The Blood of Alexandria a-3 Page 3

  ‘But’ – he’d evidently practised this oration, and thought its sarcasm ever so witty – ‘we are unjustly put upon when accused of not paying our taxes. Whenever bread and gold have been required for the Sacred Armies of Our Most Noble Augustus, when have we ever stayed the hand of generosity? When have we ever withheld the six million bushels of corn that we send every year to Constantinople?

  ‘Nay, when this year we were called on to supply not six but ten million bushels, did we stay the hand? We did not. Now is the time of year when, by ancient custom, the people of Egypt rejoice in the plenty afforded them by the Nile and by their labour. It is now that the Alexandrians rejoice in low prices of bread. If they now grow thin – if they worry that the supplies left among us will give out before the next harvest – is that the fault of us who own the land? Nor have we made these truths known to the people. If we are in any sense at fault, it is surely in our blind devotion to the will of the Caesar who has sent his young and beautiful Legate to accuse us of disloyalty.’

  There was another murmur about the Hall. And he was right. We had stripped the country bare. We’d had our reasons in Constantinople. But it remained that the Egyptians – or some of them – were buggered. It was a good question, indeed, how many Alexandrians would make it through to the next harvest. Still, though, Leontius wasn’t done.

  ‘If we have refused to fill the Treasury in Alexandria,’ he cried, suddenly passionate, ‘it is only from regard for the True Faith of Our Lord Jesus Christ.’

  He looked dramatically round the Hall. If he was up to something, he’d kept it to himself. Every face was as mystified as I was. Again, I noticed that no one was standing close beside him. He might be leader of the opposition. That didn’t make him liked.

  ‘I am not referring,’ he went on, ‘to those separated brethren who accept the heresy of a single Human and Divine Nature for Christ. While they have strayed from the true orthodoxy, they at least accept that no salvation lies but through Jesus Christ.

  ‘No, I refer to the Old Faith of this land. Our Lord Viceroy Nicetas is second to none in his observance. Who does not know of his conversations with His Holiness the Patriarch – His Holiness who is like unto his own brother?

  ‘But what would Our Lord Viceroy say if I were to tell him that, even to this day, the government that he directs is pouring out oceans of our gold and silver for the support of a temple raised up in ancient times at Philae far in the south to the demon Isis?

  ‘What if I were to tell him that our taxes, even today, are feeding an army of shaven-headed priests? And that the sound of their blasphemous chanting extends far through Upper Egypt, to the scandal of orthodox and heretical alike?

  ‘Your Magnificence may seek to punish us with confiscation of our land for refusing to give more than we have for the worship of demons. But I say to you – as the Holy Martyrs of the Church said in the days of persecution – “What crime be there for them that have Christ?” ’

  There was a moment of silence after he stopped. This last point he had indeed been keeping to himself. The mystery had been total. No response had been planned. But the silence was only for a moment. If at first hesitant, the Hall soon filled with howls of almost convincingly outraged piety. Some ran about wailing and waving their arms. A few ripped their clothing. Others, with more conviction, swore they’d never again pay taxes. One even did a passable job of throwing up behind one of the chairs.

  Apion and the party I’d bribed and cajoled into existence sat eyeing each other in shifty silence. The chaos about them was resolving itself into a ragged chant of ‘No crime for them that have Christ’. I’d come here to scold a pack of tax evaders. Now, I was facing a mob of candidate saints.

  Leontius ignored the shouting and looked up to the gallery. He held out what I took to be documentary proof of his claims. I wasn’t the only one to have noticed Nicetas up there following this whole shambles of a reading. I was fighting the urge to send the guards in with the flats of their swords when the curtains billowed outwards and then fell still again. I ground my teeth in fury. I looked that piece of offal Leontius carefully in the face. One way or the other, I’d have him before I left this city. This morning, though, he’d beaten me. Even with Nicetas gone back into the Palace, there was no point continuing.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ I said bleakly, the louder troublemakers now running out of puff, ‘this meeting is adjourned until further notice. You will, in the meantime, do me the goodness of not going far from Alexandria.’

  Chapter 3

  ‘It’s a fucking disaster,’ I snapped for the third time at Martin. ‘And if you can’t see what Nicetas has done to us, I can only assume this climate has turned your brains to shit as well.’ My robe dumped on the office floor, I sat naked at my desk. The blacks were fanning me like mad. Every so often, one of them would reach forward to sponge on more scented oil.

  ‘Well, whatever Leontius was trying,’ Martin said with another stab at the optimistic, ‘the law is now in effect. The enactment clause says it’s to come into effect by reading, and it was read.’

  ‘This isn’t Bithynia,’ I said, now wearily. I took up the cup of unwatered wine. I noticed I was starting on my fourth cup. I put it down and stared again at my commission. Written on to the parchment in words of gold and purple, it looked as grand a thing now as when Heraclius had presented it in full meeting of the Imperial Council. Back then, of course, I hadn’t seen the flaws in its wording. Now, if I scraped off the seal and washed off the ink with a sponge dipped in vinegar, I might at least have a useful sheet of parchment.

  ‘This isn’t Bithynia,’ I said again. ‘Nicetas isn’t some pen-pushing governor who has to bow to me in public. He’s the sodding Viceroy. At least an exarch is one down from the Emperor. Within Egypt and Alexandria, Nicetas is the Emperor. If the law comes into effect when read, it can only be implemented when Nicetas seals the warrants.

  ‘And since we’re alone, Martin, do consider taking at least something off. Even sit much longer in that robe, and I’m sure you’ll have a stroke.’ Never mind his shaving cut, which had started bleeding again – his whole face was taking on a purple tinge.

  I got up and walked across the room. The slaves hurried behind me with their ostrich feathers. But the movement of air around me was a greater relief. I stopped by the window and lifted a corner of the blind. Even this high up there wasn’t a breath of wind. I sat down on a little sofa and stretched my legs.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘Nicetas could argue that sealing any warrants would be unwise. Outside Alexandria, the entire government is run by these landed turds. With all this banditry and the troubles arising from the supplemental grain requisition, we can’t afford to alienate the landed interest. You may have noticed that Leontius as good as threatened to raise the mob against us over the grain matter.

  ‘If only, though, Nicetas hadn’t delayed and delayed and delayed, we could have got the law through before the newsletters caught up with us. If only he hadn’t insisted on formal consultation. If only he hadn’t virtually specified the content of my speech…’

  After a very brief knock, Macarius came into the office.

  ‘His Imperial Highness regrets that he must decline the pleasure of your company,’ he said, looking discreetly away from me, ‘but he has urgent business with His Holiness the Patriarch.’

  Martin scowled at Macarius and looked sharply at me. I ignored him. Yes, everything was awful. I had Nicetas to deal with. My own people couldn’t get on. Then there was this ghastly climate – hot all day, hot with bloodsucking flies all night. I’d been here at least a month longer than I’d expected. Unless recalled in something approaching disgrace, I might well be here till Christmas. But the wine was doing its job, and I could easily see Nicetas, at last understanding something of the balls-up he’d arranged, running off to take sanctuary from me with Patriarch John. Laughter was out of the question. But there was an absurd side to it all. I turned to the slaves.

  ‘Leave
us,’ I said in Greek, dropping the Latin I’d been using with Martin.

  They bowed low and packed up their stuff.

  ‘Do lock the door, Macarius,’ I said when we were alone. I leaned back in my chair and looked at the ceiling. It was a good twenty feet above me. But still the air didn’t circulate.

  I turned to Martin, who was now fussing through a satchel of notes. It hid the sulky look he couldn’t keep off his face. I took up a handy sheet of parchment and fanned myself.

  ‘So, what’s all this about payments to pagan temples?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s news to me,’ said Martin, still looking away. He shrugged. ‘We’ve been investigating the trends and ratios of spending, never the budgetary details. Even so, I’d have noticed that sort of item.’

  ‘If Leontius is telling the truth, the payment is buried under some innocuous heading.’

  ‘If I might intervene, My Lord,’ Macarius said, speaking smoothly, ‘there was a Temple of Isis at Philae. This town was always on the fringe of Imperial control in the south. For some years now, it has been somewhat beyond.

  ‘The temple was exempted from the law that suppressed the Old Faith. It was an important cult centre for the kings of Ethiopia, who would come every year down the Nile to worship there; and diplomatic considerations prevailed. My understanding, however, is that the exemption was ended seventy years ago, when the Ethiopians were brought over to the True Faith of Jesus Christ.’

  ‘Thank you, Macarius,’ I said.

  He allowed his hairless, desiccated features the ghost of a smile. Was there any end to the man’s usefulness? He’d come to me on my second day in Alexandria. From running the household, he’d progressed into a general adviser on all matters Egyptian. He and Martin stood looking at me in respectful but also anticipatory silence. I was their leader, and they were waiting to be led. I swallowed another mouthful of wine and thought quickly.

  ‘I want full details of the subsidy,’ I said to Martin. ‘You will be aware of my dealings with Jacob, who is Undersecretary in the Disbursements Office. I quashed the investigation into his return to Judaism. That is a favour he will now be able to return.

  ‘Go to Jacob. Tell him to do or promise whatever it takes to get the information. Make it clear we aren’t interested in punishing whatever fraud or corruption attended the subsidy. I want my involvement kept secret, but I want the information fast. I want it preferably before dinner tonight – certainly by this time tomorrow.

  ‘And the moment you’ve got it, I want a proclamation drawn up, cancelling the subsidy. Fill it with the usual attacks on the Old Faith and threats against recusants. Make a big point about how Leontius brought it to our attention. Call him “Our right trusty and beloved friend” and so forth.

  ‘I also want an order unblocking his appointment to the Commission of the Nile. It’s plain Nicetas messed up there, with his talk of “graduated pressure”. The man’s turned out brighter than expected. Threatening us with the mob wasn’t the limit of his abilities. Making non-payment of taxes into a religious duty was almost admirable. We’ve lost our present campaign against him. We might as well give way in style.

  ‘I want this done by you alone and in your best impersonation of the local chancery style. Again, secrecy and speed are of the essence. Ideally, I’d like both documents ready before dinner. I’ll force Nicetas to seal them. We can get them into the Friday Gazette.

  ‘As for you, Macarius,’ I went on, ‘I think it’s time to forget all that bleating from Nicetas about “clean hands”. I want you to investigate Leontius yourself. Reasonable caution, of course – plausible deniability wherever possible. But there’s dirt on everyone . It’s just a matter of finding it. He’s the biggest man in Letopolis. He must be up to something dodgy.

  ‘I want sworn statements, conversation transcripts, original documents. When I invite that man here again for a private dinner, I’ll serve him a meal he won’t forget.’

  I put my cup down and smiled. I looked about me. Martin wasn’t looking too happy. Then again, he never did. Macarius, though, was looking as pleased as his impassive face would reveal. Whatever the case, I’d spoken. They’d wanted leadership. Now, they’d been given it.

  ‘Be aware,’ I took up again, ‘that Leontius has limited active support against the law. His threat of the mob was intended to scare us. At the same time, it will have terrified many others in that meeting. But the subsidy matter is important. We can’t risk getting the priests involved in matters of taxation. You never know with Heraclius. They might just win.

  ‘We cannot afford further delay. The whole thing must be knocked on the head before Sunday service. That being done, we go back to the main issue – preferably without Leontius against us. This morning, things went badly for us. That doesn’t mean we’ve lost.’ I had another thought.

  ‘I feel one of my “anonymous” pamphlets coming on,’ I said to Martin. ‘I may have said this morning that Heraclius is not Phocas. They didn’t seem that convinced. We can work on this. It may be useful to remind them how, when Caracalla turned up here, he organised a massacre in pretty short order. Diocletian was hardly the Lamb of God.

  ‘There’s something about Alexandria that brings out the worst in an emperor. This being so, dealing with me might be better than having to face Heraclius in person.

  ‘Leontius must be made to understand that, if he draws it, his sword will have two edges.’

  I stood up. I really had finished now. Macarius hurried forward with a towel. I let him wind it round my waist.

  ‘Do arrange a cold bath for me,’ I said, ‘and something light and simple to put on. I’ll be in the Library, if anyone needs me.’

  It was early afternoon, and the streets of Alexandria were baking in the sun. Elsewhere, the heat would have driven people indoors for a rest. The hours of business in Alexandria, though, were always when there was business to be done. If I’d taken my official chair, or put on finer clothes, I could have relied on a clear path through the crowds. As it was, I was jostled continually to the street edges. Even in the fifty-yard width of Main Street, I had to push back at people to avoid being pitched into shops I had no intention of visiting.

  The street demagogues didn’t help. In this heat, of course, even they couldn’t be really active. But enough of them had taken up their usual positions – and they’d attracted enough of the usual scum – to add to the general unpleasantness. As I tried to pass by one of them, I had no choice but to stop and listen. He was ranting on about the floods. Apparently – and he assured us all he was the greatest expert on the matter – the Nile had risen too late, and was now rising too fast.

  ‘You mark my words,’ he bawled above the chatter of the passing crowds, ‘it will be evil as well as mud washed down from the south this year. These will be floods never to be forgotten.’

  ‘What I want to know,’ a strongly Syrian voice struck up beside me, ‘is where the police have all gone. In Antioch, this liberty of speech among the lower sorts would never be permitted.’

  The answer I could have given was that the police had no manpower for pushing the demagogues off the main streets. Most of them were manning the Wall that kept our own central district sealed off from the Egyptian quarter. The rest were down in the Harbour, keeping the Greek trash from rioting as the supplemental grain requisition was loaded. But I was in no mood today for putting a finger on the pulse of street opinion. I tilted the brim of my hat to cover more of my face and prepared to move off.

  ‘Is it true the government is planning to require different grades of bread to be sold each side of the Wall?’ the Syrian asked again.

  I stopped and looked hard at the man. Where had he picked this up? It had been raised in the Viceroy’s Council just a few days back. It had been a vague option, and the Patriarch and I had got it dismissed out of hand. But this was the sort of rumour that, Wall or no Wall, could set off intercommunal war.

  I would have asked a few questions. At this moment, though, the
re was one of those tidal movements in the crowd that pulled me away from the Syrian and brought me to rest just a yard or so from a column of monks, dressed all in black, who were pushing their way towards some mischief.

  ‘Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God,’ one of them cried, waving his club for emphasis. ‘Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,’ another bellowed. I squeezed myself far back out of their path. Wherever they were going, they really were about no good. Besides, they were almost dripping vermin. Just looking at them made me want to scratch.

  ‘Spare some change for the hungry!’ came the practised whine.

  I’d now got through the stationary crowd and was the other side of the statue put up to celebrate the Great Constantine as the Thirteenth Apostle. I’d been looking up at the colossal meekness of the thing, and hadn’t considered where I might be treading.

  ‘Piss off!’ I snarled. I stepped smartly back before the beggar could lay scabby hands on me. I could have given him a lecture on the virtues of working for a living. But I’d had enough that day of explaining myself.

  He shuffled back to his patch of shade and sat down again with as hard a bump as a starved body could manage.

  His begging cry was soon lost in the noise around me. But soon it wouldn’t just be the beggars who were hungry. There’s a limit even in Egypt on how much grain you can take out before people begin to starve. For the moment, so long as I could keep Nicetas from signing his price control order, there was still bread to be had in the market. But it was hard to say how much longer the poor could afford to buy anything at all.