Death at Pergamum

by Albert Noyer

  Arcadia clasped her arms around her body. "My feet are freezing. What next?"

  "I'll see if this lower door is unlocked." Getorius pulled an iron ring that allowed an inner beam to slide aside if it were not secured. The circlet moved. "Fortuna smiles," he whispered. "It's not locked."

  After he tugged at the portal, which creaked open in short, scraping dashes, a gust of warm, musty air met him. Arcadia followed. He raised a finger for silence, then motioned for her to stand by the wall. Lamplight partly illuminated a semi-circular apse next to the entry. The orange glow glinted off a narrow channel filled with water that flowed around the building. Only a gentle gurgling of the stream and intermittent moans or coughs by patients sleeping on cots broke the gloom.

  Getorius waited to accustom his eyes to the dimness. The water seems to come from an outside spring and fills bathing tubs spaced at intervals along the arc. Sacred healing water like in the outdoor pools. A movement to the right caught his eye: a night attendant dozing in a chair shifted position, but did not awaken. "There isn't much of interest here," he murmured. "Let's go upstairs."

  Stone banisters flanked the sides of the stairway leading up to a landing fronting the door. He started up with Arcadia following. When she grasped the railing for support, her hand slipped on a coating of frost.

  Getorius had almost reached the top when the door abruptly opened and an old man tottered out onto the landing. As if in a trance, he edged past the couple but at the last stair slipped and fell. His frail body collapsed on the walk like a child's cloth doll.

  Getorius ran down and knelt beside the oldster. An odor on his tunic was reminiscent of the smell on the tapestries at Eslan's. Skeletally emaciated, sallow, the man stared upward in a listless gaze. His hoarse breathing sounded like a death rattle.

  Arcadia walked down. "What's wrong with the poor man?"

  "I'm not sure, but he seems in a kind of shock. I see no wounds on his body, yet the emaciation is consistent with tumors eating away at his flesh."

  "That's vomit on his tunic."

  "Yes." Getorius supported the man to help him sit up. His eyes opened, then widened in fear as he mouthed feeble words in Greek.

  "Can you tell what he's saying?"

  "It sounds like 'Mia lepta, mia lepta.' A coin." The man suddenly went limp and his breathing slackened. "He's asleep. Let's go up to see if attendants can carry him back in."

  Getorius pushed the partly open door wider and stepped in with Arcadia behind. Lamps burning in a room hazy with pungent smoke revealed wicker compartments built around the wall circumference. Curtains blocked a view of what, or who, was inside the confined spaces.

  Arcadia coughed lightly. "This smoky air smells like nut shells scorched on burning charcoal. It's coming from inside those compartments."

  Getorius saw no attendants in the room, so he pulled aside the nearest curtain. Two older men lay on cots. One was asleep, but the other slowly turned his head toward the movement, his pallid face framing a listless stare. A low table between the two held a lamp and incense burner that gave off whiffs of smoke. A thin blade and several small bags littered the tabletop.

  Arcadia noted, "Those cloth bags are identical to the ones in Epiphania's room that that held cakes of opion. Lydia grated some into wine as sedation, while I tended to the knife wound."

  "Strange. Opion is a medical narcotic being used here as incense." Getorius cleared his throat. "I feel a bit light-headed. Let's go outside again."

  On the landing, breathing in fresh air to dispel effects of the fumes, Getorius noticed lantern lights in a field beyond the building. "Something is happening over there." He unclasped his cape. "Arcadia, put this over the oldster to keep him warm. Stay with him, while I go around and take a look."

  At the bottom of the stairs, Arcadia bent to wrap the garment around the prone man. She leaned close to his face, and then looked up. "Getorius, he's dead. His eyes are open, with the pupils contracted to pinholes."

  "As opion does. What unorthodox treatment is Apollonios prescribing with that narcotic? Stay with the body, I'm going over to see what those lights mean."

  "I'm coming with you."

  "Stay here!" he hissed, then walked away before she could protest.

  Climbing over a low wall that circled toward the Asklepion's south end, Getorius hugged the walkway. At the end, two small buildings reeked of human waste. The dormitory latrines, and as far as I dare go without being seen. Squinting toward the lights, he made out two men digging a rectangular trench in the ground. Brightness from their lanterns revealed a shrouded form lying near them. They're digging a grave. There must be a necropolis back here, yet why not hold burials in daylight?

  Getorius watched the men a while longer. Concerned about his wife, he limped to the sanitarium's back entrance. Arcadia was halfway up the stairs, reading an inscription above the door. "What are you looking at?"

  "I noticed this Greek title over the lintel, M-O-R-PH-I-O-N," she said, sounding out the letters. "Morphion, named after Morpheus, the Greek god who brings dreams."

  "That would be consistent with the dream therapy that Apollonios described, yet opion causes disorientation and torpor when continually given. The body comes to depend wholly on the narcotic."

  "The patients up there are in a state of terminal lethargy. Abrupt death is the eventual result."

  Getorius glanced at the oldster's body. "Poor man was worried about money. Nicias had me try any sedatives he prescribed for patients. Opion gave me a sense of euphoria at first, then the feeling changed to nausea and something more frightening when my vision blurred. I never took the narcotic again."

  "Yet the people in that room breathe fumes from smoldering opion,"

  "Perhaps those patients are incurably ill. This treatment, if you can call it that, at least affords them a measure of relief."

  "Getorius, I remembered something while you were gone, so I went back inside. None of the cloth bags had a lead seal, like the one Lydia opened at the Serapion."

  "The seals were thrown away."

  "No, even the unopened ones didn't have a customs imprint." Arcadia pulled a bag from her purse and held it up. "I took one. See?"

  Getorius felt the lumps inside. "It's what I buy at Ravenna. Then Apollonios is buying smuggled opion to avoid paying the tax and someone brings it to him. Christ! That smoky odor at Eslan's mansio was from the burned narcotic! While you were with Droseria, Flavius Bobo came to see me, implying that the manager seemed too wealthy to only be an innkeeper, that Eslan ran a side business. He mentioned smuggling as a possibility."

  "But that's miles from here," Arcadia objected, replacing the bag in her purse.

  "Eslan gave Herakles a strongbox to bring to Pergamum. Flavius thought it might contain money, yet I didn't think it heavy enough for coins."

  "But, you're suggesting the correct weight to be full of opion bags?"

  "Exactly, Arcadia, and Apollonios told me that Herakles supplies his medicines. Our guide is using his position to bypass tax authorities and smuggle drugs."

  "What should we do? We can't let that old man's body just lie there."

  "He weighs less than a sack of wheat. I'll take him back to the room."

  Exhausted, Arcadia sagged against the railing and watched her husband carry the dead oldster up the stairs. We came to the Asklepion hoping to learn medical procedures that would save lives, but only encountered death. Britto is the latest and Epiphania probably won't live. It's as if Pergamum is truly cursed as the site of that Throne of Satan in the Book of Apocalypse.

  When Getorius came back outside, he noticed a flush on the eastern horizon. "It will be light in less than an hour." He smoothed back his wife's hair and traced dark circles under her eyes with a finger. "Cara, you must be drained after what you've gone through since last evening."

  "I am," she admitted, "but so must you. You haven't slept much, either."

  "We'll go to the Poseidon and catch an hour's rest. Perhaps we're so tired that
we're seeing conspiracies where none exist. Apollonios may have legitimate medical reasons for treating patients with that much opion, and Herakles for whatever is in his box."

  "Even so," Arcadia pointed out, "That would give answers to only two of the several mysteries we've encountered at Pergamum, and, really, to none of the murders."

  CHAPTER XVI

  Getorius awoke, disturbed by flies buzzing around his face and a ray of sunshine slanting in from a high window in the room. Arcadia still slept. With night ended, his mind pictured the horrific events of the previous day: discovering the bodies of Basina and Hermias; finding that Flavius had been killed by Lydia; Britto dead in his mortuary, encased in gypsum. He slid a hand across his eyes to erase the images, then slipped out of bed as quietly as possible.

  Arcadia stirred at the movement and pulled a pillow over her eyes. She lay still a moment, then lifted the covering, only to squint at the brightness, moan, and replace its comforting darkness.

  "Cara, you've only had a short sleep," Getorius called to her, pouring water from a jug into a ceramic basin. "How do you feel?"

  "Terrible!" She dragged the pillow lower over her face. Her muffled voice complained, "How else could I? Everything horrible that's happened on this voyage kept running through my mind, ending with those patients in that black den of Tartarus."

  "I kept picturing the same things." Getorius wet a towel and moved the pillow aside to sponge her face. Arcadia lay still as he blotted away incipient tears. "Is that better?" After she nodded, he bent down to kiss the salty wetness.

  "I like it when you do that," she murmured, "but your new beard tickles."

  "It's ready for a first trimming." Getorius smoothed back her tangle of chestnut hair and stood up. "Let's forget all that until we see Apollonios. I'll have Brisios bring us breakfast."

  As if not listening, Arcadia mused, "What must the widows be thinking? They certainly didn't expect any of what's happened."

  "They're both a couple of tough birds."

  "Birds?" Arcadia opened her eyes. "What kind, sparrows? No, probably magpies."

  "Having survived Alaric's Goths, I'd say they were falcons."

  Arcadia arranged the pillows behind her back and sat up. "Do you still think that actor prophesied anything with his 'Golden-armored Rhesus' and warnings about destiny?"

  "I'm not sure what to think. Why?"

  "Lydia talked about a two-edged sword being mentioned in the Book of Revelation and a throne of Satan at Pergamum. Droseria's note asked me to read Proverbs. She had underlined a verse that warned of a strange woman whose effects were bitter as wormwood and sharp as a two-edged sword."

  "You never let me read that letter, nor Pulcheria's"

  "I'd rather not talk about them just now." When Getorius turned away to rinse the towel, Arcadia called to him, "Don't be angry. I've prayed over what those letters said."

  "I'm sure you have."

  "I'm not completely sure how prayer works," Arcadia continued. "Perhaps by making us aware of opportunities we might otherwise miss? You mentioned birds. Have I told you the story about how a bird was the answer to my very first prayer?"

  "No." Getorius brushed a fly from the lip of a wine pitcher, then poured a half-goblet and brought it to her. He felt pleased that she was moving beyond her fears to something more pleasant. "Here, sip this and tell me about your bird."

  "Hand me my comb." Arcadia put down the goblet to straighten her tangled hair strands. "Well, a month before my tenth birthday I saw a bird inside a cage at the market. It was a tame lark and cost a half-follis. I desperately wanted that bird yet was too shy to ask my father."

  "You? Shy?"

  Arcadia dipped two fingers in her wine and sprinkled his face. "May I tell my story?"

  He licked wine off beard stubble on his upper lip. "Please."

  "The presbyter always told us to pray, because Christ had promised that if we asked His Father for bread, He wouldn't give us stones. I decided to make him prove it, so I prayed as hard as any nine-year-old could for that lark as a birthday gift."

  And 'poof!' It flew right out of its cage and into your hand."

  "Husband, you're not taking me seriously."

  "Sorry. Go on."

  "Remember, I didn't tell Father that I wanted the lark. I realized it was foolish not to do so, yet I truly had faith that I would somehow own the bird. I even made up a name for it. Pinnae."

  "Feathery?"

  "Childish, but that's what the lark looked like to me."

  "You hadn't told your father," Getorius said. "What happened on your birthday?"

  "It was the ides of Januarius, yet quite mild outside. We had breakfast in the garden, then Father left to attend to business. Cook sent my governess out with the kitchen slaves to buy food for supper."

  "At breakfast your father hadn't mentioned that it was your birthday?"

  "I thought he had forgotten, but my tutor, Melitius, hadn't. He gave me a child's book about the travels of Pythias to Thule."

  "So your father came home at the end of the day, and?"

  "Getorius, I half-expected him to be carrying the birdcage because I just knew I would get that lark. He didn't bring it, of course, but said we could go to the baths. I didn't feel like seeing people just then, so I asked if we could sit in the garden. When Father

  Inquired about my lessons that day, I showed him Melitius's gift. That made him say something about realizing it was my birthday and wanting to give me a present."

  "He had hidden the lark somewhere?"

  Arcadia stopped brushing in exasperation. "No, Husband, aren't you listening? He didn't know I wanted it, but what Father did was hand me a half-follis. Getorius, that's the first time I had money of my own. I immediately realized that my prayer had been answered."

  "In a round-about way."

  "The unexpected opportunity I mentioned. I bought the bird the next morning, yet the real lesson was something far deeper. That coin was all mine and I had to make a decision about spending it."

  "I thought you wanted the lark."

  "I did, yet I could have bought something else. I loved honeyed dates. Young as I was, I had been answered in a way I couldn't have imagined. More important, I realized that I had the free will to choose otherwise." Arcadia fell silent for a moment before saying, "Pulcheria's letter is an answer to a prayer of mine, but the consequences would have been too great."

  "I'm not sure what you mean, but your story about the lark is touching." Getorius saw that the sunbeam was a square of brightness on the floor. "It's getting late. We should eat something, then see how Epiphania is doing."

  "How is your ankle this morning?"

  He tested the swelling. "Much better."

  "Good." She slid out of bed to look at herself in a hand mirror. "That will do. Let me wash and tie a net over my hair, then we'll go."

  "I have a few questions to ask Apollonios and Herakles about that Morphion."

  She added, "And Britto's assistant about what happened there."

  * * *

  The two widows were finishing breakfast when the couple came into the dining room. Melodia waved them over to her table.

  "My dear," she said to Arcadia, "we were worried about you. You both look so very tired."

  "It was late when we returned."

  To deflect questions, Getorius asked, "Where is our guide?"

  Maria replied, "We haven't seen Herakles this morning, but he arranged for this food. The fleshy orange-red fruit is especially good."

  Brisios, standing at the door to the kitchen, beckoned for a dark-eyed woman nearby to come with him and walked with her toward the couple.

  "Surgeon. Mistress," he said. "I was telling Zoë about you."

  "Zoë?" Arcadia wondered.

  "Mistress, she's a freedwoman. Zoë manages the Poseidon kitchen."

  After the woman acknowledged the introduction with a slight smile, Arcadia thought, Late twenties, handsome rather than pretty. Heavy eyebrows under a forehead
prematurely creased with worry. How long had she been a slave?

  Getorius asked Brisios, "Have you seen Herakles this morning?"

  "Herakles!" At the name,Zoë's frown lines deepened. "May that pagan son of Hades rot away in its eternal fires!"

  Her outburst surprised Getorius. "What don't you like about our guide?"

  She flushed at his question. "I shouldn't have blurted that out, but I'm new as a Christian. I was baptized at the Vigil of the Resurrection."

  "You're a freedwoman, though?"

  She nodded. "What would you want for breakfast?"

  Arcadia smiled at her. "Whatever you have will be fine."

  "I'll bring the food," Brisios volunteered.

  "We have workers here for that, not slaves." Zoë stopped and caught at his sleeve. "Brisios, I didn't mean it that way. Everyone here is a freed person. Even Nysus, the Poseidon's manager, once was a slave."

  Brisios said, "I thought you like me helping you. These are my owners."

  Owners, just like Arcadia wanted to own that bird and I own our carriage horses. Disturbed at the thought, Getorius did not realize that Brisios and the woman had left and Maria was talking to him.

  "Surgeon?"

  "Sorry, Domina. You were saying?"

  "Have you found Flavius Bobo? Melodia and I hardly slept last night, thinking about that poor woman and her slave."

  I'll not further upset the widows by telling them about Flavius. "Apollonios is looking into the accident and his disappearance. In fact, we're going to see the physician after breakfast."

  Brisios came to the table with plates of bread, soft cheese, boiled eggs, olives, and smoked fish. After he set down the food, Arcadia asked him how he had met Zoë.

  "I ate with the kitchen staff when we arrived. She...she made me feel welcome."

  "Because you're a slave and no one else is?"