Hermes tugged at my arm. "Let's go! Let's go!"
"We shall, but only because it is within the scope of my investigation," I said.
We descended the majestic steps of the Serapeum and crossed two blocks to the Temple of Baal-Ahriman, which was thronged with worshippers, sightseers and idlers. It seemed that the inaugural festivities were still in progress. People danced to the clanging of cymbals and the rattle of sistra, the wailing of flutes and the thumping of drums. Many lay inert, worn out by their sanctified exertions.
Incense burned in huge bronze braziers all over the temple and its courtyards. It was needed, too. Fifty bulls produce a great deal of blood when they are sacrificed, far more than the gutters and drains of the temple were designed to cope with. The incense deadened the smell and kept down the flies a bit. The heads and hides of the bulls were mounted on stakes, facing inward toward the temple.
Like most Egyptian temples, it was rather cramped inside, what with the thick walls and the usual forest of squat pillars. At the utmost end was the statue of the seated god. Baal-Ahriman was about as ugly as a god can get without turning viewers to stone. His head was that of a lion that appeared to suffer from some form of leonine leprosy. The body was that of an emaciated man with withered female breasts, a little difficult to discern because he was still wearing his cloak of bulls' testicles. The flies were especially numerous in this inner sanctum.
"You have come to pay your respects to the great Baal-Ahriman?" I turned to see Ataxas, still draped with his snake.
"A Roman official always gives due respect to the gods of the lands he visits," I said. I took a pinch of incense from a huge bowl and tossed it onto the coals that glowed in a brazier before the disgusting thing. The resultant puff of smoke did very little to allay the stench.
"Excellent. My Lord is pleased. He harbors only the greatest love for Rome, and would like to be numbered among the gods worshipped in the greatest city in the world."
"I shall speak to the Senate about it," I said, mentally vowing to start a major war before allowing his ghastly death-demon to set a diseased paw within the gates of Rome.
"That would be splendid," he said, beaming greasily.
"Am I to understand," I inquired, "that the god is soon to speak to the faithful?"
He nodded solemnly. "That is true. Upon several occasions of late, my Lord has come to me in visions and has told me that he will soon make himself manifest among his worshippers. He will speak forth in his own voice, requiring no intermediary."
"I take it, then, that he will speak oracular pronouncements, which you will then interpret for the ears of the vulgar?"
"Oh, no, Senator. As I have said, he will require no intermediary. He will speak plainly."
"Since his original home was in Asia," I hazarded, "I presume that he will speak in one of the Eastern tongues?"
"My Lord has now made his home in Alexandria, and it is my belief that he will therefore speak in Greek."
"And the subject of his pronouncements?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Who may know what is the will of a god, until that will is made manifest? I am but his priest and prophet. Doubtless my Lord shall say that which he deems meet for men to hear."
Typical priestly prevarication.
"I shall look forward to his advent among men," I assured the scoundrel.
"I shall send word to the embassy should my Lord tell me that he is preparing to speak."
"I would appreciate that."
"Now, please be so good as to come with me, Senator. I am sure that you have not yet seen much of our new temple." Taking my arm, he gave me a tour of the building, explaining that the papyrus-headed capitals of the pillars were symbolic of Lower Egypt, as lotus capitals symbolized Upper Egypt. I already knew this, having taken the Nile tour, but I wanted the man in a forthcoming mood.
We passed through the back of the temple into the rear courtyard, where a feast was in progress. Great carcasses turned on spits over glowing coals. Like so many thoughtful gods, Baal-Ahriman desired only the blood of the sacrifice, and left the flesh for his worshippers.
"I beg you to partake of our feast," Ataxas said hospitably. "My calling forbids me the eating of flesh, but my Lord wishes his guests to enjoy themselves."
Sweating slaves stood beside the carcasses wielding curved, swordlike knives. As the spits rotated slowly, they shaved off papyrus-thin slices of the flesh and piled them on flat loaves of Egyptian bread. Hermes looked at me longingly and I nodded. He rushed off to snatch up one of the cakes, which he brought back to me rolled up around its dripping contents. Then he dashed back to get one for himself. A slave girl brought a tray laden with winecups and I took one. She was barely nubile, wearing one of those delightful Egyptian slave outfits consisting of a narrow belt worn low on the hips, from which depended a tiny apron of beaded strings. Aside from that, she wore a good many ornaments. This was one fashion I knew I would never succeed in transferring to Rome.
"Excellent wine," I commented.
"A gift from her Highness," Ataxas explained.
It had been a long time since breakfast and I had been regretting passing up Ptolemy's invitation to share his own, so the bread and sacrificial meat were doubly welcome.
"I take it you have heard about the murder of Iphicrates of Chios?"
He paused. "Yes, I have. It was most upsetting. Who would want to kill him?"
"Who, indeed? At Princess Berenice's reception the other evening, I noticed that the two of you were conversing. What were you talking about?"
He looked at me sharply. "Why do you ask?"
"The king has commissioned me to investigate the murder. I was wondering if Iphicrates might have said something to indicate that he had an enemy."
He relaxed. "I see. No, we had met at a number of royal receptions where we discussed the relative merits of our callings. He, a Greek philosopher and mathematician of the school of Archimedes, had a great disregard for the supernatural and the divine. He was known to say so loudly. We were merely carrying on a debate of long duration. I fear that he said nothing to indicate who might have had reason to kill him." He bowed his head and passed a few moments in what appeared to be deep thought. Then: "He did say one odd thing. He said, 'Some believe in the power of the gods, and some believe in magic, but when the kings of the East want to defy Rome, they consult with me, for in geometry lies the answer to all things.'"
"That is a curious statement," I said.
"Isn't it? I thought it was merely more of his philosophical pompousness, but perhaps not, eh?" He shook his head, making his long, oiled locks and curled beard sway. "Perhaps he was involved in things a philosopher ought to avoid. Now, Senator, I must prepare for the evening sacrifice. Please, stay and enjoy yourself. All that we have is yours." He gave that fluttering, Eastern bow and left. By this time Hermes had returned to my side and was tearing away at the bread-wrapped sacrificial meat.
"What do you think of him?" I asked Hermes.
"He's done well for himself," Hermes said, his mouth half full.
"Have you ever eaten beef before?"
"Just scraps, out at your uncle's country estate. It's tough, but I like the taste."
"Take some of the fruit and olives as well. Too much meat is bad for the digestion. But how does Ataxas impress you? It seemed to me that his Asiatic accent slipped a little while I was questioning him." One of the priestesses gyrated by us, clashing her tiny cymbals in time to the music. Her robes were shredded and her back was colorful with red stripes from the previous day's flogging.
"He still has chalk between his toes."
I paused in the middle of a bite. "He was a slave? How do you know?"