At our arrival, the acolytes and priestesses flocked from the Temple of Baal-Ahriman and shoved the mob aside to clear a space for the royal party. Then they prostrated themselves on the pavement and yowled praises of the princess and the royal family. As we descended unsteadily from our litter, they screeched slightly more moderate praises to Rome in the aggregate and to ourselves in particular. We walked ankle-deep through flower petals across the pavement and up the steps of the temple.
Atop the stone platform musicians played endlessly and dancers twirled, sending their skimpy white garments flying. The music was an ear-grating racket, but the dancers were restful to the eye. We assembled atop the stops, waiting for Ataxas to appear. I saw Achillas and edged over toward him.
“Taking time out from your military duties for the good of your spirit, General?” I said.
“When one is a servant of the king,” he answered, “then one humors the whims of princesses.”
“Nothing else could have dragged you here, eh? Any idea what old Baal-Ahriman is going to say?”
He frowned. “How should I know that?”
“Did you know,” I said, exaggerating my tipsiness a bit, “that a man answering your description was seen in Iphicrates’s chambers just before his murder?”
“Are you accusing me of something?” His leather harness creaked with tension.
“Just sharing with you some of the fruits of my investigation.”
“Roman.” He stepped close and all but hissed his words. “Many here are sick of your arrogance and your meddling. Egypt would be far better off without your kind. Your absence would not be difficult to arrange.”
“Why, General Achillas,” I said, “one might almost suspect your devotion to King Ptolemy’s pro-Roman policy.”
“Careful, Senator,” he said. “You’ll need more than a caestus. and a trick punch to deal with me.”
I had goaded him as far as I dared. “Look!” I said, pointing to the arriving Ataxas. “The spectacle begins!” Achillas backed off. This was more important to him than our feud.
Ataxas strode from within the temple like a man sleepwalking. His arms were crossed over his breast and his long, ringleted beard trembled as if in ecstasy at divine visitation. His eyeballs were rolled back in their sockets so that only the whites showed, perhaps another reason for his cautious gait. He stopped before us and everything fell silent.
“Great Baal-Ahriman will speak!” he shouted. “Come within, all ye that are chosen!” He turned around and sleepwalked back into the interior. The acolytes and priestesses quickly sorted out the chosen from the unchosen. The whole royal party went in, of course, cheetahs included. That included the Roman presence. A great crowd tramped after, and soon the whole inside of the temple was jammed with the faithful.
The interior smelled somewhat better than the last time I had been there. Thankfully, the god no longer wore his cape of bulls’ testicles, and the blood had been washed off the pavement. The air was smoky from the volume of burning incense. A single skylight admitted a narrow shaft of light that struck just in front of the idol. The only other light was provided by a few flickering candles and the incense braziers.
Ataxas stood before the statue and began a high, wailing, singsong chant in some foreign language. At least I presumed it was a language. It might have been a string of nonsense syllables selected for their eerie sound. A subdued thumping of tambours and rattle of sistra began, and the acolytes commenced a low, almost whispered chant of likewise incomprehensible words or sounds.
“I’m going to watch to see if his lips move when he talks,” said one of the embassy party.
“How could you tell?” Rufus said. “It looks as if his lips have rotted off from leprosy.”
“Shh.” This from at least a hundred bystanders.
We exalted ones stood in a circle defining a cleared space before the idol. A brazier of hot coals burned just in front of the thing, sending up a thin stream of smoke. An acolyte, head bowed, gave Ataxas a small silver bowl, then backed away. Ataxas raised the bowl high overhead and intoned, in Greek this time:
“Great Baal-Ahriman! Heed your trembling, suppliant worshippers! Visit them as you have promised! Favor them with your divine words, guide them in the path you have chosen. Great Baal-Ahriman, speak to us!”
With that, he emptied the bowl into the brazier before the god and a cloud of smoke went up, carrying with it the smell of frankincense. Then Ataxas fell to his knees and bowed deeply, clutching the bowl against his belly. The shaft of light from the single skylight fell directly upon him.
There was utter silence. I do not think anyone even breathed. The tension stretched, then stretched again, until it was like an overturned lyre-string about to snap. There came an instant when a single laugh would have destroyed the whole carefully constructed edifice of stage setting, but, with impeccable timing, the god spoke.