by Unknown
There are of course many fine villas along the way, and an unusual number of inns, built originally for the thousands of pilgrims who used to come from all over the world to worship at the temple of Apollo. But now there are few pilgrims and the inns are devoted almost entirely to providing shelter for lovers. Once holy, Daphne is now notorious for the amorousness of its visitors.
Halfway to the suburb, my uncle suggested we stop at an inn kept by a former slave of his. I must say it was an attractive place, set back from the road and hidden from view by a hedge of laurel. We sat outside at a long table beneath a vine trellis heavy with dusty purple grapes whose thick scent attracted humming bees. The innkeeper brought us earthen jugs of fruit juice mixed with honey, and we drank thirstily. It was the first pleasing moment in a bad day. Only my uncle's health disturbed me. His hands shook as he drank. From time to time he would grimace in pain. Yet he never allowed his body's discomfort to interfere with his conversation, which was, as always, lucid and courtly.
"You will find the temple in fairly good condition," he said.
"The old priesthood was disbanded some years ago, but there is still a high priest in residence. Naturally, he is most excited at your coming."
Maximus shook his head sadly and tugged at his beard. "When I was here as a boy there were a thousand priests, daily sacrifices, crowded inns…"
I am always amazed at how much Maximus has travelled. There is hardly a holy place in the world he has not visited, from that Paphian rock where Aphrodite came from the sea to the precise place on the bank of the Nile where Isis found the head of Osiris.
"I'm afraid you'll find Daphne changed," said my uncle. "But we should be able to get things going again. After all, everyone wants to visit Daphne, if only for the waters and the beauty of the place. It is perfect except for one thing…"
I finished his sentence, a bad habit of mine. I interrupt everyone, including myself. "Except for the charnel house my brother Gallus saw fit to build to contain the bones of… what was that criminal's name?"
"The late Bishop Babylas, executed by the Emperor Decius."
My uncle's hand shook and he spilled fruit juice on his tunic. I pretended not to notice. But Oribasius, who had been carefully dissecting a large honey bee with a fruit knife, reached across the table and felt my uncle's wrist. "Drink the waters today," said Oribasius at last.
"I have not been well," said my uncle, apologetically, death in his face. I have noticed that the eyes of men who are dying of natural ailments tend to be unnaturally brilliant. They have a kind of straining look as though they want to see everything there is to see before they go. I liked my uncle, and wanted him to live. As for Daphne, I can only say that it is quite as beautiful as one has always heard. The town is set among gardens and springs.
Near by is the famous grove of cypresses planted centuries ago by Seleucus, at the command of Apollo. The trees are now so tall and dense that their branches form a roof against the sun, and one can walk for hours on end in the cool shade. Daphne has always been sacred; first to Hercules, then to Apollo. It was here that Apollo pursued the nymph Daphne. When she appealed to Zeus to save her, Zeus changed her into a laurel tree. I have seen this tree myself. It is incredibly old and gnarled, yet each spring it puts forth new shoots, reminding us that held by magic within its ancient grasp a girl sleeps, always young. One may also visit the grove where Paris was required to judge which of three goddesses was the most beautiful.
I went quickly through the ceremony of welcome in the town square. Then instead of going straight to the palace, I went sightseeing with Maximus and Oribasius while my uncle went on to the temple of Apollo to prepare for the sacrifice.
I was particularly impressed by the variety of limestone springs. They flow freely in every weather. Hadrian—yes, he was here, too-built a large reservoir at the Saramanna Spring with a colonnade; here one can sit on a marble seat and enjoy the cool air that spring-water brings with it from the earth below. I also saw the famous Kastalian Spring which was once an oracle of Apollo. When Hadrian was a private citizen he inquired about his future by dropping a laurel leaf into the water. The leaf returned to him a moment later marked with the single word "Augustus". When Hadrian eventually became the Augustus, he had the spring sealed with marble on the reasonable ground that others might learn what he had learned and this was not in the best interest of the state. I plan to reopen the spring, if the omens are propitious.
The town prefect tactlessly showed us the basilica which contains the remains of the criminal Babylas. I was saddened to see quite a long line of sightseers waiting to be admitted. They believe the bones of this dead man have a curative power, yet they will not go near Apollo's springs! Next to the charnel house there is a large factory manufacturing Galilean curios. Apparently, this business is run at a considerable profit. How superstitious people are! It was late afternoon when we arrived at the temple of Apollo. A large crowd had gathered outside, but none had come to do homage to the god. They were all sightseers.
I went inside. It took my eyes a moment to accustom themselves to the shadowy interior. At last I could make out the marvellous colossus of Apollo. I could also see that no preparations had been made for a sacrifice. Just as I turned to go, two figures hurried towards me from the far end of the temple. One was my uncle. The other was a stout man carrying a cumbersome sack.
According to my breathless uncle, this was the high priest of Apollo. High priest! He was a local handyman who had been entrusted by the town council to keep the temple swept and to make sure it was not used as a home for the poor, or as a convenience for lovers, or for those with a full bladder. Lacking any other attendant, he was the god's priest.
"Naturally, Lord, we have no money. I wasn't able to get us a proper white bull or even goat… and a goat does just as well, I always say, if it's not old and stringy. But knowing you'd be here, I brought you this from home. She's the last I've got. Not too tough, I'd say." With that he removed a furious grey goose from the sack he was holding.
Aware that I was ready to roar, my uncle spoke quickly. "This will do nicely, high priest. For now. But tomorrow we'll have a proper ceremony. You must see how many former priests you can find. I'll take care of all expenses. We can rehearse them in the morning. Then…" He chattered on until I had controlled myself. I thanked the oaf politely for his efforts, said a prayer to the god and departed, the goose unsacrificed.
Fortunately, I found prompt distraction at the palace. The great Libanius had arrived from Antioch. This was our first meeting and I must admit that I was thrilled. He is a noble looking man, with a grey beard and eyes pale with cataracts. He is going blind, but like the philosopher he is, he makes no complaint. We had a long talk that night, and almost every night that I was in Syria. I was only too pleased to appoint him quaestor, an office which he very much wanted.
Libanius: It is curious how people's memories err. I never requested the post of quaestor. What I did request—at the insistence of the senate of Antioch—was the right to be able to argue the city's case before the Sacred Consistory. I had done a good deal of this in the past, trying to justify the deeds—often misdeeds!—of my fellow citizens. Even before the awful 22 October, I sensed that there would be serious trouble between emperor and city, and since my love for each was as equal as two things can be, I felt that I might be able to keep the peace. My fellow senators agreed. Julian agreed. And I take some credit for saving Antioch from what, under any other emperor, might have been a bloodbath. In any case, Julian made me quaestor on his own initiative. I did not ask for the post, nor for any post. After all, I later turned down the title "praetorian prefect", a fact the world knows. I have never coveted titles or official honours.
In my dealings with Julian I was precisely the opposite of Maximus. I made no attempt to win favour. I never once asked for an audience, except when I was acting as spokesman for the city. Julian has not recorded how we met, but I shall, for my behaviour at the beginning permanently set t
he tone of our personal relationship, doomed to be so short.
When Julian first came to Antioch, I confess that I expected to be sent for immediately. We had corresponded for years. At Nicomedia, he had had my lectures taken down in shorthand. He had based his prose style on my own, and there is no higher compliment than that. But weeks passed and I was not sent for. Later he apologized by saying that he had been much too distraught to see me. I understood of course. Yet I confess I was like a proud father who wanted more than anything else to delight in the success of his gifted son. Naturally, I saw him when he addressed our senate, but we did not meet, though he referred to me in his speech as "principal ornament of the crown of the East"! I was thought to be in high favour after this, but there was still no summons to the palace.
Not until late October did I receive an invitation from Julian, asking me to dine with him that day. I replied that I never lunch because of fragile health, which is true: a heavy meal during the heat of the day invariably brings on headache. He then invited me to join him the following week at Daphne, and I accepted.
As the record plainly shows I did not "run after" him; rather, he ran after me. He mentions the cataracts in my eyes. I had not realized they were so noticeable. In those days I could see fairly well. Now of course I am practically blind.
I was enchanted with Julian, as most men were. He flattered one outrageously, but there was always enough good sense in his flattery to make it more agreeable than not.
Unfortunately, he enjoyed sitting up all night and I don't; as a result, I was for ever excusing myself just as he was getting a second wind. Even so, we still found time to discuss my work in considerable detail and I was gratified to discover how much of it he had memorized. We also discussed Iamblichos and Plato.
Julian Augustus
I finally made a proper sacrifice to Apollo, offering up a thousand white birds. This occupied most of one day. Then I entered the temple to consult the oracle. I asked certain questions, which I may not record, but the priestess would not answer. She was silent for nearly an hour; then she spoke with the god's voice:
"Bones and carrion. I cannot be heard. There is blood in the sacred spring." That was all. That was enough. I knew what had to be done.
As I left the temple, there was a crowd gathered in front of it. They applauded me. I paused and looked across the way to the charnel house, the cause of the pollution. I turned to my uncle. "Tomorrow I want the bones of that Galilean, Babylas, removed."
"Babylas, removed?" My uncle looked distressed. "But this is one of their most famous shrines. People come from all over Asia to touch the remains of Saint… of the bishop."
"They can still touch them all they like. But not here. Not in Daphne. This place is sacred to Apollo."
"There will be trouble, Augustus."
"There will be even more trouble if Apollo is not obeyed."
Glumly, my uncle bowed, and crossed to the charnel house across the square.
As I was about to get into my litter, I noticed a group of Jewish eiders standing on the edge of the crowd. I signalled for them to come forward. One proved to be a priest. He was an old man, and I teased him. "Why didn't you join me in the sacrifice?"
"Augustus knows we may not." The priest was stiff; his companions were nervous. In the past emperors had often slaughtered Jews for not observing the rituals of state.
"But surely you prefer Apollo to… that!" I pointed to the charnel house across the square.
The old man smiled. "Augustus must know that this is one of the few choices we have never been forced to make."
"But we have at least a common enemy," I said, quite aware that since my voice could be heard by those near by, every word I said would soon be repeated from the Tigris to the Thames. The old man did not answer, but he smiled again. I continued, "You should at least make occasional sacrifice. After all, your High God is a true god."
"We may sacrifice in only one place, Augustus. At the temple in Jerusalem."
"But that temple has been destroyed."
"So we no longer make sacrifice."
"But if the temple were rebuilt?"
"Then we should offer up thanksgiving to our God."
I got into my litter, a plan half-made. "Come see me at Antioch."
The Nazarene predicted that the temple of the Jews would be for ever destroyed; after his death the temple was burned by Titus. If I rebuild it, the Nazarene will be proved a false prophet. With some pleasure, I have given orders that the temple be restored Also, what better allies can one have against the Gallleans than the Jews, who must contemplate with daily horror the perversic of their holy book by the followers of the man.god?
Priscus: Julian does not again refer to this matter, but when he gave orders for the Jewish temple to be rebuilt, there was consternation among the Christians. They hate the Jews, partly because they feel guilty for having stolen their god from them, but mostly because they realize that the Jews know better than anyone what perfect nonsense the whole Christian mishmash is. Now if the Jewish temple were rebuilt, not only would Jesus be prove a false prophet but the Christians would again have a formidable rival at Jerusalem. Something had to be done. And it was.
I got the true story from my old friend Alypius, who was in charge of the project. He had been vice-prefect in Britain when Julian was Caesar. Looking for a new assignment, Alypius can to Antioch and we saw a good deal of one another, for he was much given to the pleasures of the flesh as am—as was—I. One night we visited every brothel in Singon Street. But I shall spare you the idle boasting of an old man.
Libanius: For this small favour, I thank heaven.
Priscus: Julian sent Alypius to Jerusalem to rebuild the temple. I had carte blanche. With the help of the governor, they started work, to the delight of the local Jews, who agreed to raise the necessary money. Then the famous "miracle" happened. One morning balls of flame flared among the stones and a sudden tier, north wind caused them to roll about, terrifying the workmen who fled. That was the end of that. Alypius later discovered that the Galileans had placed buckets of naphtha in the ruins,. arranged that if one was lit all the others would catch fire, too, giving the impression of fire-demons scurrying about.
The north wind was not planned; it is of course possible that Jesus sent the wind to ensure his reputation as a prophet, but think coincidence is more likely. Plans were made to start rebuild ing in the spring, but by then it was too late.
Julian Augustus
The next day was 22 October. At dawn, a thousand Galileans assembled to remove the pieces of the late Babylas from the shrine Gallus had built for them. It was all carefully planned. I know because on that same day I too returned to the city and saw the procession.
The Galileans—men and women—wore mourning as they reverently escorted the stone casket which contained the criminal's remains. None looked at me. All eyes were cast down. But they sang ominous dirges for my benefit, particularly, "Damned are they who worship graven images, who preen themselves in idols."
When I heard this, I spurred my horse and cantered past them, followed by my retinue. We kicked up a gratifying amount of dust, which somewhat inhibited the singers. In good spirits I arrived at Antioch.
The next day I learned what had happened in the night. My uncle was delegated to inform me. Everyone else was too frightened.
"Augustus…" My uncle's voice cracked with nervousness. I motioned for him to sit, but he stood, trembling. I put down the letter I had been reading. "You should see Oribasius, Uncle, you look quite ill."
"The temple of Apollo…"
"He's got a herb the Persians use. He says the fever breaks overnight."
"… was burned."
I stopped. Like so many who talk too much, I have learned how to take in what others are saying even when my own voice is overriding them. "Burned? The Galileans?"
My uncle gestured wretchedly. "No one knows. It started just before midnight. The whole thing's burned, gone."
"Th
e statue of Apollo?"
"Destroyed. They claim it was a miracle."
I controlled myself. I have found that one's rage (which in little things is apt to make one quite senseless) at great moments sharpens the senses. "Send me their bishop," I said evenly. My uncle withdrew.
I sat a long time looking out across the plain. The sun hung in the west, red as blood. I allowed myself a vision of perfect tyranny. I saw blood in the streets of Antioch, blood splattered on walls, arcades, basilicas. I would kill and kill and kill! Ah, how I revelled in this vision! But the madness passed, and I remembered that I had weapons other than the sword.
Bishop Meletius is an elegant ironist, in the Alexandrian manner. For a Galilean prelate his Greek is unusually accomplished and he has a gift for rhetoric. But I gave him no opportunity to employ it. The instant he started to speak, I struck the table before me with my open hand. The sound was like a thunderbolt. I had learned this trick from an Etruscan priest, who not only showed me how to make a terrifying sound with one's cupped hand but also how to splinter solid wood with one's bare fingers held rigid. I learned the first trick but have so far lacked the courage to attempt the second, though it was most impressive when the Etruscan did it and not in the least magic. Meletius gasped with alarm.
"You have burned one of the holiest temples in the world."
"Augustus, believe me, we did not…"
"Don't mock me! It is not coincidence that on the day the remains of your criminal predecessor were taken from Daphne to Antioch, our temple which has stood seven centuries was burned."
"Augustus, I knew nothing of it."
"Good! We are making progress. First, it was 'we'. Now it is 'I'. Excellent. I believe you. If I did not, I would this day provide a brand-new set of bones for your followers to worship." His face twitched uncontrollably. He has a tic of some sort. He tried to speak but no sound came. I knew then what it was the tyrants felt when they were in my place. Fury is indeed splendid and exhilarating, if dangerous to the soul.