by Albert Noyer
"That's more like it." Basina's grin of triumph did not improve her looks as she criticized her husband, "See what I got us, Bobo? You stood there like a dumb statue."
"Thank you, dulceda."
"'Thank you, Dulceda,' 'Thank you, Dulceda,'" she mimicked in disgust. "You make me sick."
Embarrassed for the woman, Herakles put the chest under one arm. "Eslan, your slaves can follow with the baggage."
"Is that all you have?" Getorius asked the guide. "Come to think of it, you didn't bring any luggage along."
Herakles stammered, "I have clothing at each mansio. Come, see where you will sleep. Droseria first."
Although windowless, Getorius and Arcadia's room was fairly large. An upholstered couch had been added to the usual wardrobe, bed, table, and chairs. The floor felt warm. Woven tapestries tempered wall dampness. A sunken alcove held a marble tub.
"Good," Arcadia sighed in relief when she saw the room. "I'm going to help Droseria bathe. She hasn't."
Getorius cut her off. "Eslan has women slaves to do that."
"I want to bathe her myself."
"And you're not coming to our room for the night?"
"No."
"Fine. Then I'll see you if you eat supper with me."
* * *
After bathing quickly, Getorius was choosing the tunic he would wear, when a rap sounded on his door. Flavius Bobo stood in the hallway.
"Am I disturbing you, Surgeon?" he asked, glancing into the room.
"No, no, Flavius. My wife is helping Droseria bathe."
"Hermias is doing the same with Basina. I didn't want to stay."
"Come in," Getorius offered. "I found a pitcher of quite good wine in the room."
"Yes, in ours too." Flavius looked around while Getorius poured him a goblet of the vintage. "These rooms are quite handsome, aren't they, Surgeon?"
"That tapestry probably is worth its weight in silver," Getorius estimated. "I suppose the manager gets a generous state stipend."
Flavius looked at him. "And not the others where we stayed? I'd wager this Eslan has other businesses on the side."
Getorius handed him the goblet, then re-filled his own and held it up. Bona valetudo to a safe arrival tomorrow." He took a sip and waited for Flavius to taste his before asking, "What kind of businesses are you suggesting?"
Flavius shrugged uncertainty. "Anything from owning his supply sources to ...to smuggling."
"Contraband? Please, sit on that couch. Smuggling what?"
Flavius slumped onto the cushions. After two quick gulps of wine, he swirled the remainder and looked into the goblet. "Just speculation, Surgeon. Didn't you think that chest Eslan gave our guide was unusual?"
"Unusual in what way?"
"With that lock and reinforcing, it's really a strongbox."
Getorius chuckled at a thought. "I hope it contains expense money. Have you paid Herakles yet?"
"We agreed on a sum at Herakleia. You?"
"Ravenna is paying most of our expenses. He said he'd count on my generosity for his fee, but I've been giving him money regularly. " Getorius held up the pitcher. "More?"
"Flavius covered his glass with a hand. "I...I better not. Ever since I came in drunk at Troy, Basina has been angry."
Getorius quickly put up a restraining hand. "I understand."
Flavius smiled wanly as he put his goblet down. "I think I'll go outside, look at stars until Hermias is finished."
"Then I'll see you at supper." Getorius closed the door. Poor lonely man. Flavius can't be pleased at having Hermias around his wife all the time, although I don't know what he sees in Basina. As a poet said and I never understood, 'A woman who would keep her power over a lover must humiliate him'."
* * *
The early evening meal of herb-seasoned beef and lamb roasted on skewers, a boiled white grain called oruza, and local vegetables, was the most delicious yet served since the group left Constantinople. The women were too exhausted to eat much and their hot bath had relaxed them to drowsiness. Even Basina forgot to ask for the dream-inducing sedative. While her husband was outside locating Venus, she had experienced the erotic stimulation she hoped for under the practiced hands of her slave.
Herakles sat with Eslan to eat. Near the end of the meal he announced that he would awake his clients at sunrise for the final miles to Pergamum.
Alone in his room after eating, Getorius thought of the leather-covered chest that had aroused Flavius's curiosity. What would Flavius cleaning sewer drains know about smuggling? As contraband, people hide precious gems and that chest hardly looks heavier than the material from which it's made. It might not even belong to Herakles. He could be taking something to Pergamum for Eslan.
"I started Rhesus on the barge," he said aloud, taking the papyrus case from his travel bag. "Perhaps I can finish tonight, make some sense out of what that actor was implying." A hesitant rap on the door interrupted him. He thought that Arcadia might have decided to sleep in his room after all, but Brisios stood outside.
"Master, I wondered if you needed anything?"
"No, no, I'm fine." Getorius held up the scroll. "I was about to read that drama we saw at Troy. Ah...come in Brisios. I would have read to your mistress, but you can listen."
"Master I'm not sure that I...I should."
Aware of his slave's unease at the unusual request, Getorius tried to put him at ease. "You did well reading Aesop in that library. Come, sit on the couch over there while I summarize the plot and try to keep the names straight."
"Master, if you wish."
"I do." After Brisios sat down, Getorius opened the scroll. "Let's see, Rhesus is a Thracian king who volunteered to fight on the Trojan side against the invading Greeks. Yet they're boarding their war galleys by night to return home. A suspicious Hektor asks for someone to spy on the Greeks' true intentions. Dolon agrees to do so."
"Master, who is Hektor?"
"Son of Priam, the Trojan king. Dolon disguises himself in a wolf skin and hopes to kill Odysseus or Diomedes. He leaves just as Rhesus and his army arrives. Hektor complains that the king came too late, but assigns him a camp area for the night. Do you follow, Brisios?" At his slave's nod, Getorius continued, "I've read past the scene where Odysseus and Diomedes sneak into the Trojan camp and kill Rhesus. The dead king's officers accuse the Trojans of murdering Rhesus in order to steal Thracian horses. Hektor protests and blames Odysseus. That actor at Troy was paraphrasing and had gotten to the part where the Thracian charioteer reports the death of Rhesus to Hektor. He blames the Trojan guards, but the charioteer believes that treachery was responsible. A Trojan lust for their new ally's horses. The recitation ended with Priam wondering if the gods had abandoned Troy.
"As I was leaving the theatre, Laertes quoted a warning by Athena to not go beyond what has been destined." Getorius searched for the lines. "Here. Diomedes wants to kill Paris, another of Priam's sons, but the goddess tells him he has no authority to go beyond the murder of 'Golden-armored Rhesus.' What do you think, Brisios? Was the actor just drunk or trying to predict something?"
"Master, in one of Aesop's stories a wolf spoke lies about a fox to a lion, but found itself killed in the end. Perhaps he meant that a man who plots against another plots his own downfall."
Perceptive for a slave. "Was Laertes implying that someone is plotting a murder?"
"Master, perhaps it was just a warning."
Getorius thought back to his conversation with the actor. "When I asked Laertes about Apollonios, he replied that an overconfident man was doomed to destruction. I suppose someone in Pergamum could be conspiring against the physician, yet a person with his prestige easily can be a victim of jealousy. The best I expect from Apollonios is that he will share some of his medical expertise with me."
Brisos edged forward on his seat. "Hopefully, Master,"
Getorius sensed that he waited to be dismissed. "Thank you for listening, Brisios. I'll just have to see if that actor has any credibility."
After Brisios left, Getorius changed into his night tunic, realizing he had been carrying on an easy conversation with his slave about a drama, even asking his opinion. Certainly slaves are human beings. I just never considered much about what they think.
CHAPTER IX
By next morning Herakles had regained his cheerful nature. He greeted his clients as they finished a breakfast of boiled eggs, sausages, olives, bread with poppy seeds, and fresh or dried fruits.
"I will be honest," he admitted with a sheepish grin, "you have been ideal travelers until yesterday. Even I felt the strain of our difficult journey."
Basina motioned to him. "Greek, my medications are almost gone. Can I get more at the shrine?"
"Indeed, Domina, the Asklepion will not disappoint you."
"It better not. Bobo, it was your idea that we go there. You told me some jack mule physician helped your mother, but she was always complaining like an old harpy." Flavius stared at his plate as she asked, "Greek, how long until we get to this place?"
Herakles replied, "By mid-afternoon we should sight the ancient acropolis of Pergamon. Now we must go to the coaches." He looked toward Arcadia. "How is Domina Droseria this morning?"
"Very, very ill. I'm truly concerned about her."
"And you yourself, Domina, do not look well."
"I'm only tired."
The guide asked, "Your room was comfortable, warm?"
"Yes. There wasn't a stove, but I was puzzled by a lingering smoke odor."
"Smoke from peasants burning their fields."
"Herakles, here was no window and this odor was different. It permeated the tapestries."
"I also noticed a smell like that," Getorius recalled. "It could be from incense."
Herakles turned away to end the speculation. "We must board our carriages."
As he helped Droseria and Arcadia onto their seats, Getorius decided not to criticize his wife. If she wanted the ill woman as her own patient, to object would only worsen the situation.
Unpaved, but solid and well-drained, the road snaked southeast toward Pergamum through gentle foothills at the base of Mount Pindasos. Stone houses along each side of the roadway sat among fields of brown stalks flecked with bolls of runt cotton. When Getorius noticed a farmer plowing his field twice, the second furrows at right angles to the first, he asked Herakles why the man was breaking the soil that way.
"He will plant seeds for spring harvesting."
"Yes, but what kind of seeds?"
"Asterios, who can tell?" he replied impatiently. "I am from a city."
Getorius settled back. "I've not seen that planting method at Ravenna."
The passengers soon tired of watching the landscape and dozed. Conversation had been exhausted, minds numbed from the strain of travel and lack of a normal sleep cycle.
* * *
Nearing Pergamum, the roadway made a broad curve to the right and circled a high, limestone outcropping. Slumped over, Getorius abruptly awoke from a sleep disturbed by a gnawing sense of alienation from his wife. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and glanced out the window: in the distant glare the arches of an aqueduct slanted in from the north.
Herakles noticed and explained, "Water from Pindasos. Ahead is the temple of Trajan on the ancient acropolis."
Getorius squinted at the height. Above walls of gray-blue stone that enclosed the site, the temple was set on a platform of massive arches. To its right, the concentric seats of a theater descended at a precipitous angle toward the western ramparts. "That's the steepest theater seating I've yet seen anywhere," he remarked. "I would think it dangerous to be up there after dark."
"Very few live there," Herakles said, "only those who claim the Attalids as ancestors. Most houses were abandoned for Pergamum Inferior, a Roman city below. Here of interest to you, Asterios, lived the great physician, Claudius Galen."
"That's right, he was from Pergamum."
"We stop here for good look at acropolis. Very old." After Herakles shouted instructions, the driver turned the mules into the edge of a field and halted them. After the second carriage followed, the guide stepped down from his coach and called to the others. "Come out, stretch legs, fine view of old Greek city."
Basina objected from her window, "I'm not paying you to look at broken down buildings, you jack-mule guide. Those places you make us stay overnight are terrible. How much do you keep from renting those filthy rooms?"
A red-faced Herakles stammered, "Domina, they were best available."
"And the slop you've given us to eat," she ranted on. "Get me out of here!"
Flavius tried to soothe her foul mood. "Now, dulceda, last night the food was good and you had a bath. Our guide is only trying to show us new things."
"Shut up, Bobo." She glared at him with a sarcastic snort. "Why, you haven't shaved in what...three days? Are you trying to grow a beard and look like a man?"
Getorius thought it time to intervene. "Domina, we'll soon be in Pergamum. I'm sure Herakles has fine accommodations for us there."
Stung by her criticism, the guide mumbled, "The Poseidon is very nice, very good meals."
Basina ordered, "Then you stupid Greek, let's stop wasting time here."
Embarrassed for the guide, Arcadia asked from her carriage, "Herakles, will we be arriving near the church?"
"Veveos. Domina, the basilica of Holy Thecla is not far."
"Good, Maria and Melodia would like to see it."
Tranquillus added, "As would I to offer a prayer of thanks for our safe arrival."
"Kalos. I leave you there and take others to Poseidon."
The roadway over the final miles to Pergamum skirted the acropolis's west face, then came in from the south to join a wider paved road that led from the port of Elaea. Herakles, stung by Basina's insults, no longer pointed out sights. Once the coach entered the city gates, he tersely directed the muleteer toward the basilica of Thecla. Just beyond a walled necropolis adjacent to the church, the driver halted and turned to call down to the guide in Greek.
Herakles replied to him, then told Getorius. "There is tragedy, Asterios. The basilica is burned down."
"What? How can that be?"
"We must find out."
After the two coaches stopped short of the church's blackened ruins, the guide went back to tell the women and Tranquillus what had happened.
At the gutted basilica, curious onlookers included a number of black-robed monks. One brick wall of the church had collapsed into charred ceiling beams lying in the nave. Wisps of smoke smoldered on timbers underneath the wreckage. In the apse, an older man and a middle-aged woman, who wore the ash-smudged tunic of a deaconess, picked through the remains of an altar. Getorius looked back and saw that Arcadia and Tranquillus had left the carriage and were coming toward him.
"Stay back," he called out. "I'll try to find out what happened from these two people." When they ignored his warning, he picked his way through warm rubble to the woman. "Deaconess, what happened here?"
She clutched a piece of charred wood and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Two nights ago our church burned. With my porter, Andros, I search for Blessed Thekla's reliquary."
"How did the fire start?"
The woman's expression turned to one of anger. "Apollonios and his satanic priests at the Asklepion are responsible."
Apollonios again. "Why would they do this?"
"A pagan hatred of Christians!"
Arcadia came up to her husband and asked, "What of Epiphania? Is she safe?"
"Domina..." The deaconess paused to wipe an eye. "Domina, our presbytera is dead."
"Presbytera?" Confused, Getorius said, "Epiphania is a woman's name. What is going on, Arcadia?"
She ignored him. "Epiphania dead? I don't understand."
"In the fire." The deaconess peered at her with suspicion. "You knew our presbytera? I haven't seen you at the Eucharist."
"No, no. We've come from Constantinople. Two widows and Droseria are here with a charter from Aeli
a Pulcheria to fund a new church."
"I know only that my dear Epiphania perished inside her basilica."
Arcadia asked, "Where is her body? I would like to report back to the Augusta that at least I saw her. Please, what is your name?"
"I am called Lydia. Domina, there is no need to see the presbytera. The... the fire...." Her voice trailed off.
Before Arcadia could speak again, Getorius gripped her tunic sleeve and pulled her aside. "Tell me what's going on. Is this what you talked about with Pulcheria? A woman minister?"
She wrenched free. "Husband, you...you'll just have to trust me."
"Trust you? Arcadia, you've practically shut me out of your life."
She turned back to Lydia. "Deaconess where is Epiphania's body?"
"At...at the mortuary of the embalmer, Britto."
"Located where?"
The woman glanced at Andros, then pointed to a row of buildings to the east. "At the last shop after the coffin-maker's shop, near the end of the necropolis."
"I must see Epiphania," Arcadia insisted.
"To what purpose?" Getorius protested. "She's probably horribly disfigured and Lydia implied as much. I don't understand why you should go."
"Then stay here, Getorius. I'll walk to this Britto's alone."
"Surgeon, I agree with your wife," Tranquillus said, then told Lydia, "I'm a presbyter. Do you have another minister here?"
"No, and the bishopric of Pergamum is vacant just now. Memnon is Metropolitan at Ephesos, but His Eminence is away."
Tranquillus said, "Then I wish to anoint Epiphania. One is never positive when the soul leaves the body."
Lydia shook her head. "Presbyter, that's not...not necessary."
"Deaconess," he ordered, "ask your porter to take us to the embalmer, so I may anoint Epiphania's body."
Lydia threw down the charred wood. "I'll go with you myself."
"Gratias. First, let me tell the widows about this tragedy."
Arcadia went with Tranquillus. Maria and Melodia were stunned at the news of the young presbytra's death, wondering how this might affect their endowment. They volunteered to stay with Droseria, who was too ill to walk. When Basina complained about the delay, Herakles took the group on to the Poseidon.
