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Authors: John Maddox Roberts
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immune to his charm.
“Birth no longer means much in Rome,” I said. “Power these days is in the Tribuneship and with the Popular Assemblies. A patrician like Clodius transfers to the plebs so that he can stand for Tribune, and even your uncle Caius Julius, who is as patrician as Romulus, has become a man of the people because that’s where the power is.”
“My uncle Caius wishes to restore the ancient dignity of the Senate, a task in which he says that Sulla failed. If he must go to the commons for the authority to do so, it is merely because that is how corrupt the times have become. He is willing to endure this indignity for the good of the state.”
Her family loyalty was touching, but it was misplaced. The veriest political dunce knew that Caius Julius had no interest in restoring the dignity of the Senate. Restoring the monarchy was more like it, with Caesar as king. We had no idea then how close he would come to doing it, though.
“The view from here is extraordinary,” she said, changing the subject. And indeed it was. The Paneum was not exactly a lofty eminence, but Alexandria was so flat that no great altitude was required to see all of it. I resumed my character of tour guide.
“The Palace complex you know by now,” I said. “Over there”—I pointed to the southeastern section of the city—“is the
Jewish Quarter. It is said that there are more Jews in Alexandria than in Jerusalem.” I pointed to the western side of the city, dominated by the immense bulk of the Serapeum, a single temple that rivaled the entire city Museum complex in size. “That’s the Rakhotis, the Egyptian quarter, so called because there was a native town of that name when Alexander founded the city here. The city is cut up into perfectly rectangular blocks, and these in turn form greater blocks, each named for one of the letters of the Greek alphabet.”
“It’s so odd,” Julia said, “being in a city all made up of straight lines and right angles. I suppose it contributes to public order.”
“I feel the same way,” I said. “It’s like being in a city planned by Plato.”
“Plato favored circles,” she informed me. “But I doubt that circles work very well in city planning. What’s all that beyond the city wall to the west?”
“That’s the Necropolis. They’re very keen on tombs in Egypt. All burial grounds are on the west bank and necropolises are always to the west of the cities. I suppose it’s because that’s where the sun goes down. People have been dying for a number of centuries in Alexandria, so the Necropolis is almost as big as the city itself.”
“And yet Alexandria has been here for a tiny span of time, by Egyptian standards. According to Herodotus, the list of Pharaohs goes back for nearly three thousand years. Even Rome is an infant by comparison. Do you think Rome will last as long?”
“Of course,” I said. Ridiculous question.
But even the most pleasant day must give way to evening, and this one was committed to the banquet at the Museum. We returned to the Palace to bathe and change raiment. A welcome custom among the Romans in Alexandria was to dispense with the cumbersome toga when dining out, wearing instead the light, casual synthesis. The practice was so eminently practical that Caesar introduced it to Rome a few years later. Since by that time Caesar was arbiter of all that was correct, it caught on.
We were carried through the cool evening to the Museum, our
body slaves walking behind us, carrying our dining needs. There was quite a crowd of slaves, as Fausta and Berenice were among us. I nudged my bearers to trot up alongside the litter shared by these two.
“How did the flogging go?” I called across to Fausta.
“It was enthralling!” she said. “There were at least a hundred of the priestesses dancing before the statue of Baal-Ahriman, and before the service was over, some of them passed out from shock and blood loss.”
“That sounds like more fun than
“Birth no longer means much in Rome,” I said. “Power these days is in the Tribuneship and with the Popular Assemblies. A patrician like Clodius transfers to the plebs so that he can stand for Tribune, and even your uncle Caius Julius, who is as patrician as Romulus, has become a man of the people because that’s where the power is.”
“My uncle Caius wishes to restore the ancient dignity of the Senate, a task in which he says that Sulla failed. If he must go to the commons for the authority to do so, it is merely because that is how corrupt the times have become. He is willing to endure this indignity for the good of the state.”
Her family loyalty was touching, but it was misplaced. The veriest political dunce knew that Caius Julius had no interest in restoring the dignity of the Senate. Restoring the monarchy was more like it, with Caesar as king. We had no idea then how close he would come to doing it, though.
“The view from here is extraordinary,” she said, changing the subject. And indeed it was. The Paneum was not exactly a lofty eminence, but Alexandria was so flat that no great altitude was required to see all of it. I resumed my character of tour guide.
“The Palace complex you know by now,” I said. “Over there”—I pointed to the southeastern section of the city—“is the
Jewish Quarter. It is said that there are more Jews in Alexandria than in Jerusalem.” I pointed to the western side of the city, dominated by the immense bulk of the Serapeum, a single temple that rivaled the entire city Museum complex in size. “That’s the Rakhotis, the Egyptian quarter, so called because there was a native town of that name when Alexander founded the city here. The city is cut up into perfectly rectangular blocks, and these in turn form greater blocks, each named for one of the letters of the Greek alphabet.”
“It’s so odd,” Julia said, “being in a city all made up of straight lines and right angles. I suppose it contributes to public order.”
“I feel the same way,” I said. “It’s like being in a city planned by Plato.”
“Plato favored circles,” she informed me. “But I doubt that circles work very well in city planning. What’s all that beyond the city wall to the west?”
“That’s the Necropolis. They’re very keen on tombs in Egypt. All burial grounds are on the west bank and necropolises are always to the west of the cities. I suppose it’s because that’s where the sun goes down. People have been dying for a number of centuries in Alexandria, so the Necropolis is almost as big as the city itself.”
“And yet Alexandria has been here for a tiny span of time, by Egyptian standards. According to Herodotus, the list of Pharaohs goes back for nearly three thousand years. Even Rome is an infant by comparison. Do you think Rome will last as long?”
“Of course,” I said. Ridiculous question.
But even the most pleasant day must give way to evening, and this one was committed to the banquet at the Museum. We returned to the Palace to bathe and change raiment. A welcome custom among the Romans in Alexandria was to dispense with the cumbersome toga when dining out, wearing instead the light, casual synthesis. The practice was so eminently practical that Caesar introduced it to Rome a few years later. Since by that time Caesar was arbiter of all that was correct, it caught on.
We were carried through the cool evening to the Museum, our
body slaves walking behind us, carrying our dining needs. There was quite a crowd of slaves, as Fausta and Berenice were among us. I nudged my bearers to trot up alongside the litter shared by these two.
“How did the flogging go?” I called across to Fausta.
“It was enthralling!” she said. “There were at least a hundred of the priestesses dancing before the statue of Baal-Ahriman, and before the service was over, some of them passed out from shock and blood loss.”
“That sounds like more fun than
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