Our apartment in the royal palace had one delightful amenity. This was a tub or sink affixed to one wall. From the wall above it protruded a bronze pipe with a valve. This valve had a handle, so that, when one turned it one way, water flowed into the sink; when one turned it the other, the flow stopped. Thus one could wash one's hands and face without shouting for a servant to fetch a bowl and a ewer. Moreover, the sink had a hole in the bottom, closed by a conical pottery plug. From this hole, a pipe went down through the floor to carry off the dirty water. With all these marvelous modern inventions, I foresee the day when we shall all be waited upon by mechanical servants, such as some of the myths tell of.
Three hours after our arrival, freshly bathed, shaved, oiled, and scented, and wearing our best tunics, we were led into the vestibule of the audience hall. It was a day for receiving foreign visitors, since a group of lean, swarthy men from Numidia, with golden hoops in their ears and animal skins wound about their heads, were ahead of us. Ananias and Noptes brought in the rest of my delegation. A fat Egyptian led a group of trousered, bearded Armenians, wearing the distinctive caps of their country, out of the hall. The Egyptian took charge of the Numidians and led them in, while an assistant patted us for hidden weapons.
At last came our turn. Noptes presented us to the fat Egyptian, saying: "Sirs, this is Tetephras, chief usher to Their Majesties."
We murmured the usual courtesies, and Tetephras said: "You shall follow me into the audience hall, gentlemen, halting when I halt. As I state your names and titles, you shall bow individually to the king. Then, when I state the names and titles of the rulers, you shall bow collectively to each ruler as I name him."
"Must we prostrate ourselves?" asked Xenokles, the high priest of Persephone.
"Nay; we ask that not of free Hellenes, but reserve it for Persians, Ethiopians, and the like, who are used to it. Now let me run over your names again. ..."
At last Tetephras, fussing over us like a mother hen, got us lined up in a square and signed to the Macedonian mercenaries at the entrance to open the big doors. Tetephras stepped through the entrance, pounded the floor with his staff, and bellowed:
"The delegation from Kyzikos to the Persephoneia!"
We marched down the length of the hall behind the usher. It was a fine, big room, with many people lining the walls. There were soldiers in gilded accouterments. There were clerks at desks, with pens poised to take down any divine words Their Majesties might utter. There were servants standing ready with napkins, flasks of wine, and other things for the comfort of the rulers, ready to dash forward at a signal. There were several eminent foreigners, invited to the audience as a cheap way of entertaining them.
The torcheres were not lit, since the brilliant sun gave enough light through the clerestory windows above. A dozen incense burners emitted a fog of blue smoke and an overpowering odor. A small orchestra twanged and tootled as we marched forward.
Down the hall we went to the far end, where Their Majesties sat enthroned. The thrones were, I am sure, of wood covered with gold leaf, notwithstanding that some Alexandrines claim they are solid gold.
Although I knew what to expect, I still goggled at the contrast between the pomp and glitter on one hand and Their Majesties' unprepossessing appearance on the other. On the central and largest throne sat King Sausage himself.
Physkon was in his middle sixties, bald as an ostrich egg and shaped like one, too. Although a short man, he must have weighed at least five talents and could hardly waddle without the help of servants. He wore Egyptian costume. A long-sleeved tunic of thin white linen reached to his ankles. A broad collar of gold and jewels, in the old Egyptian style, hung around his neck. On his bald head sat the towering double crown, of red and white felt, of Upper and Lower Egypt. Under this crown, his pale, blotched face was one vast roll of fat, through which a pair of sharp little black eyes peered out His painted lips were as full and thick as those of an Ethiop.
Looking at Physkon's unlovely form, I found it easy to believe the tales about him. The fifth Ptolemy had begotten three legitimate children: two boys and a girl. In accordance with the local custom, the older son married his sister and succeeded his father as Ptolemaios Philometor. Then Philometor died. His younger brother, the present Physkon, had taken the throne as a youth of eighteen. He married the same sister, and—on his wedding night—killed the son of his bride by his brother. Not surprisingly, the two soon fell out, and the sister-wife's followers drove Physkon out of Egypt. Then, for nearly twenty years, he reigned in Cyprus. When he got his hands on the son that the queen had borne him, he had the lad killed and his head and hands embalmed and sent to her in a fancy casket, just to vex her.
Eventually, Physkon fought his way back to Egypt and was reconciled—on the surface, at least—with his wife. In the meantime her other child by Philometor, a girl, had grown up, and Physkon decided that he preferred the younger woman. He declared the mother divorced and married the daughter, but the mother refused to accept this proceeding. After another civil war, the three settled down to a wary but more or less peaceful coexistence, vigilantly watching one another for attempts at murder.
Since both queens were named Kleopatra, to tell them apart the mother was called "the Sister" and the daughter, "the Wife." I do not think we should have received so royal a welcome had it not been for the competition amongst these three monarchs, each striving to put one over on the other two. TO Theon: You had better cut out most of the above remarks about the Ptolemies before submitting this manuscript to Lathyros or any other member of the family. Father.]
Behind Physkon's throne stood another pair of Celtic mercenaries. To one side was an officer in Greek parade armor, who—judging from his swartness—must have been another Egyptian. Under the early Ptolemies, the Hellenes and Macedonians had formed the ruling class in Egypt, and no nonsense about it. Not getting on well with his Greek subjects, Physkon favored the native Egyptians. This enraged the Hellenes, who saw their privileges slipping away.
On the old monster's right—our left—sat Queen Kleopatra the Sister, about the same age as Physkon and almost as fat. The incestuous marriages of the Ptolemies had passed on, in full purity, the obesity they inherited from the original Ptolemaios, a general of Alexander of Macedon and the founder of the dynasty. The elder Kleopatra was another mountain of sagging fat, clad in a white gown of Hellenic cut, with a golden crown on her red-dyed hair and a veil of purple byssus over it. The paint on her face was so thick that I will swear it was peeling. Another officer stood beside her throne. Being deaf, she shouted at this man:
"What did you say? Who is that big, ugly fellow with the long, hairy arms, in front?" She meant me.
On our right sat Queen Kleopatra the Wife, a woman in her forties, plump but not so mountainous as her mother or her husband-uncle-stepfather. She wore a dress of gaudy red and white stripes in the Judaean fashion, and so much jewelry that she clattered every time she moved. Her officer was a muscular man with a graying beard. I learned that this was General Chelkias, Colonel Ananias' elder brother and commander of Her Majesty's Regiment.
Alexandria was inhabited by three races: the Hellenes, the Judaeans, and the Egyptians. Each tribe lived in its own part of the city. Since they differed widely in morals and customs, murder and rioting between one group and another were frequent. The only time the Alexandrines all acted together was when they rioted against some unpopular ruler, as they had done against Physkon in the early days of his reign. Physkon soon put a stop to that; he turned his mercenaries loose on the rioters. Soon blood ran in streams in the gutters, and heads were piled in man-high heaps in the public squares. This is not my idea of how to run a civilized country; but, with a populace as fickle and turbulent as that of Alexandria, it may be the only way that works.