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 wine-cups 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 colourful 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?”
Hermes smiled with superior knowledge. “You saw that big ear-bangle he was wearing?”
“I saw it.”
“He wears it to
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 wine-cups 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 colourful 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?”
Hermes smiled with superior knowledge. “You saw that big ear-bangle he was wearing?”
“I saw it.”
“He wears it to
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