John Roberts - Temple Of Muses

To Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger, Greeting. We have not met. I am Hypatia, concubine to his Excellency Orodes, Ambassador of King Phraates III of Parthia. I have urgent information to convey to you concerning Parthia, Rome and Iphicrates of Chios. Meet me tonight in the Necropolis, in the tomb of Khopshef-Ra. It is the largest tomb on the south edge of the plaza dominated by the Obelisk of the Sphinx. I will be there at moonrise arid will await you for one hour.

"I suppose you'll go," Hermes said. He'd been hanging on every word, naturally. "It's the most foolish thing you can do, so you'll just have to do it."

"You think it's a trap?" I said.

He gaped. "You think there's a possibility it isn't?"

"It's conceivable. The woman has already told Julia that she was privy to correspondence between Iphicrates and the Parthian court. She may well have something she believes is valuable."

"Why should she betray Parthia?"

"She isn't Parthian, she's Greek, and Greeks will betray anybody. Besides, she's a hetaira, a companion hired for the ambassador's stay here. He'll go home to his wife and she'll be looking for another patron, only this time she'll be a few years older than last. It's not the sort of relationship that builds strong loyalty."

"You just want an excuse to go out and seek trouble again," Hermes said.

"Admittedly, that's a part of it. Creticus has forbidden me to pursue this matter any further, and that, to me, is like a bestiarius in the Circus, waving his red kerchief at the bull."

"The purpose of the kerchief," Hermes pointed out, "is to lure the stupid bull onto the spear."

"Don't trifle with my metaphors. Or was that a simile? I am going."

And so, forbidden by a Roman official and warned by a slave, I went forth at dusk to meet with a high-class Greek prostitute.

No desert robe this time. After dark, a simple traveler's cloak was sufficient. A cool wind blew from the sea across the city, making the street-torches flutter. These illuminations are something that would benefit Rome, where the streets are so dark that a man out in them and struck suddenly blind wouldn't know it until morning. At intervals of about fifty paces along the broad streets, these torches burned atop ten-foot poles. They were made of tow or hemp soaked in oil and were tended all night long by public slaves. Between the torches and a fine, full moon, one could walk the streets of nighttime Alexandria as swiftly and assuredly as during the day. More swiftly, in fact, for at night the usual crowds were absent.

Individuals and small parties walked about, going to and from dinner parties and symposia, visiting, carrying out assignations and so forth. Alexandrians don't always go to bed at sunset the way Romans are supposed to.

For much of the route I took the street that paralleled the harbor. On my right hand the Pharos sent its plumes of flame into the night sky, a most impressive sight. I passed the Temple of Poseidon and the northern periphery of the Macedonian barracks, the two huge obelisks, the rows upon rows of warehouses that smelled strongly of papyrus, Alexandria's chief export. At the Moon Gate I turned south along the Street of the Soma, then turned west at the Canopic Way.

Canopic ended at the Necropolis Gate. There I paid the guard to open the gate for me. His was a lucrative duty, because in Alexandria the Necropolis was the popular meeting-place for clandestine lovers.

"How do I find the Obelisk of the Sphinx?" I asked him.

"Just through the gate you'll be on Set Street. Go west for three blocks and turn left on Anubis Street. You'll find the Obelisk of the Sphinx two blocks down. You can't miss it." I thanked him and passed on through.

A necropolis may seem an unlikely place for lovers to meet, but the Necropolis of Alexandria is not like others. It is laid out just like the city, with broad, straight streets. The difference is that the streets are lined with tombs instead of houses. The other factor in its favor is the nature of Egyptian tombs. They are like miniature houses. Whether the chosen architecture and decoration be traditional Egyptian, Greek, Persian or other, the layout was always in the old Egyptian style. You entered a small room like the atrium of a house, where offerings were left for the dead. On the back wall of this room was a tiny window allowing visiters to look into another room which contained a portrait statue of the dead, which the Egyptians believed to contain one of the souls of the dead, or at least a place for the soul to visit when offerings were made. It also provided a refuge for the soul should the mummy be destroyed.

It was the entrance rooms of these cozy buildings that made the Necropolis a resort for lovers, and as I walked through the streets I heard all the usual, passionate sounds of a trysting-place.

There were no torches in the Necropolis, but the full moon provided more than adequate light. The Necropolis swarmed with the inevitable Egyptian cats. I was told that the place was full of mice that came in to eat the food-offerings left in the tombs, and the cats in turn hunted the mice. This seemed to be an equitable arrangement.

As the guard had said, I had no difficulty in finding the Obelisk of the Sphinx. The granite shaft rose from a base that also supported a human-faced lion carved from white marble. The curling ram's horns flanking the human face told me that this was yet another portrait of Alexander, done up for Egyptian tastes.

I scanned the southern edge of the little plaza and saw an imposing tomb of the antique mastaba style said to be even older than the pyramids. The oldest pyramid still standing is just a series of mastabas stacked atop one another in diminishing sizes. Old fashions were always being revived in Alexandria, just as lately, in Rome, there has been a revival of Etruscan art and decor. I went to the tomb and stood before the door.

"Hypatia?" I said in a low voice.

"Come inside," came a feminine voice in an urgent whisper. I was determined to be foolhardy, but on the worst day of my life I was never that stupid.

"You come out here," I said. "If there's anyone else out here, you brought them." I gripped my sword hilt, ready to draw at the first sign of danger. The uncertain light did not bother me. To one accustomed to running fights in Roman alleys at midnight, this was like the Forum at high noon.

There was a stirring from within; then a slight figure came outside. She wore a long gown of some pale color, with a dark palla drawn over her head. As she emerged she lowered the palla to reveal a face of classic beauty. She had the straight, level brows and high-bridged nose so admired by the old Greek sculptors. Her lips were generous, albeit set in a rather hard line. Her eyes were large and they darted around the little plaza.

"I wasn't followed," I told her. "I am knowledgeable at this sort of business."

"That is what Julia told me. She said that you hunt down any who conspire against Rome as relentlessly as the Friendly Ones." She used the euphemism for the dreaded demons because to pronounce their real name can call them down upon the speaker.

"She speaks flatteringly, but I have been of some service to the state in the past. What have you for me?"

"A certain book, a large book of Pergamese skin-paper with vermilion handles."

"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."