I was forced to sit next to this creature at the banquet, which was in honor of the father of Queen Monime, Philopoemen, marking his investiture as Episcopus of Ephesus. Philopoemen has been running Ephesus for some time, but Mithridates has only now decided the title by which his royal overseer should be addressed, what rank he should have in the court, what sort of regalia he may wear, and so on.
There is a great deal of pomp and ceremony at these banquets, which wear on for hours. In between the boring parts the guests are treated to an endless parade of acrobats, contortionists, singers, dancers, musicians, and actors. These are the people I am forced to sit with, with whom I have nothing in common.
This banquet was held in what surely must be the largest dining chamber in all of Ephesus. Half of the guests reclined on couches along one long wall, while the other half reclined across from us, with the space between open for recitations and other entertainments. Thus I was kept at a distance from anyone with whom I could possibly have enjoyed an intelligent conversation.
Across the way, I could see young Prince Ptolemy, formerly resident on the island of Cos but now, through no choice of his own, a member of the royal retinue. Does the king have designs on Egypt as well as Rome? One hears that all of Egypt is in chaos, and thus vulnerable to invasion, but surely Mithridates is not so mad that he wants to try his hand at ruling that unruly land!
Also across the way-he might as well have been across the sea-I spotted Metrodorus of Scepsis, a man with whom I would dearly love to converse. Everyone here calls him Misorhomaios, “Rome-Hater,” as if that were his official title. Metrodorus is famous for inventing a scientific method of memorization and perfect recollection-he does this somehow by assigning one of the 360 degrees contained in the twelve houses of the zodiac to whatever detail needs to be remembered. It is said that 360 random words can be recited to him, and he can recite them back in precisely the same order, or even in reverse order. Such a thing hardly seems possible, yet Metrodorus is famed for it. He is also famed for his eloquent and unrelenting diatribes against the Romans, from which has arisen his title of Rome-Hater. He and the king are said to regard each other almost as father and son, so great is their mutual fondness and their accord on matters of state. I’m lucky to say two words to the man-much less 360 words!-at these interminable royal banquets, where men infinitely more important than Zoticus of Zeugma are all eager to have the ear of the esteemed Misorhomaios.
Also present were a great many of the Persian wise men called Magi, dressed in exotic robes and colorful turbans. They tend to keep to themselves and to cluster about their leader, a half-blind old man whom they address as the Grand Magus. The Magi are neither philosophers nor priests, at least not in the Greek sense. I think they draw wisdom from the stars. Mithridates thinks very highly of them.
An equal number of the Megabyzoi were present, the priests of Artemis who dress in yellow and wear towering yellow headdresses, the tallest of which is worn by the Great Megabyzus, a tall, slender fellow. From across the room he looks like a yellow stick insect. His predecessor disappeared some years ago-young Gordianus was involved in that affair, during our visit to Ephesus-leaving this fellow to rise to the foremost place among the Megabyzoi. He treads a rather delicate course these days, obliged on the one hand to genuflect before the King of Kings, and on the other to fulfill his sacred duty to offer sanctuary to all who seek it at the Temple of Artemis. The temple and the sacred precinct around it are filled to overflowing with Romans and others fleeing the wrath of Mithridates. They say that Chaeremon of Nysa is in the temple even now, and that Mithridates will not rest until he sees the fellow’s head on a stick, with or without the blessing of Artemis. Shall the sanctity of the temple remain inviolate, or shall the priests expel the asylum seekers and consign them to certain death? With such a choice facing him, it was no wonder the Great Megabyzus was the only guest at the banquet with a gloomier expression than mine.
No, I take that back. For also in attendance was the captured Roman general Quintus Oppius, dressed in a spotless white toga and seated very near the king, as if he were a guest of honor. But next to him sat the giant Bastarna, holding a chain connected to an iron collar around Oppius’s neck. Every now and then, either at his own whim or at some secret signal from Mithridates, Bastarna would give the chain a hard yank, causing Oppius to spit out a mouthful of wine or half-chewed food, then sit there, mortified and red-faced, not daring to wipe his chin or dab the drivel from his toga while everyone laughed, with the Shahansha laughing loudest of all. Yes, Quintus Oppius wore an expression even gloomier than that of the Great Megabyzus.
And what is one to make of the other Roman in attendance, a former consul named Publius Rutilius Rufus? He sat on the other side of the king and in even greater proximity-at the right hand of Mithridates, in fact. When we were both in Rome, somehow I never made the acquaintance of Rutilius, though I knew his reputation as one of the more generous and cultured patrons of the Greek arts. His recent tenure as a provincial legate in Anatolia is recalled by the natives as a kind of golden age-for once, a Roman seemed more interested in cultivating good will and fostering prosperity than in filling his private treasury. Such exemplary behavior made the other Roman officials look bad, so it was no surprise that when Rutilius returned to Rome four years ago he was immediately put on trial, accused of doing the very things he did not do-pilfer tax revenues and extort the locals. All too predictably, he was found guilty of these trumped-up charges. Even after selling all his properties, Rutilius lacked sufficient funds to pay the fine imposed on him by the court-that fact in itself was proof that the charges were false, for if Rutilius had committed the crimes of which he was accused, he could easily have paid the fine and had a fortune left over.
A handful of Romans of the better sort helped Rutilius to pay the fine, after which, now in his seventies, he went into voluntary exile, returning to the very region he had been accused of plundering-yet another proof of his innocence, for the locals gave him a hero’s welcome. Apparently he was able to lead a comfortable life, being kept in funds by his friends in both Rome and Asia, including heads of state whom he had befriended. He was in Mytilene, on Lesbos, when Mithridates’s troops took the island and captured Manius Aquillius. Rutilius was “captured” at the same time, if that is the word for it, for he gave himself up voluntarily and was treated by his captors as an honored guest. I have heard a rumor to the effect that Rutilius actually colluded in the capture of Manius Aquillius, leading Mithridates’s men to the place where that doomed wretch was hiding, but I am not sure I believe this story. Perhaps there was bad blood between them. Still, Rutilius is a Stoic of great integrity, hardly the sort of fellow to betray a fellow Roman citizen.
Unlike Quintus Oppius-and in flagrant violation of the king’s recent decree that all Romans must at all time wear their national garment-Rutilius was not wearing a toga. He was dressed in a rather simple green and yellow robe and slippers. At first glance, no one would have taken him for a Roman, but simply as another member of the king’s court. For a Roman of consular rank to be seen out of toga at a dinner with a head of state is almost unthinkable, whatever the circumstances; a Roman without his toga is not quite a Roman. And despite the royal decree regarding Romans and togas, the king clearly approved of Rutilius’s appearance. So it would appear that Rutilius has cut his ties to Rome completely. What role does Mithridates intend for this renegade Roman? I have no idea, for I had no chance to speak to Rutilius, being relegated to a place among the actors and contortionists.