Tanneries smell so foul that they are banned from the city, so working only fully tanned leather is permitted. Thus the street smelled wonderfully of that most fragrant of substances, and I found myself inhaling deeply as I passed the many shops where tanned hides were cunningly carved into long strips, then stitched and riveted into the many kinds of reins, control lines, breast bands, and cruppers required by the specialized sport of chariot racing.
The two outer horses on a four-horse team are not yoked and must be controlled by the complicated strapping system alone, a tremendously demanding skill and only the finest leather work will do. Newly dyed harness hung from tall drying-racks after being given the colors of the four racing factions.
Still other workers applied the gleaming brass ornamentation to the finished harnesses. In one shop I saw chariots that were little more than skeletons having the webwork of leather strips that form the front, sides, and floor applied to them. Racing chariots are kept as light as possible and are little more than a pair of wheels and an axle with a tiny platform for the charioteer to stand on. The front of the chariot comes no higher than the driver’s knees. To look at them, they seem so flimsy one wonders why they do not fly apart under the stresses of racing.
Yet I had seen Britons go into battle in chariots little more substantial, though they carried two men rather than one. In fact I never saw a chariot without feeling a twinge in my leg. I was once run over by a British chariot and had almost lost that leg. The fact that I still had it was due to the skills and exertions of Caesar’s personal surgeon, a man whose mastery was as great as that of Asklepiodes.
A few questions led me to a three-storied house with a façade painted a vivid yellow, which was a sensible precaution in this part of town. To paint your house red, blue, white, or green would be to declare allegiance to one of the factions and could lead to its being attacked in one of the occasional riots that erupted between the supporters of one color and another. Nonetheless, the ground floor wall was decorated with paintings of the races, not an uncommon motif in the area.
The doorkeeper announced me and soon the tall, saturnine Archelaus appeared. “Senator, welcome to my house.” He took my hands as if no enmity at all lay between our nations. Or, rather, between Rome and Parthia, since he was not of that nation himself. “Please, come with me.” Instead of going to the usual poolside, he led me up three flights of stairs to the roof of the house, which had been turned into a garden with flower boxes, planters, and small trees growing in big clay pots. The arbors overhead were bare, but it was a warm day for the time of year and it was a delightful place to converse. It had a fine view of the imposing northern face of the Circus.
We took chairs beautifully woven from wicker and paused while the usual delicacies were laid out and then did not talk of important things while we ate. He was a Roman citizen from a long-Hellenized part of the east, but I knew that he would follow the eastern practice of eschewing business until a guest has eaten. This was not a difficult habit to gratify, because he laid a table that was a combination of modesty and sumptuousness. Nothing was so bulky as to suggest a full meal, which would have its own set of rituals, but the ingredients of the small dishes were all of the highest quality. The hard-boiled eggs had been halved and the yolks combined with a paste of anchovies, olives, and vinegar and the broiled quail were stuffed with pine-nuts.
Replete, I produced an appreciative belch and set to business. “First, Archelaus, let me express my sympathy for your plight. That scene in the Senate the other day was uncalled for. It was also very unlike Caesar.”
“A number of your colleagues have called upon me and have expressed the same thing. I will not take it as characteristic of the Senate of Rome as a whole.”
“Nor of the Roman people,” I said. “They love Caesar but few Romans are keen on another war with Parthia. They loathed the expedition of Crassus and think he got what he deserved at Carrhae. It was a great shame that so many good Romans died there as well, but it is to be expected when a fool is in charge. I, too, would like to get our eagles back through negotiation.”
“That is understood. Do you bring me a private message from Caesar?”
Everybody expected me to be Caesar’s messenger. I suppose it was a logical assumption. “I’m afraid not. Actually, I come on a matter concerning my investigation of the murdered astronomers.”
“I was wondering how that was progressing. Poor Demades. And he was soon followed by Polasser of Kish, I hear.”
“That is the case. You recall that the neck of Demades was broken in a most singular manner?”