Authors: John Maddox Roberts

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Historical

The Temple of the Muses (23 page)

BOOK: The Temple of the Muses

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“Save me!” I shouted. “I am a Senator!” Their spear points wavered not a single inch.

“Arrest him!” yelled Creticus from the top of the steps. “Tie
him up and bring him in here!” The line of soldiers parted just enough to let me through and then closed smoothly. Behind me, the royal guards came to a halt in a screech of hobnails on pavement. Hands grasped me and dragged me up the steps. I had just run from this very situation, only to have it inflicted upon me by my own countrymen. I was thrown to the steps at Creticus’s feet, still hugging my scroll.

“Chain him up!” Creticus screamed. “Flog him! We may have to find a priest to
purify
the evil little monster!” He was quite beside himself.

“If you’ll just get a grip on yourself …”

“Get a grip?” he shrieked, his face going scarlet. “Get a grip! Decius, have you any idea what you’ve done? Roman citizens have been attacked! Their houses have been destroyed, their property plundered! And why? Because you skulked away from the embassy, against my orders, and killed a cat! A cat!” I thought he was sure to have a seizure.

“I have saved Rome!” I insisted. “A big, wealthy part of the Empire, anyway.”

“Enough of these vaporings! Bring the chains.”

“Just a moment.” Julia pushed her way past him, her face white and drawn. She knelt beside me and wiped my sweaty face with a corner of her scarf.

“Decius, did you really kill that cat?”

“Absolutely not!” I told her. “I love the sneaky little beasts. It was Ataxas. He killed it and blamed it on me. He started it all, and I have the evidence here to convict the lot of them.”

She stood and faced Creticus. “Listen to what he has to say.”

“Listen to him! That’s what caused all this trouble! I listened to him! No more! I will have him tried for treason and flung from the Tarpeian Rock! I’ll have his traitorous corpse dragged on a hook down the Tiber steps and thrown into the river!”

She didn’t flinch. She stood with her face three inches from his, and her voice didn’t waver in the least.

“Quintus Caecilius Metellus Creticus, if you do not hear him
out, my uncle, the Consul-elect Caius Julius Caesar, will have some words for you when we return to Rome.”

Creticus stood for about five minutes while his normal color returned. Then he snapped: “Bring him inside.” We went into the atrium. “Make it fast and convincing.”

“War,” I gasped, at the end of my resources. Suddenly Hermes was at my elbow with a brimming cup, the blessed boy. I emptied it in one gulp. “War with Parthia. Revolt in Egypt. This is the stolen book.”

“Book!” Creticus shouted. “You started a riot over a cat, now you want a war over a book?”

I’d had enough of this. I held one end of the scroll and tossed the bulk of it to the floor. It unrolled for the whole length of the atrium and continued into a hallway, displaying fine Greek writing, exquisite drawings, and spilling documents. I held out the cup and Hermes took it, returning in seconds with a refill. I went to the spilled documents and scooped them up, then handed them to Creticus.

“The secret treaty between Achillas and Phraates of Parthia, plotting to overthrow King Ptolemy and divide up Rome’s Eastern possessions between them. Not just the final treaty, but the earlier drafts as well.” While Creticus studied it, I glared at the other embassy officials who stood tensely by. “You weasels don’t get out of paying me five hundred
denarii
that easily.”

Creticus grew very, very white as he read. “Explain,” he said at last. I gave it to them, quickly, from the murder of Iphicrates to my appearance at the bottom of the embassy steps.

By the end of it, somebody had shoved a chair beneath me and I was making quick work of my third cup.

“All right,” Creticus said grimly. “I grant you a temporary reprieve. In your insane fashion, you may have done the state some service. Let’s go outside.”

There was now a great crowd of the Palace guard filling the courtyard, but we felt safe enough behind our line of Roman marines. I staggered out to stand wearily beside Creticus. Julia stood
by me. I saw Fausta in the crowd of Romans, looking on happily, as if this spectacle were being staged just for her amusement. Achillas stood at the head of his soldiers. I expected him to bluster, but I had underestimated him. He was biding his time in silence, waiting to see which way he should jump.

“You think he’ll storm the embassy, Decius?” Creticus said, maintaining that haughty demeanor for which Roman officials are famed all over the world.

“Wouldn’t dare,” I whispered, looking equally lofty. “It would precipitate war too soon. He needs that alliance with Parthia, and the treaty hasn’t been delivered.”

Then there was a disturbance at the rear of the crowd. It looked as if a ship were sailing toward the embassy.

“Here comes Ptolemy,” Creticus said. “Let’s hope he’s sober.”

Achillas and his soldiers bowed as the tremendous litter was set down in the courtyard. Its ramp was lowered and slaves unrolled his long carpet, dyed at fabulous cost with Tyrian purple. When Ptolemy descended he was sober, and he was not alone. Behind him came his newly pregnant queen, who was followed by a nurse carrying the infant Ptolemy. Behind them came the princesses: Berenice, then solemn Cleopatra, last of all little Arsinoe, holding the hand of a court lady. The marines parted to let them pass, then reformed, their spears steady.

The message was plain: Ptolemy was putting himself and his family under the protection of Rome. As he reached the top of the steps, Creticus handed him the treaty wordlessly. The king perused it as his family filed within the embassy. Then he turned to face the crowd.

“General Achillas, come here,” Ptolemy said.

I must hand it to the man: I never saw anyone so coolly brazen. He walked up the stairs with perfect confidence and bowed deeply.

“What would my king have of me?” he asked.

“An explanation,” Ptolemy said. He held the condemning document before Achillas’s face. “You sought to arrest young Senator
Metellus when he tried to bring this to me. Can you tell me why?”

“Of course, your Majesty. He was obviously deranged, a danger to both himself and the community. Alexandria is not safe for Romans at this time, and I wanted to subdue him for his own protection.”

“And this little document?” Ptolemy asked.

“I have never seen it before,” he said quite truthfully. Ptolemy raised an eyebrow in my direction.

“It was his henchman Memnon who arranged the final draft, along with the Parthian ambassador, Orodes, and the fraudulent holy man, Ataxas, acting as scribe.”

“Memnon was found murdered this morning,” Achillas said. “What does the Senator know about that?”

“It was a fair fight. He was conspiring against King Ptolemy and against Rome. He deserved to die. But he was acting in your name, Achillas.”

He studied the document with mock seriousness. “Then he did so without my knowledge. I see neither signature nor seal to indicate my participation. I protest that anyone should regard my name written by another’s hand to be incriminating evidence.”

“Fetch the Parthian ambassador!” Ptolemy called.

“Unfortunately,” Achillas said, “Lord Orodes was found dead near the Palace gate this morning. It seems he bled to death from a cut on the forearm.”

“Ridiculous!” I said. “I didn’t cut him that badly. There would have been more blood on the floor when he ran away.”

“You’ve been busier than a gladiator at a
munera sine missione
,” Creticus commented.

“And what would be the response,” Ptolemy said, “should your king summon the priest Ataxas?”

“My officers report that he was killed in the rioting this morning. You know how these things are, sir. First the mob wants to kill Romans, then any foreigner will do. It seems that he was dressed
and barbered like an Asiatic Greek and nobody recognized him as the Holy Ataxas. Tragic.”

Ptolemy sighed. “General Achillas, the nomes near the first cataract are in revolt. My markets on the Elephantine Island are in great danger. You shall gather your troops and set out southward before nightfall. You are not to come back until I send for you.”

Achillas bowed. “your Majesty!” I protested as Achillas descended the steps and began barking orders to his troops. “That man is a deadly danger to you! He plotted against you and against Rome. He had Iphicrates murdered when he learned that the man was making the same promises to other kings. He had Orodes and Ataxas silenced before they could be arrested and made to talk. He should be crucified forthwith.”

“His family is a very important one. young Decius,” Ptolemy said. “I cannot move against him just now.”

“I beg you to reconsider,” I said. “Remember how your ancestors would have handled this. They were perfect savages and they would have killed him, then annihilated his family, then gone all the way back to Macedonia, found his ancestral village and leveled it with the ground!”

“Yes, well, the world was younger and simpler then. My problems are very complicated. I thank you for your services, but leave the statecraft to me.” Then he turned to Creticus. “Excellency, we must go inside and discuss important matters. I must have Roman protection from my domestic enemies. I will pay full reparations for damage suffered by Romans in Alexandria.”

The two went inside and the rest of the embassy staff went with them. I was left alone at the top of the steps, above the crowd of Roman refugees. Achillas finished giving his orders and he came up the steps. grinning at me. I itched to draw my sword and kill him, but I was so tired, he would have taken it away from me and skewered me with it. Then he stood a foot from me, wearing a strange expression of hatred, puzzlement and grim respect.

“Why did you do it, Roman?” he asked.

That was simple. “You should not have committed murder within the sacred precincts of the Temple of the Muses,” I told him. “That sort of behavior angers the gods.” He regarded me for a moment as if I were truly insane; then he whirled and went back down the steps. Weary to my bones, I turned and staggered back within the embassy. They attacked me as soon as I was inside.

Laughing and whooping, the embassy staff bore me to the floor and tied my hands behind me; then they bound my feet at the ankles.

“You still think you can get out of paying me!” I gasped, too weak to do anything else.

“Don’t forget to gag him,” Creticus said. A rag was stuffed in my mouth and tied securely behind my head. Creticus came over and nudged me in the ribs with his toe.

“Decius, in case you were wondering where those marines came from, the war galleys
Neptune, Swan
and
Triton
are in the harbor. I’ve sent orders for the
Swan
to come to the royal harbor, and that’s where you are going right now. The marines from the
Neptune
are going out on a little mission of arson on Lord Achillas’s nearby estate; then the flotilla sails for Rhodes. That is as far as they take you.”

“Beautiful place, Rhodes,” Ptolemy said. “A bit dull, though. No army, no politics. In fact, nothing there except schools.”

“Maybe you can attend a few lectures, Decius,” Creticus said gleefully, nudging me with his toe again. “Learn a little
philosophy
, eh?” Then the two of them laughed until the tears ran down their degenerate old faces.

I was carried down to the harbor and thrown aboard the ship. Julia accompanied me tearfully, holding my bound hands, which were already growing numb. She said she would follow me to Rhodes as soon as possible. Probably just wanted to meet all those scholars, I guessed. Hermes carried my weapons and a jug of wine, muttering and cursing, already missing the soft life in Alexandria.

As the ship backed away, Creticus came down to the dock
and yelled across the water, “If we hear that Rhodes has sunk beneath the sea. I’ll know who was responsible. Captain, don’t untie him until you’re out past Pharos!”

By the time we rounded the lighthouse, another column of smoke rose to the east of the city, a short way inland. I knew that much wood should make a fine fire. I was glad we were too far away to smell the stench from those human-hair ropes.

Before long, Alexandria was out of sight. I would not see it again for twelve years, but when I returned, it was with Caesar, and Cleopatra was queen and events made my little adventures of my first sojourn there seem dull and uneventful, and I finally got to settle matters with Achillas.

These things happened in Alexandria in the year 692 of the City of Rome, the Consulship of Metellus Celer and Lucius Afranius.