John Roberts - Temple Of Muses

"Plebeian, but with a line of Consuls and generals and great magistrates almost to the founding of the Republic."

"You are well educated."

"So you have great influence. I want to go to Rome. A woman without a protector is less than a slave anywhere in the world except Rome. In Rome, a woman of property has the protection of the law, even if she is not a citizen. In Rome, as a resident foreigner with the patronage of a Caecilius Metellus, I will be secure even when my beauty fades."

"Commendable foresight," I said. "You would do even better to contract a marriage of convenience with some impecunious citizen. There are men who do so regularly for a fee. That way, even if he divorces, you will have full citizenship rights, except, of course, for such as are restricted to men-the vote and the right to hold office and so forth. Your children would be citizens."

"I may do so. But first I must get to Rome. A simple sea passage would get me that, but I don't wish to be expelled from the city because your Censors decide that immoral foreigners are corrupting the good citizens."

"It could be done," I said. "If one of my family or an ally holds the office of Praetor Peregrinus, it would be made easier. Elections come along every year and someone suitable should be in office before long. I can't protect you from the courts should you operate a house of prostitution, but otherwise you should be safe. Assuming, that is, that the book contains important evidence."

"Oh, it does!"

"You have it with you?" I asked. "No. It is too bulky to carry through the city. But I can bring it to you. Will you be at the Roman embassy tomorrow night?"

"To the best of my knowledge."

"There is to be a reception at the Palace for the new Armenian ambassador. Orodes will be there, with most of the Parthian embassy staff. I can get the scroll at that time and bring it to you."

"Do so. You will not regret it."

She came close and for the first time I noticed her perfume. Jasmine, I think. "Just what sort of obligations does Roman patronage demand?" she asked.

"Nothing a man can't do in public," I said.

She chuckled. "Well"-she gestured toward the dark entrance-"we could seal our bargain in there, even if it isn't required by law. It seems to be an old Alexandrian custom."

I have never been overfastidious, but somehow a quick stand-up in a tomb didn't appeal to me. Especially with Julia in the same city. She had preternatural senses where other women were concerned. I didn't really think she could set her uncle Caius Julius on me, but there was no sense in taking chances.

"Our bargain depends upon your evidence being what you say it is," I said. "I wouldn't want to take advantage."

"When did a Roman ever fail to use every advantage he could get? Suit yourself, but it's your loss. I'll bet you've never been with a real Athenian hetaira."

That was true, but I had never been impressed to know that their accomplishments were in the areas of conversation, eloquence and quick wits. It suggested that they might neglect the important things.

"Another time, perhaps," I said. "Come, let's go back to the city." We walked back like another couple returning from a visit with the dead, my arm about her shoulders and hers around my waist. The guard at the gate opened the little sally port at our knock and collected another fee.

"If they just made this a toll-gate," I remarked, "Ptolemy wouldn't be such a beggar."

She laughed musically, but that might just have been another of her accomplishments. "Are you enjoying your stay in Alexandria?"

"Except for the odd murder and attempt on my life, yes. If one cannot be in Rome, this is the place to be. How did you come to be here?"

"Seeking opportunity. I was raised and trained in the house of Chrysothemis, the most famous hetaira in Athens. It was a good life, as women's lives go in Athens, but that isn't saying much. Athenian men can't perceive even noble ladies as any better than slaves, and there's little satisfaction in entertaining men who just like an occasional change from their usual boys. So I saved my money and came to Alexandria. Here, among the foreign ambassadors, a genuine Greek hetaira is a mark of status, especially if she's Athenian. I've been in turn concubine to the Libyan, Armenian, Bithynian and Pontic ambassadors, the last back when Mithridates was still king. Now I serve the ambassador from Parthia."

"I've never met a woman of such impressive diplomatic credentials," I said. "But I cannot blame you for finding Rome more congenial."

"Yes. Mine is an unforgiving profession. One's desirability lasts only as long as youthful beauty. Once that fades, the road downhill is steep. I've known women to go from highly paid hetaira to mere streetwalking porna in two years."

"It is a hard world," I agreed.

"But it is looking better now," she said. "Tell me, have you visited the Daphne of Alexandria?"

"I'll confess, the diversions of the court have been too exhausting to seek out the more strenuous amusements of the city."

"It isn't as famous as the one in Antioch, but it is more than lively. You've been living the high life thus far, Roman. Why not come with me and sample the low?"

"Now?" I said, looking up at the full moon. "It must be near midnight!"

"Then things should just be getting lively," she said.

I was never one to hold out against temptation for long. "Lead on!" I said.

In Rome, it was easy for people to forget that some other cities have what is known as a night life. When Romans feel in a mood for debauchery, they begin their parties early so everyone can get properly paralytic before it gets too dark for their slaves to carry them home. In other places, they just light the torches and carry on.

The Daphne of Alexandria, named for the famous pleasure-garden of Antioch, was located in a beautiful grove in the Greek quarter, near the Paneum. Lines of torches led to its entrance, and between the torches vendors wandered, selling the wherewithal necessary for an evening of revelry. To my surprise, we were expected to wear masks. These were cleverly made out of pressed papyrus, artfully molded and painted to resemble various characters from mythology and poetry. They were rather like theatrical masks save that they left the mouth uncovered to facilitate eating, drinking and whatever other uses to which one wished to devote that orifice. I took one with a satyr's face; Hypatia, one with the licentious features of a nymph.

Then we had to have wreaths. Around our necks went wreaths of laurel and vine leaves, and Hypatia wrapped a garland of myrtle around her beautiful black hair. I chose a generous chaplet of acorn-studded oak leaves to help disguise my Roman haircut. Not that I was greatly worried in this place, where the crowd consisted mainly of Greeks and other foreigners. There were few if any Egyptians.

At the entrance a fat fellow dressed as Silenus came to greet us. He wore the white chiton, carried the flowing bowl and wore the chaplet of vine leaves complete with dangling bunches of grapes. He recited verses of welcome in the rustic Greek of Boeotia.

"Friends, enter these sacred precincts

In peace of heart and expectation of joy.

Here dread Ares has no home,

Nor does hardworking Hephaestus toil.

But only Dionysus of the grape, Apollo of the lyre,

Eros and the gentle Muses reign.

Here each man is a swain,

Each woman a carefree nymph.

Leave care and sorrow behind you

For these have no place here.

Welcome, doubly welcome, and rejoice!"

I tipped the man handsomely and we entered. The grove consisted of a series of interlocking arbors in the form of a maze. Torches burned, perfumed to give a fragrant smoke. There was just enough light to make everything clear and to reveal rich colors, but no more than that. A step would carry you from plain view to dark intimacy as desired. Everywhere were small tables on which little lamps burned, the low-level light making the masked faces nearby look like something from another world. Among the tables wandered women in the abbreviated tunics of mythical nymphs, men costumed as satyrs, boys with the pointed ears and tails of fauns, wild-haired women in the leopard skins of Bacchantes. All of them poured wine from amphorae or served delicacies from trays or danced or played wild music upon the syrinx and double flute and tambour. It was all quite licentious and abandoned to Roman eyes, but its joyous exuberance utterly lacked the fanatic hysteria of, say, the rites in the Temple of Baal-Ahriman.