Our Man in Alexandria by Gavin Chappell

Author:Gavin Chappell [Chappell, Gavin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781975906931
Publisher: Schlock! Publications
Published: 2017-09-19T04:00:00+00:00

—17—

Was he still in a fever dream?

‘Ozymandias is your brother,’ Flaminius argued. ‘How can he be your husband if he’s your brother?’

Odd things happened in the more barbarous corners of the empire, but brother marrying sister? The authorities wouldn’t allow it, surely. It must be one of the oldest taboos; incest. Oedipus had been punished horrifically for committing incest unwittingly with his mother. In Rome, it was held to be against the laws of god and man and nature. And Ozymandias had boasted that Osiris civilised the Egyptians long before Rome was founded!

‘It’s a well-established custom,’ Nitocris told him defensively, and he could tell she had met criticism before. ‘In ancient times, it was only Pharaoh and his sister who married. But in more recent centuries, when we have been ruled by foreigners, the custom has spread among the Egyptian people. We must keep our blood pure.’

Flaminius felt sick, and it wasn’t just his fever. His friends and acquaintances in Briton had possessed some strange customs, certainly, and he had seen some odd things in Caledonia. But this...! Out of Africa, always something new. Who was it who had said that? Some Greek, probably. Egypt wasn’t exactly what they’d have had in mind, but what Flaminius had heard was very new, coming from this oldest of countries. And he had thought the customs of the Judaeans peculiar.

‘I see,’ he said tiredly, remembering how brother and sister had embraced last night. Something had nagged at his mind even then. ‘I see.’ He closed his eyes for a moment.

He was woken by a shaking at his arm. His eyes cracked open gummily and he saw Ozymandias and another man gazing down. Sunlight filtered painfully in through the doorway.

The newcomer looked familiar. He was proffering a phial containing some kind of cordial. ‘Drink this, tribune,’ he said. ‘It will make you feel better.’

As Flaminius complied instinctively, the man reached out and examined his head. ‘I would still prescribe a craniotomy,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Your recent skull trauma has undeniably weakened you.’

It was the medic from the palace of Hadrian. ‘No thank you!’ Flaminius said.

The medic produced a leather bag which he opened to reveal a set of sharp knives. ‘We don’t know if it will turn out to be ephemeral, tertian or quartan fever,’ he said, ‘but if we want to ensure that it does not become serious it will be necessary to bleed you.’

‘I think I’ve lost enough blood already,’ said Flaminius faintly, indicating his bandages.

The medic shook his head humourlessly. ‘Not under controlled conditions,’ he said, ‘nor let by a qualified phlebotomist. Your work will deteriorate if you suffer recurrent attacks of fever.’ He looked round Ozymandias’ hovel. ‘This situation is too close to the Delta marshes,’ he added. ‘Fever is caused by miasmas from swamps. Bad air, you know. You should relocate to your legion’s barracks.’ He shook his head. ‘A craniotomy is also indicated.’

‘No!’ said Flaminius firmly. ‘No craniotomies. No relocation.’

‘Very well,’ said the medic with a mournful sigh. ‘A simple bleeding it is.

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