Marcus Aurelius Betrayed (10 page)

The slave boy in the shop took one look at what was coming in the door and ran into the back to get the proprietor as quickly as possible.

Tkutis appeared almost instantly. He was very small, not quite a midget, but not much bigger and he bowed so low and so fast that he looked like a puppet. His eyes shone as brightly as the coins he was already counting. He barked out a few commands in Egyptian and slaves appeared from the back hauling out cushions, wine and fruit for the rich Roman lady.

Artemisia swept her hand in a broad gesture, encompassing all the cases and shelves and tables of ancient glass, jewelry, statuary and antiques. “I’m interested,” she announced, “in everything.”

Though her Greek was pure Athenian, having been born and grown up in Athens, at the antique store she deliberately spoke Greek with a Latin accent. Artemisia was very good at this mimicry, usually done for laughs among friends, but now it was for dissimulation.

For the next half-hour a parade of antiquities passed in front of her for review. The proprietor, introduced himself as the owner Tkutis, and played his customer expertly, emphasizing the beauty, rarity and genuineness of the expensive pieces, without downgrading all his other merchandise. There were many items from ancient Egypt, from the time of the pharaohs, he stressed. In a smooth and subtle manner, Tkutis spun stories and anecdotes about his wares, enhancing the desirability of owning them. Some statutes were said to possess special powers, some glassware had been drunk out of by a pharaoh himself. “The great Sesostris,” he assured,
“was reputed to have this cup with him on his expedition to Ethiopia, 2,000 years ago.” His boxes had once kept magical potions for the high priests of long ago and were still, it was said, imbued with their spirits.

Tkutis tested his customer’s knowledge. He passed off good, but not his best, wares at his best ware prices, until he saw that the Roman lady was more discerning than she first appeared. When she insisted on his best items, he took her to the room upstairs. It was obvious at a glance to Artemisia that here were his best antiques. Tkutis simply raised his prices, while complimenting his customer’s acumen and commiserating with her on the high price of really good antiquities.

At the end of an hour, Artemisia and Tkutis sat on opposite ends of a table in the upstairs room with a few of the store’s most expensive items between them. They were bargaining over prices, where Artemisia was not proving as tough a customer as she did over the quality of the merchandise. But that was deliberate. Artemisia was also playing Tkutis.

“You know,” she said when she appeared almost to have decided to buy at a very high price, “I must be truthful with you. Yours is not the first antiques store I’ve been in on my tour of Egypt. This morning I went to the “Golden Ibis”, the store of Isarion. You must know him. His shop is nearby. He was recommended to me by the Prefect of Egypt himself.”

Tkutis held up his hand. “Of course I know Isarion, great lady. I know all the antiques dealers in Alexandria. It is my business.”

“As I said, I was at Isarion’s before I came here and I saw a number of beautiful items there.” She described several antiques similar to the ones on the table, saying
she had seen them at Isarion’s shop earlier that day. “I would buy them all, yours and his, if I had my way, but my husband, you understand...” She let the sentence lapse when Tkutis looked sympathetic.

“Isarion wasn’t at his shop this morning. They said he was away on business, so I didn’t meet him. I always like to talk to the dealer personally. I believe I can tell a lot about the genuineness of the antiques by the genuineness of the dealer. Don’t you agree?”

“I do indeed,
domina
,” clucked Tkutis. “There are so many fakes on the market these days. So many antique dealers are unscrupulous.”

“So,” concluded Artemisia, “it’s really a question of comparing your beautiful antiques with his. My husband might let me buy one collection, but not two.” She took up a gold inlaid blue scarab with hieroglyphic writing from the table and fingered it admiringly. “Perhaps, Tkutis, you can tell me something about Isarion and his reliability as a dealer. I feel I can trust you to be truthful.”

Tkutis smiled and rubbed his hands together. He looked almost gleeful. He was going to enjoy smearing a competitor.

“
Domina
,” he began, “if you wish to judge Isarion’s wares by the character of the dealer, let me tell you a little story about Isarion. You can ask any other merchant. They will tell you the same thing.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“
Domina
, it grieves me to say this, but not all of Isarion’s antiques are genuine.”

“No. It can’t be true. I don’t believe it.”

“It is true. Last year a boy who said he was from one of the villages along the Nile near Thebes came to Alexandria and made the round of antique shops. He
had with him several items he said were found in the fields by the tombs of the pharaohs. He had many beautiful items with him. Gold cups, ancient jewelry, inlaid boxes, all of a very ancient and valued style. And he was successful in selling them to some of the antique dealers in Alexandria. One of the dealers, however, who has a very discerning eye, became suspicious of the genuineness of the articles the boy was showing around. A rumor began circulating -- I don’t know where it started -- that the items the boy was selling were fakes. Not really old Egyptian pieces, but rather expert copies made in a workshop near Alexandria.

“This dealer -- the one who became suspicious -- decided to do a little investigating. He had the boy followed secretly and he discovered that the boy was having frequent meetings at night at the home of Isarion.

“A few months later the boy showed up again, this time with a new batch of alleged antiques. Again the dealer had him followed, and again he was seen to meet secretly with Isarion. Then another dealer, who was going up-country, agreed to inquire at the village the boy said he came from. When he returned from his trip he told some of the merchants that the villagers had never heard of this boy, nor had they heard of any antiques recently found in the area. So all the dealers stopped buying from the boy. All, that is, except Isarion, who continued to sell pieces similar to the ones the boy offered around. In fact, Isarion seemed to have an endless supply of these antiques.

“In short,
domina
, it is the consensus of antique dealers in Alexandria that Isarion is knowingly selling fakes and may even be the one who is behind their production. Unfortunately, there was little we merchants could do.
We would try to run Isarion out of the market place, but many government officials buy from him and he knows them well. They would protect him.”

“But you could tell them about Isarion,” suggested Artemisia, “that he is selling them fakes.”

“He would say we’re backbiting. Because he has the best Roman trade and not us. And honestly,
domina
, it is sometimes hard even for an expert to tell the real from the expert fake. He would say he is right and we are wrong.”

“How do I know, Tkutis, that you are not saying these things about Isarion just to get his business?”

Tkutis shrugged. “Either he is a fraud or I am. You have talked to me and can form an opinion. You have seen my wares. Am I a fraud?”

Artemisia smiled at him. “No, Tkutis. I don’t believe you are.”

She was dissimulating but she bought five small blue faiance scarabs with gold hieroglyphic writing, one for herself, one for her husband and one for each of her children. Each had hieroglyphs for the Egyptian words “
ankh, wedja, seneb
” – life, prosperity, health. It was once a formula for pharaohs; now it was for Roman tourists.

XIV

FLACCUS AND PROCULUS ASK QUESTIONS AT THE IMPERIAL POST

F
or Flaccus and Proculus, their assignment was to find out what they could about the victim, the Imperial Post inspector Titus Pudens.

They found the offices of the
cursus publicus
-- the Imperial Post -- without any trouble, first because it was located in the Broucheion, the Greek and Roman area of the city, not far from the Prefect’s residence, and second because it was next door to stables of horses and mules, carriages and chariots. The smell of these animals and their loud snorting and stomping as well as the chatter of their caretakers gave away their location.

Flaccus and Proculus were both dressed in Roman togas. They entered the office and announced themselves and their authority as aides of the imperial emissary, Marcus Flavius Severus, and asked to talk to the person who now had the job Pudens held before his death. Having notified the Imperial Post of their visit ahead of time, they were immediately escorted by a slave into the presence of an official named Archelaus. He was a thin
little man with a tired, overworked and stressed look. He had a twitch on the right side of his face that every now and then distorted his right eye and the right part of his mouth. His right hand noticeably shook.

“We’re here to ask you about the person who preceded you in this job, Titus Pudens.”

“Yes, poor man. What a tragedy. To die like that, by mistake and so suddenly. But life is uncertain.”

“What was his job exactly? What is your job now?”

“My job, his job, was as an inspector to see that the Imperial Post is functioning as it should. You know, of course, that the
cursus publicus
is a government institution, run by the government, for government business. It is not a private postal or delivery service. Only people with a special
diploma
issued by the Emperor, or here in Egypt by the Prefect of Egypt, can use it. Only government mail, government supplies, government reports and travelers on government business can use it. My job, Pudens’ job, was to make sure that only authorized use is being made of our facilities and to investigate and stop any abuses.”

“And what was Pudens investigating at the time of his death?” interjected Proculus.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t his assistant. I’m newly assigned here from up country, from Memphis.”

“Who assigned you then?”

“The Prefect. Or should I say his special assistant, Secundus. I never actually met the Prefect. But Secundus tapped me for the job, for the promotion, saying it was because I had done such a good job in Memphis.”

“We would like to speak to Pudens’ staff then,” said Flaccus.

“You mean his assistant Claudius Celer?”

“I suppose that’s the person we want.”

“He’s not here. He was transferred back to the Imperial Post office in Rome, where he came from.”

“Who transferred him and when was he transferred?”

“Secundus had him transferred. After Pudens’ death. Or so I’m told. It was just before I arrived. But office gossip is that he wasn’t officially transferred back to Rome; he fled there on the first ship out.”

“Is there anyone else who knows what he was working on?”

“Not that I know of. Apparently Secundus reorganized the whole office.”

Flaccus and Proculus then surveyed everyone else in the office -- clerks, stable hands, even slaves -- about the possibility that Celer fled rather than being transferred. But the consensus was clear. The official story was that he was transferred; the unofficial that he fled. No one had any first hand knowledge; it was all rumor and gossip.

When Flaccus and Proculus reported back to Severus, the judge was both alerted and dismayed. Alerted if Pudens’ assistant had been sent away by Secundus. Even more alarmed if he had fled. That would imply that Celer feared Pudens’ death meant he himself was in danger. But that was just rumor.

The judge was also dismayed because once again he felt stymied when there was someone he wanted to talk to who was no longer available.

“There are three people who attended the orgy that I haven’t been able to talk to. Philogenes, the Homeric scholar and librarian, is missing. Isarion, the antique dealer, is in Rhodes and Serpentinus, the Prefect’s aide, is on some sort of secret mission for Secundus. Then the
wife of the wrongly executed slave Ganymede was sent to Italy. Now Pudens’ assistant is no longer here, either deliberately transferred out or scared off. Something is wrong. As the saying goes, ‘where there is smoke, flames are close by.’ And there is too much smoke around here.”

XV

SEVERUS SPENDS THE DAY AT THE MUSEUM OF ALEXANDRIA

W
hile Straton was at the temple of Isis pursuing Petamon and Artemisia was at the antique store of Tkutis pursuing Isarion, and while Flaccus and Proculus were at the Imperial Post pursuing Pudens, Severus took a break from his duties and went to the Museum of Alexandria – the house of the Muses – pursuing his interest in astronomy.

The Museum was the institute for higher learning where the world’s great scholars were supported by stipends in their study and investigations of Nature, of mathematics, of history, of literature, of the arts and of other intellectual subjects. They resided and worked together at the Museum and exchanged ideas to advance the cause of knowledge. The Great Library had first been established as an adjunct of the Museum.

The Museum’s astronomical researches and persons working there were legendary, both in the fields of mathematical astronomy and observational astronomy. Euclid himself had been at the Museum, as had been
Archimedes, Aristarchos, Hipparchos, Eratosthenes and currently Claudius Ptolemaeus. These great astronomers had through geometry, mathematics and observations accurately measured the circumference of the Earth and the distance to the Moon. Other measurements, like the distances to the Sun, planets and stars were less well known, if known at all, but subjects of ongoing investigation and active study.

Severus couldn’t get to see Claudius Ptolemaeus, the current doyen of astronomy. He was now over 80 years old and not seeing visitors much any more. But the Prefect’s office had set up an appointment with one of the chief mathematical astronomers, Leonidas of Sicyon, and a tour of the astronomy facilities.

Leonidas was tall and thin and personable, with a stylish short white beard and an equally stylish white Greek tunic with red geometric designs. But he doubted that this eminent Roman visitor was anything more than a dabbler in astronomy.