“What did you do to help those people, Teacher?”
“I recalled my studies of a rare book left to us by King Midas, who was known to have a bit of satyr blood in his own veins, as could be seen by the shape of his ears. Occasionally his satyr relatives imposed on Midas’s hospitality, making chaos of his court with their wild behaviour. But as a child Midas had been told by his mother of a way to deal with satyrs, which he put to the test. Wine has a peculiar effect on them. When a satyr imbibes, he becomes intoxicated, as men do, and eventually he falls fast asleep, snoring loudly, as men do. But when the satyr awakens from this drunken stupor, his animal nature has departed from him and he is as harmless as a child. Such a tame satyr is capable of being taught to speak and even to reason. The widespread reformation of satyrs is no doubt one reason they are so very rarely seen nowadays, since such satyrs are more afraid of humans than are humans of them.
“But a wild satyr has a great aversion to wine, so the challenge is to trick him into drinking it. The villagers had reason to think this satyr drank at night from a particular cattle trough. The chief of the village had a jar of Egyptian wine left over from a recent festival. At my instruction, every drop of wine was emptied into the trough one night. In the morning it could be seen that a substantial part of the mixture of water and wine had been drunk.
“The satyr was asleep in his lair, no doubt, but where was that? I traversed the area all around the village, pricking up my ears, listening for the sound of snoring. At last I heard a faint noise. I followed it to a place the locals called the Grotto of the Nymphs. There, lying on a mossy stone amid the reeds, snoring loudly, lay the satyr, fast asleep and stinking of wine.
“The villagers were eager to awaken him, but I thought it best that he should be allowed to come to his senses in his own time. An hour later, quite abruptly, he ceased snoring, rubbed his eyes, and stood upright. The villagers were of a mind to stone him, and even began to gather up suitable rocks, but I shielded him with my own body and told the villagers they must do no harm to the creature, for now he was a changed satyr and his days of mischief were behind him. That night, at a blessedly sober festival – for all the wine was gone – the naked sages danced for the villagers, and the satyr joined them, leaping and somersaulting in the air.”
Lucius smiled. The scent of jasmine under the hot sun was intoxicating. “If I heard such a tale from any other man, I wouldn’t believe it for a moment,” he said. “But from you, Teacher-”
Hilarion rushed into the garden. From his look of alarm, he was not there to announce the arrival of the guests.
“Praetorian Guards!” he said. “They refused to wait in the vestibule-”
Armed men entered the garden.
“You must be Apollonius of Tyana,” said an officer. “I’d think this hairy fellow was your son, if I didn’t know better,” he said, smirking at Lucius. “I should think a well-born patrician could find a better teacher to model himself on, or at least one who was better groomed. But don’t worry, we’ll relieve you both of those ridiculous beards soon enough.”
Lucius was snatched up by the guards and dragged from his house. He and Apollonius were marched barefoot through the streets, towards the imperial palace, while his neighbours, alerted by the commotion, looked on. Some were aghast, but others looked smugly pleased. Lucius’s disdain for social functions, his eccentric new appearance, and his disreputable-looking visitors had caused a scandal among his well-connected neighbours on the Palatine.
They approached the same entrance to the palace at which Lucius had arrived for his dinner in the black room. He felt a surge of panic and looked to Apollonius for guidance. The Teacher did not appear to be impressed by the grand entryway, or fearful of what might lie beyond.
“Teacher, do you understand what’s happening?”
“I think so. At long last, I am to meet the emperor.”
“Forgive me, Teacher. If I had been on my guard, if Hilarion had given us more warning-”
“Then what? Would you expect me to avoid the opportunity to meet Domitian? This is why I came to Roma.”
“But, Teacher-”
“Let us be grateful that these men arrived when they did. Had they come later, they might have arrested all those visitors you were expecting, and that would have been most inconvenient for everyone concerned. Imagine such a crowd, being herded into the House of the Flavians. This way, we may hope to have the emperor’s undivided attention.”
They were taken through a maze of corridors, arriving at last in a small but opulently decorated reception room. In an ornate chair atop a dais, Domitian sat with his chin cupped in one hand, looking bored. A eunuch secretary was reading aloud to him from a scroll. When Apollonius entered the room, Domitian waved aside the secretary, who put down the scroll and took up a wax tablet and stylus to take notes.
“I’ve been listening to the charges against you, magician,” said Domitian.
Apollonius looked at him blankly.
“Have you nothing to say?”
“Are you addressing me?” said Apollonius. “I thought you were speaking to some magician, though I see no such person among us.”
“Do you deny that you practice magic, Apollonius of Tyana?”
“Does magic exist? Our ancestors believed that there were two means of obtaining favours from the gods. The first is by propitiation, whereby a mortal sacrifices an animal and begs the gods for their blessing. The second is by magic, whereby a mortal casts a spell and compels the gods to do his will. Now, the traditional method of propitiation is surely a mistake, since the gods cannot be expected to delight in the destruction of a creature they themselves imbued with life. As for magic, can it be possible to force the gods to act against their will? Such a thing would violate the order of nature.”
“That is why we call it magic, and make it a crime,” said Domitian.
Apollonius shrugged. “As I said, I see no magician here.”
“Then what do you call yourself? You dress like a beggar. You put on airs and wear long hair and a beard, like a philosopher.”
“I call myself Apollonius, which is the name I was given at birth.”
“And you, Lucius Pinarius. You would be a dead man today, but for my mercy. What excuse can you make for consorting with this magician?”
Lucius summoned his courage. “I see no magician, Dominus.”
Domitian scowled. “I see the magician has turned you into his puppet. Did he cast a spell over you, or are you such a fool that you follow him by your own choice? Never mind. Shave off their beards.”
The Praetorians converged on them with shears and blades. Apollonius did not resist. Lucius followed his example. Their hair was roughly shorn and their beards were cut. They were stripped of their tunics but allowed to keep their loincloths. Lucius was wearing the fascinum on a thin chain around his neck. He was touching it when one of the guards seized his hands and pulled them before him. Shackles were fastened around his wrists; the metal was so heavy that Lucius could barely lift his arms. More shackles were fitted around his ankles. Lucius saw that the same thing was being done to Apollonius, who in his unclothed state looked very thin and frail.
“Now this is a curious thing,” said Apollonius. “If you think me a magician, what makes you think you can fetter me? And if you can fetter me, what makes you think I practice magic?”