the last time I had been there. Thankfully, the god no longer wore his cape of bulls’ testicles, and the blood had been washed off the pavement. The air was smoky from the volume of burning incense. A single skylight admitted a narrow shaft of light that struck just in front of the idol. The only other light was provided by a few flickering candles and the incense braziers.

  Ataxas stood before the statue and began a high, wailing, singsong chant in some foreign language. At least I presumed it was a language. It might have been a string of nonsense syllables selected for their eerie sound. A subdued thumping of tambours and rattle of sistra began, and the acolytes commenced a low, almost whispered chant of likewise incomprehensible words or sounds.

  “I’m going to watch to see if his lips move when he talks,” said one of the embassy party.

  “How could you tell?” Rufus said. “It looks as if his lips have rotted off from leprosy.”

  “Shh.” This from at least a hundred bystanders.

  We exalted ones stood in a circle defining a cleared space before the idol. A brazier of hot coals burned just in front of the thing, sending up a thin stream of smoke. An acolyte, head bowed, gave Ataxas a small silver bowl, then backed away. Ataxas raised the bowl high overhead and intoned, in Greek this time:

  “Great Baal-Ahriman! Heed your trembling, suppliant worshippers! Visit them as you have promised! Favor them with your divine words, guide them in the path you have chosen. Great Baal-Ahriman, speak to us!”

  With that, he emptied the bowl into the brazier before the god and a cloud of smoke went up, carrying with it the smell of frankincense. Then Ataxas fell to his knees and bowed deeply, clutching the bowl against his belly. The shaft of light from the single skylight fell directly upon him.

  There was utter silence. I do not think anyone even breathed. The tension stretched, then stretched again, until it was like an overturned lyre-string about to snap. There came an instant when a single laugh would have destroyed the whole carefully constructed edifice of stage setting, but, with impeccable timing, the god spoke.

  “AEGYPTOI!!” This in Greek, of course, and I have rendered the first word in that language because it sounds so impressive that way. The word seemed to thunder from every corner of the temple, a deep, stone-shaking voice that roared like a waterfall. There was a collective gasp and several people fainted. We Romans, made of sterner stuff, gulped a quick drink and listened to the rest.

  “EGYPTIANS! I, BAAL-AHRIMAN, SPEAK TO YOU AS THE NEW VOICE OF THE GODS OF EGYPT! I SPEAK WITH THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT GODS, OF AMON, HORUS, ISIS AND OSIRIS, APIS AND SUKHMET, THOTH, SEBEK, ANUBIS, NUT AND SET! I SPEAK WITH THE VOICE OF HAPI OF THE UPPER NILE AND HAPI OF THE LOWER NILE, I SPEAK AS THE DJED PILLAR AND THE FEATHER OF MA’AT! I SPEAK WITH THE VOICE OF THE GODS OF GREECE: ZEUS, APOLLO, ARES, DIONYSUS, HERMES, HADES, APHRODITE, HERA, ATHENA, HEPHAESTUS, PAN. I SPEAK FOR ALL THE PHARAOHS OF EGYPT, AND FOR THE GODS OF ALEXANDRIA, SERAPIS AND THE DIVINE ALEX
ANDER!”

  And, through all these pronouncements, the mouth of the idol actually seemed to move! The jaws did not move on mechanical hinges. Any fabrication so crude we would have detected instantly. Instead, the fanged mouth worked in some subtle manner that seemed to coincide with the spoken words. Tiny flashes like pale lightning seemed to come from the mouth as well, as if a god’s words could be seen as well as heard. I knew that somehow we were being duped, but my scalp prickled anyway. I glanced at my companions and wondered whether I looked as foolish as they did, with their jaws hanging and their eyes bugged out.

  Many of the worshippers prostrated themselves on the floor Berenice groveled with her face to the marble. Julia and Fausta stood beside her, looking both concerned and embarrassed. Achillas looked on with a smug smile.

  “BEHOLD!” the hideous god boomed forth. “BEHOLD! I PROCLAIM A NEW DAWN FOR THE RED LAND AND THE BLACK! HORUS THE SUN RISES FOR EGYPT! IT IS NIGHTFALL FOR THE BARBARIANS!”

  “Barbarians!” Rufus huffed. “We’re not the barbarians, they are!”

  “EGYPT IS FIRST AMONG THE NATIONS OF THE WORLD. EGYPT IS THE MOST ANCIENT OF LANDS. FOR THREE THOUSAND YEARS EGYPT WAS THE ONLY CIVILIZED NATION OF THE WORLD. EGYPT WILL BE FOREMOST AGAIN! I, BAAL-AHRIMAN, THE NEW, SUPREME GOD OF EGYPT, PROCLAIM IT SO! I SHALL SPEAK TO MY PEOPLE AGAIN! THEY MUST PROVE THEMSELVES FIT TO HEAR MY WORDS!” The god fell silent and his mouth no longer moved, if indeed it had in the first place.

  People began to get shakily to their feet. Some stayed prone, wailing and shaking their heads. Others ran outside, presumably to spread the good news among the faithful. The Egyptians muttered among themselves, and some of them cast dark looks toward us Romans.

  “I think it might be a good idea to return to the embassy,” Refus said. He and the others looked a bit shaken, although not exactly awestruck. It was the ominous implications of the god’s message that disturbed them. I was not quite ready to leave, though. As they filed out, I went over to where Achillas stood.

  “Do you think old Baal-Ahriman meant to include Macedonians among those barbarians for whom night comes on apace?” I said.

  He smiled, showing long, sharp teeth. “But we Macedonians have ruled in Egypt since Alexander. We’re virtual Egyptians ourselves now. No, it is my opinion that the god wants the overbearing Romans expelled from our midst. However, I am a mere humble servant of the king. I leave the interpretation of divine prophecy to the priests.” He nodded in the direction of Ataxas.

  Ataxas himself had sprawled on his back and lay jerking and thrashing about, foamy spittle flying from his lips. The silver bowl lay by him on the floor, the rays from the skylight gleaming from its polished interior.

  “And now, Romans,” Achillas said, “it might he best if you and your friends were to vacate this area. Alexandrian crowds are emotional and given to enthusiasm. Should they choose to interpret this event as a call for the expulsion of Romans, I would not be able to answer for your safety.”

  “You have a hundred soldiers. What is the rabble outside to that?”

  He shrugged, making his harness creak once more. “Our duty is to guard the princess, not some band of Roman sightseers who tagged along for the fun.”

  “You have two patrician ladies in your party,” I said. “They are under the princess’s protection, surely.” We looked to where Julia and Fausta were helping Berenice to her feet. The princess was in only marginally better condition than Ataxas. Her hair and clothes had become extremely disheveled in an amazingly short time, and it looked as if the acolytes had been somewhat lax about dusting the floor.

  “Of course, I shall be most diligent in guarding the princess’s honored guests.” Achillas said. “Safe journey, Roman.”

  I turned my back on him and went to Julia.

  “Things may get rough outside,” I said quietly. “This is a scheme to stir the Egyptians up against us. Stay close to the princess. Achillas says he’ll keep you safe, but we men are going to have to run for it.”

  She frowned. “But nothing was said about Rome.”

  “Yes. Very innocent. What do you want to bet that’s not the word being spread outside? Goodbye, dear. See you at the Palace.” With that, I ran. I thought they would be safe enough. Their gowns were all but identical to those of Greek ladies. As long as they didn’t yell something in Latin, nobody would take them for Romans. It was different for the men. Our togas, short hair and clean-shaven faces were unmistakable.

  Outside, the rest of my party gestured impatiently for me to ascend our litter. The crowd was muttering and jabbering away, everyone confused about exactly what had happened. As yet, there was no concerted action.

  “Get aboard, Decius!” Rufus called. I climbed up and settled in. The bearers hauled us to their shoulders and started to push their way through the crowd.

  “What was that all about?” asked one of the staff. “What does it mean?”

  “What it means,” I said, pouring myself some refreshment, “is that you each owe me five hundred denarii.”

  “I protest,” someone said. “That leper-god never mentioned Rome!”

  “I said, if you will recall, that his words would proclaim a sudden change in relations between Rome and Egypt,” I pointed out. “He said in there that Egypt was to be the foremost nation in the world. If that isn’t a change in Roman-Egyptian relations, what is?” Where only lately we had been pelted with flowers, we began to be pelted with fruit peels.

  “It was an awfully short message,” Rufus said, ducking a handful of camel dung. “I rather expected something longer.”

  “You have to keep it short when you’re employing conjurer’s mummery,” I said. “Another minute and we would have figured out that trick with the idol’s mouth.”

  “How did he do that?” said a secretary. “It was awfully impressive.”

  “I propose to find out,” I said. People were pointing fingers at us from all over the plaza. We were not yet into a street.

  “I haven’t heard any anti-Roman slogans yet,” said the secretary. These men were used to hearing such slogans in various parts of the world.

  “That’s because none of us speaks Egyptian,” I told him. “The acolytes are spreading a highly colored version of Baal-Ahriman’s words.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about this, Decius,” Rufus groused.

  “All it takes is intelligence,” I told him. “That’s something best left to me. Can’t these bearers go any faster?” We weren’t under attack yet, but the jeers and pelting were getting more ominous.

  “I suppose they can,” Rufus said. He began to rummage among the cushions. “Let’s see, there ought to be a whip in here someplace. Aha!” He came up with a long, snakelike lash of braided rhinoceros hide. He leaned out over the railing of our platform and brought his arm down in a mighty swing “Get a move on, you scum!” Not the most adroit of whipmen, he managed to backlash himself, drawing a stripe from his left buttock to his right shoulder. He fell back howling and the rest of us laughed until tears ran down our faces.

  “This is rare sport,” said the secretary, “but this crowd is getting meaner.”

  By this time we were in a street and were almost past the Great Serapeum. The people ahead of us had not yet been told of the divine word, but they were ignorantly blocking our progress.

  “That’s it,” someone said. “Time to lighten ship. You slaves get off.”

  “Not on your buggering life!” Hermes said stoutly. “That mob’s ready to eat anything with a Roman haircut.”

  “Insolent little bastard,” the same someone said. “He needs discipline, Metellus.”

  “And you need sobering up,” I told him. I picked up the whip and climbed over the railing and went down the steps until I stood just above the carrying-poles. I sent the whip whistling through the air and made it pop thunderously. I had taken whip lessons from a charioteer of the Red faction in my youth.

  “We are already going as fast as we can, master!” protested the paceset
ter.

  “Then get ready to run,” I said. I slashed the whip over the heads of the crowd in front of us.

  “Make way!” I bellowed. “Make way for the majesty of Rome, you silly foreigners!” I popped the whip like a madman and the crowd melted away before us magically. I have no idea where they went. Into doorways and windows, possibly. When their blood was not up, there was nothing more instantly responsive to authority than the Alexandrians.

  The bearers began to trot, then to run as I continued to flail the air as if bringing down a harpy with every blow. The Romans in the litter clapped and cheered me on. Soon I was wishing we had another litter to race against, for I think we made it back to the Palace in record time. After the first quarter-mile there was no crowd to speak of, since nearly everyone in the city had gone to the Rakhotis, but this was so much fun it seemed pointless to slow down.

  When we were safe within the Palace precincts, the litter almost tipped over as all the right-hand bearers collapsed at once, coughing and vomiting. Somehow disaster was averted, though, and we dismounted safely.

  “I didn’t know you were so handy with a whip,” Hermes said uneasily.

  “Keep it in mind,” I advised him. The rest of the Roman party congratulated me and clapped me on the shoulder.

  “Just don’t forget the five hundred denarii,” I told them. Then I went to seek out Creticus.

  9

  THE LEADERS OF THE ROMAN COMMUNITY in Alexandria gathered in the assembly hall of the embassy to address their complaints and concerns to Creticus and the other officers of the Roman legation. There were quite a few of them, merchants for the most part. It was customary for upper-class Romans to despise merchants, but these were a force to be reckoned with. The wealthy grain traders were among the most influential men in our Empire. The moneylenders were similarly powerful, although if anything even less loved. There were many other merchants as well. Exporters of papyrus and books were numerous, as Egypt was virtually the only source of papyrus and the Library was the greatest book-producing organization in the world. There were dealers in ivory and feathers, in exotic animals and slaves. There was even a man whose sole business was the export of high-quality sand for the Circuses and amphitheaters of the Roman world.