by Albert Noyer
Hermes reached the sheltered harbor of Abydos during the seventh hour. As Herakles had promised, he left the galley and took his clients to the port's imperial post station. Placidia's authorization and a substantial bribe, which Getorius silently protested, but paid, persuaded the official in charge to provide a pair of closed travel coaches, mules, and their drivers for the journey to the ancient site of Troy.
* * *
By late afternoon the buildings of Novum Ilium appeared in a distant glare. Above them, a small white temple crowned a broad hill. As the road descended closer to the town, olive and cypress trees clustered on the surrounding slopes, dark shapes growing among tile and slate-roofed villas. The roadway gradually leveled out toward a lower town surrounded by stone walls. At one point the arches of an aqueduct slanted in from the northeast. Beyond the arc of a plain created by soil deposits from the Scamander and
Simois Rivers, a distant blue Aegean Sea sparkled as it had when Agamemnon ordered the Argive ships dragged onto a sandy beach fronting the citadel of King Priam's Troy.
Getorius glanced up at the temple. "Herakles is there any town in Anatolia without a pagan sanctuary on its acropolis?"
"Asterios, that one is dedicated to Athena Illias, the goddess who granted victory to your Trojan ancestors."
"Can we stop long enough for me to climb up and look around?"
"Kalos. Our drivers will water their mules in front of the bouleuterion, what you call a council house. Our lodgings are not far away."
"I'll see if Arcadia will come. Neither of us thought we would ever see the ramparts of Troy."
A short way beyond an open north gate, the road veered south to flank the temple hill. Herakles directed the driver to turn at an intersection marked by an arch bearing Roman Emperor Hadrian's name on the Greek inscription. The council house was nearby, at the end of an open square. Covered by a portico, the street's walkway continued on to the west.
Droseria slept, so Arcadia agreed to climb up to the temple. Herakles took a path that led over worn stairs speckled with sheep and goat droppings, then through a gap in the temple platform's retaining walls. A shepherd boy about ten years old tended a small flock on Athena's weed-grown sanctuary. He spotted the newcomers and ran to them, hand extended, whining, "Lepta. Lepta." When Arcadia gave the child a coin, his downcast mouth broadened into a practiced grin of gratitude.
A horde of flying insects buzzed around rotting food offerings placed on Athena's temple stairs. The goddess's abandoned marble shrine was without entry doors, its gaping entrance and pillars scorched by fire.
"Long ago, Getae, Goths, plundered this place," Herakles explained, then pointed below, toward a grid of streets to the south. Buildings near the farthest walls were stark ruins among former dwelling blocks that now hosted vacant fields or patches of cultivated land. "The Roman town of your emperors never recovered its glory," he remarked, sarcasm in his appraisal. "Still, below us you see baths and an odeon at this side of the marketplace."
Disappointed at the desolation, Getorius asked, "Where is the strong-walled citadel of Troy that Homer described?"
Herakles swept a hand over the ground around him. "Priam and his shining walls are long buried under these mounds. Only a few stone huts remain to protect sheep-herders from poor weather."
"So why bring us here?"
At the question the guide's smile faded. For once he had no quick rejoinder, but Arcadia defended him. "Husband, he thought you'd be pleased to be on the site of Troy. We're grateful, Herakles."
His grin returned. "Domina, you indeed are gracious."
"I see people at that indoor theatre," she noted. "What is going on?"
Herakles shaded his eyes to look at the sun's position. "Domina, an afternoon performance will have begun."
"Can we get in? I haven't seen a drama since the ending of 'The Miser' on the steps of a church at Olcinium."
Getorius sided with her. "Let's attend to help shake that long carriage ride from our heads." Pleased that Arcadia showed interest in anything other than Droseria, he handed the guide a silvered follies. "Herakles, this should get us into the Odeon. As to Troy, sorry, but I expected something more magnificent. A boyhood fantasy, I suppose."
"Asterios, do you not feel sacredness in this place?"
"Sacredness?" Getorius shrugged at his lack of ardor. "Ah, let's go back down."
At the bottom of the path, Herakles called to the others in the carriages, "Asterios and his wife wish to see a performance at the Odeon. Who will join them?"
The widows and Tranquillus were anxious to go to their lodgings. Droseria needed a more comfortable place to rest.
After Basina complained that she was tired and wanted her afternoon tonic, Flavius asked her, "Dulceda, would it be all right if I went with the surgeon and his wife?"
She winked at Hermias. "Why not? Even sewer rats should have a bit of fun."
"Yes, come with us, "Getorius urged. "My follis should be enough for three
admission tokens."
Flavius murmured his thanks. Arcadia told Droseria that she would look in on her immediately after the performance. Herakles spoke to the coach drivers about their lodgings, an inn called Anatolia Magna. He would join his clients shortly.
While Herakles spoke to an attendant at the Odeon, the others stayed under the street portico. Vacant merchant's stalls stood along the covered walkway, but several men sat drinking in an open air tavern adjacent to the theater. Flavius wandered off to inspect the street gutters, tracing out in which direction the sewers ran and where they emptied.
Herakles returned with the name of the drama. "An actor is presenting his version of Rhesus by Euripides."
"I've not heard of it," Getorius admitted.
Arcadia said, "I believe Rhesus the first of the playwright's dramas. Perhaps not well known, but the story is taken from the Iliad. That would be appropriate for Troy."
"Fine, I'll get Flavius and we can go in."
At the Odeon, Herakles slipped the coin to the attendant standing at the nearest entrance. The man whispered an actor's name and gave him three worn cushions. "Laertes is performing," Herakles told Getorius, "but I cannot stay. In an hour or so I will return for you."
Inside the building a small audience, all male, were scattered along ten rows of semicircular marble seats. Light came in from several high windows, but a line of flickering candles along the front of the stage illuminated the actor. Getorius pointed to places in the third row on the nearest side; sitting there would not disturb the spectators.
Laertes, an elderly white-haired thespian, stood in the center of a well-worn wooden stage. A table held several masks. He wore one that depicted a handsome charioteer and recited his verses in a dramatic voice that brought the play's action to life.
"The Thracian charioteer was faint from his wound, and could not stand.
He knew what happened, for he saw, but could not stop it.
He understood not in what way these men were killed,
Nor what hand had killed them, yet he could surmise and said,
'My guess is that our friends were the ones who hurt us'."
Laertes paused to put on the mask of the leader of the chorus, then continued.
"O Charioteer of that unfortunate Thracian king,
The Golden-armored Rhesus,
Do not be angry with us. The enemy did this.
And here is Hektor himself, who has heard the news
And comes in sympathy for your misfortune."
The actor donned the mask of Hektor, son of Trojan King Priam.
"And the brother of Paris told them they were responsible for the disaster.
How could marauders sent out by Achaeans have gotten past the guards
And wreaked havoc in the Thracian camp?
Why did sentries neither head off Diomedes as he came in,
Nor catch Odysseus when he went out?
Someone will pay for this! You had the watch.
'No, no!' shou
ted the guards. 'Do not be angry with us."
None of this that happened is our fault.'
"You did this, why make a Greek lawyer's speech here?"
Laertes paused to laughs from the audience, then again put on the charioteer's mask.
"The Thracian said it would take a long and artful defense to convince him that
Trojans had not killed their friends, for they coveted Thracian horses.
For this they murdered their own allies, he charged, for whose coming
They had begged so hard. They came. They are dead.
I tell you plain. Who could find a path through the enemy in the dark?
Who could know where King Rhesus lay?"
After the old actor put on the Hektor mask, anger edged his stage voice.
"'This is more of Odysseus,' Hektor said.
'Who among the Achaeans could have planned and done it?
Take up this Thracian charioteer. Help him to my house.
Go to the warriors on the wall, to Priam and the elders.
Tell them to bury these dead beside the roadway,
Heart leaves our city of Ilion.'
But Priam and the elders lamented, 'After our successes,
does the god now change Troy's fortunes, bring us back
to suffer new losses? What does he plan?'"
Laertes recited the last line as an exaggerated question, then took off the mask.
The attendant came on stage to announce a brief intermission, with food and wine available at the outdoor tavern. As the audience left, a slender, dark-eyed youth resembling Hermias came onstage to bring the actor a bent, silver wine goblet.
Getorius stood up and told Arcadia, "I'd like to talk to Laertes about Apollonios, the Asklepion physician."
"You should. Laertes may have performed at Pergamum."
Up close, heavy makeup barely concealed that the actor was older than he appeared on stage. Nor could his stained tunic hide the outline of a corset underneath. His hand trembled slightly as he watched the stranger come onstage.
Getorius apologized, "I'm sorry my wife and I arrived late. We've just traveled from Abydos."
"Indeed, Sir, yet not as residents there," Laertes observed. "Your Latin speech and dress betray you, yet I perceive you a man of quality, a successful lawyer, perhaps?"
"No, a surgeon." Getorius waited until the actor drained his goblet. "I've been hearing about a fellow medicus, Apollonios of Pergamum. Do you know the kind of man he is?"
Laertes clanged the goblet down loud enough for the youth to hear. After the boy ran in with a pitcher and refilled the cup, the actor held it up and eyed Getorius over the rim. "If a man is too confident, even if that confidence is justified, or if others speak too highly of him, that man is doomed to destruction."
I don't want an oracle from you, Laertes, just information about Apollonios. "Yes, well, we're traveling to the Asklepion. From what I've heard, Apollonios is a combination of Asklepios and Jupiter."
"A demi-god and a god?" Laertes chuckled. "Would that we all had such credentials." He drained his wine in one gulp and slammed the cup down again.
As the youth hurried to refill the goblet, Getorius selected a siliqua from his purse and laid it next to the wine. "I would like to know more about the physician before I meet him."
"Spoken like the Greek lawyer whom Euripedes mocks," Laertes quipped, slurring the "s" sounds. "Surgeon, how do you like our citadel of Priam?"
"Troy? Frankly, I'm disappointed. I thought there would be more...."
Laertes interrupted, "Christians try to discredit the Asklepion, yet make little progress. The ill Christians, pagans, and atheists all come for miracles wrought by their gods. " The actor stopped, swirled his wine with a forefinger, sucked the drops off, then giggled. "Surgeon, from whom do atheists expect miracles?"
I'll not get anything of value from this drunken disciple of Dionysius. "I should go back to my seat, the spectators are returning."
"Indeed, Surgeon. And by being tardy you missed the warning of Athene to Diomedes of the Great War Cry."
"Go on."
"'You must not go beyond what has been destined for you.
There is no authority for you to kill this man.
You came here, bringing their destined deaths to certain others'."
Diomedes was the companion of Odysseus, yet why recite that particular quote? Getorius thought, but before he could question the actor, Herakles came in and whispered to Arcadia.
"Getorius," she called down, "Droseria is spitting up blood. I must go to her."
"Again, I'm sorry," he told Laertes. "We must leave."
"Sorry?" The actor steadied himself with a hand on the table and scooped up the silver coin with the other. "Repentance, Surgeon, is the virtue of fools."
"Actor, I'll stay," Flavius called to him. "Herakles, you said the mansio is two blocks from here."
"Street of the Herons," he said. "Anatolia Magna."
"I'll find it."
Laertes stood erect as he put on a mask of the Muse, the effects of overdrinking held in check by years of acting, just as the corset restrained his sagging paunch.
"Behold me Trojans, and fear not. I am the Muse," he announced without a trace of slurring.
Outside, Arcadia asked the guide, "How much worse is Droseria?"
Herakles paused a moment. "I will be honest. The woman knocks on an entrance portal to the realm of Death."
"Don't be dramatic," she snapped. "What happened?"
"Am I a physician?"
Arcadia's threatening gaze locked on his eyes. "Guide, take me to her room."
Getorius also was concerned about the woman, but recalled Laertes final quote. I don't mind losing a coin to the old drunkard without finding out more about Apollonios, other than that Christians oppose him, but why repeat Athena's warning to not go beyond what has been destined for you? Is the actor playing the prophet and referring to someone, or is it the result of a lifetime of theatrical quotes. If I can find a copy of Rhesus, I'll read the entire drama.
* * *
Built some ninety years ago during the reign of Constantius II, Anatolia Magna, now an aging, out-of-the-way mansio, was in the worse condition of any inn so far encountered on the journey. Since a guide, six guests, two mule drivers, and two slaves had not been expected, the manager scrambled to send his meager staff out for food.
Dinner was late. A fatigued Maria and Melodia ate little. Since clergymen did not think highly of pagan plays, Getorius and Arcadia did not discuss Rhesus with Tranquillus. He left, saying he would comfort Droseria. Flavius returned in the middle of the meal, red-faced and unsteady in his gait. He, too, obviously had spent time at the tavern outside the odeon.
Watching him stagger into the dining room, Basina yelled, "Where have you been? I asked Hermias to give me a back rub to make up for that shoulder he hurt at Constantinople, but the little turd walked out on me."
"Shorry dulsheda." Flavius ended his apology with a foolish grin. "What do y' want me t' do?"
"You're drunk, you stupid sewer rat," she shot back. "Do? Find that Greek prick and flog him. Teach him some manners."
"Now dulsheda, I don' think thass a good idea."
Herakles intervened in the quarrel, "Domina, I will find your slave and punish him."
"Really?" Basina's frown softened. "You see, Bobo, not everyone is as spineless as you."
"Domina," the guide asked, "what would make Hermias disobey you? To becomes a fugitive, when the outcome could be his death?"
"I haven't been very nice to him since he hurt my shoulder. Oh, he'll come back." Basina gave the guide a coquettish smile. "Maybe you would rub my back tonight?"
Herakles stammered, "Unfortunately, Domina, it, it is forbidden."
"Forbidden?" she scowled. "Why?"
"I...I will be honest. As surgeons take an oath, so, too, guides are not allowed to...to touch clients."
The woman sulked and muttered, "Rat piss."
Arcadi
a abruptly pushed her chair back from the table. "I'm through eating."
"I'll go to our room with you." The brawl also disgusted Getorius.
"No, Husband, I'm staying with Droseria tonight in case she needs anything."
"Arcadia, that isn't a good idea."
"Are you going to forbid me again?
"Forbid you?" Unwilling to argue, Getorius relented. "Fine. I'll walk with you."
When the couple arrived, they saw Tranquillus closing the ill woman's door. Arcadia asked him, "How is Droseria now?"
"We prayed together. She's asleep."
After Arcadia entered the room, Getorius told the presbyter, "We're about two days from Pergamum, yet Droseria may not live that long."
"As God wills, yet I pray that she does."
"I talked to an actor today, trying to find out more about Apollonios. Laertes was evasive, but did say that Christians were trying to close the shrine."
"The presbyter at Pergamum should enlighten us about that."
"Do you know who he is?"
"No, only that the city has no bishop at present. Bishop Proklus warned me about an order of fanatical monks, Akoimetai, he called them, 'Sleepless Ones.' They spend time in perpetual prayer, yet are quick to challenge any authority other than their abbot. The monks encourage citizen riots, yet God forbid that they cause trouble at the Asklepion."
"If there's no episcopal authority and Apollonios is being harassed by those monks, this new presbyter may be in danger. Look at what happened because of that rumor of a bread shortage."
"Indeed, another riot is an unpleasant prospect. Surgeon, I." Tranquillus seemed willing to talk more, but said, "Christ keep you safe this night."
"Gratias. Because of Droseria we should get to Pergamum as quickly as possible."
"And to support that presbyter as best we can, surgeon"
"Yes. Sleep well."
To ease an inner ache that came whenever he was upset with Arcadia, Getorius went outside to look at the stars. The moon, in its last phase, would not rise until later. In a tar-black night cooled by the rainstorm, the dazzling brilliance overhead was reassuring in its familiarity. Curatius taught me the names of a few constellations. There's the Great Bear, nose up, preparing to hibernate. Polaris is the hole to his den. He said that the root word for north is 'seven,' because seven stars make up the Bear. The three bright jewels in Orion's belt are easy to see in the southwest, the direction of Pergamum.
