The Temple of the Muses(67)
“I’ll do what I can, but I have a feeling that the safest thing for you would be a swift ship for Rome and a nice, safe trial before the Senate. My uncle’s influence …”
“I don’t want to be beholden to Caius Julius,” I snapped. “Besides, what good is the influence of a Consul if my own family wants me exiled for disgracing them? Just find out where that house is. I’ll bribe a slave to file these chains off if I have to. Now go. And see about Asklepiodes!”
She leaned forward and kissed me, then she whirled and was gone. She was a sweet, brave girl, but I knew that business in the Daphne would plague me for the rest of my life.
She left the lamp, and after a while this feeble light was sufficient for me to see my abode. It was the wine cellar. An open channel of running water passed through the room, and the amphorae of wine were set in the water to keep cool. An ingenious system of underground channels connected Alexandria to the Nile, and the water ran through the basements of most of the buildings and houses of the city, supplying them with water and giving them drainage for the sewers.
Using this room for disciplinary purposes had a certain fiendish ingenuity, for the length of the neck-chain kept the wine forever out of reach, inflicting the punishment of Tantalus. Luckily, wine was the last thing on my mind. But the smell of the river water increased my already raging thirst.
After a while the door opened again and several men came down the steps. Some of them were armed. Creticus was with them. At his gesture the Whipper and the Binder unlocked my bonds and hauled me to my feet.
“Decius,” Creticus said, “I’ve arranged for a hearing before King Ptolemy, before this situation gets completely out of hand. He’s given us safe-conduct to the throne room and back.”
“Water,” I said. A slave dipped a bowl in the river water and brought it to me. Hoping it wouldn’t make me deathly ill, I drank until I thought I could speak without choking.
“Wouldn’t it be safer to have him come here?” I asked. “This is Roman territory.”
“A king does not go out of his way to do favors for a degenerate murderer, even one from Rome. Count yourself lucky.”
“Achillas is behind this,” I said.
Creticus turned to the others. “Wash him up and get him dressed. Be quick about it and don’t let him out of your sight.”
He went back up the stairs and I was dragged up behind him. In the bathhouse I washed and was barbered and I drank a great deal more water. Cleaned up and in fresh clothes, I felt infinitely better. Even a guilty man looks good in a toga. The Roman party was assembled in the atrium. I didn’t see Rufus there.
“Let’s go,” Creticus snapped. “And act like Romans!” We descended the steps of the embassy. At the bottom of the steps, the extent of Roman territory, a double file of Macedonian soldiers extended from embassy to Palace. All the usual gawkers gawked as we made our stately way.
In the throne room, we found Ptolemy decked out in full monarchial fig. It was a typically Alexandrian mixture. He wore a Macedonian royal robe of Tyrian purple heavily embroidered with gold, much like a Roman triumphal robe. On his head was the double crown of Egypt, the white crown towering from within the red crown. On its forepeak were the heads of the cobra and the vulture. Everything in Egypt is doubled, for Upper and Lower Egypt. In his hands were the crook and the flail, and attached to his chin was the silly little false beard that signified the power of the Pharaohs. For a wonder, he appeared to be sober.
Achillas was there as well, along with a number of men in Parthian clothing. Berenice was there but had, thankfully, left her cheetahs behind, along with the baboons and dwarfs. There was a great gaggle of court hangers-on, and I saw Julia among them, chatting up the ladies. Fausta stood by Berenice, looking as sardonic as usual.
“Quintus Caecilius Metellus Creticus,” Ptolemy began, “grave charges have been brought against your kinsman Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger. A free woman, a resident foreigner residing in Alexandria, was found murdered in his bed this morning. All evidence points to his guilt. What have you to say?”
“Your Majesty, my kinsman Decius is a rash and foolish young man, but I hardly think him capable of coldblooded murder. Be that as it may, the embassy is by ancient custom Roman territory, and by rights it is a Roman court which should try him.”
“Your Majesty,” cried Achillas, “this cannot be set aside so easily. Another embassy is involved. The woman Hypatia, murdered by the younger Metellus, was the bound concubine of my good friend, his Excellency Orodes, Ambassador of King Phraates III of Parthia.”