Temple Of Muses

Chapter VIII

One of the requirements for a career in Roman politics is an onerous but necessary apprenticeship in the civil service. Nobody likes it, but at least it teaches you how a state works. This is why kings so often rule badly. They know public life only from the top. They like the enjoyable parts: fighting and killing their enemies, lording it over everybody else, being above the law. But the rest of it bores them, and they leave it to men or sometimes eunuchs who may have ambitions of their own. Since the kings don't know how the business of government operates, they don't know that their flunkies are incompetent, or are robbing or even subverting them.

Washed free of mud and soot and dressed decently once more, I presented myself at the Land Office, a sizable government building near the Palace. I knew that here I would find the exact boundaries and ownership of every square inch of land in Egypt. The Egyptians invented the art of surveying out of necessity, since their lands are inundated yearly and boundary markers are often swept away. Like most conquerors, the Ptolemies had adopted the most beneficial practices of the conquered people, and this office was staffed almost entirely by native Egyptians. In the first room I entered, a public slave hurried over, bowing.

"How may I help you, sir?"

"Where might I find maps and documents concerning the lands nearest Alexandria?"

"Please come with me." We walked past rooms where scribes sat cross-legged in the Egyptian fashion, papyrus resting on their tight-stretched kilts, brushes in their hands, inkpots resting on the floor next to them. Others labored over maps spread on long tables.

"This is the Office of the Royal Nome, Senator, and this is Sethotep, Royal Overseer of the Northern Survey."

The man rose from his desk and came forward. He was a native and simply dressed, but by now I had learned to judge status by the quality of a man's wig and the weave of his kilt. Sethotep was a high-ranking functionary, about equivalent to a Roman equite. We made the expected introductions and I launched upon the story I had made up.

"I have embarked upon a work of geography concerning Egypt. There has been none in Latin in more than fifty years, and the earlier works are translations from Greek and consequently riddled with errors. I think we need an original book of our own."

"A commendable project," said Sethotep.

"I have already embarked upon my work concerning the city of Alexandria, and I want to begin my study of the nearby lands. I propose to start with Lake Mareotis and the lands surrounding it. Have you any maps of the lake? I would prefer survey maps, listing the estates of the district and their owners."

"Certainly, Senator," said Sethotep. He stepped over to a rack like the ones in the Library and took out a large scroll. "Of course, all land in Egypt is the property of his Majesty King Ptolemy, but, after ancient custom, the king grants dominion over broad estates to his loyal nobles." That was just what I wanted to hear.

He took the map to a long table and slipped it from its leather tube. To clear a space for it, he picked up some scraps of papyrus, glanced at them, then tossed them into a huge box at the end of the table. The box was half full. The Egyptian bureaucracy generated ten times the waste papyrus of its Roman equivalent. The stuff was cheap in Egypt and they didn't even try to reuse it.

"Where does all the waste papyrus go?" I asked him idly.

"Every month the coffin-makers come to empty the bins," he answered.

"Coffin-makers? Really?" Another strangeness out of Egypt.

"Oh, yes. Wood is very precious in Egypt. Only the wealthy can afford wooden mummy cases. The coffin-makers mix the papyrus with glue and mold it into mummy cases for the poorer and middling classes. As long as the tomb is sealed it will last as well as wood, or so they claim. Personally, I prefer to trust wood. My own tomb is almost finished, and I have provided coffins for myself and my wife made of the finest Lebanese cedar." Romans are fond of funerals and mortuary preparations but the subject is a veritable mania with Egyptians, who believe in an attractive afterlife. Give them a chance and they'll chatter on about it for hours.

"This is the lake," he said, his map now spread and its corners weighted. The lake thus displayed was irregular in shape, as most lakes are. Lines drawn at intervals defined the estates that bordered it, but the lettering was the sort called Demotic, a simplified form of hieroglyphic that represents phonetic sounds like the Greek or Latin alphabets, but only Egyptian is thus written, Thus did the Egyptians assure their place in the Ptolemaic service. Only they could read their maps or surveys.

"Are these the names of the landowners?" I asked him. "I shall be taking a tour of the lake, and I may wish to call upon some of them."

"Well, let me see. Going from the canal westward:"

"Actually, I was planning to begin by going east. Who is the landlord of this estate?" I put my finger on the area where I had been that very morning.

Sethotep considered the inscription for a moment. "That estate belongs to the Lord Kassandros. It has been held by direct inheritance from an ancestor who was a companion of Ptolemy Soter, first of the royal line."

This was bitterly disappointing. I had never heard of the man.

"So it is to this Lord Kassandros that I must make representation if I wish to visit this estate?"

"For some years now, Lord Kassandros has lived in retirement on his estate in the Arsinoene Nome, on the shores of the Faiyum."

"He has more than one estate, then?" I said.

"Like many kings, the Ptolemies have held to the policy of giving the greater lords a number of estates scattered about the kingdom, rather than one large holding. It reduces jealousy among the great men and assures that each gets some of the best land as well as some of the middling and some of the barren land."

It also keeps them traveling among their estates and prevents them from having a large base of power, I thought.

"Very wise. Then to whom should I speak?"

He adjusted his wig, which had come somewhat askew. "That estate may be overseen by a steward, or it may be supervised by one of Lord Kassandros's sons. The Lord Philip is the elder, but he is Steward of the Royal Quarries, and spends most of his time near the first cataract. The younger, the Lord General Achillas, is usually to be found here in Alexandria. You might apply at the Macedonian barracks or at Lord Achillas's town house, but I am sure that his Majesty will be pleased to send a messenger on your behalf. To please Rome is always our most ardent desire."

I could have kissed him. "I shall do as you advise at once, friend Sethotep. And now, I must be off."

"But there is still much to learn of the lake," he said.

"Another time. I have an appointment at the Palace that cannot wait."

He looked unhappy to see me go. I could sympathize. A bureaucrat often has few people to talk to, save the toilers in his own office. The visit had not been wasted. Now I felt I had something to report.

Creticus looked up from his desk grumpily. Apparently I had missed a party the previous night.

"That was a short hunting trip. Did you kill anything?"

"No, but I spotted some promising quarry. Do you have a little time, and is it safe to discuss sensitive matters here?"

"Found a plot to your liking? Oh, come on, then, let's take a turn around the garden. I suspect that some of the embassy slaves aren't as ignorant of Latin as they pretend."

In the olive orchard I told him of my findings and my suspicions. He nodded gravely, but that was just habit. It's a skill every Roman politician learns. He might have been calculating odds on the next races, as far as I knew.

"This sounds ominous," he admitted when I was finished. "But why are you so happy to find out that it was Achillas's land, other than having knocked out his lieutenant, a fact which secretly delights much of the court?"

"Why, because this means it's not Ptolemy," I said.

"And why does that make you happy?"

"First of all, it means that Ptolemy can discipline his own fractious nobleman, and Rome need not take too open a hand in it, sparing Egyptian feelings. And second-well, I just like the old buffoon. He's harmless and good company when he's conscious, and I don't think he's hostile to Rome."

Creticus shook his head. "Decius, you have a fine nose for the devious and underhanded, but your grasp of the obvious leaves much to be desired."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Several shiploads of timber, you said?"

"At least."

"And that tremendous tower is entirely plated with iron?"

"Do you think I exaggerate? It's covered with the stuff-oh, I see."

"Exactly. How rich do you think Achillas is? There are no nobles in Egypt as rich as Crassus, and that much iron bought all at once would bankrupt a small kingdom."

I should have thought of it. When Sethotep told me that Achillas was a younger son, I should have realized that Achillas probably owned little more than his arms and his arrogance. There was great wealth behind those military contraptions.

"But Ptolemy is a beggar!" I protested.

"Makes you wonder where all that money we've given him went, doesn't it?"

My mind darted around. Somehow, even discounting my rueful affection for the old winebag, I couldn't picture Ptolemy as the mastermind behind this absurd bid for power through superior machinery. Another thought came to me.

"Perhaps Achillas is front man for a horde of those disaffected satraps and nomarchs we've been hearing about," I hazarded.

"That's more like it. But I can't see them pooling their wealth and keeping it secret at the same time. Support with words, yes, and promises of aid and alliance once war is joined, that I can imagine. But parting with substantial money? These little Macedonian and Egyptian lordlings are too jealous of one another for that. Each would think he was giving more than his share, that the others were cheating him. And, Decius, you must learn one thing about all large-scale foreign conspiracies against Rome. Heed me, now, because you'll run into it many times if you live long enough." This was the older generation of Metelli teaching the younger, so I listened respectfully. I also knew that it would be damned good advice, because the elders of my family knew domestic and world politics as few other people did.

"If many men of small power are asked to combine against us, there are always some who know that their future lies in bringing word to us and aiding us against their fellows. Many a little chieftain has become a subject-king that way." I was to recall these words in later years when I encountered Antipater and his ferocious, gifted son, Herod. "No one has come to us with news of this conspiracy, expressing a willingness to replace Ptolemy on the throne in Alexandria."

"Then what could it be?" I demanded. "Someone has decided that Roman might can be challenged with these ridiculous machines, and has expended vast wealth on the possibility."

"Well, that's the sort of thing you're supposed to be good at ferreting out. Get to it." With that, he left me pondering among the olives. That was where Julia found me.

"You look unusually grave this morning," she said.

"This is what I look like when I'm torn between elation and distress," I said. Then I brought her up to date on my discoveries of the previous day and that morning.

"Why didn't you take me on your spying mission?" she said, which was just like her.

"For one thing, you've limited experience of guerrilla warfare."

"You just wanted to go off adventuring by yourself," she retorted.

"It could have turned very dangerous. I don't want you hurt over this matter. The Caesars would never forgive me."

"As if you cared about them." Having established some form of verbal victory, she went on. "Have you seen the streets this morning?"

"They seemed rather crowded. Is there some sort of religious holiday being celebrated?"

"People are streaming in from the countryside. It seems that Ataxas has had another vision. Baal-Ahriman will speak very soon, ushering in a new age for Egypt and the world. People are dropping everything else to be there."

"If it's this crowded near the Palace, what must the Rakhotis be like?"

"I expect to find out. Berenice and a large party of her social set will be going to the temple this afternoon. She has invited Fausta and me to go with her. Would you like to go as well?"

"I wouldn't miss it for anything!" I said.

Her eyes narrowed. "I'll bet you think those priestesses will flog themselves again."

"No, far from it. The poor dears aren't recovered from last time. It's something else."

Even narrower. "What?"

"I'll have to muse it over for a while," I said, unaware at first of my unintended wordplay.

"Muse? Who is the Muse of snoops and investigators?"

"A good question. Clio comes the closest, I suspect. She is the Muse of history, and I try to uncover the truth behind historic lies. Or perhaps there's another Muse, a nameless one for men like me."

"Your genius is a strange one. Uncle Caius has often said so." Always Uncle Caius.

I rounded up Rufus and some of the livelier members of the embassy staff and told them of the upcoming sport. We had the huge official litter brought and loaded it up with enough food and wine for a minor banquet. We ended up with a party of six, each man bringing a personal slave to attend to his needs. Then we waited by the main Palace gate for Berenice's party.

"If the streets are so crowded," Rufus said, "these land-going triremes are going to take hours just to get to the Rakhotis." He should have known that would be taken care of.

When Berenice's party arrived, it was preceded by a flying wedge of a hundred Macedonian soldiers to help ease its passage. The men were dressed in the flashing bronze armor and towering scarlet plumes of the Palace guard. Behind them came Berenice's massive palanquin containing her personal favorites, including Julia and Fausta, a horde of slaves, dwarfs and dancers, plus numerous hissing cheetahs and frolicking baboons.

"I am so happy you have decided to join us!" Berenice yelled over the noise. "Just fall in behind my conveyance. The others will make room for you."

We did as directed, and the riders in the two other litters looked annoyed at being thus separated from their deity. I got a particularly ferocious glare from Achillas, who rode in the second litter. I was not surprised to see him there. Then, amid a shrilling of flutes and a pounding of drums, the twang of harps and the rattle of sistra, we were off.

Even with the soldiery clearing the way, our progress through the streets of Alexandria was leisurely. Densely packed mobs can get out of the way only so fast. From the Palace we took the Street of Argeus south to the Canopic Way, where we turned west like a line of warships veering into harbor on a still day. The crowds cheered us and sang praises to Berenice even as the soldiers' spears poked them out of our path. Flowers showered us, for everyone seemed to be wearing garlands. A good many were also draped with snakes, which I was grateful they did not throw at us.

"It's shaping up to be a lively day," Rufus said, his head now sporting a rose wreath.

"Things must be getting really raucous at the temple," I said, holding out my cup, which Hermes promptly filled.

"At this rate we may miss the statue speaking," said one of the staff.

"Have no fear," I told him. "That god is not going to speak until the princess and all the most important dignitaries are present."

"If this god has such a regard for royalty," Rufus said, "why does he operate through a greasy little Asiatic prophet?"

"Alien gods are strange, are they not?" I agreed. "Our gods make their will known through omens sent to the augurs; an orderly and sensible system. Asian deities are altogether an emotional and irrational lot. They depend much on enthusiasm, oblique utterances and coincidence. Although sometimes those coincidences can turn out to be convenient for certain parties."

"Eh?" Rufus said. "You're babbling again, Decius."

"I'll make you a little wager," I said. "Five hundred denarii says this god is about to predict a sudden shift in Egyptian-Roman relations."

"You know something, Decius," he said. "You can't fool me. You bet on chariots and gladiators because you fancy yourself an expert. You wouldn't offer a wager like that if you weren't privy to some inside information. What is it? Have you been seeing one of those priestesses for a bit of clandestine flagellation?"

"Not at all," I said, my dignity offended. "I have arrived at this conclusion through a process of deduction." They all laughed and hooted at me.

"You've been hanging out with those old philosophers too much, Metellus," one of them said. "You've begun to fancy yourself one of them. Deduction, indeed!"

"And," I went on, ignoring them, "I want you all to testify to Creticus that I predicted it beforehand. He'll think I made it all up afterwards, otherwise."

"You've delved too deep into the wine, Decius," Rufus insisted. The rest of them agreed loudly, pelting me with some of the rose blossoms that littered the palanquin.

"Then," I said through my teeth, scenting blood, "you won't all mind betting me five hundred denarii that I'm wrong."

That gave them pause, but Rufus assented and the others, not wishing to appear timid, one by one agreed to the wager. Hermes leaned forward and refilled my cup.

"Where are you going to get twenty-five hundred denarii?" he muttered in my ear.

"Have no fear. Just start planning how you're going to steal it from me."

As we passed the Great Serapeum we saw the crowds backed up on its steps, so dense was the crush in that part of town. This, I thought, was the result of more than a sudden, flying rumor. Some real advance planning had gone into getting this mob assembled here on this day. The whole polyglot fabric of Alexandria was there, people of every nation present to enjoy the spectacle, but there was a huge majority of native Egyptians, more even than one would expect of a district like the Rakhotis. Most looked like peasants out of the fields, but there were a good many townsmen of the merchant, artisan and scribe classes. The only group that seemed conspicuously absent were the priests of the traditional gods, although some might have been present in disguise, which for an Egyptian priest consisted of doffing his leopard-skin cape and donning a wig.

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 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.

"AEGYPTOI!!" This in Greek, of course, and I have rendered the first word in that language because it sounds so impressive that way. The word seemed to thunder from every corner of the temple, a deep, stone-shaking voice that roared like a waterfall. There was a collective gasp and several people fainted. We Romans, made of sterner stuff, gulped a quick drink and listened to the rest.

"EGYPTIANS! I, BAAL-AHRIMAN, SPEAK TO YOU AS THE NEW VOICE OF THE GODS OF EGYPT! I SPEAK WITH THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT GODS, OF AMON, HORUS, ISIS AND OSIRIS, APIS AND SUKHMET, THOTH, SEBEK, ANUBIS, NUT AND SET. I SPEAK WITH THE VOICE OF HAPI OF THE UPPER NILE AND HAPI OF THE LOWER NILE, I SPEAR AS THE DJED PILLAR AND THE FEATHER OF MA'AT! I SPEAK WITH THE VOICE OF THE GODS OF GREECE. ZEUS, APOLLO, ARES, DIONYSUS, HERMES, HADES, APHRODITE, HERA, ATHENA, HEPHAESTUS, PAN. I SPEAK FOR ALL THE PHARAOHS OF EGYPT, AND FOR THE GODS OF ALEXANDRIA, SERAPIS AND THE DIVINE ALEXANDER!"

And, through all these pronouncements, the mouth of the idol actually seemed to move! The jaws did not move on mechanical hinges. Any fabrication so crude we would have detected instantly. Instead, the fanged mouth worked in some subtle manner that seemed to coincide with the spoken words. Tiny flashes like pale lightning seemed to come from the mouth as well, as if a god's words could be seen as well as heard. I knew that somehow we were being duped, but my scalp prickled anyway, I glanced at my companions and wondered whether I looked as foolish as they did, with their jaws hanging and. their eyes bugged out.

Many of the worshippers prostrated themselves on the floor, Berenice groveled with her face to the marble. Julia and Fausta stood beside her, looking both concerned and embarrassed. Achillas looked on with a smug smile.

"BEHOLD!" the hideous god boomed forth. "BEHOLD! I PROCLAIM A NEW DAWN FOR THE RED LAND AND THE BLACK! HORUS THE SUN RISES FOR EGYPT! IT IS NIGHTFALL FOR THE BARBARIANS!"

"Barbarians!" Rufus huffed. "We're not the barbarians, they are!"

"EGYPT IS FIRST AMONG THE NATIONS OF THE WORLD. EGYPT IS THE MOST ANCIENT OF LANDS. FOR THREE THOUSAND YEARS EGYPT WAS THE ONLY CIVILIZED NATION OF THE WORLD. EGYPT WILL BE FOREMOST AGAIN! I, BAAL-AHRIMAN, THE NEW, SUPREME GOD OF EGYPT, PROCLAIM IT SO! I SHALL SPEAK TO MY PEOPLE AGAIN! THEY MUST PROVE THEMSELVES FIT TO HEAR MY WORDS!" The god fell silent and his mouth no longer moved, if indeed it had in the first place.

People began to get shakily to their feet. Some stayed prone, wailing and shaking their heads. Others ran outside, presumably to spread the good news among the faithful. The Egyptians muttered among themselves, and some of them cast dark looks toward us Romans.

"I think it might be a good idea to return to the embassy," Rufus said. He and the others looked a bit shaken, although not exactly awestruck. It was the ominous implications of the god's message that disturbed them. I was not quite ready to leave, though. As they filed out, I went over to where Achillas stood.

"Do you think old Baal-Ahriman meant to include Macedonians among those barbarians for whom night comes on apace?" I said.

He smiled, showing long, sharp teeth. "But we Macedonians have ruled in Egypt since Alexander. We're virtual Egyptians ourselves now. No, it is my opinion that the god wants the overbearing Romans expelled from our midst. However, I am a mere humble servant of the king. I leave the interpretation of divine prophecy to the priests." He nodded in the direction of Ataxas.

Ataxas himself had sprawled on his back and lay jerking and thrashing about, foamy spittle flying from his lips. The silver bowl lay by him on the floor, the rays from the skylight gleaming from its polished interior.

"And now, Roman," Achillas said, "it might be best if you and your friends were to vacate this area. Alexandrian crowds are emotional and given to enthusiasm. Should they choose to interpret this event as a call for the expulsion of Romans, I would not be able to answer for your safety."

"You have a hundred soldiers. What is the rabble outside to that?"

He shrugged, making his harness creak once more. "Our duty is to guard the princess, not some band of Roman sightseers who tagged along for the fun."

"You have two patrician ladies in your party," I said. "They are under the princess's protection, surely." We looked to where Julia and Fausta were helping Berenice to her feet. The princess was in only marginally better condition than Ataxas. Her hair and clothes had become extremely disheveled in an amazingly short time, and it looked as if the acolytes had been somewhat lax about dusting the floor.

"Of course, I shall be most diligent in guarding the princess's honored guests," Achillas said. "Safe journey, Roman."

I turned my back on him and went to Julia.

"Things may get rough outside," I said quietly. "This is a scheme to stir the Egyptians up against us. Stay close to the princess. Achillas says he'll keep you safe, but we men are going to have to run for it."

She frowned. "But nothing was said about Rome."

"Yes. Very innocent. What do you want to bet that's not the word being spread outside? Goodbye, dear. See you at the Palace." With that, I ran. I thought they would be safe enough. Their gowns were all but identical to those of Greek ladies. As long as they didn't yell something in Latin, nobody would take them for Romans. It was different for the men. Our togas, short hair and clean-shaven faces were unmistakable.

Outside, the rest of my party gestured impatiently for me to ascend our litter. The crowd was muttering and jabbering away, everyone confused about exactly what had happened. As yet, there was no concerted action.

"Get aboard, Decius!" Rufus called. I climbed up and settled in. The bearers hauled us to their shoulders and started to push their way through the crowd.

"What was that all about?" asked one of the staff. "What does it mean?"

"What it means," I said, pouring myself some refreshment, "is that you each owe me five hundred denarii."

"I protest," someone said. "That leper-god never mentioned Rome!"

"I said, if you will recall, that his words would proclaim a sudden change in relations between Rome and Egypt," I pointed out. "He said in there that Egypt was to be the foremost nation in the world. If that isn't a change in Roman-Egyptian relations, what is?" Where only lately we had been pelted with flowers, we began to be pelted with fruit peels.

"It was an awfully short message," Rufus said, ducking a handful of camel dung. "I rather expected something longer."

"You have to keep it short when you're employing conjurer's mummery," I said. "Another minute and we would have figured out that trick with the idol's mouth."

"How did he do that?" said a secretary. "It was awfully impressive."

"I propose to find out," I said. People were pointing fingers at us from all over the plaza. We were not yet into a street.

"I haven't heard any anti-Roman slogans yet," said the secretary. These men were used to hearing such slogans in various parts of the world.

"That's because none of us speaks Egyptian," I told him. "The acolytes are spreading a highly colored version of Baal-Ahriman's words."

"You seem to know an awful lot about this, Decius," Rufus groused.

"All it takes is intelligence," I told him. "That's something best left to me. Can't these bearers go any faster?"

We weren't under attack yet, but the jeers and pelting were getting more ominous.

"I suppose they can," Rufus said. He began to rummage among the cushions. "Let's see, there ought to be a whip in here someplace. Aha!" He came up with a long, snakelike lash of braided rhinoceros hide. He leaned out over the railing of our platform and brought his arm down in a mighty swing. "Get a move on, you scum!" Not the most adroit of whipmen, he managed to backlash himself, drawing a stripe from his left buttock to his right shoulder. He fell back howling and the rest of us laughed until tears ran down our faces.

"This is rare sport," said the secretary, "but this crowd is getting meaner."

By this time we were in a street and were almost past the Great Serapeum. The people ahead of us had not yet been told of the divine word, but they were ignorantly blocking our progress.

"That's it," someone said. "Time to lighten ship. You slaves get off."

"Not on your buggering life!" Hermes said stoutly, "That mob's ready to eat anything with a Roman haircut."

"Insolent little bastard," the same someone said. "He needs discipline, Metellus."

"And you need sobering up," I told him. I picked up the whip and climbed over the railing and went down the steps until I stood just above the carrying-poles, I sent the whip whistling through the air and made it pop thunderously. I had taken whip lessons from a charioteer of the Red faction in my youth.

"We are already going as fast as we can, master!" protested the pacesetter.

"Then get ready to run," I said. I slashed the whip over the heads of the crowd in front of us.

"Make way!" I bellowed. "Make way for the majesty of Rome, you silly foreigners!" I popped the whip like a madman and the crowd melted away before us magically. I have no idea where they went. Into doorways and windows, possibly. When their blood was not up, there was nothing more instantly responsive to authority than the Alexandrians.

The bearers began to trot, then to run as I continued to flail the air as if bringing down a harpy with every blow. The Romans in the litter clapped and cheered me on. Soon I was wishing we had another litter to race against, for I think we made it back to the Palace in record time. After the first quarter-mile there was no crowd to speak of, since nearly everyone in the city had gone to the Rakhotis, but this was so much fun it seemed pointless to slow down.

When we were safe within the Palace precincts, the litter almost tipped over as all the right-hand bearers collapsed at once, coughing and vomiting. Somehow disaster was averted, though, and we dismounted safely.

"I didn't know you were so handy with a whip," Hermes said uneasily.

"Keep it in mind," I advised him. The rest of the Roman party congratulated me and clapped me on the shoulder.

"Just don't forget the five hundred denarii," I told them. Then I went to seek out Creticus.