by Albert Noyer
"Yes," Ignatia replied, "a basilica dedicated to Saint John is in the agora. A smaller one to Holy Thecla is near the beginning of the Sacred Way, the entrance to the healing center. Epiphania writes me that the Asklepion is a truly satanic Hellene enclave."
"Epiphania?"
"I've ordained a presbytera named Epiphania to serve our new church," the bishop explained. "I knew her at Trapezus. She's young, intelligent, feisty, and more than a match for the priests. Even for Apollonios, the archpriest-physician at the shrine." Ignatia pulled a round olivewood case from her sleeve, its cover sealed with red wax. "Arcadia, would you give this to Epiphania when you see her at Pergamum?"
"Bishop, I'm not going to Pergamum. My husband and are here to research medical texts."
Ignatia offered Arcadia an indulgent smile. "My dear, I feel that God may have different plans for you."
Before Arcadia could react, Pulcheria stood up to put the Testament aside and smooth her tunic. "Ladies, I have a contract drawn up. My desire is that the new church be dedicated to Maria Theotokos. After our mid-day repast, I'll have my secretary witness your signatures and ratify letters of credit valid with the city prefect at Pergamum."
"This is so exciting!" Melodia enthused. "I can't wait to tell Presbyter
Tranquillus about what I've heard today."
"No!" Pulcheria's harsh refusal startled the women. "I dismissed Sophia and did not invite my other women here. No one else must know of Ignatia or even Epiphania. Only that you are traveling to Pergamum to endow a new church."
When the Augusta looked directly at Arcadia, she assumed the prohibition included Getorius, yet why had she been in on the plans? More had to be involved than delivering a wooden case to Pergamum, a city she wouldn't even visit.
"Her Serenity is correct," Ignatia agreed, her blue-veined hands again toying with the cross. "My namesake, Ignatius, wisely advised, 'In all circumstances be as cunning as a serpent, yet appear harmless as a dove'."
CHAPTER V
"Cunning as a serpent."
Returning to the Nova Roma, Arcadia recalled that Jerome's Latin translation of the Hebrew book of Genesis described the serpent as the most cunning of the wild beasts God had made. The Deceiver had tempted Eve and brought Death into the world. Bishop Ignatia said that men like Tertullian used the allegory to justify keeping females in subservience, yet also suggested that Paul, despite his earlier warnings about women, proclaimed them as equals with men. Had the woman bishop and Epiphania taken the role of deceivers to fulfill the Apostle's teaching? And why was Ignatia convinced she would go to Pergamum?
During the return, Melodia chattered about the startling things they had seen and heard, until she realized that Maria and Arcadia were not paying attention to her. Both were deep in their own thoughts about Pulcheria and the aged Ignatia. Arcadia decided that she could accompany the widows to Pergamum. Getorius would agree because of the Asklepion there, yet she was puzzled about why Pulcheria had invited her to come with the two wealthy women. Surely, the Augusta knew what the conversation would reveal.
After the meal, Pulcheria and the bishop had talked about the role of women in a religious and secular society dominated by males. Theologians blamed Adam's consort, Eve, for causing sin and death. Tertullian and Augustine claimed that it was a sexual transgression, that females from then on had seduced men to damnation. Yet, the Mother of Christ, whom Ignatia called "The New Eve," a virgin like herself and Pulcheria, had acquiesced in God's call to give birth to His Son, the Redeemer of Humankind. Through the Virgin Mary's willing act, Eve's transgression had been ransomed. Paul had admitted so in his letter to the Romans: "It was through one man that sin entered the world." Of the Genesis account, Hebrews believed that Eve had been formed from Adam to symbolize equality with him, a partnership, and not a submissive being.
If theologians argued these points as abstractions, Ignatia's interpretations gave practical meaning to an ignored role of women as co-instruments of Salvation. To restore them to their rightful place would take the cunning of Eden's serpent!
* * *
Getorius had returned from the library when Arcadia entered the inn. He saw her while sitting in the garden studying his notes. Beckoning to his wife, he stood and embraced her. "I missed you, cara. How was your day at Pulcheria's?"
"Interesting."
"How so?" When Arcadia did not elaborate, he persisted, "Well, tell me. What did you talk about all this time?"
"The two widows' bequest to build a new church at Pergamum."
"Who else was there?"
"Droseria, one of the Augusta's women friends, and a...a bishop."
"Oh? What was his involvement?"
Arcadia hedged, "Droseria is very ill. I noticed an ulcer on her face and she coughs up bloody sputum."
"I'm sure the woman has consulted the best physicians in Constantinople." Getorius held up his note tablet. "I found medical tracts that would interest us. I couldn't take the manuscripts out, but the librarian thought I might find copies of them at bookstalls. Did you know that Brisios reads quite well? I found him a scroll of Aesop's fables."
"Getorius," she broke in, "I'm very tired. Could you ask that clerk if the bathhouse is available?"
"Fine. We both can relax before supper."
Arcadia shook her head. "I couldn't stand another meal with the Bobos and Fuscus. Could we dine elsewhere?"
"Of course, cara."
"Getorius, about the bath. I think I'd like to be alone."
"Alone? If you wish, I'll ask Fabius about getting you in." What's wrong? Arcadia is usually more talkative. Did something happen at Pulcheria's to upset her?
* * *
As a place to dine, Fabius recommended a taberna a quarter hour's walk distant at the far end of the Via Constantini, which overlooked an arm of the Bosporus on
Constantinople's north shore. Both the narrow bay and the restaurant were named Cornu Aureum, the Golden Horn.
The Constantini was the original cardo, a main north-south avenue that surveyors laid out for the new city. Now, a century later, apartment blocks built just beyond the forum were run down. Slums that Sophia had implied existed in the city were within sight of the Great Palace. The overcrowded tenements, decrepit shops, and sickly children playing in the streets, were reminiscent of Ravenna's port quarter.
As Getorius guided Arcadia along a walkway filthy with refuse, he worried about the condition of the eatery that Fabius urged on him. Was the clerk expressing contempt for western Romans by bringing him to a hostile dining place?
Shortly past the last tenement block, a walled garden opened up with a glimpse of blue sea through the trees. A villa set among tall poplars had several elegant carriages near the entrance gate. The mosaic plaque on the wall identified the eatery. "Here's the Cornu Aureum," Getorius read. "It doesn't seem too bad a place."
"No."
Arcadia had been silent on the walk, yet he had not pushed her for conversation. The blighted neighborhood might have been one reason, yet he hoped that as they ate she might talk more about what happened at Pulcheria's.
Two guards patrolled the entrance. After glancing at the couple's clothing, one man silently unbolted the gate. In the atrium, Getorius mentioned Fabius's name. A room manager seated the couple on a terrace overlooking the Bosphorus's Golden Horn. Dried leaves and bunches of shriveled grapes on the overhead trellis gave off a faint, fruity odor. White buildings of a town on the opposite shore caught the waning light. Below the terrace, down a steep slope, the ramparts of the city's northern sea wall enclosed two small harbors.
Getorius looked around at the few other diners, who all seemed wealthy. "Walking here," he admitted, "I was a little concerned about what this place would be like, but it's evidently good enough for those well-off citizens."
Arcadia nodded without replying. A servant, speaking Latin with an accent that was not Greek, brought a pitcher of white wine he said was Anatolian. After he made it clear that they served only seafood, Ge
torius, unfamiliar with the region, surmised that the villa's specialty, turbot, would be good and ordered two portions. He poured wine in two goblets and pushed one toward his wife, then took out his notes for another try at conversation with her.
"I mentioned that I found medical scrolls. Galen and Hippocrates, of course, but other physicians I'd never heard about. Let's see." He flipped through the pages. "Cornelius Celsus. Oribasius and Rufus. Alexander Philalethes on the nature of semen. Arcadia, I could stay here a half a year and not absorb half of what's available to read."
After a sip of wine, she asked, "But we're going to Pergamum, aren't we?"
"Arcadia, if you mean because of the Asklepion we heard about on the galley, then, no, we're not traveling that far."
"I think we should go with the two widows. Droseria, the ill woman I mentioned, is also traveling there."
Getorius closed his notebook and laid it aside. "A trip to Pergamum probably takes several days."
"I would think the Asklepion has a medical library."
He looked toward the darkening waters of the Bosporus and tried his wine. "I...I want to look in Constantinople's other libraries."
Neither spoke until the servant brought the first course, a grilled sea crayfish in coriander and pepper sauce, a pan of stuffed squid, minced fish rissoles, and flatbread.
Getorius handed his wife a crayfish, then wiped his fingers. "You've been unusually quiet since you returned. Has that woman's illness upset you or did something else happen at Pulcheria's?"
"I'm sorry. It's something I can't talk about just now."
"So there is a reason?"
"Getorius, I don't want to discuss it," she repeated firmly.
"Fine, fine." He spooned squid and rissoles onto his plate.
They ate in strained silence. While waiting for the main course, Getorius went over his notes again to avoid asking more questions. Arcadia pulled her cape closer and looked out at a twilight scene dotted with wavering yellow-orange lights.
Both almost had finished an excellent meal of grilled turbot in Alexandrian sauce, making only superficial comments about the food, when a commotion sounded at the room's entrance. Getorius turned and was surprised to see his slave arguing with the manager.
"It's Brisios," he told Arcadia, standing up to go over to the two men.
"Is this your slave?" the manager asked in the haughty tone of a superior.
"Yes. Brisios, why are you here?"
The manager replied, "He had the impudence to insist on speaking with you
immediately. I told him to wait, that I'd not interrupt your meal."
"Come into the garden, Brisios." Once outside, Getorius asked, "What is so important? How did you find us?"
"Master, the clerk told me. I've been talking to the kitchen slaves. They say there will be trouble near the mansio tonight, at the harbor."
"Trouble? What sort of trouble?"
"Rumors that there no longer will be free bread because grain is being sent to Ravenna instead of here."
"Our Western capital? Ridiculous, I've seen Egyptian galleys moored here."
"You should come back with the Mistress. The streets won't be safe."
"Where is Herakles?"
"Master, I haven't seen him."
"All right, we're about finished." Getorius glanced back around the room. "Come to think of it, there aren't many diners still here." He paid the manager, who was indignant that the Latins would not stay to sample the sweet course.
It was about the third evening hour, with an October sky that clouded over as twilight slipped into darkness. Along the Constantini, shop fronts were shuttered. Men came out of apartments wearing blue ribbons or like-colored patches on their tunics, heading toward the Forum of Constantine. Getorius felt uneasy; those not holding torches carried clubs. Brisios was a step ahead of the couple, acting as a buffer in pushing through the crowd.
At the forum most of the mob turned left, toward the Augusteion, where Herakles had said citizens expressed their disapproval of government policies. Others kept on in the direction of the Nova Roma, and the harbor docks beyond.
The gate of the inn was barred, but Brisios spoke to a waiting slave, who let the couple inside. When Getorius went to question the clerk, the man was nervous.
"Fabius, why is that mob out in the street?"
"Voces populi, Surgeon. The people want assurances that their free bread ration will continue."
Getorius told him, "Your kitchen slaves are spreading rumors that it will not. That the grain fleet has been diverted to Ravenna."
Fabius glared at Brisios. "Give a lie a day's start and you can never overtake it."
"My slave didn't start that rumor. Be grateful he reported what he overheard."
Arcadia recalled, "On our way to visit Pulcheria this morning I saw an angry mob surrounding an empty bread cart."
"That could mean danger." Getorius asked, "Fabius, where is Herakles?"
"Perhaps at the Augusteion."
"You're saying our guide is part of this...this potential riot?"
Fabius evaded the question. "The three ladies and that husband of the obnoxious one are in their rooms, but Presbyter Tranquillus has not returned from dining with Bishop Proklus. The tall vulgar man is, ah, here he comes from the dining room."
Spurius Fuscus was more confused than frightened. "What's going on Getrus? Why all that shouting outside?"
"There's trouble over bread rations."
"Bread rations? So what happens now?"
Fabius came from behind his counter. "Surgeon, I'll have house slaves bring the luggage down. You may have to leave quickly."
"Leave?" Arcadia protested. "Where would we go?"
"Domina, in the morning the Hermes is to take passengers on to Troas and Pergamum. Tonight you will be safer on board the galley."
"No," Getorius countered. "We'll stay here in Constantinople."
Fabius shrugged as an answer, then called orders to frightened slaves nearby.
By the time the travel cases were gathered near the clerk's office, the women had come downstairs. Basina complained about the inconvenience, and for her husband to do something about it. A mute Hermias stood by with her medications. Maria and Melodia waited for yet another dangerous situation over which they had no control.
Getorius went outside with Fuscus to observe what was happening beyond the gate. A block to the west, men brandishing torches and weapons surged down the road to the port. From sporadic shouts of "Serapis" it was evident that protests in the Augusteion had broken up and that an angry mob was headed to the Egyptian grain carrier.
Herakles abruptly appeared at the gate, out of breath. Dried blood crusted a raw bruise on his forehead. The blue ribbon was almost ripped from his tunic.
"Asterios," he panted, "we must get baggage down and everyone aboard Hermes."
"Fabius told us as much. The cases are already together near the atrium."
"Kalos. Good."
"What happened out there? Your head wound?"
Herakles ignored the questions. "Asterios, we will take a back street to the harbor and board the galley. Give me a half-solidus."
After Getorius handed him the gold coin, the guide went to the clerk and spoke in Greek. Fabius palmed the money, then shouted for slaves huddled in the dining room to come back out.
Herakles returned and ordered, "Slaves will carry the bags. Fuscus, Flavius, both of you keep the women together."
When the group left the mansio it was totally dark. The mob's orange torches cast the eerie shadows of garden trees and buildings along the road. Herakles led the way along a deserted side street whose residents had gone to join the crowd or watch events develop. He emerged at a dirt path that paralleled the port's outer wall and led to the wharf entrance.
Getorius asked him, "Won't the gate from the city be closed?"
"It is left open for returning crewmen until the midnight watch. Are all together?"
Getorius released Arcadia's hand
to glance back. "Yes."
"Kalos."
Since the Serapis had tied up at a berth on the far side of the wharf, the mob streamed in that direction. Men without weapons brought empty sacks or clay amphorae to carry looted grain. Smaller than during the day, the guard contingent leveled their spears and braced to face the rioters. Mob leaders who reached them stopped to talk with sentries, trying to win them over to their side. Those who refused were clubbed down.
With attention diverted toward that end of the harbor, Herakles beckoned his clients through the gate and onto Hermes's gangplank. Only about half the crew lined the railing to watch the confrontation; the others still were in the city. Now alerted by the commotion, Nikephoros stood on the platform next to his helmsman, trying to determine if his galley was in danger.
Herakles shouted up to him in Greek. From what Getorius understood, the guide wanted to push off into the center of the harbor, but the galley-master protested that not all of his officers and oarsmen were on board. The crew had raised a mast at the galley's center. A square mainsail and the smaller bowsprit artemon were furled in place.
Seeing them, Getorius asked Herakles, "We'll use sails now?"
"To catch the last of the summer Etesian winds. Combined with the current, we'll make good time in the morning."
"What? I intend to stay in the city," Getorius told him.
The guide's expression stiffened. "Asterios, you are in my charge."
On the outskirts of the growing mob, new arrivals moved off to loot other galleys moored along the docks. Fabius's slaves had brought most of the luggage aboard Hermes, but when they saw armed men approaching, they scurried off.
A last leather case was left on the wharf stones near the gangplank. While two companions watched, one ruffian undid the bag's retaining straps and shook out clothing. His companions laughed as they sorted through expensive tunics and boots.
"Caco!" Fuscus yelled, after he realized it was his the case. "You bastards! That's mine!"
He loped down the gangplank to grapple with the thieves, but was felled from behind by one rioter and stumbled onto the wharf stones. A strong man, Fuscus struggled to stand, holding his head with one hand. When he rose to one knee, the first thief crouched in front of him; a metallic flash gleamed from a dagger as the man stabbed his midsection. Arcadia screamed as Fuscus fell over. Crumpled on his back, he clutched his stomach, groaning. The assailant bent to rip a gold chain from his neck and cut loose a money purse. An accomplice twisted rings from the dying builder's fingers.
