The Blood of Alexandria Read Free Page B

Majesty to His Imperial Highness the Viceroy.’
    Even before the echo faded of Martin’s voice, there was a scraping and shuffling as a hundred and seventy well-fed bodies heaved themselves up and then pitched forward for the required prostration. As the echo did fade, Macarius preceded me to the top of the stairs leading up to the platform. I followed, still carried in my chair. Following me were a couple of black slaves to fan me with ostrich feathers.
    As the prostration ended, the hundred and seventy called into my presence looked up to see me already sitting on a high chair of ebony and ivory. I sat in the beam of sunlight ever directed on this point from the mirrors set in the domed roof high above. The frieze of Augustus and friends was behind me. Against the wall to my left stood a colossal statue of Augustus. Over on my right stood one of the Great Alexander. Of exactly equal height, each looked across the Hall at the other, ambiguously soft approval on their faces. On a golden easel just behind me on the platform, an icon of the Emperor kept watch on the proceedings. Before me, presiding over my silver inkstand of office, Martin sat on a low stool, his eyes cast reverently down to a heap of papyrus rolls.
    In that vast floor space, and with a hundred and fifty feet of ceiling height above us, it hardly mattered with what magnificence we’d arrayed ourselves. For that reason, I’d decided against the gold leaf and cosmetics. I’d chosen instead to rely on the natural gold of my hair and from the smooth regularity of my still clean-shaven face. As for the robe, it was mostly white, though with a good third dyed purple. Normally, the heavy Corinthian silk would have shouted wealth and taste and, above all, power beyond anything the grandest man in my audience could ever hope to match. Not here. The statued past and the architectural ever-present alike dwarfed us all.
    As the slaves, now standing on each side of me, set up an almost imperceptible breeze, Martin rose and stretched a hand out to the audience. With a chorus of relieved grunts, the hundred and seventy sat back into their own chairs.
    I sipped at the cooled, well-watered wine before handing back the goblet to Macarius. It did nothing to settle my nerves. I looked at the sweating, slimy faces of the Egyptian landed interest. In silence, they looked back at me. I looked briefly up to my left at the curtained-off gallery: was that a gentle tug on the painted silk? Or was it a stray morning draught? I took a deep breath; and thus, as Homer says, the great consult began.

Chapter 2
     
    ‘Gentlemen, friends, lords of the Egyptian soil,’ I said in a voice that carried to every corner of the Hall, ‘I am come before you to speak the will of Caesar. I speak with the permission and full knowledge of the Viceroy Nicetas, his cousin. Though it is not required by protocol, I am instructed to take reasonable questions at the end of what I have to say.’
    And there’d be plenty of those, I could see. I cursed Nicetas again. Given half a say in the matter, I’d have had him shipped in chains to Constantinople, there to answer for a stupidity and cowardice indistinguishable in their effects from outright treason. But I continued.
    ‘It is a fact well-known to Caesar that the Egyptian land taxes have been short since the time of His Imperial Majesty Maurice of sad memory. We are aware of the representations made by your agents in Constantinople, that the late tyrant Phocas was kept deliberately short of revenue. We are also aware of the material help you provided during the late revolution. You, however, will be aware that your taxes were due not to the tyrant but to the Empire itself .
    ‘You cannot also deny that, during the two years since the revolution, the shortfall has grown still worse. In more settled times, Egypt contributes around a third to the Imperial revenues. At the moment, even though other provinces have been wasted by the barbarians or