Julian (50 page)

"Are we making progress?" That was my usual greeting to him.

"I hope so, Augustus. I believe so. Only last week my wife initiated a hundred local ladies into Hecate's mysteries."

"Wonderful!" And it was, for women are the operatives of religion and though they seldom possess the true religious sense, they are excellent at getting things done and making converts. The early Galileans devoted much time to flattering slave-women in order to win over their mistresses. Even at Rome today, it is not uncommon for senators to uphold fiercely the old gods in the senate only to come home to a house filled with Galilean women, singing Galilean songs.

"When I leave for the south, Praetextatus, I shall want you to fill an important post for me."

"What is that, Augustus?" Noble as he was, I detected that sudden alertness in the face which I have come to recognize as the premonitory look of one who hopes to be raised up.

"If it suits you, I mean to make you proconsul of Greece." It suited him beautifully, and at great length he thanked me. I then gave him instructions to be as useful as he could to such old friends as Prohaeresius and his niece Macrina.

After this, I left the ledge of roses and walked down a flight of shallow steps, breathing the night a'rr with some delight, aware how little opportunity I now have, simply, to be. For one whose essential interest is philosophy I have managed to be almost everything else: soldier, administrator, lawyer… whatever is not contemplative I am it!

Maximus was standing at the foot of the steps in the shadow of a tall cypress. He was looking at the moon. In his hand he held a small staff which, from time to time, he held up to the sky, shifting it this way and that, the shadow crossing his face, drained now of colour in the pale light.

"What are the omens?" I stayed outside the circle of the tree, not wanting to disturb what could have been a spell. Maximus did not answer for some minutes as he continued to study the staff and the moon from various angles.

"Good," he said at last, stepping outside the circle of the tree's shadow. "At almost any time this year the omens are good. No matter what you attempt, you will succeed."

"We have come a long way," I said idly, looking down at the city, and the sea beyond. It is awesome to think that everything is one's own, at least for the brief space of a life—which is why I have always the sense I must hurry to get things done, that there is hardly any time at all for a man to impress his quality and passion upon a world which will continue after him, as unconcerned as it was when it preceded him. Each day that I live I say to myself: the visible world is mine, use it, change it, but be quick, for the night comes all too fast and nothing is ever entirely finished, nothing.

"You have made Praetextatus proconsul of Greece."

Once again Maximus knew what-until a few moments before—only I had known. Does he read my mind, the way the Chaldeans do? or does he get instruction from his private genius? No matter what his method, he can always anticipate not only my mood but my administrative appointments!

Priscus
: Julian was often wilfully gullible. Maximus had been standing just below the ledge when the announcement was made. He did not need to consult "his private genius", just his ears. As a matter of fact Maximus's ears did resemble those of a fox: long, pointed and slightly bent forward. He was a notorious eavesdropper, proving that nature is always considerate in putting together a man. Though as philosophers, we might argue that a man born with the ears of a fox might then be impelled to become an eavesdropper.

Julian Augustus

"I saw something interesting tonight." Maximus took me by the arm and led me along the terrace to a bench which faces the sea. Several small ships were making for the new harbour I am building just to the north. We could hear the long cry of sailors across the waters, and the response from the harbour. "Safe landing," I prayed to Poseidon out of habit. We sat down.

"All the signs for several weeks have pointed to a marvellous victory for you—for us." He indicated my star, which shone at that moment in the west. I nodded. "I have had good signs, too."

"Yesterday—while praying to Cybele—the goddess spoke to me."

I was impressed. Maximus speaks often to gods of the lower rank {and of course to demons of every sort) but very seldom does he hear the voice of Cybele, the Great Mother; Earth herself. Maximus was excited, though he tried to disguise it. He had every reason to be exultant, for to speak with Cybele is an extraordinary feat. No, not feat, for one cannot storm heaven; rather, a beautifuI sign that the prime movers of the universe now thought him ready and worthy to receive their messages.

"I was praying in her shrine. Down there." He pointed to the makeshift temple I had built near the Daphne Palace. "The chapel was dark, as prescribed. The incense heavy. Her image dim by the light of a single lamp. I prayed as I always pray to her…"

"The full verses? To the seventh power?"

He nodded. "Everything, as prescribed. But then, instead of the usual silence and comfort, I felt terror, as if I had strayed to the edge of a precipice. A coldness such as I had never felt before came over me. I thought I might faint, die. Had I offended her? Was I doomed? But then she spoke. The light from the lamp suddenly flared and revealed her image, but it was no longer bronze, it was she!"

I murmured a prayer to myself, chilled by his account.

"'Maximus,' she called my name and her voice was like a silver bell. I hailed her by her titles. Then she spoke. 'He whom you love is well loved by me.'"

I could hardly move or breathe while Maximus spoke. It was as if I myself were now listening to the voice of this goddess.

"'He whom the gods love as their true son will be Lord of all the earth.'"

"Persia…?" I whispered. "Did she mean Persia?"

But Maximus continued in the voice of the goddess.

"'… of all the earth. For we shall send him a second spirit to aid him in the long marches.'"

"Hermes?"

"'One who is now with us shall be with him until he reaches the end of the earth and finishes the work which that spirit began, for our glory.'" Maximus stopped, as though he had come to the end of a page. There was a long silence. I waited, then Maximus turned to me, eyes flashing, beard like water flowing in the moonlight.

"Alexander!" He breathed the name. "You are to finish his work."

"In Persia?"

"And India and all that lies to the farthest east!" Maximus took the edge of my cloak in his hand and held it to his lips, the gesture of a suppliant doing homage. "You are Alexander."

"If this is true…"

"If! You have heard her words."

"Then we shall break Sapor."

"And after that nothing shall stand in your way from Persia to the eastern ocean. She asks only that you restore her temple at Pessinus."

"Gladly!"

Maximus made a secret and holy gesture to my star. I did the same. Then we were interrupted by Priscus, who said in his loud clear voice, "Star-gazing again?"

Priscus
: If I had known what they were up to, I should have had a good deal more to say in my "loud clear voice". From certain things Julian let slip during the Persian campaign I did get the impression that he believed he was in some spectacular way supported by the gods, but I had no idea that he actually thought he was Alexander, or at least had the ghost of Alexander tucked inside of him, located somewhere between the heart and the liver. This particular madness explains a good deal about the last stages of that campaign when Julian-Alexander began to act very peculiarly indeed. Personally, if I were a general, I would not like to be inhabited by another general, especially one who went insane! But Maximus was capable of anything; and Julian never doubted him.

This is all there is to the Constantinople section of the memoir. Julian intended to give a full account of all his edicts and appointments, but he never got round to it. You can doubtless obtain this material from the Record Office.

In May, Julian left Constantinople, to tour Galatia and Cappadocia, en route to his winter quarters at Antioch. Though he said nothing publicly, everyone knew that the Eastern army would assemble at Antioch, in readiness for the invasion of Persia. I stayed on in Constantinople because I was hard pressed for money at this time. Unlike Maximus and his wife, who were making a fortune out of their imperial protdgd, I asked for nothing and I got nothing. Julian never thought of money unless you did. Then he was generous. Fortunately, I was able to give a series of lectures at the University. Old Nicocles was most helpful in getting me pupils. You knew him, didn't you? But of course. He forced you to leave the city back in the 40's. A sad business. But Nicocles was a good friend to me and I was soon able to send Hippia quite a large amount of money. Also, Julian allowed me to live at the Sacred Palace while I taught, so my personal expenses were slight. One interesting detail: just before Julian left for Antioch, Oribasius returned from Greece. He was significantly silent and there was no longer any talk of restoring Apollo's temple. It was not until many years later that Oribasius told me what had hal> pened at Delphi, the so-called "navel of the earth".

Oribasius found modern Delphi very sad indeed. The works of art which had once decorated the numerous shrines are all gone. Constantine alone stole 2,700 statues. There is no sight quite so forlorn as acres of empty pedestals. The town was deserted except for a few tattered Cynics, who offered to show Oribasius about. I've never visited Delphi myself, but one has always heard that the people who lived there were the most rapacious on earth, even worse than the tradesmen at Eleusis. I cannot say that I feel par. ticularly sorry for them now. They had a thousand years of robbing visitors. It was unreasonable to think that this arrangement would last for ever.

I suspect Oribasius disliked all religion, much the way I do. But where I prefer the mind of man to any sort of magic, Oribasius preferred the body. What he could not see and touch did not interest him. He was an unusual friend for a prince. His only passion was medicine, which I have always regarded as a branch of magic, though his approach to it was blessedly matter-of-fact. Have you noticed that whenever a physician prescribes such-andsuch a treatment, and one follows it and is cured, he is always slightly surprised? Everything a doctor does is guess-work. That is why he must be as good at acting as any Sophist; his cures depend entirely upon a convincing show of authority.

At the temple of Apollo, Oribasius called out, "Where is the priest? No answer. He went inside. Part of the roof had fallen in: dust was everywhere. Just behind the pedestal where the god's statue had been, he found a sleeping priest with a half-empty skin of wine beside him. It took Oribasius some minutes to wake the man. When told that Oribasius was the Emperor's envoy, he became quite nervous. "It's been a bad season for the temple, very bad. Our revenues are gone. We don't even get the few visitors we had last year. But you must tell the Augustus that we still go about our holy tasks, even though there's no money to fix the roof, or to pay for sacrifices." He got to his feet, swaying from drink. Oribasius asked about the oracle.

"Oh, we're still functioning. We have an excellent Pythoness. She's rather old but she gets good results. Apollo talks to her all the time, she says. We're quite pleased with her work. I'm sure you'll find her satisfactory. Naturally, you'll want to talk to her. I'll go ask when she can receive you. She has bad days, you know…" He gestured vaguely. Then he disappeared down a steep flight of steps.

Oribasius examined the temple. All the famous statues were gone, including the one of Homer which used to be by the door. Incidentally, Julian found this particular statue in a storeroom of the Sacred Palace, and had it set up in his library. I've seen it myself: a fine work, the face full of sadness, Homeric in fact.

The priest returned to say that the Pythoness would consult the oracle the following day. Meanwhile, the usual propitiatory ceremonies must be enacted, particularly the sacrifice. The priest salivated at the word.

Next day, Oribasius and the priest sacrificed a goat on the altar outside the temple. As soon as the animal was dead, the priest sprinkled it with holy water and the legs trembled, supposedly a good sign. After this, they entered the temple and descended the steep steps to the crypt. Against his will, Oribasius found the whole nonsense most impressive.

They sat in a sort of waiting-room cut in rock. Opposite them was a door which led into the cell of the god. Here, from a fissure in the earth, steam rises; here, too, is the navel of the world—the omphalos—a round stone said to have been flung to earth by Zeus. The priestess entered from the temple. She looked at neither priest nor visitor. According to Oribasius, she was immensely old and shrunken and toothless.

"She is now pure," whispered the priest. "She has just bathed in the Kastalian spring." The Pythoness threw a number of laurel leaves and barley meal on a brazier; the room filled with an acrid smoke. "Now she is making the air pure," said the priest. Then Oribasius, eyes streaming with tears from the smoke, followed the Pythoness into the inner cell where, for a thousand years, Apollo has spoken to man. Just beside the omphalos was a tripod, on which the Pythoness sat, cross-legged, her face bent over the steam as it escaped from the earth below her. She muttered incantations.

"All right," whispered the priest. "She is ready to hear you."

In a loud voice Oribasius said: "I come from Flavius Claudius Julianus, Augustus and Pontilex Maximus. He does homage to the god Apollo, and to all the true gods."

The Pythoness sang softly to herself during this, her attention fixed on the steam at the foot of the tripod.

"The Augustus wishes guidance from the god Apollo. He will do whatever he is commanded."

"The question?" The old voice was thin and indistinct.

"Shall the Emperor restore the holy temple of Delphi?"

For a long moment the only sound in the shrine was the faint hissing noise steam makes escaping rock. That sound is possibly the origin of the legend that the earth goddess Ge had a son who was a serpent called Python. The serpent controlled the oracle until Apollo killed him and threw the body down a crevice. The steam is supposed to come from the corpse. The hissing sound is the serpent's dying voice.