Marcus Aurelius Betrayed (9 page)

“Not exactly. You see, Judge Severus, Pudens was an inspector in the Imperial Post. He had accompanied me from my office to my apartment as I was going home for the party. He was giving me some report or other about a matter he was handling. I don’t even remember what it was about.

“But during his report, I was informed by messenger that one of the guests, the sub-Prefect, couldn’t make it. An important matter had come up, requiring him to leave Alexandria. So on the spur of the moment I conceived the idea of inviting Pudens as a replacement. He was right there and an invitation would be an honor and reward for his capable service. He had been sent out from Rome years ago and served under three Prefects. Pudens, you may not be aware, was a total public servant; scrupulous and completely honest. A rare mixture in government, as I’m sure you know.

“He protested politely, of course, that he still had work to do that night, but I made him the guest-of-honor. He couldn’t refuse.”

Severus’ face fell. “You mean that his attendance at the party was the result of a random series of chances? If he had waited until the next day to make his report, or if your guest had not cancelled out, or if you hadn’t made that spur of the moment decision, or if there hadn’t been a mix-up in the wine cups, Pudens would still be alive?”

Calvus nodded silently.

“It proves,” concluded Severus with a wan smile, “the part the goddess Fortuna plays in our lives.”

“There is no other explanation,” agreed the Prefect.

XI

A LETTER TO THE EMPEROR

M
arcus Flavius Severus to Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus, Emperor. Greetings:

Domine
, you asked me to keep you informed about the progress of my investigation into the attempt to kill the Prefect of Egypt.

Upon arrival I was informed by the Prefect that the person who put poison in his drinking cup had been found. He had confessed, was tried and had already been executed. It was a slave of the Prefect’s named Ganymede, who supposedly harbored a suspicion that his wife had been unfaithful to him with the Prefect. Apparently the Prefect notified Rome that the culprit had been caught, but his letter did not arrive before I was already on my way to Egypt. You should have received his report by now.

However, in reviewing the file, I saw that Ganymede’s confession was problematic. First, it was not corroborated, as Roman law requires, and second it was obtained as a result of judicial torture. I therefore sought to find corroboration. But what I have found instead is evidence
that the slave Ganymede could not have been the person who put poison in the Prefect’s cup. This comes from the
hetairai
who attended the party; they were all sure Ganymede was never anywhere near the Prefect’s table. So not only is there is no proof of his guilt, but Ganymede appears to be innocent.

How was an innocent person executed? The Prefect’s stepson Secundus was appointed special judge for the case, but violated the law in several ways. A Rescript of the Emperor Hadrian states that “slaves are to be tortured only when the accused is suspected and proof is first obtained by other evidence, so that only a confession is lacking.” Here, Secundus ordered the random torture of slaves with no evidence implicating any of them.

A Rescript of Emperor Trajan states that under torture “the magistrate ought not directly to put the interrogation whether a particular person committed the crime, but he should ask in general terms who did it; for the other way seems to suggest an answer rather than to ask for one.” Here, Secundus did not ask questions in a general way, but suggested the answers during torture.

In addition, it is the law that a “confession should not be considered proof of a crime if no other evidence is offered to corroborate it.” This is because the Imperial Constitutions recognize that evidence obtained under torture is “weak and dangerous and inimical to the truth” because people often confess only to end the torture. Here, according to the
quaestionarius
Secundus ordered a degree of torture that even the torturer regarded as clearly excessive.

Secundus was therefore personally responsible for convicting and executing Ganymede on the basis of an uncorroborated false confession he obtained by directing
the use of excessive torture. I have therefore charged the Prefect’s stepson, Secundus, with judicial murder under the
Lex Cornelia
. His gross negligence or malice in this case was responsible for a horrible miscarriage of justice and the death of an innocent person.

Still, the question of who tried to kill the Prefect remains open. The Prefect told me that no one else at his party had any motive to kill him. Quite the contrary. They all thrived upon his favor and his death would only harm their prospects. This may or may not be so. I am therefore investigating whether any of them may harbor a hidden motive, perhaps a political one, for trying to kill the Prefect.

On the question of motive, we all know the famous words of the Consul Lucius Cassius Longinus Ravilla in the time of Republic. When sitting as a judge in a criminal case, he would always ask
cui bono
? -- to whose good? Who benefits? If no one at the Prefect’s party would benefit from the death of the Prefect, it is only logical to ask whether someone would benefit from the death of the person actually killed – an inspector of the Imperial Post named Titus Pudens. Logic compels me to follow that trail as well. I will keep you informed.

Vale
.

/Seal/ Marcus Flavius Severus.

XII

STRATON ATTENDS
THE TEMPLE OF ISIS

T
he Serapeum outside the Moon Gate came to life just before dawn. For the Sun was about to rise and the most important priestly duty of the day was about to begin. Isis had to be awakened, washed, dressed and fed. Straton was right there at the entrance, before dawn, ready to join the early worshippers attending the ceremony. His ordinary looks, ordinary undyed tunic and sad brown eyes blended right in.

The program now was to learn about the people who attended the orgy, but surreptitiously. No need to alert them to the extent of Severus’ interest or his methods. Straton had been assigned to Petamon, the Isis priest.

Straton entered the courtyard in front of the temple and joined the crowd around the fountain. He imitated them in performing ceremonial ablutions and then followed the worshippers entering the temple between the two huge statutes of erect phalluses. Inside, priests with shaven heads and clad in pure white linen robes
welcomed the faithful with the traditional greeting, “May Osiris give you fresh water.”

Straton entered just in time for the “Awakening of the Goddess”. The doors to the sacred image of Isis were already opening when Straton squeezed through to stand near the front. While the congregation watched the statue with adoring eyes, Straton watched Petamon, the Keeper of the Keys, who had just opened the sanctuary door. He was roundish in shape, his bald head shone and he looked bored. No doubt, thought Straton, he would prefer to be at one of the Prefect’s orgies. Straton watched him all through the singing of “Awake, Isis,” but during the washing and dressing of the statue, Straton turned his attention to the other priests and priestesses busy with basin, towels, and the statue’s garb of linen, jewels and vulture feathers. He was looking for someone with a friendly face and a dumb expression.

It took him most of the ceremony to find the one he wanted -- a young acolyte who shook a sistrum rattle during the lighting of the holy flame. Straton memorized his face. Then, while the priests were circulating through the congregation sprinkling them with the “cold water of Osiris,” he extricated himself from the crowd and left the temple. He had decided to skip “the silent veneration.”

There was a taverna across the way from the Serapeum compound from where Straton could watch the entrance while having breakfast. He ordered honey buns and red wine and settled at a table. Two hours and five honey buns later, the young priest who Straton was waiting for emerged from the temple carrying a sack
and headed down the street. Straton followed him into a grocery, where the priest proceeded to fill his sack with cheese, olives and other supplies.

“May Osiris give you fresh water, brother,” said Straton.

“May Osiris give you fresh water, brother,” answered the priest in a friendly manner.

Straton selected some olives from a large vat and put them on a piece of papyrus. “I saw you at the service this morning,” he said chattily. “You played the sistrum.”

“That’s right,” answered the priest with a smile. “Are you a regular worshipper at our Serapeum?”

“I’m a devotee of the cult, but I’m new in Alexandria. I come from Corinth where I attended the local Serapeum regularly. Now that I’m here, I’m looking for a Serapeum to attend. Everyone I ask suggests a different one and there are forty-two in the city, I hear.”

“Yes. It’s a difficult choice. But perhaps now that you’ve seen our service, you might choose us. Do you live nearby?”

“Not far,” answered Straton. He appeared to think of something. “Have a drink with me, brother, and tell me about your Serapeum. You’re right. I was greatly impressed with the service. Maybe I should join.”

The priest seemed pleased. “There’s a taverna just around the corner,” he said, and led Straton to it.

They sat down and Straton ordered Egyptian beer for them both. A vat was placed on the floor with two long reed straws sticking out of it. The priest sucked up a portion of the brew and Straton imitated him. The beer was bitter, but he could taste the sweetening honey mixed in.

“We don’t get this in Corinth. It’s refreshing.”

The priest sucked up some more and said his name was Psen-Mon.

“Have you been a priest long?”

“I’m an initiate,” answered Psen-Mon. “I’m not yet on the second level, but then I’ve only been here for two years.”

“How many priests are in your Serapeum?”

“Fifteen.”

“Ah,” said Straton. “That’s the perfect number. In Corinth there was one Serapeum with too few and another with too many. But yours is just right.”

“And,” continued Psen-Mon, “our Prophet, Isidorus, is very learned in the sacred rituals. He is also very good to us.”

“I noticed the Keeper of the Keys when he opened the door to the statue. He also looks very learned.”

“His name is Petamon,” informed the priest, becoming excited. “And do you know he instructs the Prefect of Egypt in the ways of our cult.”

“He does?” said Straton with a show of great interest. “You mean the Prefect is a member of your Serapeum?”

“It’s not generally known yet, but it’s true. Our Serapeum is most honored by it and Petamon has risen from Interpreter of Dreams to Keeper of Keys in the shortest possible time because of it.”

“How long was he Interpreter of Dreams?”

Psen-Mon looked a little doubtful. “I don’t know. He only came to us last year. But he was Interpreter of Dreams for many years in a Serapeum in Rhodes.”

“Rhodes?” said Straton, ordering a bowl of chickpeas for the table. “I’ve been there. I’m a mosaicist, you know. I travel frequently for special jobs. I do very fine work. That’s why I’m in Alexandria.”

A slave-waitress brought the chickpeas, half flinging the bowl across the table.

“Was your Keeper of Keys in the Serapeum near the ruins of the Colossus?” asked Straton, figuring there would be one somewhere near the famous fallen statue. “That’s the one I used to attend.”

The priest thought for a moment, trying to recall what he had heard. “I really don’t know.” Psen-Mon sipped some beer. “Were you in Rhodes when they had the scandal?” he asked Straton in a manner suggesting that “the scandal” was common knowledge among followers of the Isis cult.

“Yes,” replied Straton quickly. “Wasn’t that terrible? What did you think of it?”

“We all think the government was too harsh in crucifying the priest. He only let the Inner Sanctuary be used for the escapade. But he didn’t take any part in it himself.”

“I agree completely,” encouraged Straton.

“After all, it’s not as if he was the one who dressed up as the god Anubis. They didn’t do anything to him.”

“It’s unfair,” said Straton, commiserating.

“It’s only because the lady was wealthy and a Roman.”

“Is it true that she wasn’t even beautiful?”

“Yes. That’s true. I know someone who once saw her and he said she wasn’t even beautiful. What else did you hear about it?”

“Nothing else, except that if she wasn’t beautiful, how could she expect the god to want to sleep with her. So the whole story is probably untrue. They executed our priest for something that probably never happened.”

“That’s what everyone was saying in Rhodes too. But you can’t argue with the government. You know the Romans.”

The priest finished his beer, rose and lifted up his sack. “I’d better be getting back. I’ve been away too long already. I hope, brother, that you’ll join our Serapeum and that I’ll see you again. It’s been a pleasant conversation.”

“I will join. You convinced me.”

“May Osiris give you fresh water, brother,” said Psen-Mon.

“May Osiris give you fresh water, brother,” replied Straton.

XIII

ARTEMISIA VISITS AN ANTIQUE SHOP

A
rtemisia took a breath, thought of a rich Roman matron with a passion for spending money, and let herself be helped down from the litter. Her assignment was to find out about Isarion, the antiques dealer who had attended the orgy. But at his shop “The Golden Ibis” she learned that he was away on the island of Rhodes. So after browsing a short time, she went to a nearby shop, “The Falcon of Ptah.” Its owner, Tkutis, she had been told, was one of Isarion’s chief competitors in Alexandria’s antiques market.

For her impersonation, Artemisia was dressed in an expensive Roman style
palla
of Chinese silk and her hair was swept up in a complicated coiffure sprinkled with gold dust. She sported a pearl in her hair comb and jewels blazed from rings on her fingers. A young slave, rented along with the fancy litter, opened the door of the antiques shop of “The Falcon of Ptah” and Artemisia breezed in, accompanied by her own young
slave Galatea and her husband’s slave Glykon, attending her on this little expedition.