The Alexandrian Embassy

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘Cut him down, Marius,’ Magnus ordered, heading out of the room, ‘and then dump him on the West Viminal’s border; you can use Sextus and Postumus for the job.’ Magnus walked through the door and then put his head back round. ‘And make sure that the poker is pulled out a bit and clearly visible. I want Sempronius to know exactly what I think of him.’

  ‘Your tame senator sent a boy round,’ an old man with gnarled fingers and a sagging throat said, not taking his eyes off the scroll that he was perusing in the light of two lamps.

  Magnus took a seat next to him at the table in the corner of the tavern with the best view of the door through the fug of the crowded room. ‘Which one, Servius?’

  ‘Which boy? I don’t know, I didn’t ask his name.’

  ‘No, you old goat; which senator?’ Magnus took the cup and wine jug brought to him by the man serving behind the bar. ‘Thanks, Cassandros.’

  Servius looked up, his eyes awash with milky patches. ‘Oh, the older one.’

  ‘Senator Pollo?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  Servius looked back at his scroll. ‘It’s no good, Magnus; I’ll be blind before long. Already everything is vague and dimming.’ He shook his bald head and placed the scroll down on the table. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you whilst you were … in conference but the senator is very keen that you should attend his salutio in the morning and then accompany him to the Senate House; his nephew, Vespasian, has a job for you.’

  ‘What sort of job?’

  ‘The boy couldn’t say but Senator Pollo said that you were to keep the next three days or so free.’

  ‘Three days?’

  ‘Or so.’

  Magnus kicked the nearest stool. ‘Shit! Just when things are getting busy.’

  With a fold of his plain white citizen’s toga covering his head, Magnus crumbled a flour and salt cake over the flame of the small fire that was kept continuously burning on the altar of the crossroads lares, embedded into the tavern’s exterior wall. The upkeep of these shrines was the original reason for the formation of the brotherhoods all over the city, centuries earlier. In the intervening time, however, the function of the brotherhoods had expanded to looking after the interests and welfare of the local community, for which they received remuneration from the locals commensurate with the amount of protection they needed. Their word, therefore, was law in the area in which they held sway.

  As the crumbs flared in the flame, Magnus muttered a short prayer to ask the gods of the junction of the Alta Semita and the Vicus Longus to hold their hands over the area. That done, he raised a bowl and poured a libation in front of the five small bronze figures that represented the lares, promising the same offering that evening should they keep their side of the religious bargain. Pulling the toga from his head, he patted the brother, whose turn it was to tend the fire, on the shoulder before heading off down the wakening Alta Semita, with the first indigo glow of dawn to his back and with Cassandros and a bearded, betrousered easterner, both of whom carried staves and sputtering torches, to either side.

  It was but a short walk to Senator Gaius Vespasius Pollo’s house and, although Magnus arrived there just shy of sunrise, there was already a goodly crowd of the senator’s clients waiting outside for admittance to his atrium in order to wish a good day to their patron, receive a small largesse, enquire if there was any way that they could be of service to him that day and, perhaps, occasionally take advantage of the symbiotic relationship and ask a favour of the senator themselves.

  ‘Cassandros and Tigran, you stay here.’ Magnus did not care for order of precedence and pushed his way through the crowd to the front door, leaving his two companions waiting on the fringe of the gathering. No one objected to his progress as all were aware that this battered ex-boxer, although low on the social scale, was high in their patron’s favour.

  As the sun crested the eastern horizon, bereft of yesterday’s clouds, bathing the Seven Hills in a spring morning glow, the door was opened by an exceedingly attractive youth with blond hair, the length of which was countered by the shortness of his tunic. Magnus was first through the door.

  ‘Magnus, my friend,’ Gaius Vespasius Pollo boomed, not getting up from the sturdy chair set in the centre of the atrium in front of the impluvium with its spluttering fountain. He brushed a carefully tonged ringlet of dyed black hair away from his porcine eyes glittering in a hugely fat face.

  ‘Good morning, sir; er … you require a service, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, yes, but I’ll talk to you about it later. In the meantime my steward will give you a list of Jewish requirements and customs.’ Gaius gestured to a slightly older version of the youth on the door who bowed his head to Magnus. ‘Oh, and he’ll also have one of my lads read it for you seeing as you, well, you know.’

  ‘Can’t read,’ Magnus said, his confusion plain upon his face.

  ‘Indeed,’ Gaius replied, already looking to the client next in line.

  ‘Philo!’ Magnus exclaimed as he walked beside Gaius, processing with his two hundred, or so, clients accompanying him down the Quirinal. ‘You mean the brother of Alexander, the Alabarch of the Alexandrian Jews?’

  ‘The very same,’ Gaius puffed; although he had set a sedate pace he was already sheened with sweat. His jowls, breasts, belly and buttocks wobbled furiously to different rhythms beneath his senatorial toga as he waddled behind Cassandros and Tigran with their staves at the ready to beat a path for him should the way become too crowded.

  ‘What’s he doing in Rome?’

  ‘He’s been here since the start of the sailing season. He’s heading an embassy of Alexandrian Jews to the Emperor to complain about the way Flaccus, the Prefect of Egypt, handled the riots between the Jews and the Greeks in Alexandria last year.’

  ‘I saw them, I was there with Vespasian, stealing Alexander’s breastplate from his mausoleum for Caligula because Flaccus refused to hand it over.’

  ‘Of course you were; so you know what the riots were like, then?’

  ‘Well, according to Philo, they were an outrage because, how did he put it? The Jews were scourged with whips by the lowest class of executioner as if they were indigenous country dwellers, rather than with rods wielded by Alexandrian lictors as was the entitlement of their rank.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, that was his main complaint. Forget the fact that his sister-in-law had to be put out of her misery by her own husband because she had been flayed alive and had no chance of survival, or that gangs of Greeks dragged Jews off to the theatre to crucify them and then set fire to the crosses. No, he was more concerned about the etiquette of beating and how some of his acquaintances were not accorded the dignity of the rod, as he put it. An arsehole as far as I could make out and a pompous one at that.’

  ‘Yes, well, he is the arsehole, pompous or not, that Vespasian wants you to … look after, shall we say, for the next few days.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because no one else will. He’s either refused or got rid of, on religious grounds, everyone that Cossa Cornelius Lentullus, the Urban Prefect, has provided for his safety. Not wanting to take the blame should something happen to Philo and his embassy, Lentullus passed on responsibility to Corbulo, the Junior Consul, who in turn immediately passed it down the line to Vespasian, in his capacity as one of the Urban Praetors this year. Corbulo is well aware that Vespasian has a relationship with the family from his time in Alexandria and therefore perhaps has some influence over Philo. So Vespasian, naturally, is anxious that Philo should not wander around the city unattended as he is likely to cause offence wherever he goes.’

  ‘Well, that’s for sure. Why doesn’t someone just bundle him onto a ship and send him back to Alexandria?’

  ‘Because, after keeping him waiting, Caligula has decided that he will receive him and his embassy and is looking forward to it; which is why no one wants to be responsible for disappointing our divine Emperor by allowing Philo to get himself ki
lled. Apparently Caligula’s curious as to why the Jews don’t accept him as a god.’

  Magnus scowled. ‘Well, they don’t accept anything as a god. That’s what the Greeks used as the reason for the riots: they didn’t see why the Jews should have equal status with them if they weren’t going to behave like equal citizens and make a sacrifice to the Emperor when they took their annual oath of allegiance.’

  ‘Which is, I believe, the very question that Caligula wants to put to Philo: why should the Jews have equal status if they don’t behave like everyone else in the Empire?’

  ‘Tricky.’

  ‘Yes, so just make sure that he’s kept alive to answer it. Caligula is on his way back from Antium and Vespasian is accompanying him; they should be back in a day or so as Caligula’s keen to get his campaign in Germania under way.’

  Magnus grunted; he did not look enamoured of the commission. ‘If you say so, sir.’

  ‘I don’t say so; it’s just a small favour that I’m asking.’

  ‘And in return, sir?’ Magnus asked as they went through a colonnade that opened out into the Forum built by Augustus.

  Gaius looked askance at his client and raised a knowing, plucked eyebrow. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Have you heard of a man named Quintus Tullius Tatianus?’

  ‘An equestrian from an unfashionable branch of the Tullian gens?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘He who can get hold of any weapon you care to name and get it through the city gates?’

  Magnus hid his surprise at a senator being aware of the existence of such a shady figure. ‘That’s the one; what do you know of him?’

  ‘Just that, there’s nothing he can’t get hold of and smuggle into the city for the right price: Scythian composite bows, Thracian rhompheroi, Rhodian staff-slings and the correct lead shot, throwing axes from the barbarian North, Jewish sicari daggers, you name it and he can get it. Oh, and he only ever does business at his house and on his own terms. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I was going to … well … enlighten you, if you take my meaning?’

  ‘He’s upset you so you were going to report his illegal enterprise to me in the hopes that I would take it to the Urban Prefect or some such thing?’

  Magnus was disappointed. ‘But you already know what everyone else knows?’

  ‘If by “everyone else” you mean the criminal underbelly of Rome who seem to have an insatiable demand for novel ways of despatching one another, then yes.’

  Magnus thought for a few moments as Gaius hailed other senators also making their way through the Forum of Augustus. ‘But how come you know about him as well?’ Magnus asked once he had Gaius’ attention again.

  ‘Anyone who has been a praetor knows about him. He’s well known to all of us who’ve had a responsibility for law and order in Rome.’

  ‘And yet nothing’s been done about him?’

  ‘No, we leave him alone.’

  Magnus could not conceal a look of astonishment. ‘You mean the authorities let him continue in business.’

  ‘Naturally. We never touch him, which has led him to become so complacent that he thinks that he can trade openly from his own study.’

  Magnus’ astonishment morphed into incredulity. ‘The authorities just let him bring weapons into the city with impunity?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Now, Magnus,’ Gaius said with a concerned frown, ‘you sound as if you’re in danger of becoming an upright and outraged citizen. It makes absolute sense to let him carry on undisturbed: if he disappeared who would take his place and how long would it take us to find out? And, actually, would it just be one person? Tatianus guards his trade very jealously so that anyone who encroaches on his business normally finds themselves the victim of their own merchandise. He polices it very nicely for us; rather like your crossroads fraternities are tolerated because you keep the crime down in your areas even though you’re a bunch of criminals yourselves. It’s a most peculiar paradox.’

  ‘Now, sir, you’re not being entirely fair.’

  ‘Really? Well, if you say so.’ Gaius looked amused as they passed into Caesar’s Forum where the Urban Prefect could be petitioned in the shadow of an equestrian statue of the onetime dictator. He pointed to Lentullus at his desk perusing a scroll. ‘We could go and tell the Prefect all about Tatianus now and he would just laugh. If it wasn’t for Tatianus he would have no idea of how much weaponry was in the city and who possessed it so that every so often he can send the Urban Cohorts round and have a collection.’

  Magnus’ mind was reeling as they came out into the Forum Romanum where Cassandros and Tigran were forced to begin using their staves to clear a passage through the morning crowds. ‘You mean that Tatianus tells the Prefect about every shipment he brings in?’

  ‘Of course not; how could we trust him? No, that would be a silly idea; he’s completely unaware of our interest in him. Much simpler just to find out who’s in his pay and then threaten nasty mishaps to their loved ones if they so much as forget one item that comes through. At the moment Tatianus seems to be using a certain Urban Cohort centurion who’s part of the Capena Gate detail.’

  ‘Who happens to be on duty on the Ides.’

  ‘Ah! So that’s when your shipment is coming in, is it?’

  ‘Now, I didn’t say that I had purchased anything, sir. I just said … well. I didn’t really say anything, did I?’

  ‘No matter, Magnus; but you can be sure that the Urban Prefect will know about anything illegal that does come through the Capena Gate tomorrow within an hour of its arrival. Then he has only to watch who comes and goes from Tatianus’ house to have an idea as to where the shipment is destined.’

  ‘Pluto’s slack sack!’ Magnus realised the seriousness of his position should he take possession of his order. ‘And then depending on what it is he will act accordingly; is that how it goes?’

  ‘Very much like that, Magnus.’

  ‘So if I were to go to his house soon after a very illicit item comes in, I could expect a visit from the Urban Cohorts and have some serious explaining to do.’

  ‘Precisely; and even I would find it hard to assist you in that situation. Has that helped you?’

  ‘Thank you, sir; that is interesting. Naturally I’ll keep this to myself.’

  ‘Magnus, the day that either of us betrays a confidence will, I’m sure, be the last day of our very mutually beneficial relationship.’

  They stopped at the base of the Senate House steps and Gaius bade farewell to the majority of his clients as all around other senators did likewise. He then gave instructions to the few clients he had asked to remain behind concerning the lobbying favours he needed them to carry out for him that morning in the Forum. Once he had dismissed them he turned his attention back to Magnus. ‘Vespasian will be in contact when he returns to the city, probably tomorrow, provided Caligula doesn’t decide to dispense his bizarre forms of imperial justice at every town along the Appian Way. Hopefully he can persuade the Emperor to see the Alexandrian embassy soon and then we can hustle them onto a ship in Ostia and be done with them. Keep Philo out of trouble until then.’

  Magnus grimaced at the thought of at least a couple of days with Philo. ‘I’ll do my best, sir. Where will I find them?’

  ‘Ah, didn’t I tell you that? Well, the delegates are all staying at a villa in the Gardens of Lemia just outside the Esquiline Gate.’

  ‘And Philo?’

  Gaius nodded towards the base of the Capitoline Hill. ‘He’s in there.’

  ‘What, in the Tullianum?’

  ‘Yes, although he’s not in the cell, he’s with the gaolers. The Urban Prefect had no option but to imprison him until he could find someone who would be able to restrain him from spitting at every statue of our gods he passes. As you’ve met him, and his family is, to a great extent, in yours and Vespasian’s debt, that someone appears to be you.’

  ‘It’s an outrage!’ Philo was quite clear on
this point; it was the fourth time he had made it to Magnus, growing more vehement on each occasion. ‘Me, the leader of the embassy from the Jews of Alexandria to the Emperor of Rome, locked up like a common criminal as if I were from the lowest order; of no more account than you, Magnus.’ Philo’s long grey beard stuck out at a strange angle from his chin, wobbling up and down as he sucked in his lower lip, working it furiously in his disgust. His heavy brows creased and uncreased in time to the blinking of his eyes, one of which was surrounded by a purpling bruise. ‘Does the Urban Prefect not know who I am? Is he unaware of the dignity of my rank? Doesn’t he know the extent of my literary achievements? Is he not cognisant of the fact that my brother, Alexander, is the Alabarch of the Alexandrian Jews? The Alabarch, I tell you; not some vague title such as head of the Alexandrian Jews, or leader, or foremost Jewish citizen, but Alabarch. The Alabarch! And I, the brother of the Alabarch and leader of the embassy, was forced to share the company of gaolers so uncouth that I doubt that even you would find them suitable company, Magnus. Do you see just how I have been insulted when all I was trying to do was to give alms to the Jewish beggars who live amongst the tombs on the Appian Way? It’s an outrage.’ He adjusted his white turbanesque headdress to further emphasise the point.

  Magnus tutted in sympathy. ‘To be treated as if you were me; I can’t imagine anything worse for you. But I’m sure that it was all nothing more than a misunderstanding based on you just clearing your throat at the wrong time, whilst you were passing a statue of Mars. I’m positive that any phlegm you deposited on the god’s foot was due to misaiming, and the outraged citizens who attacked and beat you were overreacting to what was no more than a rogue globule of mucus.’

  Philo pulled his black and white patterned mantle tighter around his shoulders. ‘Yes, and to be set upon by common people and beaten by their unwashed hands was a shame that was almost too much to bear; not one person of the equestrian rank amongst them, let alone a senator. None of my attackers had the quality to lay a finger on me and yet here I am, cut and bruised by the lower orders.’