“I? What could I do? I stayed in my house like an honest man.”
This was true as far as it went, which wasn’t very far. He’d sympathized with the pretender, who had been a man of the noblest lineage — my father fancied himself an aristocrat. When Procopius had gained control of the province, my father had in fact debated with his friends whether they should go up to court and offer the pretender their best wishes. But they had decided to see which way the wind blew, first — a fortunate decision, since Procopius had been defeated by the emperor Valens a few months later.
“Indeed? You did not drink the pretender’s health and swear that he, a cousin of the emperor Constantius, would make a finer emperor than the son of a Pannonian peasant?”
“No! No, of course not.” My father swallowed again. Perhaps he had, I thought. But surely the emperor wouldn’t accuse a man of treason on the strength of that alone? Most wealthy men in the eastern provinces of the empire had done just the same. And the whole issue was a dead horse now: no use flogging it.
But the stranger had not finished. “You were a friend of Euserios, the former governor of this province,” he stated. Not “His Excellency Lord Euserios,” not “the most distinguished clarissimus Euserios.” Euserios was plainly in trouble.
“Yes. That is, I knew him. Of course, Your Excellency, I knew him; he resided here in Ephesus two years ago: how could I, as an ex-governor and a leading citizen of the metropolis, not know him? But I have not seen him since then, Your Excellency; we were not particularly friendly.”
“You have corresponded with him.”
“No! Nothing to speak of, anyway, just letters of recommendation for a few young men who wanted a place on his staff. I hope he has done nothing wrong; I am sure he meant no ill . . .” My father stopped, sweating. I could just remember Euserios, a plump, cheerful man and a competent governor, toasting my father’s latest triumph at the hippodrome.
“He is dead,” the other returned. “Strangled. After torture.”
My father went white. He sat down heavily on the nearest couch. Maia hurried from my side, caught up a wine cup and gave my father something to drink, pulled his cloak straight, fanned him. I felt sick. I had not felt particularly frightened before this. I knew that the stranger was being unpleasant and that my father was upset, but I believed that nothing would happen: not to my father, not to Theodoros of Ephesus, master of the races. But if it could happen to Euserios, it could happen to anyone. Tortured. Ordinarily, people of Euserios’ rank could not be tortured. For the law that protected them to be suspended meant that there must be a real and very large conspiracy against the emperor. And the cruelty of Their Sacred Majesties was legendary. Every trace of treason would be pursued with the utmost seventy.
“You also knew my predecessor Eutropios,” said the stranger. Eutropios had been the previous year’s governor, so this must be the current one. The soldier had spoken literally, referring to him as “the governor.” What was his name? Festinus, I remembered. A Latin, a westerner from the unimaginably distant province of Gaul. There had been considerable gossip about him: “An absolute nobody,” Maia had told Ischyras in disgust. “Scarcely more distinguished than I am myself as to family; but he was lucky enough to go to school with powerful friends, and now he’s left the West and come here, the plague.”
My father jumped. “Yes. Yes, but how could I not know the governor of Asia? When he lives here in Ephesus? I hope Eutropios —”
“He is under suspicion,” Festinus said; he seemed displeased that it was only suspicion. “But Euserios was in the thick of it.” He stood up and poured himself some more wine. “This is excellent,” he said, sipping it and taking his seat again. “You are to be congratulated on your vineyards.”
My father gave him an anguished look; Festinus smiled. Maia fanned my father some more, not looking at the governor, and Festinus indicated her with a nod of his head. “Who’s the slave? When did she come in?”
My father took a gulp of the wine Maia had offered him. “She’s the nurse of my children,” he said. “My daughter, Charis; my son, Theodoros.” He indicated us with a limp hand. Festinus looked at each of us carefully, smiling. His teeth were very white in his reddened face.
“Your Excellency,” said Thorion boldly, “my father is no traitor.”
“I hope not,” said Festinus. “Did this slave, and the young lady, go out after coming in?”
“No, Your Excellency,” Maia said, bowing her head and still not looking at Festinus. Her tone was very respectful, but the voice scarcely seemed hers. “We came in just now; no one has been out. I believe your guards would not let them by if they tried.”
The governor nodded. “Good. No one has been told to hide anything.” He nodded again to one of the other officials. “Tell them to start searching the house.” He looked back at my father. “Give him all the keys.”
“Johannes,” said my father to his steward, in a broken voice. “You have the keys; go with this gentleman and do as he says.”
“Your private keys as well,” insisted Festinus.
My father stared at him wretchedly, then very slowly pulled from his tunic the thong that held the keys to his storechest and writing desk. He stared at them for a moment. Johannes the steward came over and held out his hand for them, looking as miserable about it as Father himself. Father dropped them into his outstretched palm. Johannes went over to the official the governor had indicated.
The official bowed to Father and Festinus, nodded to some of the soldiers, and went out into the courtyard. The crowd there began to disperse, going off to ransack the place for evidence of treachery. When they had finished that, I realized, they would torture the slaves. Then, if any evidence turned up, or if any of the household said anything, true or false, while on the rack, they would torture my father, execute him if he confessed — and he would confess anything under torture — and confiscate his estates. I felt myself starting to shake; I pulled my cloak over my head and chewed on the edge of it. Thorion came over and put his arm around me. He whispered into my ear what must have seemed like words of comfort; what he actually said was “What did you do with the bird?”
That stopped my panic. If the men found the mutilated corpse of a small bird in Thorion’s room, he would certainly be accused of black magic, and black magic and treason go together like salt and vinegar. I patted the leather cosmetics purse at my belt and Thorion gave a faint gasp of relief. “This is all nonsense,” he told me, a bit louder, not minding if Festinus heard this. “They won’t find anything, and they’ll go away again. You can’t convict a man of treason because he knew one of the traitors socially two years ago.”
Festinus did hear it; he glanced over at us and smiled again. “Ah, but there’s more to it than that,” he said. He seemed to be enjoying this. He took another sip of wine. My father stirred himself and looked at him. “I said the reason was that your name was Theodoros,” Festinus went on, looking at Father again. “The conspiracy which Heaven has mercifully uncovered would have made a Theodoros emperor.”
“I know nothing about it,” said Father.
“The conspirators weren’t thinking of you,” Festinus admitted. “They wished to give the purple to Theodoros the Notary. But another Theodoros might have been meant. The oracle wasn’t clear.”
Everyone stared at him and he took another sip of wine. He was enjoying it. I had no idea, then, who Theodoros the Notary was: I found out later that he was a wealthy nobleman of far greater distinction than my poor father. But what riveted everyone was the mention of an oracle. All the ancient oracles were silent, either, as the church maintained, because the coming of Christ had robbed them of their power, or, as the pagans claimed, because the Christians interfered with them and because the weakness of the priesthood meant they had become unreliable.
“A few months ago,” Festinus said in a leisurely fashion, “it happened that a couple of poisoners and magicians, Palladios and Heliodoros by name, were brought into court
on an insignificant charge. To save themselves the torture, they promised to inform the court of a far more serious matter which they knew of — professionally. For it seems that Fidustius, Pergamios, and Irenaios, all courtiers and noblemen of great distinction” — he looked ironically at my father — “had by secret and detestable arts learned the name of the man who will succeed our most glorious and beloved Lord Valens.”
Festinus surveyed us all again with his cool blue eyes. I stopped chewing on my cloak and stared back, thanking Heaven and good luck that I still had the bird’s body. They were unlikely to search me personally; it should be safe. But any evidence of magic now, and we’d all be strangled. I worried suddenly about my father’s champion charioteer. Well, at least he was a free man, not a slave, and had his own house in the town, thank God. They might search him, they might find God knows what; but they couldn’t prove that we knew anything.
“Fidustius happened to be at court in Antioch when this happened,” Festinus went on. “He was tortured, and revealed all he knew. With the aid of two nobly born magicians” — again the ironic smile, this time directed at Thorion and me — “the conspirators had constructed an oracle like the oracles of old. They built a tripod like the Delphic tripod, and stood it upon a round dish made of diverse metals, around the rim of which were engraved the letters of the alphabet. Then, after various pagan and unholy rites, they fastened a ring to the tripod by a thread of fine linen, which they set swinging. This ring stopped over one or another of the letters, which the conspirators wrote down, and so it responded to their questions. And it answered in verses, Delphic hexameters like the oracles of old. It said that the next emperor would be a man accomplished in every part” — he smiled at my father, then dismissed him with a shrug — “and that his name would be . . . it spelled out THEOD —, at which one of the conspirators cried, Theodoros the Notary!” whom these depraved men had already decided upon as the best candidate for the purple. So they did not question it further on the succession, but instead asked about their own fates. And it prophesied, and prophesied truly, that for this work of inquiring into the mysteries of Fate they would all perish most miserably.”
He smiled once more, then swilled his wine about his cup and drank it. “Fidustius also confessed that your friend Euserios brought this news to Theodoros the Notary. Theodoros was sent for from Constantinople; he at first denied everything, then admitted knowledge of the oracle, but said that he had responded to Euserios by saying that if God would have him emperor, they might trust to God and the workings of Fate to achieve it. Euserios, under bloody torture, said the same, but Theodoros was eventually convicted by a letter written in his own hand. There was in fact an attempt to assassinate His Sacred Majesty, before this evil plot came to light, but no one had known what lay behind it. Heaven itself protected Our Sacred Lord Valens, and turned the sword of his attacker.” Festinus set his cup down. “But now that that pretender is dead, His Sacred Majesty is troubled. Was the oracle mistaken, or only the conspirators? Could another Theodoros have been meant? Inquiries are proceeding. I, for my part, since our most religious and discerning emperor has entrusted to me the governorship of this province, am determined to carry them out with the utmost rigor. And when I find a Theodoros — a rich nobleman who had little love for our most beneficent Augustus when he was challenged by a usurper; a man who was a friend to some who were involved in this conspiracy; a man who has set out to win the support of his fellow citizens, expending on this task thousands of solidi in gold — when I find such a man, then I am suspicious.”
Father looked at him miserably. He seemed crushed, as though he were already facing the rack. “I have done nothing,” he whispered, “nothing.”
Festinus laughed. “I can believe it, now that I see you. Well, well: if you have done nothing, you have nothing to fear.”
Hippocrates says that a doctor must observe his patients carefully and miss nothing if he is to make a good diagnosis of their illnesses. I had been training myself in observation; I observed Festinus now, despite my fear. He meant it when he said that he believed my father had done nothing. In fact, he probably had believed that all along. This whole drama was being performed for some other reason. Perhaps to show the emperor his zeal in rooting out enemies. He was a stranger to the East, without friends: he did not have to worry about how others would treat him when his governorship was over with. He wouldn’t be received by anyone anyway, unless he were sure of the emperor’s favor; he was, as Maia said, nobody as to family. So to get and keep the emperor’s attention was all-important to him.
But when I saw him laugh, I knew that he liked to humiliate men who, like my father, thought of themselves as aristocrats. Here he was, the son of nobody, and yet he could threaten a wealthy senator with the rack and watch him tremble. Yes, he enjoyed it.
“Theodoros is a common name,” Thorion said angrily. “There must be hundreds of powerful men by that name in the East alone. Is the emperor going to accuse all of them? And under what legal procedure?” Thorion always got angry when he was afraid, angry and belligerent.
Festinus sneered at him tolerantly. You are very young, said his look, and don’t understand these things. “We will investigate anyone who incurs our suspicion on these very serious charges,” he said formally.
The door from the corridor opened, and the official in charge of the search came in, dragging Johannes, who was weeping. After him came two of the soldiers. I was watching Festinus, and I saw him go rigid, his mouth opening with genuine surprise at what he saw. Only then did I take my eyes off him.
The soldiers were carrying a large cloth of purple silk. It was embroidered with golden bees, and the edges were hemmed with golden fringes. They spread it out on the floor, over the mosaic of the chariot. It glowed rich and vivid over the colored tiles: imperial purple. Only emperors were allowed the purple; for another man to own such a robe was a capital crime.
“It was in his private clothes chest,” said the official. “None of the slaves admit to having seen it before, and all deny any knowledge of it.”
“No!” protested Father. He jumped up, knocking the couch over, then fell onto his knees. “No, it’s not what you think; I can explain!”
“You will explain everything, be sure of that,” Festinus said grimly. He too was on his feet, staring at the purple. “I congratulate you, Theodoros. I believed you were as weak-spirited and foolish as you pretended; I thought you were innocent. So, so: you were plotting with Euserios after all. Is Eutropios in on it? Who else? Confess your accomplices!”
“But I’m not . . . that is, it wasn’t for me . . .”
“Who is it for, then? Who? We will have the truth out of you; we will dig it out. We can put you on the rack, despite your riches; we can claw the truth from you! It’s no use keeping silent now!”
I had been shocked almost to fainting when I saw the purple. I could not believe that my father had such a thing. If I had not seen the surprise on Festinus’ face, I would have thought that he had had it planted. But it was my father’s. Even the governor’s present fury showed that. He was not just angry, but vindictive: he had been fooled. No more formal talk about “incurring suspicion” and Heaven’s favor to His Sacred Majesty.
My father knelt on the floor, scrabbling at the edge of the robe with his fingers, too terrified to speak. I was still too horrified to cry. But the shape of the purple cloth suddenly recalled something else, something I had seen recently. In the stables. And I realized (and the rush of relief as I realized brought on the tears) that the purple was not a robe but a hanging to drape over a chariot.
“It’s for a chariot,” I said aloud.
Everyone stared at me as though I’d gone out of my mind. All those nobles and officials, staring at a fifteen-year-old girl.
“Can’t you see it’s for a chariot?” I said. I ran over and picked the cloth up, draped it so that the front fell over the arm of one of the couches, the fringes hanging down over the back and sides. “Y
ou couldn’t wear that for a robe,” I told Festinus. He towered over me, very close, frowning.
“Who’d want a purple robe for a chariot?” he demanded, but a trifle uncertainly.
“Father would.” I had not known that he had wanted such a thing, but now that I understood what the cloth was, I could fill in the rest of its purpose. “He had it made for the games this summer. He’s magistrate. He wanted to put a statue of our lord the Augustus in the winning chariot and parade it through the city. He didn’t tell the slaves because he wanted to surprise everyone with a new spectacle, and if you tell the slaves it’s all over the market before the day’s out. Everyone expects him to do something different every time he’s magistrate, and he likes to surprise them. But he told me and Thorion all about it — didn’t he, Thorion?”
He had told Thorion nothing of the sort, I knew. He was well aware what Thorion thought of all his magistracies and horse races. But he would have told a few others — Daniel the charioteer, and Philoxenos, and perhaps one or two of his friends. I hoped it was true about the statue: I put that in because I didn’t think he’d be foolhardy enough to parade his winning chariot (and he’d been sure that the winning chariot would be his, or he wouldn’t have bothered with purple) without some public excuse. If it was true, he’d have had to arrange with some others on the town council to move the emperor’s statue from the marketplace to the hippodrome and have it ready to put in the chariot. So he’d have other witnesses.
“That’s right,” said Thorion. He was not good at book-learning, but he was far from stupid, my brother. “It’s been such a long time since the Augustus actually visited Ephesus that Father thought it would do the city good if he refreshed the citizens’ loyalty with a representation of His Majesty. He told us all about it.”
“Yes, yes!” said Father, straightening up, though still on his knees. “And I told Philoxenos, my groom, and their excellencies Pythion and Aristeides, councilors of this town: they were to undertake to move the statue of our most religious emperor to the hippodrome for the festivities. It would have been as though the emperor watched over our festival from afar. And when the races were ended, the winning chariot would approach the emperor’s statue, and attendants would hang it with purple and then stand the statue before the charioteer. He would drive it through the streets into the marketplace, receiving the acclamations of all the city.” Father was recovering himself. He spoke with some of his old fluency, picturing what he undoubtedly saw — his chariot, driven by Daniel, parading through the streets full of cheering crowds.
The Beacon at Alexandria Page 3
