by Mike Ashley
“Did he have a basket?”
She was nonplussed. She was a young woman, very pretty with large dark eyes now flashing with anger, and a straight blade of a nose. Her hair was arranged in the latest Greek fashion, piled up behind her head but with a set of black corkscrew curls artfully arranged around her face, and she was wearing a very fine gold necklace and earrings. If I’d seen her without the priestly robes I’d have thought her a Greek, but her name was Egyptian. She looked uncertainly at Pachrates, evidently wondering if she needed to answer me. The Pterophoros nodded.
“I didn’t notice,” she said. Then she added, “I think there were some leaves lying around the altar, though. He could have had the . . . the foul stuff wrapped up in leaves and tucked into his tunic.”
The sacristan looked doubtful. Vindex promptly flung his arms wide with a jingle of mail. “And how did I get it out from under this?” he sneered. “Here, I’ll take it off, if you like, and you can see if I had shit tucked into my clothing. Leaves or not, it would have squished under armour.”
The priestess gave him a look of disgust. “Maybe the slave was right, then,” she sniffed. “He must have had an accomplice.”
“Leave that aside for the moment,” I told her. “I’m puzzled about the water.” When that brought another blank look I said, “You told Julius Vindex to buy a flask while you went to fetch some holy water. That’s used in the sacred rites every day, isn’t it? It must be stored somewhere near the altar.”
“At the back of the shrine,” supplied the old sacristan. “Leastways, there’s an amphora of it kept there, and we have a tank in back. We fill it up from the blessed Nile.”
“And may you be blessed for doing so,” I said politely. “Do you see why I’m puzzled? It makes no sense to set off to fetch holy water at the same time as Vindex left to buy his flask. After all, you must have known that it would take him some time to find a vendor and make his purchase. The sensible thing to do would be to wait for him to come back, and then fetch the water.”
Tabzes flushed slightly. “I . . . well, obviously. But he’d given me some money for incense. I had gone to put that in the strongbox and get the incense, and get it written down in accounts . . .” She cast an anxious glance at Pachrates. “I didn’t actually manage to get it written down, sir, I’m sorry. First I had to put away the robe I’d been stitching, and the thread and the needles and everything, and when I’d done that, and put the money away and got the incense, I saw that the barbarian was back, so I went to see to him.”
The Pterophoros raised an eyebrow. “Write it down later today,” he commanded, and I understood at once that he’d had trouble with the woman over her accounting before, and wondered if it was dishonesty or just laziness.
“That’s cleared that up, then,” I said politely. I turned to the sacristan. “What about you, sir? From what Julius Vindex has said, you were in the shrine when he arrived, but not when he got back from buying his flask. Is that right?”
He nodded suspiciously. “When he came I was cleaning up the dishes we’d used for the incense and the libations this morning, and setting out the ones for the afternoon. I do it every day.”
“I have worshipped here, and noticed how beautiful they are, sir.” That mollified him a little. “So you noticed Julius Vindex when he arrived, sir?”
He made a face. “Notice it when a barbarian soldier comes up to our lady’s shrine, and there’s nobody about in the courtyard but a silly girl? Of course I noticed, and I paid sharp attention to him, at first. He seemed harmless enough. The first part of what he said is true: he did give the girl some money for incense, and act like he wanted to buy holy water to invoke our lady’s help for his sister, so I thought he was all right.”
“I’m surprised, though, that you felt so confident as to leave him alone in the courtyard, with the doors to the shrine open and valuable sacred vessels set out. In fact, I’m surprised that you ever leave the shrine unattended while the doors are open. The house of Isis is full of beautiful things and, while most of us love her, there are always men wicked or desperate enough to steal from the gods.”
The old man looked indignant. “Of course I didn’t leave the shrine unattended! We never do that, not while the doors are open, like you say. Tabzes was talking to the savage when I finished my work, and I never expected her to go off when nobody else was about!” He scowled at the priestess. “She knows perfectly well we’re not supposed to do that!”
She tossed her head. “I didn’t!” she snapped. “Theophanes was in the ekklesiasterion, if you remember, practising his song. You must have heard him: the door was open! It was safe.”
The young priest Theophanes nodded. It emerged that the ekklesiasterion, the priests’ assembly hall, lay immediately behind the goddess’ shrine, and had its own entrance which was used during the ceremonies which were open only to the priests and the initiates. Theophanes agreed that he had been in there, practising a hymn he was to sing at the next festival, all the time between the morning service and the time he heard the shouts of sacrilege. He had, he said, had a good view of the interior of the shrine, though he hadn’t been able to see anything in the courtyard. “I like to look at the image of the holy goddess when I sing,” he admitted. “Then I can sing for her, and can feel that she’s listening.”
Tabzes had informed him when she left the shrine to put the robe away. He had noticed her coming back with the incense a little while later. He had not noticed Vindex at all, not until the Gabinian’s abrupt departure.
“I wasn’t thinking about anything except the praise of the goddess,” he said, “until Tabzes started screaming sacrilege. Then I ran out, and I saw what had been done to the altar. I didn’t understand it at first, I was too shocked. By the time I did understand that somebody had done that deliberately, the barbarian was already on the other side of the courtyard. I ran after him.” He looked pleased and added, “I used to compete in foot races when I was at school. This slowed me down –” he tugged at his tight linen tunic, “– but I still caught him.” Then he frowned at Vindex and said uncertainly, “Maybe we made a mistake.”
“Did you notice anyone who could have been his accomplice?” I asked. “For example, was he looking around while you were chasing him, or calling out to someone else?”
“No,” replied Theophanes, frowning. “He just ran. He looked back at me a few times, but that’s all.” He turned to the priestess and the sacristan. “What about you? Did you notice anyone who might have been his accomplice?”
The old man made a face and shook his head. The priestess said hesitantly, “There was a man in a dark cloak in the great court, near the entrance to the portico. I couldn’t see him clearly, but I could see that somebody was there. It must have been the accomplice – waiting there, watching for his chance!”
“I did not have an accomplice!” snapped the Gabinian. “If somebody was waiting for a chance to defile the altar, the fact that they took it as soon as they found the courtyard empty isn’t my fault, and was nothing to do with me!”
“Do you have enemies?” I asked him.
He gave me a look of surprise. Then his face went white, his eyes widening in an expression of horrified speculation. I found it oddly disconcerting: no Egyptian could ever turn that colour, no matter how shocked he was. I wondered if the barbarian had trouble with sunburn, with skin that clear.
“I . . .” Vindex began – then stopped. The colour came back to his face, this time an angry red. “What are you suggesting?” he demanded furiously. “You can’t pin this on me, so you’re trying to find another Roman who might have done it? Why couldn’t it have been some Greek joker, or a member of a rival Egyptian sect, or a Jew? Why do you insist it has to do with me?”
I shrugged. “An officer often has enemies – some common soldier he’s disciplined who bears a grudge for it, or a fellow officer who considers him a rival. An enemy who wished you ill might very well try to incriminate you on a charge of sacrilege – part
icularly since you honour the goddess, and, from what you say, many of your fellows don’t. Did you notice anyone following you when you left your barracks?”
“No,” said Vindex tightly.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes!” he snapped. “You think I don’t know how much this city hates us? That I’m not afraid every time I walk along the open street, that I don’t watch for people skulking after me? Nobody was following me.”
“So,” Pachrates broke in repressively, “we have learned all we can of how this crime occurred, and we do not know who defiled the altar.” He looked around us forbiddingly, then frowned at the young barbarian. “Julius Vindex, are you content to wait here at the temple while we decide what to do?”
The Gabinian bowed. “I have surrendered to Isis; I am content to wait. I would like to write a note to my commanding officer, however, telling him what has happened. I will tell him that, so far, you have acted fairly and justly.”
Pachrates nodded. “I will see that you have writing materials, and that the note is delivered. Theophanes, take Julius Vindex to one of the guest rooms – and stay there with him, to make sure that he is not troubled. Tabzes, Khamwas – I want you to stay close at hand until this matter is cleared up, in case we find more witnesses and need to question you again. Go to the shrine, and pray to the holy goddess, until I send for you. Slave, stay here.”
I hate to be addressed as “Slave!” I put on a respectful expression and stood there with my hands clasped behind my back while the others filed out. I felt very uneasy, however. I was aware that I had thrust into that interrogation in a way that probably seemed outrageous to a man who believed that slaves should keep their mouths shut and do as their masters ordered – as Pachrates evidently did. I reminded myself that I wasn’t his slave, and the worst he could do was complain about me to Archippos.
Pachrates stretched in his chair, then leaned forwards, resting his chin on his fist and his elbow on his knees and looking at me with sharp eyes. “Your thoughts on the matter?” he asked.
I was surprised to be asked. I didn’t trust it. I shrugged. “It is possible that it was, as he suggested, nothing to do with him.”
“I do not believe that, and neither do you. Your questions were astute. Either he had an accomplice – and I do not believe that, either – or it was done by an enemy of his. You have convinced me that it was a premeditated act – that the excrement had been collected and brought here deliberately from another part of the city. That means that, if it was an enemy of his, it must have been someone who knew he was coming here. He says that he did not tell his men, so it was not a common soldier with a grudge. Come, you saw it as soon as I did: it showed on your face.”
I grimaced. “The Gabinians are collecting money to pay the king’s debt,” I admitted in a low voice. “Where there is a lot of money, there are cheats. When you have two accounts – as you do with Gabinius and the king – the cheats will target the gap between them. A literate, Greek-speaking liaison officer would be ideally placed to spot somebody’s profitable little game.”
Pachrates nodded. “And a charge of sacrilege could be guaranteed to get rid of him. Even if he escaped the mob, and even if his commander thought the offence trivial, still he would be sent away, for his own safety. Indeed, though I believe him innocent, it’s what will happen to him now. If I simply released him, there would be many who said that I did so only through fear of the Gabinians or the king. He would be dead within the month. – He was very disturbed when you asked about his enemies.”
I nodded. “He suspects someone, and is either afraid to name him – because it’s someone very powerful – or ashamed to admit his suspicions – because it’s a man he reckons a friend.” I hesitated, considering, knowing that if I went on I was going to offend this man – then went on anyway: “I think he was telling the truth that he noticed no one following him. That doesn’t mean, of course, that he couldn’t have been followed by someone who knows how to hide on a street – but I do believe him that Gabinians are wary on the streets, and it would be hard.”
The Pterophoros watched me with a face that gave nothing away.
“It was very convenient that the courtyard happened to be empty. An outsider planning the act could not have counted on that.”
“And?” asked Pachrates, in a flat tone.
“Three of your people were near the shrine when Vindex arrived this morning. Khamwas – that was the name of your sacristan? – seems to me an old, devout, conservative man. Unless he is a very good actor, his distress over the sacrilege was genuine. Theophanes . . . also appears devout. He’s a Greek, isn’t he? And well-born, with an education at the gymnasium, where he competed in foot-races. The priesthood of Isis isn’t the obvious choice for such a man.”
“His family opposes it,” said Pachrates. “You are right: he is a well-born Greek, and they don’t consider the priesthood to be a profession at all – it’s something to be dabbled in during one’s official career, with a year here officiating at festivals and a year there presiding as a magistrate.” He spoke with the incredulous contempt of a man who comes from an old Egyptian priestly family. “Theophanes loves the goddess, and joined us against the wishes of his family.”
“So,” I concluded, “Theophanes is genuinely devout – and certainly I noticed nothing suspicious in his behaviour. Without his help, I couldn’t have brought the barbarian into the safety of this temple, and that can’t have served the purpose of Vindex’s enemy. Tabzes, however . . .”
Pachrates snorted. “You’ve already pronounced your verdict, haven’t you?”
I shrugged. The priestess had sent Vindex off to buy a flask immediately after the sacristan left, thus ensuring that the courtyard was unobserved. She had gone off, then come back carrying something which Theophanes had believed to be incense. She had been the one to raise the alarm, too, screaming sacrilege when one would have expected a few minutes of shocked and bewildered questions first. She had certainly been trying to incriminate Vindex with her claims to have noticed details – leaves on the pavement; a man hanging about the entrance to the courtyard – which nobody else had remarked on. A pretty Egyptian girl, probably in the priesthood only because she came from a priestly family, who dressed her hair like a Greek and liked expensive jewellery, she did not seem a devout woman. She was slovenly about accounting for donations – which presumably meant she wanted money. Yes, I thought it very likely she had taken a bribe from someone who wanted Vindex out of the way.
Probably somebody had brought her the shit in a covered basket and she’d shaken it out over the altar. I couldn’t imagine her touching it: she wouldn’t even say the words, “dog-shit”, and she certainly would have been too wary, as well as too squeamish, to collect the stuff off the streets around the temple. I wondered what had become of that basket – whether it was still concealed inside the shrine, or whether she’d already managed to dispose of it. Probably she disposed of it at once, throwing it down a well or out of a window: otherwise she would have produced it once I started asking about it, as evidence against Vindex.
“It is not your business, Slave,” said Pachrates severely.
With a flare of triumph I realised that he, too, thought her guilty. It showed in the grimness of his face. I bowed. “The disciplining of priests is the business of the temple,” I agreed. “My concern is the good ordering of the streets and markets of Alexandria.” I met his eyes. “That, however, is something that is affected by riots and disorder among the citizens, my lord.”
He stared at me in cold offence.
“She may have thrown the basket down a well, or out of a window in the priestly area close to the shrine.” I offered helpfully. “There’s also the missing flask, if you’re looking for proof. The fact that Vindex bought it and came back to the shrine with it is evidence of his good intentions; the fact that it’s missing incriminates him. Of course, it wouldn’t mean anything if she’d simply picked it up after he dropped it, but if it�
��s found that she concealed it and kept silent while I was asking questions about it – that would be suggestive.”
Pachrates gave me a bitter look. “I expect I will find a large sum of money in her room which she is unable to account for,” he declared bluntly. “That will be even more ‘suggestive’. I will deal with the matter, Slave. I tell you again, it is not your concern.” He grimaced. “As to disorder in the streets – the barbarian has not been lynched and will not be lynched, so there will be no reprisals and no riots.”
“Someone hired that girl to defile the altar,” I said angrily. “Someone tried to induce the devout followers of the goddess to lynch an innocent man. Someone has some dirty little game going over the money those Gabinian thugs are extorting from the free citizens of Alexandria, and they’re willing to offend against god and man to keep it going.”
“I will remind you of something,” Pachrates said. “The shrine of Isis is not empty, even if it is unattended. The goddess was there. She saw what was done. Does she need us to protect her? No: she is a goddess, able to act where we can only wonder. She has brought it about that the man who was falsely accused was not lynched: he is safe under her protection, and he will soon depart for his home. There will be no blemish on his record: I will make it clear that we believe him innocent. As for the rest – a king paid his country’s enemies for his throne, and handed over his kingdom to its despoilers in recompense. To what tribunal would you bring this criminal, if you caught him – to the king, or the savage who lent him money? Would you call it justice because a stronger robber has deprived a weaker of some of the spoils?
“No. There is no justice among men: only the gods have both the knowledge and the power to judge without error. Whoever this man is, he has offended against Isis. I would not like to dream his dreams or die his death, however it comes to him. Our lady is kind and good, but she is just.”