“I’ve read it in copy, but I’m sure the Librarian of the Pergamese Collection will be grateful for its return.”
“But you will find the original far more interesting. It contains more than the text in the copy.”
“And what might that be?”
“First, my price.”
I was expecting that. “How much?”
She laughed. “I have all the money I need. But you belong to the great family of Caecilia Metella.”
“They have no choice but to acknowledge me.”
“Plebeian, but with a line of Consuls and generals and great magistrates almost to the founding of the Republic.”
“You are well educated.”
“So you have great influence. I want to go to Rome. A woman without a protector is less than a slave anywhere in the world except Rome. In Rome, a woman of property has the protection of the law, even if she is not a citizen. In Rome, as a resident foreigner with the patronage of a Caecilius Metellus, I will be secure even when my beauty fades.”
“Commendable foresight,” I said. “You would do even better to contract a marriage of convenience with some impecunious citizen. There are men who do so regularly for a fee. That way, even if he divorces, you will have full citizenship rights, except, of course, for such as are restricted to men—the vote and the right to hold office and so forth. Your children would be citizens.”
“I may do so. But first I must get to Rome. A simple sea passage would get me that, but I don’t wish to be expelled from the city because your Censors decide that immoral foreigners are corrupting the good citizens.”
“It could be done,” I said. “If one of my family or an ally holds the office of Praetor Peregrinus, it would be made easier. Elections come along every year and someone suitable should be in office before long. I can’t protect you from the courts should you operate a house of prostitution, but otherwise you should be safe. Assuming, that is, that the book contains important evidence.”
“Oh, it does!”
“You have it with you?” I asked.
“No. It is too bulky to carry through the city. But I can bring it to you. Will you be at the Roman embassy tomorrow night?”
“To the best of my knowledge.”
“There is to be a reception at the Palace for the new Armenian ambassador. Orodes will be there, with most of the Parthian embassy staff. I can get the scroll at that time and bring it to you.”
“Do so. You will not regret it.”
She came close and for the first time I noticed her perfume. Jasmine, I think. “Just what sort of obligations does Roman patronage demand?” she asked.
“Nothing a man can’t do in public,” I said.
She chuckled. “Well”—she gestured toward the dark entrance—“we could seal our bargain in there, even if it isn’t required by law. It seems to be an old Alexandrian custom.”
I have never been overfastidious, but somehow a quick stand-up in a tomb didn’t appeal to me. Especially with Julia in the same city. She had preternatural senses where other women were concerned. I didn’t really think she could set her uncle Caius Julius on me but there was no sense in taking chances.
“Our bargain depends upon your evidence being what you say it is,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”
“When did a Roman ever fail to use every advantage he could get? Suit yourself, but it’s your loss. I’ll bet you’ve never been with a real Athenian hetaira.”
That was true, but I had never been impressed to know that their accomplishments were in the areas of conversation, eloquence and quick wits. It suggested that they might neglect the important things.
“Another time, perhaps,” I said. “Come, let’s go back to the city.” We walked back like another couple returning from a visit with the dead, my arm about her shoulders and hers around my waist. The guard at the gate opened the little sally port at our knock and collected another fee.
“If they just made this a toll-gate,” I remarked, “Ptolemy wouldn’t be such a beggar.”
She laughed musically, but that might just have been another of her accomplishments. “Are you enjoying your stay in Alexandria?”
“Except for the odd murder and attempt on my life, yes. If one cannot be in Rome, this is the place to be. How did you come to be here?”
“Seeking opportunity. I was raised and trained in the house of Chrysothemis, the most famous hetaira in Athens. It was a good life, as women’s lives go in Athens, but that isn’t saying much. Athenian men can’t perceive even noble ladies as any better than slaves, and there’s little satisfaction in entertaining men who just like an occasional change from their usual boys. So I saved my money and came to Alexandria. Here, among the foreign ambassadors, a genuine Greek hetaira is a mark of status, especially if she’s Athenian. I’ve been in turn concubine to the Libyan, Armenian, Bithynian and Pontic ambassadors, the last back when Mithridates was still king. Now I serve the ambassador from Parthia.”