Xanthos spat. “Do you think you can fool me? I know you murdered Diokles with your spells; I want you dead before you kill me too. And all Novidunum knows that you’re a sorcerer: I’ll have no trouble proving it.”
“You’re the one who murdered Diokles, with your bleeding and your hellebore!” I said, losing my temper. “Taking me to court will prove nothing but your own incompetence!”
Xanthos grinned unpleasantly and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ll see you on the rack yet, Chariton! Now get away from my house.” He closed the door. I beat on it again, but no one answered.
When I got home some of the soldiers and Valerius’ scribe were waiting to search my house, and Sueridus and Raedagunda were standing in the door looking nervous. Raedagunda was now pregnant: she and Sueridus had taken it for granted that since they were living in the same house under the same master, they would sleep together. Their whispers and giggles after dark had often annoyed me, particularly when I felt lovesick myself, but when I saw them standing huddled together in the doorway I felt cut to the heart. If any credence was given to Xanthos’ case, they would both be tortured.
The troops went through my things very respectfully, and the scribe made a list of everything they found. My spare corset caused a moment’s puzzlement: “What’s this?” asked the soldier who found it. “Bandage for cracked ribs,” I said unblinkingly, and the scribe wrote “1 lge bandage” down on his tablets, as he’d already listed several smaller ones.
Of course there was nothing directly incriminating. I’d been slightly worried that perhaps Xanthos had slipped some foreign object in, but it would have been very difficult for him to do so, as one or the other of my slaves was usually about. However, as the search went on I became uncomfortably aware of just how many poisonous drugs I kept about the house. Poisoning is the natural companion of sorcery. And it was true that all my books were medical texts, but I remembered how the soldier in Alexandria had reacted to the illustration in my Galen. A governor or his assessor examining that scribe’s list would probably feel that there was something there to require further investigation, particularly if Xanthos recited many of his sorcery stories and called in witnesses to show how widely they were believed. It was in fact very likely that my slaves would be tortured. It was even likely that I would be, after their evidence. Holy Christ, I thought, not again.
But Thrace wasn’t the same as Alexandria. I had powerful friends here; Sebastianus could probably fix things with the governor, and Athanaric should have some pull as well. The thing to do would be to have the case thrown out at the preliminary hearing, before the judicial investigation swung into action and tried to wring confessions out of everyone. Sebastianus was presently up the river; Athanaric should soon be coming back across it. I would speak to them both and enlist their help.
The men left, apologizing for their invasion. Sueridus and Raedagunda looked at me wretchedly. They’d been told the purpose of the search, and had by now worked out what it could mean for them. I smiled. “Don’t worry,” I told them. “I’m not guilty, and the governor will find it so at the first hearing. The duke and Lord Athanaric will protect us.”
They both looked relieved. The duke was the ultimate authority in Scythia, as far as they were concerned, and Athanaric was a person of unparalleled distinction, both as a Goth and as a Roman. With their protection, we had to be safe. They went confidently back to their work. I went to my room, wishing I could be as certain as they were.
Immediately after Diokles’ funeral Xanthos went down to Tomis to present his accusation to the provincial courts. He must have spent fairly heavily in bribes, because the preliminary hearing was set for the end of June, only two months away. By rights I should have been arrested and imprisoned until then, as murder by sorcery is a serious criminal charge; but the civil courts have no ability to enforce a warrant in an army camp. A couple of officials came up from Tomis and talked to Valerius and then to me. I promised to attend the hearing and they went away again, relieved that they had as much cooperation as this.
Sebastianus was furious when I told him what had happened. The first thing he did was summon Xanthos and threaten him with immediate sacking unless he dropped the charge. But this Xanthos refused to do. I had murdered Diokles, he said, and I would murder him unless he had me killed first.
“Damn him!” Sebastianus said to me afterward. “I should have sacked him when you first came here.”
He had asked me to dinner at the presidium to discuss the case, but he was too angry to eat. He stood scowling out the window for a moment, then finished his cup of neat wine and glared at its empty bottom. “I never thought that malice and jealousy would take him this far; I thought he’d be alive to self-interest.”
“He really believes what he’s saying,” I said wearily. “Perhaps he is even genuinely afraid for his life. He hates me enough to believe anything. I’ve handled him very badly.”
Sebastianus grunted. “He’s a damned incompetent butcher. If he costs me your services I shall flog him myself. To lose the best doctor on the frontier because of the ravings of some deluded quack!”
“You haven’t lost me,” I said, feeling more frightened with every word he said. “Not yet, anyway. Can’t you do something to protect me?”
Sebastianus shrugged. “You will have to go to Tomis. I would like to tell you to ignore the charge, but I can’t. Sorcery is a very dangerous accusation; if you’re not cleared of it publicly, it could hurt you in the future — and hurt me too, if I protected you. It would be different if you’d just cut Diokles’ throat: I could tell the governor to take his warrant and sink it in the Euxine, I’m not having one of my men tried by some ignorant civilian. No, you’ll have to go to Tomis.” He came back to the table and poured himself some more wine, then looked up and noticed how distressed I was. “Oh, I think you’ll still get off!” he told me. “I’ll write the governor’s office tonight, saying that the charge is frivolous, malicious, and unsubstantiated. And I’ll come to Tomis with you. That should be enough to convince the governor not to find you guilty. If it were up to the present governor, I could promise you a full acquittal at the first hearing — but his successor is due to arrive about the time set for the trial, and I don’t know who it will be. Even so, you should get off: governors don’t like offending a military duke, particularly one with a powerful father. The only danger is that the new governor will be some ambitious climber, out to make a name for himself by scourging the emperor’s enemies. Men like that love sorcery cases. Do you know anything about the magic charm Xanthos says he found in Diokles’ room?”
I shook my head. “I don’t even know whether it’s really supposed to put a curse on someone or it’s a good-luck charm; I don’t know whether it was Diokles’ own or someone else put it there, or Xanthos made it up to support his case. You won’t find any works on magic charms in the Hippocratic writings.”
“So we can’t prove anything. Well, we will simply have to overawe the governor with the majesty of Scythian arms.”
In the end both Sebastianus and Athanaric accompanied me to Tomis. By this time Athanaric’s prediction had come true: the Goths were starting to cross the river into Thrace. But they weren’t coming into Scythia; the imperial authorities had decided to bring them across further up the river, into the neighboring province of Moesia. The crowded camps on the other side of the river from Novidunum were gone now, their inhabitants off for their crossing into Moesia. From there they would be directed into the wastelands in the heart of the diocese. The emperor and his court were enthusiastic about the idea of a Gothic state in Thrace. The thought of the Goths paying taxes on land previously waste and providing recruits for the imperial armies was irresistible to the treasury and the army alike. Athanaric had played a delicate part in the negotiations between the emperor and the Theruingi, but now things were out of his hands, and he had plenty of time to assist a friend at his trial. He did point out that he had warned me, but he was eager to help.
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And it looked increasingly as though I’d need the help: the new governor sounded the wrong sort for me altogether. “A young man, that’s all I’ve heard,” Athanaric said. “Got the governorship at the last minute by outmaneuvering another man; eager to make a name for himself, it seems.”
“He should also be eager to avoid offending anyone,” said Sebastianus, but he was almost as unhappy about it as I was.
I was so used to life on horseback by this time that I didn’t even think of taking a boat down to Tomis. We rode to the provincial capital, and Sebastianus, as always, rode at the head of a troop of cavalry. It is hard to feel helpless and terrified when you’re riding at the head of a troop of cavalry, and I was glad of this. We planned to arrive a few days before the hearing, to allow time for Sebastianus to work on the governor. It took us two full days to get there. Athanaric left us on the second day and galloped ahead via the posting system, to tell Sebastianus’ people in Tomis to get his residence ready. That was his excuse, anyway; I think he had simply forgotten how to ride at a trot.
Tomis, the provincial capital, is a large city, by Thracian standards — a mere town, by Asian or Egyptian ones. It has a pleasant situation on the Euxine, facing eastward to the dawn, with a wide sandy beach and a good harbor. Like all Thracian cities it’s strongly fortified, its walls built of the light-colored local stone. It looked bright and spacious when we approached it that evening. The marketplace was impressive enough, surrounded by the governor’s residence, Sebastianus’ headquarters, a pagan temple, and a fine portico of shops. There wasn’t much else in the town, though, except the church.
Athanaric was already at the headquarters; he’d arrived there around noon. The staff had everything ready for us, and we were able to get off our horses and go straight in to dinner. Though based in Tomis, Sebastianus did not actually spend much of his time there. He was a very active commander, and preferred to supervise his troops in the field, settling their problems on the spot. But he kept his personal slaves, and his lyre-playing mistress, at his headquarters, so he was able to make us comfortable. The three of us reclined to an excellent meal, though I was too nervous to have much appetite. I kept remembering the prison in Alexandria. The lyre player came in, but Sebastianus sent her out again. “No time for pleasure tonight, my sweet!” he told her. “Not until later, anyway.”
“It’s good that we came when we did,” Athanaric said during the first course. “The governor has arrived, and he’s brought the case forward by three days — the hearing’s now scheduled for tomorrow.”
“Sacra Maiestas!” exclaimed Sebastianus. “Why has he done that? We haven’t even engaged a barrister yet! Who is he, anyway?”
“I don’t know why he’s done it,” Athanaric said. “I complained. He’s a countryman of yours, though, Chariton, a fellow Ephesian. His name’s Theodoros.”
I had been sipping my wine, and at this it went down the wrong way; I had a coughing fit and nearly spilled the rest of the cup over myself.
“Do you know him?” asked Sebastianus in surprise.
“What’s his full name?” I asked Athanaric. “Did you meet him?”
“Theodoros son of Theodoros. Yes, he received me at the prefecture. He’s a young man, dark, wide across the shoulders, crooked teeth. He said he was sorry I was annoyed about the change in date, but he didn’t think it mattered.”
I started laughing; it was a while before I could stop, and the other two watched me suspiciously. “He was right,” I said at last. “You needn’t have bothered to come to Tomis, either of you. I could walk into that court tomorrow wearing a cloak embroidered with magic symbols and chanting a hymn to Hermes Trismegistus, and the governor would acquit me. Holy Immortal One! Thorion, governor of Scythia! Oh Lord God!”
Athanaric’s look of puzzlement cleared. “There was a letter from a Theodoros among your things in Alexandria.”
“It’s the same Theodoros.”
Athanaric smiled, and explained to Sebastianus. “ ‘Dear Charition, stop treating that dangerous archbishop and come stay with me in Constantinople; Maia would love to see you.’ Where does Your Grace know him from, then?” He snapped his fingers and answered his own question. “Now I remember, I did hear that you were the client of a Theodoros of Ephesus. But he wrote as though you were a member of his household.”
“I was — sort of. I was a dependent of his tutor. We grew up together, studied Homer together. He made me learn some Latin so I could help him with the plural of magister militum. He wrote to me that he expected to get a governorship soon, but he didn’t say where; he was afraid it might fall through. And I suppose he meant to surprise me.”
“He’s done that, then,” said Sebastianus, now smiling as well. “Are you sure he’ll acquit you?”
“I feel sorry for Xanthos,” I said.
“Well. Do you suppose it would bring bad luck if I called Daphne back in and we had a party before the event?”
He called Daphne back in and called for another jug of wine, and we had a party. It was a fairly decorous sort of party, actually, with only the four of us, but we drank too much. Daphne sang some extremely funny and vulgar songs, and Sebastianus eventually stumbled off to bed with her, leaving Athanaric and me to finish the wine. “Lucky devil,” said Athanaric, staring morosely after Sebastianus.
I said nothing. My first elation had worn off, and I was beginning to worry about meeting Thorion again. Scythia must have been the province he named to the master of the offices. It was not really surprising that he’d got it, either, as it’s not one of the provinces everyone wants — not wealthy like the Asian or Egyptian ones, or prestigious like Syria or Bithynia. Thorion had wanted it for my sake, to have a chance of arguing with me, of persuading me to go home. What would he think when he saw me?
“I wish I had a girl like that,” Athanaric said, still gazing after Daphne. “But I suppose I couldn’t keep her. I travel about too much. The hardships of an agent’s life! I suppose you didn’t notice her.”
“I thought she sang well,” I said feebly. Thorion fell out of my thoughts like a stone falling through seawater, sunk without trace. My mind was like a mirror, reflecting nothing but Athanaric. “And she’s pretty.”
“She’s certainly that,” Athanaric returned. He stopped looking at the door and stared at me for a moment, his eyes vividly blue in the lamplight. “There’s something I’ve often wondered, Chariton. Do eunuchs ever — that is, have you ever wanted a woman?”
“No,” I said. I was a bit breathless; my ears hummed. “Others may, sometimes. I don’t know.”
“You’re probably better off without it.” Athanaric sat up and stretched, ready to go off to bed. “Desire’s a torment.”
“Yes,” I said fervently, before I could think.
Athanaric looked at me again, surprised. “You think that? Chariton the doctor, the perfect philosopher, practitioner of Stoic detachment? And you just said . . .” He stopped, suddenly suspicious.
“Not women? Men?”
“One man,” I said, and bit my lip.
“I suppose a eunuch can’t help it,” he said, but with an expression of distaste. “And you must have been a beautiful boy.”
“It wasn’t like that. Nothing at all happened.”
At this the look of distaste and suspicion changed to one of amusement mixed with sympathy. “He didn’t like boys? What did you do?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I never said anything, and neither did he. One gets over these things, eventually. That is the whole of my experience of desire. It doesn’t add up to much, does it?”
He laughed. “Poor Chariton!”
I shook my head. “There’s always Hippocrates.”
We went to the court early next morning. I put on my best cloak, the one with the red and green border. Sebastianus called in “the majesty of Scythian arms” and came to the court magnificent in his gilded armor and short crimson cloak, followed by a guard of a dozen men. Athanaric joined in the spirit of
things and put on a clean cloak — a good one with a patterned border — and hung the signet that was his license to use the posts on a gold chain around his neck, and swaggered along with his thumb through his sword belt. Even if the governor had been unfavorably inclined, I thought, this show would have swayed him.
The courtroom was on the ground floor of the prefecture, squarely fronting the first of its courtyards. It was embellished with statues of Justice; an altar to this goddess had been torn out of one wall, condemned as excessively pagan, leaving peeling chunks of plaster behind it. The ushers admitted me, Sebastianus, and Athanaric, but stopped all but two of Sebastianus’ attendants, apologizing for a lack of space. The building was already crowded with citizens of Tomis. A sorcery trial always provokes considerable interest, and the people also wanted to have a look at their new governor.
Xanthos was already there, in his best clothing, and with him were a number of others from Novidunum, all presumably ready to testify that I was a sorcerer. The ushers showed me to a place to the left of the dais, behind a railing; my friends sat down in the front of the court. There was no space on the benches, but the court ushers brought chairs for them and fussed about finding cushions.
Thorion came in promptly on the hour, as measured by the water clock. He had scarcely changed at all. He was a bit heavier, his face slightly fuller, and he was dressed with more care — he never used to keep the purple stripes on his cloak straight, but now you might have measured them with a plumb line. Even before he sat down his eyes were sweeping eagerly about the court. He looked at me and away twice. He sat down and looked again, and I smiled. He stared, and I saw his lips move as he swore under his breath.
The proceedings were opened. Xanthos had engaged a barrister, a rotund old rhetorician who stood up and made a long speech about the merits of his client and about my wickedness, depravity, impiety, hypocrisy, and cunning. Thorion kept looking at me and shaking his head in astonishment. The watching citizens whispered to each other and stared at me, first just curiously, then, as the barrister warmed up, with fascinated revulsion. The old barrister stated the precise charges, and produced the incriminating rabbit’s foot with a flourish. Whispers and horrified gasps. Xanthos smiled. Sebastianus looked uneasy. The barrister concluded, bowed to the judge, and sat down.
The Beacon at Alexandria Page 31
