Read The Temple of the Muses Online
Authors: John Maddox Roberts
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Historical
The Temple of the Muses (4 page)
“I suppose every man must have his own ambition,” she sniffed.
“Oh, look!” Julia said. “Is that the Paneum?” The weird, artificial hill with its spiral path and its circular temple was just visible in the distance.
“That it is,” I said. “It has the most outrageous statue in it. But here’s the embassy.”
“Is this all part of the Palace?” Julia asked as I helped her from the litter. I was forced to kick a slave aside in order to perform even this simple, agreeable task.
“It is. In fact, for all matters involving practical power, the Roman embassy is the court. Come along, I’ll see you to your quarters.”
But I was not to be permitted even this. No sooner had we reached the atrium than a mass of courtiers entered, complete with riotous musicians, oiled Nubians leading leashed cheetahs, a tame lion, a pack of baboons dressed in livery, chiton-clad adolescent girls bearing baskets of rose petals which they scattered promiscuously, and, in the midst of them all, a young woman to whom all deferred.
“I hear that we have visitors,” the young woman said. “If I had heard sooner, I would have come to the royal harbor to welcome you!”
I bowed as deeply as Roman dignity permitted. “You honor us with your presence, Princess Berenice. May I present the lady Fausta Cornelia, daughter of the late, illustrious Dictator Lucius Cornelius Sulla, and the lady Julia Minor, daughter of the reverend
Senator Lucius Julius Caesar.” She embraced both ladies while the courtiers cooed and twittered.
Senator Lucius Julius Caesar.” She embraced both ladies while the courtiers cooed and twittered.
The Roman ladies displayed creditable aplomb, accepting these royal embraces with coolness and dignity. Aplomb was called for, as Berenice was one of the Ptolemies who favored Egyptian fashions. On her upper body she wore only a cape of gauze, which was quite transparent. What she wore below that would have got a dancing-girl drubbed out of Rome for indecency. Her jewelry, on the other hand, would have rivaled a legionary’s armor for weight and bulk.
“We are at a disadvantage, Highness,” Fausta protested. “We are not prepared to receive royalty.”
“Oh, think nothing of that,” Berenice said. “I
never
get interesting women to entertain, just tiresome men with their politics and their foolish intrigues.” She waved a hand that took in the whole Roman embassy, me included.
never
get interesting women to entertain, just tiresome men with their politics and their foolish intrigues.” She waved a hand that took in the whole Roman embassy, me included.
“And the foreign queens and princesses who come here are all ignorant and illiterate, no more than well-dressed peasants. But two genuine patrician ladies all to myself! Come along, you aren’t staying here. You’re going to stay in my palace.” Yes, there was yet another palace within the Palace, this one belonging to Berenice. And so she shepherded them out like two new additions to her menagerie. I wondered if she would try to leash them as well.
Creticus came in just as the mob disappeared. “What was that all about?” he asked.
“Berenice has spirited away our ladies,” I said. “They may never see Rome again.”
“Well,” he said practically, “that takes care of that problem. New toys for the princess instead of a headache for us. They’ll need to be squired about the city by a Roman male of high lineage, though. Wouldn’t be proper otherwise. That’s your job.”
“I shall be diligent,” I promised.
Berenice was thoughtful enough to give her two new acquisitions an evening to recover from their ordeal at the hands of Neptune;
then she threw a lavish reception for them, inviting all the luminaries of the Museum as well as the most fashionable people of Alexandria. As you might expect, this made for a fairly grotesque mixture. Since the Museum was owned and financed wholly by the Palace, Berenice’s invitation had the authority of a summons. Thus every last star-gazing, number-torturing, book-annotating scholar in Alexandria was there, along with actors, charioteers, foreign ambassadors, cult leaders and half the nobility of Egypt, who were as decadent a pack of lunatics as one could wish for.
then she threw a lavish reception for them, inviting all the luminaries of the Museum as well as the most fashionable people of Alexandria. As you might expect, this made for a fairly grotesque mixture. Since the Museum was owned and financed wholly by the Palace, Berenice’s invitation had the authority of a summons. Thus every last star-gazing, number-torturing, book-annotating scholar in Alexandria was there, along with actors, charioteers, foreign ambassadors, cult leaders and half the nobility of Egypt, who were as decadent a pack of lunatics as one could wish for.
As they assembled, I spotted the one face I knew well. This belonged to Asklepiodes, physician to the gladiators of the school of Statilius Taurus in Rome. We had a long history together. He was a small man with clean-shaven cheeks and a jawline beard of the Greek sort, wearing the robes and hair-fillet of his profession. He was delivering a course of anatomical lectures that year. I took him aside.
“Quick, Asklepiodes, who are some of these people? Julia expects me to know them all!”
He grinned. “Ah! So at last I get to meet the beauteous Julia? Is she so deficient in perception that she thinks you a scholar?”
“She thinks I’m improving. Who are they?”
He looked around. “To begin with the most distinguished, there”—he nodded toward a tall, sharp-featured man—“is the illustrious Amphytrion, the Librarian. He is in charge of all things concerning the Library and Museum.”
“That’s a start,” I said. “Who else?”
He nodded toward a burly, wild-haired man who stared around him like a wrestler challenging all comers. “That’s Iphicrates of Chios, the mathematician, foremost champion of the school of Archimedes.”
“Oh, good. She wants to meet him.”
“Then perhaps her feminine charms will succeed where so many others have failed. He is a most irascible man. Let me see …” He picked out another dusty old Greek. “There is Doson the Skeptic, and Sosigenes, the astronomer, and …” and so on. I
committed as many names as I could to memory, enough to fake knowledgeability. As soon as I had a chance, I went over to Julia and introduced Asklepiodes. She was polite but cool. Like many well-taught persons, she was only marginally interested in medicine, which is concerned with the real world.
committed as many names as I could to memory, enough to fake knowledgeability. As soon as I had a chance, I went over to Julia and introduced Asklepiodes. She was polite but cool. Like many well-taught persons, she was only marginally interested in medicine, which is concerned with the real world.
“Would you care to meet some of the great scholars?” I asked her.
“Lead on,” she said, with that maddeningly superior smile of hers. I escorted her to the ferocious-looking mathematician.
“Julia, this is the famed Iphicrates of Chios, foremost exemplar of the Archimedean School.”
His face turned to oil and he took her hand and kissed it. “Utterly charmed, my lady.” Then he turned and glared at me, an expression lent force by the Jupiter-like prominence of his forehead. “Don’t think I know you.”
“Perhaps it’s slipped your mind, what with all that deep thinking. I attended your talk on the siege of Syracuse.” I pulled this right out of the air, knowing that Archimedes had designed the defensive siege machinery of that city, but it seemed that I had struck my mark.
“Oh.” He looked confused. “Perhaps you’re right. There were a great many auditors at that lecture.”
“And I’ve read your work,
On the Practical Applications
of
Geometry,
” Julia said, looking worshipful. “
Such
a stimulating and controversial book!”
On the Practical Applications
of
Geometry,
” Julia said, looking worshipful. “
Such
a stimulating and controversial book!”
He grinned and nodded like one of the trained baboons. “Yes, yes. It shook up some people around here, I can tell you.” Insufferable twit, I thought. And here was Julia, mooning over him as if he were a champion charioteer or something of the sort. I pried her away from the great man and took her to meet the Librarian. Amphytrion was as gracious as Iphicrates was crude, and I had an easier time of it. Berenice swept her off to meet some perfumed fools, and I was left with the Librarian.
“I noticed you speaking with Asklepiodes,” he remarked. “Do you know him from Rome?”
“Yes, I’ve known him for years.”
Amphytrion nodded. “An estimable man, but a bit eccentric.”
“How is that?” I asked.
“Well …” He looked around to see if any eavesdroppers lurked nearby. “He is rumored to practice surgery. Cutting with the knife is strictly forbidden by the Hippocratic oath.”
“Apollo forbid it!” I said, scandalized.
“And”—he lowered his voice even further—“it is rumored that he does
his own stitching
, something even the lowest surgeon leaves to his slaves!”
his own stitching
, something even the lowest surgeon leaves to his slaves!”
“No!” I said. “Surely this is some scurrilous rumor spread by his enemies!”
“Perhaps you’re right, but the world isn’t what is used to be. I noticed you’ve met Iphicrates. That wild man also believes in
practical
applications.” He pronounced the word like something forbidden by ritual law.
practical
applications.” He pronounced the word like something forbidden by ritual law.
Now, I knew these rumors about Asklepiodes to be true. Over the years, he had sewn up about a mile of my own hide. But he always did this in strict secrecy, because these Plato-crazed old loons of the academic world thought that it was blasphemous for a professional philosopher (and physicians accounted themselves philosophers) to
do
anything. A man could spend his whole career pondering the possibilities of leverage, but for him to pick up a stick, lay it across a fulcrum and employ it to shift a rock would be unthinkable. That would be
doing
something. Philosophers were only supposed to think.
do
anything. A man could spend his whole career pondering the possibilities of leverage, but for him to pick up a stick, lay it across a fulcrum and employ it to shift a rock would be unthinkable. That would be
doing
something. Philosophers were only supposed to think.
I extricated myself from the Librarian, looked around and saw Berenice, Fausta and Julia talking to a man who wore, among other things, an enormous python. The purple robe with its golden stars and the towering diadem with its lunar crescent looked familiar. Even in Alexandria one didn’t see a getup like that every day. It was Ataxas, the future-foretelling, miracle-working prophet from Asia Minor.
“Decius Caecilius,” Berenice said, “come here. You must meet the Holy Ataxas, Avatar on Earth of Baal-Ahriman.” This, as
near as I could figure it, was a combination of two if not more Asiatic deities. There was always something like that coming out of Asia Minor.
near as I could figure it, was a combination of two if not more Asiatic deities. There was always something like that coming out of Asia Minor.
“On behalf of the Senate and People of Rome,” I said, “I greet you, Ataxas.”
He performed one of those Eastern bows that require much fluttering of the fingers.
“All the world trembles before the might of Rome,” he intoned. “All the world marvels at her wisdom and justice.”
I couldn’t very well argue with that. “I understand you have an … an establishment here in Alexandria,” I said lamely.
“The Holy One has a splendid new temple near the Serapeum,” Berenice said.
“Her Highness has graciously endowed the Temple of Baal-Ahriman, to her everlasting glory,” Ataxas said, fondling his snake.
And used Roman money to do it, I’d no doubt. This was ominous. Obviously, Ataxas was the latest in Berenice’s long chain of religious enthusiasms.
“Tomorrow we sacrifice fifty bulls to consecrate the new temple,” the princess said. “You must come.”
“Alas,” I said, “I’ve already promised to take Julia to see the Museum.” I looked desperately at her for affirmation.
“Oh, yes,” she said, to my great relief. “Decius is intimate with the great scholars. He’s promised to give me the whole tour.”
“Perhaps the next day, then,” Berenice urged. “The priestesses will perform the rite of self-flagellation and worship the god in ecstatic dance.”
That sounded more like it. “I think we can—”
Julia trod on my toe. “Alas, that is the day Decius has promised to show me the sights of the city: the Paneum, the Soma, the Heptastadion …”
“Oh, what a pity,” Berenice said. “It is a sublime spectacle.”
“There’s Fausta,” Julia said, “I must speak with her. Come along, Decius.” She took my arm and steered me away. Ataxas looked after us sardonically.
“I don’t see Fausta,” I said.
“Neither do I. But I don’t know how long I could keep dodging invitations to that fraud’s odious temple.”
“What savages!” I said. “Fifty bulls! Even Jupiter only demands one at a time.”
“I noticed you weren’t all that averse to watching a bunch of barbarian priestesses flogging themselves into a frenzy and dancing like naked Bacchantes.”
“If you’re asking whether I prefer a brothel to a butcher shop, I confess that I do. I’m not entirely without taste.”
In the course of the evening, we were invited to the rites of at least a dozen loathsome Oriental deities. Most of these were touted by transient religion-mongers much like Ataxas. As Rufus had predicted, I had discovered that the place of these religious frauds was quite different in Alexandria. In Rome, the followers of crackpot cults were drawn almost exclusively from the slaves and the poorest of plebeians. In Alexandria, the wealthiest and highest persons lavished money and attention on these disreputable fakes. They would adopt them as matters of fashion and rave about the latest unwashed prophet as the leader to the one true path of enlightenment. For a few months, anyway. Few of the nobility of Egypt had the tenacity of attention possessed by a ten-year-old child.
The scholars were nearly as tiresome. Before the reception was over, Iphicrates of Chios had managed to get into arguments with at least six guests. Why anyone would argue over abstract matters escaped me. We Romans were ever an argumentative lot, but we always argued over important things like property and power.
“Nonsense!” I heard him shout once in his obnoxiously loud voice. Indeed, his conversational tone could be heard all over the reception hall, and in several other rooms besides. “That story about a crane that picked up Roman ships and set them down inside the city walls is patent foolishness!” He had an Armenian ambassador backed into a corner. “The mass of the counterweights would be prohibitive, and the whole thing would be so slow that any ship
could easily avoid it!” He went on about weights and masses and balances, and the other scholars looked deeply embarrassed.
could easily avoid it!” He went on about weights and masses and balances, and the other scholars looked deeply embarrassed.
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