Richard Blake - The Blood of Alexandria

‘No, I refer to the Old Faith of this land. Our Lord Viceroy Nicetas is second to none in his observance. Who does not know of his conversations with His Holiness the Patriarch – His Holiness who is like unto his own brother?

‘But what would Our Lord Viceroy say if I were to tell him that, even to this day, the government that he directs is pouring out oceans of our gold and silver for the support of a temple raised up in ancient times at Philae far in the south to the demon Isis?

‘What if I were to tell him that our taxes, even today, are feeding an army of shaven-headed priests? And that the sound of their blasphemous chanting extends far through Upper Egypt, to the scandal of orthodox and heretical alike?

‘Your Magnificence may seek to punish us with confiscation of our land for refusing to give more than we have for the worship of demons. But I say to you – as the Holy Martyrs of the Church said in the days of persecution – “What crime be there for them that have Christ?” ’

There was a moment of silence after he stopped. This last point he had indeed been keeping to himself. The mystery had been total. No response had been planned. But the silence was only for a moment. If at first hesitant, the Hall soon filled with howls of almost convincingly outraged piety. Some ran about wailing and waving their arms. A few ripped their clothing. Others, with more conviction, swore they’d never again pay taxes. One even did a passable job of throwing up behind one of the chairs.

Apion and the party I’d bribed and cajoled into existence sat eyeing each other in shifty silence. The chaos about them was resolving itself into a ragged chant of ‘No crime for them that have Christ’. I’d come here to scold a pack of tax evaders. Now, I was facing a mob of candidate saints.

Leontius ignored the shouting and looked up to the gallery. He held out what I took to be documentary proof of his claims. I wasn’t the only one to have noticed Nicetas up there following this whole shambles of a reading. I was fighting the urge to send the guards in with the flats of their swords when the curtains billowed outwards and then fell still again. I ground my teeth in fury. I looked that piece of offal Leontius carefully in the face. One way or the other, I’d have him before I left this city. This morning, though, he’d beaten me. Even with Nicetas gone back into the Palace, there was no point continuing.

‘Gentlemen,’ I said bleakly, the louder troublemakers now running out of puff, ‘this meeting is adjourned until further notice. You will, in the meantime, do me the goodness of not going far from Alexandria.’

‘It’s a fucking disaster,’ I snapped for the third time at Martin. ‘And if you can’t see what Nicetas has done to us, I can only assume this climate has turned your brains to shit as well.’ My robe dumped on the office floor, I sat naked at my desk. The blacks were fanning me like mad. Every so often, one of them would reach forward to sponge on more scented oil.

‘Well, whatever Leontius was trying,’ Martin said with another stab at the optimistic, ‘the law is now in effect. The enactment clause says it’s to come into effect by reading, and it was read.’

‘This isn’t Bithynia,’ I said, now wearily. I took up the cup of unwatered wine. I noticed I was starting on my fourth cup. I put it down and stared again at my commission. Written on to the parchment in words of gold and purple, it looked as grand a thing now as when Heraclius had presented it in full meeting of the Imperial Council. Back then, of course, I hadn’t seen the flaws in its wording. Now, if I scraped off the seal and washed off the ink with a sponge dipped in vinegar, I might at least have a useful sheet of parchment.

‘This isn’t Bithynia,’ I said again. ‘Nicetas isn’t some pen-pushing governor who has to bow to me in public. He’s the sodding Viceroy. At least an exarch is one down from the Emperor. Within Egypt and Alexandria, Nicetas is the Emperor. If the law comes into effect when read, it can only be implemented when Nicetas seals the warrants.

‘And since we’re alone, Martin, do consider taking at least something off. Even sit much longer in that robe, and I’m sure you’ll have a stroke.’ Never mind his shaving cut, which had started bleeding again – his whole face was taking on a purple tinge.

I got up and walked across the room. The slaves hurried behind me with their ostrich feathers. But the movement of air around me was a greater relief. I stopped by the window and lifted a corner of the blind. Even this high up there wasn’t a breath of wind. I sat down on a little sofa and stretched my legs.

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘Nicetas could argue that sealing any warrants would be unwise. Outside Alexandria, the entire government is run by these landed turds. With all this banditry and the troubles arising from the supplemental grain requisition, we can’t afford to alienate the landed interest. You may have noticed that Leontius as good as threatened to raise the mob against us over the grain matter.

‘If only, though, Nicetas hadn’t delayed and delayed and delayed, we could have got the law through before the newsletters caught up with us. If only he hadn’t insisted on formal consultation. If only he hadn’t virtually specified the content of my speech…’

After a very brief knock, Macarius came into the office.

‘His Imperial Highness regrets that he must decline the pleasure of your company,’ he said, looking discreetly away from me, ‘but he has urgent business with His Holiness the Patriarch.’

Martin scowled at Macarius and looked sharply at me. I ignored him. Yes, everything was awful. I had Nicetas to deal with. My own people couldn’t get on. Then there was this ghastly climate – hot all day, hot with bloodsucking flies all night. I’d been here at least a month longer than I’d expected. Unless recalled in something approaching disgrace, I might well be here till Christmas. But the wine was doing its job, and I could easily see Nicetas, at last understanding something of the balls-up he’d arranged, running off to take sanctuary from me with Patriarch John. Laughter was out of the question. But there was an absurd side to it all. I turned to the slaves.

‘Leave us,’ I said in Greek, dropping the Latin I’d been using with Martin.

They bowed low and packed up their stuff.

‘Do lock the door, Macarius,’ I said when we were alone. I leaned back in my chair and looked at the ceiling. It was a good twenty feet above me. But still the air didn’t circulate.

I turned to Martin, who was now fussing through a satchel of notes. It hid the sulky look he couldn’t keep off his face. I took up a handy sheet of parchment and fanned myself.

‘So, what’s all this about payments to pagan temples?’ I asked.

‘It’s news to me,’ said Martin, still looking away. He shrugged. ‘We’ve been investigating the trends and ratios of spending, never the budgetary details. Even so, I’d have noticed that sort of item.’

‘If Leontius is telling the truth, the payment is buried under some innocuous heading.’

‘If I might intervene, My Lord,’ Macarius said, speaking smoothly, ‘there was a Temple of Isis at Philae. This town was always on the fringe of Imperial control in the south. For some years now, it has been somewhat beyond.

‘The temple was exempted from the law that suppressed the Old Faith. It was an important cult centre for the kings of Ethiopia, who would come every year down the Nile to worship there; and diplomatic considerations prevailed. My understanding, however, is that the exemption was ended seventy years ago, when the Ethiopians were brought over to the True Faith of Jesus Christ.’