The Temple of the Muses(80)

“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.”