‘When the Great Alexander invaded and expelled the Persians, he was at first welcomed by the Brotherhood and was offered much assistance. Greeks then were not hated by the natives, and their own victories over the Persians were taken as an example of what could be done, given the right spirit of unity. When, however, he died in Babylon and his general Ptolemy hurried here to make himself King, there was a reaction against the Greeks.
‘The Ptolemies, however, turned out to be less hostile than expected to native customs, and the Brotherhood went into decline, reappearing only during the breakdown of order in the final reigns, when it operated as an order of brigands. It was suppressed by the Romans and, for centuries after Egypt’s incorporation in the Empire, the Brotherhood was known only from old stories.
‘It became prominent again after the closure of the temples, and has grown mighty since the decay of Imperial control over the south. It sometimes inclines to the Old Faith – and you know already that this continues in the south. More often, it is associated with the less compromising wings of the Monophysite heresy. Whether from Rome or Constantinople – whether by Latins or by Greeks – it remains pledged to end all foreign rule, and to restore Egypt to the sway of its own Pharaohs.’
‘Very interesting,’ I said drily. ‘So we have a robber band that legitimises itself by attachment to something that may have existed in the past, but that probably existed only occasionally.’
‘Not so, My Lord,’ Macarius broke back in. ‘The Brotherhood has rituals and an organisation that do point to long continuation. For example, every member must be tattooed on the small of his back with the name in the old Egyptian writing of the greatest native Pharaoh. More importantly, it is his duty to produce two sons. This done, he must pass the remainder of his life in strict continence. There are further rituals and customs of which the initiated never speak. But all the evidence is of long continuation.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Martin,’ I snapped suddenly, ‘do come away from those lamps. You’ll have a fire going if you don’t stop knocking them over.’ It was no excuse that I’d fancied a look myself ever since ordering them in to illuminate the murder scene. Like everything else in the house, they were in the hideous style of the ancient Egyptians. Some of the stuff, mind you, was impressively solid. Forget the workmanship – one or two pieces, such as this array of lamps, must even have been valuable on account of their materials. If Leontius hadn’t furnished the whole place from tomb excavations, I’d have been surprised. Quite fitting, I thought, Leontius had come to the end he had. No doubt the style of his murder had been prompted at least partly by the surroundings.
‘Macarius is right,’ he blurted out. ‘This is all to do with the Brotherhood.’ He stepped back from the array of lamps. ‘These people were big in Antinoopolis. No one crossed them – no matter how big he was with the government in Alexandria.’
‘So, what do you know about the Brotherhood?’ I asked. It was nice that even he knew of some organisation I’d been here months without so much as hearing about.
Martin looked back, his face pale in the light of a dozen lamps. ‘I’ve been looking again into those payments we were discussing,’ he said. He stared at Macarius. After some internal struggle, he decided to go on properly with his explanation. ‘That subsidy to the Temple of Isis – you know it’s been cancelled five times. What I’ve now found is that every official who signed the cancellation order was murdered. Only one case was ever investigated, and the report is missing from the archives.’
I sat awhile in silence. Macarius was his usual impassive self. He’d not moved from the position he’d taken on first coming into the room with Priscus and me. Martin looked, as ever on these occasions, undecided between shitting himself and passing out. I stood and walked back over to the corpse. The fine blanket had settled over its contours, and it really might as well not have been covered at all. I lifted the blanket and looked under at the twisted, staring face. Priscus knew his business, and I had no doubt Leontius had been kept alive far into the murder. What I did wonder was how he’d been kept quiet.
Yes – there were questions to be asked of those scared, silent slaves I’d seen lurking in the hall.
‘It seems to be the case,’ I said, making sure to emphasise the mood of doubt or hypothesis, ‘that we have one of those instances where two separate intrigues come accidentally together. Somehow, Leontius had got to know about the subsidy. How he got to know may be connected with his interest in Egyptian antiquities. With his known talent for understanding the wider implications of his acts, he used this to trip me up in yesterday’s meeting. Those parts of this Brotherhood adhering to the Old Faith were consequently angered. He has now been punished for setting events in course that led to the sixth cancellation of the subsidy.’
I thought back to the conversation I’d overheard outside Alexandria. It would have closed matters if Leontius had been intending only to blackmail me into backing off from the land law. But he’d been planning to blackmail me into leading him to something that would make him powerful. That was one of those leftover details that tends to wreck neat explanations.
Something else worth asking was how extensive the Brotherhood’s network was within the Viceroy’s government. What Martin had turned up was certainly disturbing. But I checked the train of thought. I looked again at Martin.
‘I told you earlier, Martin, to drop your investigation,’ I said in my very firm voice. ‘I trust you will now do so. Nicetas sealed the order. It looks drafted in the local style. Even so, our own involvement must be at least suspected.’
I paused, letting the implication of this sink into Martin’s already scared mind. The door opened and a slave crept into the room, carrying a tray of refreshments. Macarius took them and pushed the slave back out. He sniffed at the jug and nodded. He poured wine into a large cup and handed it to me. I drank. An opium pill would have been nice to settle my thoughts and take away that dull pain from my shoulder. But the wine would have to do.
‘Even so again,’ I said, now in lighter mood, ‘this Brotherhood seems to have struck, and in as public a manner as can be imagined. No doubt, the subsidy will once again be reinstated when the fuss has died down. If and when that happens, it will be none of our business. And, Martin – you will this time make it none of your business. For the rest, we have other work entirely. So far as its effect will be to raise the condition of those from whom the Brotherhood appears to draw support, I don’t expect any untoward consequences for ourselves.
‘Now, while I have no intention of bringing anyone to justice, there are certain things I must know about Leontius and his final movements. Martin, I want you to go and secure any papers you can find in the house. You will not object, I hope, if Macarius takes your place as secretary when I interview the household.’
As I got up to move to the door, I caught sight of my face in a little mirror fixed to the wall. No point moaning now at Macarius, but it would have been useful to be told about the smears of dried blood.
Chapter 15
I glanced at myself again in the mirror. A little more sleep would have come in handy. But the masseurs had managed to press most of the youth back into my features. And if my bruised shoulder was hurting like buggery, it would have hurt still more without the opium. All told, I looked better than I felt, but didn’t feel as bad as I might have.
‘His Imperial Highness will be pleased to see Your Magnificence,’ the eunuch trilled in an effort at the grand style of Constantinople.
I grunted and walked past him into the Viceroy’s office.
‘Greetings, my dear Alaric, many greetings,’ Nicetas called in Latin from his chair. He waved me to the seat opposite and fell back exhausted. Like his Imperial cousin, he was from Carthage, and could be trusted to fall into his native language whenever Greek proved too much of a strain. This morning, his leg was giving trouble. The smell alone as I walked in had told me it had turned bad again. His shaven face was pale and haggard. That the remnants of his dirty blond hair had been carefully dressed to cover his scalp only added to the appearance of broken-down health. A monk was intoning prayers while slaves retied the bandage.
‘Patriarch John has loaned me the little finger of Saint George to have bandaged next to the flesh,’ he added, noticing my look at him. ‘I’m sure it will have more effect than these worthless doctors.’
Saint George? I asked myself. Saint George? There were so many of them out here, it was hard to keep track. Wasn’t he the sausage maker – or was it the arms dealer? – who’d been torn apart here by a mob back in the time of Julian? No point in asking. Nicetas reached over to a low table and picked up a scrap of parchment.
‘I’ve had a letter,’ he said, ‘from some trader among the Saracens. He lives in one of the inland towns.’ He broke off and looked at the map of Egypt and surrounding territories that was a mosaic covering the entire wall on
