Gladiatrix (27 page)

We looked at each other in stunned silence.

Apart from the headdresses we were twins. The robes were exactly the same, just different colours, even the diamond pattern on his vest exactly matched mine.

They had to be a set of costumes intended for extras in some kind of Roman musical. The kind that called for a chorus of Arab camel traders.

Dressed as though we'd just escaped from the matinee version of
Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves
, and sweating under the heavy costumes, we started towards the Iseum. No-one seemed to take any notice of us. Guess we just looked like tourists after all, wearing the ancient equivalent of Hawaiian shirts and loud checked pants.

‘Do you know what kind of reputation the Isiacs have?' I hadn't had time to ask Alexander if he knew much about them. ‘Known for their ritual killings? Murderous orgies?'

I didn't imagine they'd get away with too much under Roman law, but what's hidden often gets out, and I was betting the Romans loved a good gossip.

‘No, nothing like that. Actually their reputation's pretty good. A peaceful, law-abiding community that looks after their own.' In answer to my sceptical glance, he said, ‘I know that's not what you want to hear, Kannon. But I've never heard anything against them.'

He qualified that with, ‘Occasionally, their annual parade down to the Tiber for the blessing of the fleet gets a bit out of hand. It's always too noisy. And too
crowded. And the pickpockets like it. But that's it. Isis is just as popular amongst the slaves as the wealthy, and the ones I know are good people.' He grimaced. ‘Except for Crassus of course.'

‘Anything else? No gossip. There must be another side to them?'

‘If there is — it doesn't get around. Aside from the anti-foreigner faction, most see them as mainstream.'

‘Anti-foreigner faction?'

‘Traditionalists,' Alexander explained. ‘Rome for the Romans. Anti-immigrant. That kind of thing.'

‘After Actium, I'd have thought all Romans would hate anything Egyptian.'

‘No. Compared to the other cults they're great. They don't team mother worship with male castration, like the worshippers of the goddess Cybele. They aren't noisy drunks, like the followers of Bacchus. And they do a lot of charity work.'

‘Castration and mother worship? Can't really see the selling point myself.' Freud would've had a field day with that lot.

‘Yep. Cybele's surprisingly popular.' He paused. ‘Just not with me.'

‘So why is Domitia into Isis? Strong community, charity work. Doesn't sound like her thing at all.'

‘It's the magic. Isis is supposed to give occult powers to her worshippers. You saw what Andromache did last night. Domitia only became an Isiac after she acquired her.'

‘Hmm. Nice, shiny Isis worshippers or not — be careful when we get to the Iseum. As far as I know, the Hierophant has taken Victoria. And I definitely know the modern Isiacs are violent.'

Seeing Lurco handle Alexander had brought out all my strongest protective instincts.

Alexander thought my warning was hysterical, but refrained from saying so. His mood had lightened immeasurably over the past few hours. He was a man with a future again. As strange as my offer was, and whether he believed my story or not, he now had a chance at freedom. He was a brave man, and a chance was all he needed.

‘Here we are.'

I followed his pointing finger. Wow.

The Iseum was surrounded by a high brick wall, so at this angle we could only see the two giant pylons that formed the front of the Egyptian temple. But they were the colour of blood-red earth, startling, set against the backdrop of wishy-washy marble and wood Rome. No wonder Isis was popular. You couldn't not want to see what was on the other side of that high wall. It was just too tantalising.

We crossed the road and headed straight for the line of people filing through the outer gate. They were all in a good mood, singing and laughing together, as they patiently waited to get in.

‘What's going on?' I asked. ‘Is there always this big a crowd?'

‘No idea,' said Alexander, scanning the faces.

We just kept shuffling along with the rest, and soon we passed through the gate and into a narrow walled corridor. It was long and paved with grass-green tiles. The plastered walls were whitewashed and decorated with black and gold eyes of Ra, and squarish sets of hieroglyphic text written in purples and greens. The line slowed down even more, as though everyone was now taking fairy steps.

‘Why have they all slowed down again?' I wanted to gnash my teeth, we were almost into the Iseum!

‘See those images on the wall? They're supposed
to purge the devotees of any curses, or evil magic,' Alexander said, cynicism oozing out of each word. ‘Suppose they want to make sure it's all gone.'

‘Oh?' An unlikely memory popped up and I muttered half to myself, ‘This corridor's like using a cattle crush for drenching.' My time working on Rollie's homestead in Western Australia had come back to me in an odd way.

He gave me a sharp look. ‘How do wet crushed cows come into it?'

‘Ah.' Guess that one didn't translate so well. ‘In my time, when we want to worm the cows, we herd them into a confining yard called a crush. They can't really move much, so it makes it easy to stick worm medicine down their throats.'

‘Worm medicine?' Alexander nodded, liking the analogy. ‘And probably a lot more effective than this crap.' A definite non-believer.

Four tall stone obelisks stood in a line, down the middle of the tiled corridor. As we passed them we could see they were each carved with a different giant figure. Each brandished a different weapon.

‘What about them?' I asked. Wondering if they were supposed to be anti-evil devices too.

‘Don't know. Maybe they're for the really big parasites?'

Each obelisk was surrounded by a circle of devotees, all dressed in white tunics and holding their arms out as though in worship of the stones. Each group was chanting a different series of foreign words, probably Egyptian.

As we shuffled past the last circle of chanters, they increased their volume and speed. Then, as if they'd reached their final round, they extended their arms high above their heads reaching for the sky, and
distinctly shouted each separate word one last time. On the final word, they dropped their arms down, crossing them over their breasts, and then bowed deeply from the waist.

‘I think they're summoning something,' said Alexander.

‘Then let's hope it doesn't arrive just yet. Unless it's someone dropping in from the NTA I'm definitely not interested.' I was joking, but Andromache's little surgical strike into my past was still fresh in my mind.

Following the rest of the line we turned left out of the corridor, and into the main compound. And full view of the Iseum. It was stunning.

‘Have you been here before?' I asked.

‘Not this side of the wall. Pretty amazing, isn't it?'

No reply needed to that.

The earth-red Iseum was less a temple than a fortress, with the two huge pylons, each the size of a four-storey apartment block, framing the entrance. Halfway up, a narrow bridge ran between them, with a set of wide stairs underneath. Together they formed a giant doorway. The lines were clean and strong. Not primitive, but powerful.

The vivid earth colour was heightened by its contrast with the surrounding lush gardens. Unlike Domitia's carefully structured shrubs and terminally manicured hedges, this Egyptian version of paradise was full of brilliant flowers, green trees heavy with fruit, and tall palms waving in the sizzling summer breeze. This plot of Earth was fecund, fertile in every sense. It flourished.

It was also a buzzing hive of activity. Today must be cleaning day. Devotees criss-crossed in front of us, moving from task to task. Well-dressed ones, as well as your average guy off the street. Some were weeding the
gardens, others were sweeping the tiled area in front of the Iseum, but they all seemed happy. Even the priests directing them seemed enthusiastic. They traded jokes with the devotees as they worked, over the heads of the tame gazelles that wandered free. One butted me in the thigh, looking for a handout. I gently guided its head away, but it considered me reproachfully, out of liquid eyes. The pout didn't work, so it chose another target and skipped off.

A clean Iseum is obviously a happy Iseum.

‘Doesn't seem so bad to me.' Alexander sounded mildly impressed.

‘Yeah. It's got a really nice feel to it.' Unfortunately. ‘Let's go inside.' There didn't seem to be anything out here to investigate.

Immediately through the pylons was a large, walled courtyard, completely open to the blazing summer sky. The place seemed deserted, I was guessing most of the devotees were outside cleaning the temple grounds. I wasn't sure whether that was convenient or not. I wanted to take a look around, but ask questions as well. If I could find the right person.

The courtyard matched the outside. Just as attractive, and just as intriguing. It was designed to simulate the verdant banks of the Nile, and create another deeply Egyptian splinter in the heart of conquering Rome.

Tall columns, carved and coloured to look like palm trees, ran round the walls. Carved serpents, exotically decorated, twisted here and there around the stone trees, their tongues flickering crimson amongst the green stone foliage and brown stone fruit.

There was a sunken pond in the centre, complete with feathered reeds and bordered by banks of sand and rocks. Fish skimmed the surface, in between the pink lotus flowers, their fins flashing silver in the
sunlight. An elegant ibis studied their movements from the midst of the reeds, fierce eyes darting from shimmer to watery shimmer.

The courtyard ended in stairs to a spacious stone antechamber, with a high ceiling. We strode through and then both came to an abrupt halt. The entrance to the inner sanctum, just a few paces further in, was framed by two enormous stone guards, convincingly painted and decorated to make them seem alive and keen to do their duty. Both stared down at us as though calculating our intentions. And not in a friendly way.

Alexander whistled. ‘I'd heard about this pair. Wouldn't like to meet either of them in the arena.'

‘Or a dark alley,' I added. Or any of my dreams. I'd seen photos of Egyptian statuary before, but nothing this new. This convincing.

They were the core Isis hatchet boys. Each, with the onyx black body of a lean muscular warrior, was holding weapons and stood with one foot forward, ready to attack. Both were naked, except for short Egyptian pleated kilts, intricately designed pectoral collars, and the traditional draped cloth headdress. Their strong male bodies were lean and attractive, but their heads were not human. Nothing like it. And at that height it was intimidating.

The one on the left loomed down at us, with the same long curved dagger beak and avian black eyes of the ibis we'd just seen fishing in the courtyard. It had the same look too — it was studying us as a prelude to hunting.

‘Thoth, the God of Knowledge. And Magic,' said Alexander.

‘How come you know that? Thought you weren't interested in anything you couldn't see or touch.'

‘You really don't know anything about this city, do
you?' Alexander chuckled. ‘Every religion that hits this place is perused and rated, just like the newest restaurants and brothels.'

‘What? Which god's better for getting rid of lice …?'

‘And which goddess will make the next door neighbours shut up at a reasonable hour … if you slip the priests an extra denarius. And Thoth here's supposed to be one powerful magician. Knows all the best power words to use in magic spells.' Alexander swung his eyes over to the guard on the right. ‘But this is the one that most Romans come here to appease.'

I'd avoided staring at that one. It was Anubis, of course. Isis' primo guard-dog.

A jackal's visage, with long pointy nose and ears, and piercing black irises with yellow sclera.

I murmured, ‘The black dog.'

He seemed to grin down at us, but his teeth were long and sharp and ready to turn the expression into something much less welcoming.

Alexander checked my face before saying, ‘Didn't Andromache …?'

‘Yes.' I cut him short. As sceptical as I was, I didn't feel like trying to explain something I still didn't understand myself. Instead I asked, ‘Why's he so popular here?'

‘Insurance.'

I got it immediately. At death Anubis was supposed to weigh the heart of the dead against the feather of truth. He decided who goes where in the afterlife. The pure go to good places. The heavy hearted have to atone.

I looked up into those black and yellow jackal eyes. How on earth had Andromache known about …?

‘Kannon. You better take a look behind you.'

I swung round to see what he'd found. And scrabbled in my shoulder bag for the copy of the text from the Isis dagger.

The front walls of the antechamber were covered in a series of floor-to-ceiling murals. Giant figures moved together in scene after scene. But the big news was that each mural was framed by a border of hieroglyphs.

I flipped open my notebook and we both compared my copy with the ones on the wall. It'd been hidden in the handle of the Isis dagger, chances were at least some of them would appear in her own temple.

‘Here's one.' Alexander had found a glyph, a rectangle with a piece missing on the bottom side and what looked like a sword underneath.

‘Here's another.' Nearby, I'd found one. A figure I was pretty sure stood for a throne, followed by a half circle followed by a seated person.

‘Stop that!'

An irate priestess, passing through from the inner temple, was poised to call for back-up. ‘You can't touch those. They're sacred images. Get away from them!'

We had the notebook pressed against the wall, comparing the two texts. I folded it up as Alexander stepped in front.

‘I'm so sorry. We're trying to work out what's written here.' He spoke with a disarming candour. And sex appeal turned up a notch.

She seemed to literally melt, absent-mindedly straightening her veiled hair. But when she focused on me, she eyed the headscarf still draped across my lower face with concern.