great esteem which we have always cherished for King Ptolemy, the nobles and the people of Egypt.' The courtiers clapped and twittered like so many trained pigeons.
'Then please accompany us to the Palace, where a banquet has been laid in your honor.' That was more like it. No sooner had I felt solidity beneath my feet than my appetite had returned. To the accompaniment of drum and flute, sistrum and cymbal, we passed through the Moon Gate. Some of the Roman contingent fell in around us and I recognized a familiar face. This was a cousin of the Caecilian gens nicknamed Rufus for his red hair. He was not only red-haired but left-handed. With that combination he had no future in Roman politics, so he was always being sent out on foreign service. He clapped a hand on my shoulder and breathed wine in my face.
'Good to see you, Decius. Make yourself unwelcome in Rome again?'
'The old men decided it would be a good time for me to be away. Clodius finally got his transfer to the plebs and he's standing for the Tribuneship. If he gets it, that means I won't be able to go home next year either. He'll be too powerful.'
'That's rough,' Rufus said. 'But you've just found the only place in the world where you won't miss Rome.'
'That good?' I asked, brightening at the prospect.
'Unbelievable. The climate is wonderful all year, every debauchery in the world is to be had here cheap, the public spectacles are superb, especially the races, the high life doesn't stop just because the sun goes down, and, Decius my friend, you have absolutely never had your bottom kissed until you've had it kissed by Egyptians. They think every Roman is a god.'
'I'll try not to disappoint them,' I said.
'And the streets are clean. Not that you'll have to walk much if you don't want to.' He gestured to the litters that awaited us just inside the Moon Gate. I gaped like a yokel who has just caught his first sight of the Capitol.
I had been carried around in litters before, of course. The sort we used in Rome were carried by two or four bearers and were a slow but dignified alternative to tramping through the mud and garbage. These were somewhat different. To begin with, each of them was carried by at least fifty black Nubians who shouldered poles as long as ships' masts. Each had seating accommodations for at least ten passengers which we reached by climbing a flight of stairs. Seated and hoisted, we were higher than the second-story windows.
The chair I was led to was made of ivory-inlaid ebony, draped with leopard skins. Overhead, a canopy protected me from the sun while a slave armed with a feather fan cooled me and kept the files at bay. This was a definite improvement over Gaul. To my relief, Creticus and the eunuchs took the other litter. The musicians ranged themselves on the lower levels of the litters while dancers and tumblers frolicked along the poles, somehow managing to avoid the bearers. Then, like images of the gods carried in a sacred procession, we were off.
From my point of vantage, I saw immediately how such huge vehicles could traverse the city. The streets were broad and absolutely straight, a thing unknown in Rome. The one we were on ran right through the city, north to south.
'This is the Street of the Soma,' Rufus told me, hauling a pitcher of wine from beneath his seat. He poured a cupful and handed it to me. 'The Soma is Alexander's tomb. It's not really on this street, but it's close.' We passed a number of cross streets, all of them straight but not as wide as the one we were on. All the buildings were of white stone and all of them of the same high quality, unlike Rome, where mansions and slums occupy the same block. I was later to learn that all the buildings in Alexandria were built completely of stone, with no wooden frames, floors or roofs. The city was all but fireproof.
We came to a cross street that was even wider than the one we were on. Here the litters turned east like ships tacking into the wind. The throngs in the streets cheered our little procession, all the louder, it seemed, when they saw the distinctive Roman garb. There were exceptions. The soldiers who seemed to be on every street corner regarded us sourly. I asked about these.
'Macedonians,' said Rufus. 'Not to be confused with the degenerate Macedonians of the court. These are barbarians right out of the hills.'
'Macedonia's been a Roman province since Aemilius Paullus,' I said. 'How is it they have an army here?'
'They're mercenaries in the service of the Ptolemies. They don't much like Romans.'
I held out my cup for a refill. 'No reason why they should, considering how many times we've beaten them. They're still in rebellion, last I heard. Sent Antonius Hibrida packing.'
'They're a tough lot,' Rufus said. 'Best to steer clear of them.'
Aside from the sour-faced soldiers, the citizenry seemed to be a cheerful and cosmopolitan lot. I never saw such a combination of skin, hair and eye color except at a slave market. Greek dress predominated, but there was garb from every land under the sun, from swathing desert robes to jungle skins and feathers. The effect of all the white stone was somewhat softened by the masses of greenery that hung from balconies and rooftop gardens. Vases were filled with flowers and festal wreaths hung lavishly.
There were a great many temples to deities Greek, Asian and Egyptian. There was even a Temple of Roma, an example of that fundament-kissing at which the Egyptians excelled. The chief deity of the city, though, was Serapis, a god invented specifically for Alexandria, His temple, the Serapeum, was one of the most famous in the world. While the architecture was predominantly Greek, Egyptian decoration was much in evidence everywhere. The extraordinary Egyptian hieroglyphs were lavishly employed.
Ahead of us came a sound of musicians setting up an even louder racket than our own. From a side street emerged a frenzied procession, and the litter bearing the court faction halted to give it the right-of-way. A mass of ecstatic worshippers erupted across the great boulevard, many of them dressed only in brief goatskins, their hair unbound and whirling wildly as they beat tambourines. Others, less demented, wore gowns of white gauze and played harps, flutes and the inevitable sistra. I watched all this with interest, for I had yet to visit the Greek parts of the world, and the Dionysiac celebrations had long been forbidden in Rome.
'Them again,' Rufus said disgustedly.
'In Rome they'd be driven from the city,' said an embassy secretary.
'Are they Maenads?' I asked. 'It seems an odd time of year to be holding their rites.' I noticed that a number of them were brandishing snakes, and that now there were a number of young men among them, shaven- headed youths with the expression of one who has just been struck sharply at the base of the skull.
'Nothing so respectable,' Rufus said. 'These are followers of Ataxas.'
'Is that some local god?' I inquired.
'No, he's a holy man out of Asia Minor. The city's full of his kind. He's been here a couple of years and acquired a great horde of these followers. He works miracles, foretells the future, makes statues speak, that sort of thing. That's another thing you'll find out about the Egyptians, Decius: They've no sense of decency when it comes to religion. No dignitas, no gravitas; decent Roman rites and sacrifices have no appeal to them. They like the sort where the worshippers get all involved and emotional.'
'Disgusting,' sniffed the secretary.
'They look like they're having fun,' I said. By now a great litter was crossing the street, even higher than ours, carried by yet more of the frenzied worshippers, which couldn't have done much for its stability. Atop it was a throne on which sat a man who wore an extravagant purple robe spangled with golden stars and a tall headdress topped by a silver crescent moon. Around one of his arms was wrapped a huge snake and in the other he held a scourge of the sort one uses to thrash recalcitrant slaves. I could see that he had a black beard, a long nose and dark eyes, but little else. He stared slightly ahead as if unaware of the churning frenzy being staged on his behalf.
'The great man himself,' Rufus sneered.
'That's Ataxas?' I asked.
'The very same.'
'I find myself wondering,' I said, 'just why a procession of high officials gives way to a rabble that would have been chased from Rome with Molossian hounds at their heels.'
Rufus shrugged. 'This is Alexandria. Under this skin of Greek culture, these people are as priest-ridden and superstitious as they were under the Pharaohs.'
'There is no shortage of religious charlatans in Rome,' I pointed out.
'You'll see the difference before you've been at court for very long,' Rufus promised.
