Death at Pergamum

by Albert Noyer

  Pergamum. We'll see the Asklepion in two days. I look forward to meeting this Apollonios, the composite of a demi-god and god. Certainly not all of the ill with us can be helped. Many will die. Perhaps that's simply what the actor predicted when he quoted Athena. 'You came here, bringing their destined deaths to certain others'. It wouldn't take a seer to realize that."

  With a final glance at Cassiopeia, the beautiful and vain Aethiopian queen, Getorius turned and went inside to his shabby room at the Great Anatolia.

  CHAPTER VIII

  On the morning of the two-day journey to Pergamum, Herakles roused his clients an hour before sunrise. After Basina complained about fleas in her lumpy cotton mattress, her fellow passengers again sided with the woman. Hermias had returned during the night, but kept at a distance from his mistress. A bleary-eyed Flavius gave his wife her medicines, yet did nothing to punish the slave. The Anatolia's manager provided a meager breakfast of stale bread from last evening's meal, soft goat cheese, and fruit.

  Arcadia again insisted on riding with Droseria, who was sedated with valerian and made comfortable by sheepskin padding over the leather seat. Maria, Melodia, and Tranquillus sat squeezed together opposite the two. Getorius shared the lead coach with Herakles, Basina, and Flavius. Luggage lay on the floors of both carriages. Brisios and Hermias sat alongside the drivers.

  "We travel eighteen miles with these mules," Herakles announced as he climbed through the narrow coach door. "Another post station is there to change animals."

  Getorius asked, "I've not seen horses pulling any wagons or carts. Why is that?"

  "Asterios, it is forbidden by law to utilize a noble creature for such work. Mules, donkeys, or camels are beasts of burden."

  "Interesting legislation, but, to me, not practical."

  Herakles grinned. "Asterios, this is a tradition of the East."

  Deeply rutted, but not crowded with traffic at this early hour, the road south gradually curved inland away from the sea, then made a gentle descent to the bay the coaches would cross. The chilly air was fragrant with scents of pine, dew-drenched fields, and wood smoke. In the growing dawn light, the whitish specters of sheep grazed among olive groves. Although cotton fields had been picked of their bolls, a few ragged white tufts speckled the brown stalks. Booths along the roadside that sold local products had not yet opened for business.

  The mountains of western Anatolia soon materialized on the left, undulating black silhouettes stark against a brightening sky. In less than an hour the sun cleared the summits in a blinding glare that stabbed shafts of light into a cerulean cosmos. Within moments the mountains shifted from black to gray, pink, and bright ochre, before taking on their dark-green daytime hue.

  When the coaches reached the first post station, the passengers were dozing. A wall of un-mortared stones gave scant protection to a house, stable, and small inn built of the same gray limestone. The imperial official was startled by his unexpected visitors, but impressed by the look of Galla Placidia's travel authorization. He could not read Latin, but at Herakles's bribe, the man readied two mules. He provided a meal of bread, olives, and dried apricots, with an excellent sweet wine from Cyprus.

  An hour from the station, Basina complained that she was hungry.

  "Domina," Herakles said to distract her, "soon we will see the Aegean and the island of Lesbos. A thousand years ago it was the home of the poetess Sappho."

  "Never heard of her," she grumbled, clawing at red welts on one arm.

  "I have," Getorius recalled. "My tutor didn't say much about Sappho other than that she organized a school for women, a literary circle."

  "Indeed, Asterios, yet Christian monks, even some bishops, condemn her works as lewd and unfit for reading."

  "I don't recall any of her poetry."

  "There are bookstalls at the barge crossing," Herakles said. "You may yet become re-acquainted with our Aeolian poetess."

  Lesbos appeared at a bend in the road that turned left. The misty, mountainous island's silhouette rose offshore from a jagged coastline indented by inlets of the Aegean Sea. Before descending to the coast, the road forked east to bypass Assos, a walled city built on a terraced height. Visible in the distance, a white temple crowned its acropolis.

  As it paralleled the bay's north shore, the road bridged riverbeds whose meager flow trickled into intermittent pools of water. At a point where it crossed a shallow arm of the sea, slaves gathered desiccated crusts of salt into baskets. Soon, camels and donkeys hauling cotton joined mid-morning cart traffic. Roadside yards working marble from Prokonnesus quarries displayed cornices, doorsills, or window frames. Tomb monuments awaited names and portraits to be chiseled on.

  On reaching the bay's crossing station, Herakles told his clients to leave the coaches, ease stiff joints, and refresh themselves. It would take awhile to ease their carriages onto flat barges alongside the carts and pack animals that would be ferried across. Arcadia, however, remained in the coach with Droseria. Brisios also stayed behind to guard the luggage.

  Three taverns were open along the front street of the bay settlement. Basina herded her husband and slave to one with strains of flute music coming from the entrance. Tranquillus guided the widows to an eatery further away.

  Tradesmen had set up booths with food, wine, clothing, metal ware, and weaving they hoped would entice travelers to buy. Getorius bought stuffed flatbreads and took them to Arcadia and Brisios. Munching his own meal, he wandered the line of merchant stalls. After ignoring insistent offers of bargains, he stopped near a collection of worn papyrus and parchment scrolls in baskets. A few bound volumes were displayed. Perhaps I can find Sappho's poems and locate an appropriate verse to read to Arcadia.

  The Syrian bookseller spotted him as a westerner and called out, "You, Latin sir, I have good journey reading for you. Look. Plinius. Greek travel book of Pausanias. You know Greek?"

  "Not very well."

  "No matter, I have much Latin."

  Getorius touched the scrolls in one basket. "Do you have Sappho's poetry?"

  "Sappho?" The merchant's professional smile froze in place. "Ah, Latin sir, very rare. You...you are perhaps presbyter?"

  "No, a surgeon."

  "Surgeon?" The man's suspicious expression thawed as he rummaged through another scroll basket. "I have Soranus, Galen, even Hippocrates here for you."

  "Sappho," Getorius repeated, jingling coins in his purse.

  The vendor licked his lips, glanced around, then reached under the counter to pull out a slim codex. "Very rare," he whispered. "Latin words for you."

  Getorius took the book and leafed through its worn pages. The verses were in Greek on one side, Latin on the other. Much of the ink had worn off, but enough legible words remained to make sense of Sappho's verses. He stopped at one paragraph, thinking he could substitute Arcadia's name for a person named Brocheo.

  "'It is to be a god, in think, to sit with you, Arcadia, and listen to the sweet words and winning laughter that makes my heart beat faster. When I look at you my speech becomes confused. I become tongue-tied. A delicate fire overruns my flesh, my eyes grow feeble and my ears ring. Perspiration runs down me and trembling afflicts me until I am pale and green as grass'." Getorius laughed. "That sounds like I've caught the plague, so I need a more romantic poem." He stopped at verse LXV and read, "'Death is an evil, for the gods chose life. Had Death been good, the gods had chosen Death.' Appropriate for a surgeon, vendor, but I need something I can read to my wife."

  "And, Latin surgeon, she is perhaps now unhappy with you? Verse sixty-nine."

  "Sixty-nine? Let's see. 0ere, 'Lo, to the strong arms of her I have shunned so long, I have come back.' Good, I could read 'him I have shunned so long.' How much?"

  "For you Latin surgeon, two silver coins you call 'siliqua'."

  "Half the ink is worn off," Getorius objected, "and the cover is worm-eaten. I'll give you one siliqua."

  "Very, very rare, sir."

  "One."

  The
book seller's smiling face changed to a pained expression. "You surgeon," he whined, "have sworn an oath to harm no one, yet you take watered milk from my babies. The poor wine I can only afford for my ill wife."

  "One siliqua," Getorius persisted, "or hide it again. Your next customer might be a bishop who would confiscate your Aeolian poetess."

  The man shook his head in mock disgust, held up the codex, and complained to its author. "Today, Sappho, I have the misfortune of meeting a surgeon who bargains like a merchant." He looked back at Getorius. "Sold, Latin sir!"

  "One other thing," Getorius asked as he handed over the coin. "Do you have the Rhesus of Euripides in Latin?"

  The vendor's smile returned as he tipped a different scroll basket toward Getorius. "Ah, physician sir, I have for you bargains. Aeschylos. Sophocles."

  "Just Rhesus will be fine."

  After rummaging through his dusty collection, the man held out a rolled papyrus.

  "Here is tragedy of the Thracian king. For you, Latin sir, one siliqua."

  Getorius examined the scroll. "The writing is small and the edges clipped off close to the words. I'll give you a follis if you have a case for the scroll."

  "Sir, a silvered follies? Milk for my babies."

  "Fine," Getorius agreed rather than again endure the man's professional whining.

  * * *

  Crossing the ten-mile stretch of bay to the opposite shore on the heavily laden barge took three hours, yet Herakles insisted that by not following a forty-mile road that circled the inlet he saved his clients two days of travel.

  Late in the afternoon, Getorius stood at the barge's prow with the guide, watching their approach to the wharves. The bay's south port was quite large, its waterfront crowded with small galleys. "I didn't expect so much activity," he remarked.

  "Sappho's island is now called Mytilene," Herakles said.

  "Of course, we saw the sign on the Herakleia docks."

  "Some Asklepion pilgrims sail directly there. Others stop here and go on to Pergamum by coach, as we are doing."

  Through the afternoon glare, buildings on shore resolved into boat sheds, shops, and dwellings. An open plaza lined with booths ran the length of the wharf.

  "Is this a market day?" Getorius asked. "The street is so crowded."

  "Ohi, no, Asterios. Those are the ill purchasing their first hope."

  "Hope? What do you mean?"

  "These are amulet charms, votive images of limbs, even of Asklepios himself, and offered as rewards to the god for a cure."

  Getorius scoffed, "Pagan superstitions."

  "Asterios, the desperate also patronize dream interpreters, fortune tellers and astrologers who sell horoscopes and birth sign rings. You are perhaps a hectic Scorpio?"

  "Aries, I'm told."

  "The Ram. It is said you work alone, yet also benefit from a partnership if activities are not in conflict and a friendship is lost."

  "Herakles, I place no importance on astrology."

  "Yet," the guide persisted, "I sense a rift between you and Domina over the ill woman."

  Getorius flushed at the thought that the squabble was obvious. "Just guide us to where we're staying tonight," he ordered, "and try to provide a decent meal for a change." He turned away, edging back to the coaches between pack animals, and skirting dung heaps soiling the deck.

  The drivers had unhitched their mules for the crossing. Now, with the help of Brisios and Hermias, they tried to force the animals back into harnesses. Droseria was asleep. Arcadia looked pale and tired. Both widows had grim, impatient expressions on their wrinkled faces.

  "Surgeon, what happens next?" Maria demanded in a tone of weary exasperation.

  "Domina, we're preparing to go ashore. We'll stay here tonight, then arrive at Pergamum by tomorrow afternoon."

  "I'm not one to complain, but Melodia and I haven't a bone in our ancient bodies that doesn't ache. I insist that we return to Constantinople by sea."

  "I'll speak to our guide about it."

  Arcadia asked, "Did Herakles say where we'll sleep tonight?"

  "Not yet, but I made it plain that it must be better accommodations than at Troy."

  She touched her husband's face, dark with stubble. "Are you letting your beard grow out?"

  Getorius self-consciously rubbed his cheeks. "Matter of fact, yes. It's been too difficult finding a barber along the way."

  "Brisios could shave you."

  "A slave waving a razor around my throat?"

  "Getorius!" she criticized, backing away. "What a terrible thing to say!"

  "Sorry, that...that slipped out. A common jest and."

  "And not amusing," Arcadia finished for him. "Did you quarrel with our guide?"

  "No, not quite."

  "You can't afford to alienate him. Herakles is the only person we know here."

  His jaw stiffened. "Oh, I could find my way to Pergamum without him."

  "Husband, don't be foolish! We need a guide."

  "Fine." Getorius turned from the coach. "I'm going to help with the mules."

  "You're certainly acting like one," Arcadia called after him,

  "My dear," Maria interposed in a hushed voice, "we're all irritable from a journey that I, for one, never anticipated would be this long and difficult."

  Arcadia admitted, "I'm exhausted and concerned about Droseria."

  "As we all are," Melodia agreed, "but, Arcadia we also must be charitable to each other."

  "I...I'll try to do better."

  As the rowing crew eased the barge toward its berth, the master found his space occupied by another galley. After loosing a stream of Greek abuse at the usurper and receiving the same, the bargeman maneuvered to the opposite end of the wharf.

  Herakles had paid the gangplank crew to be first off the barge. Brisios and Hermias led the mules' halters in pulling the coaches ashore. Pushing through the crowd, the guide walked ahead, following the line of booths.

  The coaches slowly rolled past the stalls of moneychangers shouting in Greek, Latin, and Anatolian dialects that they offered the best rates of exchange. Ill and crippled pilgrims, mirroring the group that had boarded Hermes, jostled one another to buy amulets which vendors touted as more effective, and cheaper, than those at the Asklepion itself. Scattered among the booths, black-robed monks sold Christian votive images, even as they spewed ridicule at vendors around them hawking similar pagan items.

  Getorius stared out the window, disturbed over his latest falling out with Arcadia.

  Basina watched from her coach, then elbowed her husband in the side. "Bobo, tell that guide I want to buy some of those charms."

  "Dulceda, you already have a case full of votives from Naupaktos."

  "So you don't want me to get well?"

  "It isn't that."

  "Then what, Bobo? Oh, look." She pointed to a booth with a wooden obelisk set up alongside an entrance curtain decorated with astrological symbols. "I want one of those Egyptians to read my fortune."

  "Dulceda, I'm not sure we have time."

  "'Course we do." Basina thrust her head out the window and shouted at Herakles. "Greek! Stop here." When he gave no indication of having heard and walked on, she fumed, "Did you see that Bobo, the prick ignored me. Act like a man and do something."

  "Domina," Getorius said as patiently as he could, "I told Herakles to get us a good mansio and dinner. I'll ask him to find a sedative that will induce pleasant dreams."

  Interested again, Basina cocked her head at him. "Erotic ones?"

  "Occasionally.

  She mulled the possibilities. "Well, I am hungry. Will there be astrologers at the Asklepion?"

  "Assuredly so, Domina."

  Satisfied, Basina settled back on the seat while Herakles led the mules up the main north-south street of the settlement. On reaching the last block, he climbed into the coach without speaking, turned his head to one side, and closed his eyes.

  Let him sulk, Getorius thought. He wouldn't quote me a fee in Herakleia,
but I'm sure he's been getting money from his other clients along with what I give him. This mansio had better be a comfortable one, a place where I can bathe with Arcadia."

  The post station was off the road, about a mile north of the bay. In the half hour before darkness, a walled compound appeared with buildings of gray-brown stone. Squat towers with small windows flanked the entry. The inn resembled a fort.

  Uniformed sentries with Hunnic features carried torches out to meet the travelers. Herakles ordered Brisios and Hermias to bring in the travel cases, then led his clients into a reception room off the atrium. Lamps that flickered on stands revealed bright carpets on a warm floor that was heated from beneath by a hypocaust. After Herakles spoke to a slave attendant, he scurried off into an anteroom.

  "I have sent for the manager, who is friend," Herakles said stiffly without looking at anyone in his group.

  "This inn seems well-maintained," Arcadia remarked. "Doesn't it, Getorius?"

  "Yes, very nice."

  A tall man with the oriental features of the guards appeared, wearing a turban and knee-length tunic over loose trousers. Behind him, the slave carried a small leather-bound chest with brass corner reinforcements and a key lock.

  "Eslan!" Smiling again, Herakles embraced the manager. "I bring you guests." He indicated his clients, "Two noble ladies from the Eternal City itself, and one from the court of Augusta Pulcheria. Also, a presbyter, and husband and wife physicians from Ravenna."

  Eslan bowed. "Kalos orissate. Welcome. I have not good Latin yet are we not all Romaioi? Romani?"

  Basina confronted Herakles. "You didn't mention us. Aren't we good enough to be introduced to this...this tradesman?"

  "Excuse, Domina," he apologized, reddening. "Two distinguished citizens of Italia."

  After Eslan spoke to him again, Herakles translated, "He has warm rooms for you, each with tub for bathing. Even now, slaves fill them with perfumed water."