The Venus Throw rsr-4

by Steven Saylor

  Trygonion nodded sagely. "I wouldn't care to be the slave who has to change his bed sheets."

  "Vulgar, vulgar," Dio muttered through clenched teeth. "Rome now dominates the East. This is a fact which no one denies. But the people of Egypt demand a ruler who will resist that domination. Our land was ancient beyond imagining even before Alexander the Great came and founded Alexandria. The kingdom he established flourished with beauty and learning while Romulus and Remus were infants suckling the she-wolf. We have no need of Roman ways or Roman government. But instead of standing firm against Roman domination, King Ptolemy quivers with fright and offers whatever concessions are demanded of him. The people of Alexandria demand that he redeem Cyprus from Roman rule and restore it to the kingdom; instead he plays host to the Roman commissioner sent to plunder the island. To quiet talk about the alleged will, he gives a 'gift' of thirty-five million denarii to Caesar and Pompey, so that Caesar can bribe the Roman Senate and Pompey can pay off his own troops. The bill is passed along to the people of Egypt in the form of higher taxes. Our taxes go directly into the pockets of Roman senators and soldiers-we might as well be a Roman province! And what does King Ptolemy receive in return? A tentative acknowledgment by the Roman Senate of his legitimacy as king, and a plaque set up on the Capitoline Hill, inscribed to the honor of Ptolemaios Theos Philopator Philadelphos Neos Dionysos, 'Friend and Ally of the Roman People.' To be a friend and ally is all very well, but to pay for the privilege he bleeds his own people white with taxes. The people's anger finally drove Ptolemy to flee the city, fearing for his life. He fled all the way here to Rome, where Pompey put him up in a great rambling villa with a vast household of slaves to serve him."

  "For thirty-five million denarii, he should expect such royal treatment!" said Trygonion.

  Dio scowled. "He spends his time practicing his flute and drafting letters to the Senate begging them to restore him to his throne against the wishes of the Egyptian people. But it is too late for that. His daughter Berenice has already been named queen of Egypt."

  "A woman?" said Trygonion, who seemed genuinely intrigued.

  "It was not my choice," said Dio hastily. "Philosophers have influence in Alexandria, but so do astrologers. It was the star-gazers who insisted that the time is right for a woman of the Ptolemaic line to rule Egypt."

  "It strikes me that you may be too hard on King Ptolemy, Teacher," I said cautiously. "All his life he's seen kingdom after kingdom swallowed up by Roman imperialism, sometimes by war, sometimes by statecraft. His position has always been precarious. He must know that he's kept his throne this long only because the Romans can't settle among them-selves who should reap the rewards when Egypt is taken over. I know something of these matters, Teacher. A man can't live in Rome and be entirely ignorant of what goes on in the Forum. During Ptolemy's reign there have been several attempts by the Senate to act on the alleged will of Alexander II and to stake a Roman claim on Egypt. Only the Senate's internal bickering and rivalries have prevented those attempts from being carried out. During Cicero's consulship, I remember, Caesar and Pompey tried to put themselves on a board of governors to oversee the takeover of Egypt; Cicero killed the legislation with one of his brilliant speeches by claiming, in so many words, that Caesar and Pompey would ultimately make themselves kings. Now Caesar and Pompey have taken to extorting money directly from King Ptolemy."

  Agitated, Dio began to speak, but I held up my hand. "Hear me out, Teacher. If Ptolemy bends to Roman wishes so that he can stay in power, even if he pays for the privilege with silver to keep the Romans at bay, how can you fault him for that? So far, by one means or another, he's kept the Romans from moving into Alexandria and taking over the imperial palace. That indicates to me that King Ptolemy must possess more diplomatic expertise than you give him credit for."

  "He bends too far for the Romans," said Dio sternly. "What does it matter whether they conquer us outright, if they can use King Ptolemy as their private tax collector to drain our lifeblood?"

  "Perhaps; but I think I see a contradiction, Teacher. Why do you resist Roman rule if you despise your own rulers so very much?"

  Dio sighed. "Because, ultimately, the Ptolemies rule over Egypt by the will of the people. When they rule badly, the people rise up and cast them out. When they rule tolerably, the people tolerate them. Such a system may lack the perfection of Plato's ideal republic, but it suits the people of Egypt and has done so for hundreds of years. On the other hand, if Egypt should become a Roman province under the sway of a Roman governor, its people will become mere vassals of Rome, and we shall have no say at all over our destiny. We shall be drafted to fight in wars that are not of our choosing. We shall be forced to abide by laws dictated to us by a Senate of wealthy Romans who live too far from Alexandria to hear the complaints of its people. We shall become just another outpost of Rome's empire, watching our wealth become Roman plunder. Our statues and carpets and paintings will decorate the houses of Rome's rich; our grain will fill the stomachs of the Roman mob, and you can be sure that any payment will be far less than fair. Egypt is a great and free nation; we will not become minions of Rome." Dio took a deep breath. A tear glinted in his eye, and the gravity of his expression was oddly heightened by the feminine cosmetics that colored his weathered, wrinkled face. The absurdity of his costume could not disguise the depth of his emotion.

  "But this is all academic, if you'll pardon the pun," said Trygonion blandly but with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "If the former king, Alexander II, really did leave a will bequeathing Egypt to Rome — "

  Dio exploded. "No one in Egypt believes in the validity of the so-called will, because no one in Rome is able to produce it! The will of Alexander II is a fiction, a fraud, a pretext for the Roman Senate to go meddling in Egyptian affairs, a device to make whoever rules Egypt grovel at their feet. 'You may hold sway for the moment,' they say, 'but you cannot be legitimate without our approval, and you can never be anything but an impostor, for Egypt was left to us by our puppet Alexander II and we may choose to exercise our hegemony at any time.' They wave an imaginary scrap of parchment in the air and call it a will. King Ptolemy was a fool to play along with such a lie. 'Friend and Ally,' indeed! The plaque on the Capitoline should read, 'Piper and Puppet of the Roman People.' "

  "But now you've replaced the puppet," I said.

  "The Piper has been booed off the stage!" cried Trygonion.

  Dio clenched his teeth. "The crisis which revolves around Egypt's "throne may be a matter of amusement to you, gallus, but to the people of Egypt I assure you it is not. Roman diplomats and merchants in Alexandria seldom go out of doors these days, for fear of being torn apart by the mob. Rabble-rousers make speeches against Roman greed, and even my fellow philosophers neglect their teaching to engage in heated debate about the Roman threat. That is why I came to Rome, heading a delegation of one hundred Alexandrians: to demand that the Roman Senate stop meddling in Egyptian affairs and to ask for their recognition of Queen Berenice."

  "I see a contradiction, Teacher," I said quietly. "To request the Senate's approval of your new monarch implies, in itself, that the Senate has a right to meddle in your affairs."

  Dio cleared his throat. "In philosophy we seek the ideal. In politics, as I have learned to my bitter enlightenment, we seek whatever accommodates. So it was that I came to Rome at the head of the delegation of one hundred. So many distinguished voices, we thought, simply could not be ignored, even by your lofty senators. And that is where this despicable farce turns to tragedy!"

  He put his hands to his face and suddenly began to weep, so profusely that even Trygonion was stunned. Indeed, the little gallus seemed deeply moved by the old philosopher's tears, biting his lips in sympathy, pulling at his bleached hair and rubbing his hands together in agitation. I have heard that the galli, cut off from the circle of earthly passion, are given to sudden transports of extreme and inexplicable emotion.

  It took Dio a moment to compose himself. The fact that a phil
osopher of his stature should have lost control and given vent to such an outburst, even briefly, testified to the depth of his despair.

  "This is how it was: we landed down in Neapolis at the very end of the autumn sailing season. I had friends there, members of the Academy who offered us lodgings. That night, men armed with knives and clubs came crashing into the houses where we were staying. They up-turned furniture, set curtains afire, smashed priceless statues. We were roused from sleep, dazed, barely able to fend them off. Bones were broken and blood was spilled, but no one was killed, and the attackers escaped. The assault put such fear into some of our party that a few set sail for Alexandria the next day."

  Dio stiffened his jaw. "The attacks were well organized and planned in advance. Do I have proof of King Ptolemy's complicity? No. But one need not see the sun to deduce its presence by the casting of a shadow. The midnight attacks in Neapolis were engineered by King Ptolemy, have no doubt. He knew that we were coming to dispute his right to the throne. His agents were ready for us.

  "After that we moved on to safer quarters in Puteoli, to regroup and plan our strategy for approaching the Senate. We stayed closer together and guarded ourselves at night, but we made the error of thinking that we would be safe walking in the town forum in broad daylight. One afternoon a group of fifteen men, led by one of my Academic colleagues, Onclepion, went out to buy provisions for our journey up to Rome. Out of nowhere they were set upon by a group of small boys who began to pelt them with stones. The boys shouted curses. When passersby stopped to ask why, the boys told them that the Alexandrians had been defaming the honor of Pompey and his troops with vicious slanders. Some members of Onclepion's group, simply to protect themselves, began to shove at the boys and tried to drive them off by throwing stones in return. One of the boys suddenly screamed, clutched his head and collapsed in the dust-or feigned collapse, as I suspect, for I'm told that his body was not found afterward. The crowd that had gathered was sparked into a frenzy, and soon a mob of grown men and women had joined the boys to stone the Alexandrians, who found themselves surrounded on three sides and trapped against a wall. Have you ever witnessed a stoning, Gordianus?" Dio shuddered. Beside him, the little gallus shivered in empathy. "Thirteen of them were killed that day, stoned or trampled to death. Only Onclepion and his slave managed to escape. Onclepion boosted the slave onto the top of the wall, and the slave managed to pull his master after him. But Onclepion was blinded in one eye, and his slave lost several teeth.

  "That was the outrage at Puteoli. More men deserted the delegation that night, until only sixty of the original one hundred remained. I thought it best to head immediately to Rome, before some further incident occurred. The trip was not easy. The oxen we hired to pull our wagons fell to their forelegs just outside Capua and died with blood-flecked bile pouring from their mouths-poisoned, I had no doubt, since they all died in the span of an hour. More of the delegation deserted.

  "Halfway to Rome, we stopped to spend a night off the Appian Way at an estate owned by my acquaintance Palla. It was a rustic house in the woods which he kept for hunting boar, simple and without luxuries but with provisions for a great many visitors. Palla himself was absent, staying at one of his villas north of Rome, but his slaves had been told to expect us. To accommodate us all, they crowded our sleeping couches close together, blocking the hallways. That very nearly proved disastrous.

  "It was a scream from Onclepion that woke me in the night. At first I thought he cried out in pain, because of his ruined eye. Then I smelled the smoke. It was only by the will of the gods that no one was burned alive that night, for the doors had all been blocked from the outside by handcarts, the type that slaves use for trundling bales of hay. The building quickly filled with smoke. We at last managed to break through one of the doors. The cart blocking it had been loaded with heavy stones! Somehow, we all escaped into the woods, where we stood and watched as the house was consumed by flames. I have never known such fear as I knew that night, for at any moment I looked for King Ptolemy's henchmen to descend on us from out of the woods, forcing us to choose between being hacked to death or fleeing back into the burning house. But the attack never came. Why should King Ptolemy mount a full assault, when a handful of agents can set a fire and possibly kill everyone at once? Especially if they have the help of someone inside."

  "Then you think that Ptolemy had agents within the delegation?"

  "From the beginning! Oh yes, I have no doubt of that, ashamed as I am to say it. How else could his men have known which houses to attack in Neapolis? Or known when Onclepion's party was setting out for the market in Puteoli, so as to set the little boys upon them? How else did someone poison the oxen's water trough that morning in Capua, without anyone taking notice? King Ptolemy has ruled Egypt these twenty years by bribery, treachery and terror. His agents know how to use the weak and silence the strong.

  "On the morning after the destruction of Palla's house, beside a stream in the woods, and with Palla's slaves keeping watch for an attack I still dreaded might come, I called a meeting of the delegation. I expected some desertions, but I was shocked at how few decided to continue on to Rome. Only fifteen! Even Onclepion joined the ranks of those who made up their minds to turn back that morning. I told them that they would find themselves trapped for the winter in Puteoli or Neapolis, unable to find ships to carry them home, for the sailing season was over. But they would not be dissuaded. Once King Ptolemy saw that they had turned back from Rome, and no longer intended to address the Senate, he would stop his attacks against them-so they reasoned, and no argument from me could change their minds. Onclepion even engaged me in mock debate over the matter. I was appalled at the tawdry way he excused his own cowardice with sophistry. Even more appalling was the fact that after our debate was over, five of the men who had originally stood by me that morning claimed to have been won over by Onclepion's eloquence and joined the deserters!

  "Only ten then remained of the one hundred who came from Alexandria to confront the Senate, armed with righteous indignation and the certain favor of the gods for a just cause. Attended only by our slaves we made our bedraggled way to Rome. There was no grand entrance for us! Instead we slunk through the gates like thieves, hoping to escape notice. We dispersed ourselves about the city, staying with friends and acquaintances; many turned us away, when they learned of the tribulations we had brought upon our hosts in Neapolis and Puteoli, and the destruction of Palla's property! Meanwhile, we petitioned the Senate for an audience-but the Senate answered us with silence."

  He turned toward the brazier and stared into the flames. "What a winter! No winter in Alexandria was ever so cold. How do you Romans stand it? I cover myself with blankets at night and still I can't stop shivering. What misery! And the murders… "

  He began to shake and couldn't seem to stop.

  "Shall I call a slave to bring you a blanket?" I said.

  "No, no, it's not the cold." He hugged himself, and at last managed to take a deep breath and stopped shaking. "During those terrible days in Neapolis and Puteoli and on the road, I kept one thought in my mind:

  When we reach Rome,

  I told myself,

  when we reach Rome…

  "But you see, there was a fallacy in my reasoning, for I never really finished that thought. When we reach Rome-then what? Did I tell myself, When we reach Rome, there shall be only ten of us left? Did I ever think that the Senate would snub us, and refuse even to hear me? Or that there would be still more treachery and betrayals, until I would lose my faith even in the men I most trusted when we left Alexandria? Or that we would be murdered one by one, until only a handful remained-by the very fact of their survival, traitors and tools of King Ptolemy? Do you understand what has happened to me, Gordianus?" He held out his hands in a gesture of supplication, and on his face I saw the full measure of his despair. "I left Alexandria full of worry but also full of hope. Now…"

  "Murders, you said. Here in Rome?"

  "Yes. At least t
hree since we arrived. We all stayed in different houses, under the roofs of men I thought we could trust. I feared another full-scale attack, you see, until I realized that Rome is Rome, not Neapolis or Puteoli. Even King Ptolemy would never dare to stage a massive assault or manufacture a riot in the shadow of the Senate. The men who rule Rome tolerate such flagrant crimes at a distance, but not in their presence. No foreign king could be allowed to stir up the masses or set fires or practice open warfare in Rome itself."

  "You're right. Senators reserve those privileges for themselves."

  "So the king changed his tactics. Instead of trying to kill us all at once, he turned to assassinating us one by one."

  "By what means?"

  "Quietly. By poison. Suffocation. Stabbing." "With the complicity of their hosts?"

  Dio paused. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Slaves can sometimes be bribed or blackmailed. But masters can be bribed or blackmailed as well, especially when the pressure comes from the kind of men allied with King Ptolemy."

  "Men such as Pompey?"

  He nodded. "And I suspect there are respectable Romans-perhaps even senators-who are not above committing a murder or two to gain Pompey's favor or repay some debt they owe him."

  "Be careful, Dio. So far you've accused your own king of being behind this slaughter. Now you're implicating a man who happens to be Rome's most beloved general and very possibly her future dictator."

  "I tell you, these are the men behind the killings. King Ptolemy is not even in Rome any longer. He's retired to Ephesus for the winter, leaving everything in Pompey's hands. And why not? Pompey has as much to gain as Ptolemy if the king can keep his throne, so Pompey has continued the attacks against the delegation. Since we arrived in Rome, his agents have snuffed us out one by one."

  I shook my head. "You admit that you have no proof of your alle-gations against King Ptolemy, Dio. Do you have proof of what you say against Pompey?"