The Senate hearing, part I

"Kind Senators, as arranged we have come before this highly respected body with an honored guest."
Slotting into place, the Bishop - why is he called that, anyway? What exactly is a bishop? Is he at all like my priests or Demeter's hierophants? - moves to a chair of honor placed near the Emperor's. Murmurs fall in the chamber but never entirely stop. Gallienus decides not to demand a call for silence, much as he's blinked an eye to most other things. I stand in the far corner beneath the cross-hatched windows, spear leaning against the wall hard by my shoulder, wondering still at the Emperor's strategy. If he will promote a faith of which I have so little knowledge, it could serve to demean me and my kind. Even if only by inference. How can it not? I understand that men must do what they feel they have to, but has Gallienus thought this through? I am not the only goddess, or god, who hangs on the Emperor's words here today. Unengaged as they often are…
"Considering the state of the Imperium's treasury, I am not asking approval for money to be spent," he begins. A good sign. "There are soldiers to pay, and bread to distribute." It is hard not to go on admiring him, even as he seems to hew close to elbowing us from our rightful place. Unlike, say, Heliogabalus, an earlier emperor who caught and eviscerated my owls that he might eat their tongues in sauce - and you can imagine my reaction to that -- Gallienus does have his Romans' best interests at heart. I have done the same for men, when they've shown fealty to me. Let's see, then, where he now ranks ours. The Emperor continues… "But a great wrong has been done several times in the past. I infer no adverse criticism." The murmurs rise half a notch. Can't you all just… "As we know well, the Empire has no official religion. We advocate freedom of same within prescribed limits. Any which acts not against the interests of the State has free rein. Yet earlier situations have resulted in the persecution of some. Today our guest speaker, Bishop Dionysus of Rome, shall represent to you the Galilean religion. Some have called them Christians. Too many of our countrymen have suffered for these their beliefs. Good men all who have paid their taxes, done their military service, performed the duties of a citizen, yet were several times in our history attacked and beaten and murdered for none other than their Christianity. We exist in a time where many gods occupy temples on the seven hills. They hail from Syria, Egypt, Africa. I will mention only one of these today. The Galileans wish to purchase land from the City's stock of available property and erect a temple of their own. The City is of two minds concerning this. To influence the hand of the Office of the Urban Prefect in possibly approving the sale, I request that this Senate decree a list of religions sanctioned by the State, and that this decree include the Galileans. I call for the suffect Consul and princeps senatus to allow the Bishop to speak."
So there. Like the City and the Senators - this time - I as well remain of two minds. Too many other things are going on just now. And as I have been Gallienus' patron in this matter I don't like the position in which he's put me with the rest of the Olympians. He has indications that we support him. He saw us that day in Memi, I know he did. Should be evidence enough! If we knew this One God whom it would seem reigns in the way that we are familiar with Horus or the Corybantes, say, this situation would differ. I wonder how this One God can reign, come to think of it, when clearly it is Father who is in charge! And is this One as willing to allow the flourishing of other religions as Father can be? Not to make the whole thing worse, mind you, but in my few idle moments I have wondered if this 'One God' is he who sent that scum against us. Or if he knows who did. Don't think I have not asked every other god or goddess I know where they might have come from or gone! It took a while. And Father's support of Gallienus continues weak enough, you may have noted. He did away with the usurper in Egypt - efficiently and memorably, I'll admit - and went back to fence-sitting, for all intents. My sister's continuing gratitude to him also doesn't need shaking. While I have her with me in my corner, I don't want anything tripping at us. We've all been upset enough, given how Father has sent many of us into the four corners of the Earth, sweeping every hillock and cave to find the beasts. And now there's evidence they've got into Hades' under the very nose of Cerberus. They need only attack the underworld again and murder Persephone; Demeter would prevent the coming of the spring, and that would be the end. Even I could not convince her otherwise.
Consul Fausianus allows the Bishop the floor; Dionysus stands, seeming dressed against his will in something very Roman if not entirely patrician. He doesn't speak like one anyway, but why don't I stop interrupting him. Oh, one thought other!… I believe I recall this man sacrificing to me, long ago. I wonder what changed his mind.
"Esteemed Senators."
An odd place to pause.
"A word too many that I speak here may have too much influence. I will be very brief. I appear in support of Publius Licinius Egnatius Gallienus Imperator's just-stated request. It is my hope that you will afford the Galilean faith a nod as you have implicitly done with those of many other regions. Centuries have come and gone since the founding of Rome. Many of the great original Senatorial families have gone entire to their rewards. Many new Senators from new Roman families sit here in their place. Many have brought their religions with them, and built temples by private subscription and patronage. So too have we brought ours. Yet the erection of a public temple. or 'church,' has not to date been allowed us. As the old augments the new in this city, in this world, so let it do the same in all regards. I ask that our faith be given equal access to the property currently for sale in this City, so that we have a temple other than one in a private house, which is at this time our only recourse. I ask this in all humility."
Senators quite used to speeches that are measured by how far the sunlight's traveled across the floor gape a bit here as Dionysus' echoes fade in the chamber. And they're not the only ones. Was that it?
"Who exactly is it that these worship, again?" one very old Senator asks a much younger one within my hearing. Christians have been about in this city over a century and a half in men's time; it comforts me somewhat to note that this Senator's also at sea. An attendant moves to the podium and dusts it off, that the debate may begin. The young Senator jibes to his aged neighbor beneath continued whispers all about, "They are called Galileans, and given how the Emperor's name is similar, who knows to whom they really pay their respects?" The old man chuckles, nods, but Consul Fausianus near squeals an order for quiet after waiting a space for Dionysus to go on. No doubt he's the one they call the 'Ostian duck'! "No Praetors, Aediles, Censors or Quaestors have requested time to address the proposal's supporter," he adds, "so the rostrum is now open to the first Senator." Clever. By not naming this Dionysus - a hard name to call him, you've heard Father say it already - the Consul signals his opinion. And by passing on the right to speak, certain others have done similar. Gallienus shoots the Consul a look, which Fausianus decides not to return.

Copyright 2007 by K. Egbert. See 'About the Author' for full statement of ownership.

Send author a comment on this post

Missing Piece(s)

"Think of the advantage, Bishop," Gallienus offers, "your faith on the list of registered religions."
"But you're not asking me to represent it properly."
Now Quirinus starts up, and I can see Hades smirk at my rolled eyes. "It's our estimation that the best course is to play up the similarities between your cult and those religions who already
enjoy the State's unstated approval." Phew! Thankfully all Arintheus is doing is taking notes.
"It isn't a cult."
"Many are of the opinion that it is. No offense intended."
"No lie there…" The Bishop turns toward Gallienus, half the lit meeting area distant from him. "Princeps, I am very grateful for all the firepower you've assembled to help. But given our experience since the time of Tiberius Claudius Nero, I can't imagine that any religion's members will go for a list of this kind. The fact that it could even be drawn up will give some to fear that a religion on the list could be taken off it at the pleasure of a future Emperor."

Hades' news confirms to me that this Galilean deity is real. Or Jewish. Or both. "You might have said something!" I hiss.
"I'd have thought you knew. How many of Ishtar's disciples do I see? Oh, who else… Tanit's? I don't see any of his."
"The Furies are dead, any one of us could be next."
"Thanks, don't mention them."
"But Father has to be told, Uncle," I nearly order him. "He has to know now."
I could try being more subtle, perhaps; Hades searches my face. "He didn't send me."
"Then you haven't seen him yet."
"I wasn't planning a call on Olympus," he insists. I've come of my own accord. I want my tongues and eyes back."
"Then just in case he -- " Did I hear… "Those are yours."
"Someone got into the underworld, and out again," he leans toward me. "You've been looking for four maniacs. I begin to wonder if I should search for them as well."
"I thought you had been."
"Directly outside the underworld, not in." He changes position. Half shadowed, half lit, I see what differs about him.
"Uncle…"
"There is only one entry, Athena. And only one exit."
I don't need his sarcasm, but all I answer is, "And the ferryman -- ?"
"Charon is well, sends his regards," Hades replies with a pinch of irony. "No, he saw nothing out of the ordinary."
How do I tell him what I'm seeing, after this? "All right," I begin again, "you heard shouts of your own in the underworld." I indicate those same I'd heard from this corner, beyond the marble and the travertine of the palace. We hear them still.
"Since you're busy," he suggests, "I'll drop up to tell your father once I have my property
back."
"Please."
"Men and women came to me, gesticulating. Since they had no other way of doing it. Torn out of their heads! Didn't even see who'd done it. And then they reappear in bags, in your new home? Fresh as new meat."
"Uncle, I had -- "
"Nothing to do with it, I know!" Suddenly he's irritated. "I have better things to occupy my time than return to dead mortals their body parts." I half want to ask to be remembered to Persephone, but decide against. "So I'll do your errand, and you'll owe me a favor."
"Gladly, Uncle, you know that." Time to say something. "Before you go…"
"Was I going?" he chides, though it's clear to us both he had that in mind.
"I can see through you."
"And how is that…" His sculpted eyebrows lift. Persephone probably did that for him.
"Just a bit. Around the edges." And it's so; across the hall I can read the red SPQR banner
over the side exit, directly through his shoulder. Hardly as if he weren't here, but…
Hades has no concern for such details, of course. "Could be anything," he dismisses me, and is gone as soon as he adds, "Recall, my dear niece, that you have a spear for a purpose…"
I wonder if he's been talking to Sedulus Atticus, or any of the other usurpers we've put below.
No doubt they gave him an earful! I return to the discussion in the hall, once I've given myself a good look. As solid as before. What relief!

In the meeting hall proper, while I've been busy with Hades, Arintheus has loudly protested "any talk of a 'future Emperor' when we already have one," which Gallienus quiets. Finally the Emperor dismisses all, and climbs the stairs to his bed. I'm still not too clear on what he has in mind. A list of approved religions that will include the Galileans? What would be the advantage if not to exalt them somehow? Not my idea of a good move by one I've supported. I make for Olympus myself, passing over the dark city and to the sound of prayers buoying me up.

Copyright 2007 by K. Egbert. See 'About the Author' for full statement of ownership.

Send author a comment on this post

The Evening Stratgey Session(s)

My extended family and friends' carping aside, as you've seen I like to drop by the Domus Flavia and the Senate and so forth whenever possible to see what's the latest bother that's about to harry the Empire; as a result you may think I never see Attica at all. But my city isn't part of this particular tale yet. Today I'm the eyes and ears of most of Olympus. Father Zeus has actually sent me for a change. New or unfamiliar gods irritate him, and this Galilean religion is not welcome until we know more of it. Even then it may not get his nod! Yes, we tolerate the deified Emperors because in their lifetimes they were our adherents, and most of them occupy Olympus with us anyway. Does that surprise you? Well, they had to go somewhere! The ancient Roman gods like Faunus or Lara (I will not call her Muta) were here before us so in a roundabout way we serve at their pleasure! You've heard the bulk of the remaining catalog already. Not so with this Galilean god, who we've noticed demands his nameless name be capitalized. I think it may be secret, if he has one at all. A magical cult, perhaps; some of them do that 'He Who Is Not To be Named' sort of thing. It's always a 'He,' by the way. I'll say nothing about that, this time. Equally, I've heard not a few men assume that he's the Jewish god, only worshiped differently. And that one's inaccessible enough: Ares went looking for him once but came back very confused (no great difficulty, I admit); it was in the first year of the Divine Vespasian's reign, and the eastern Roman army's Legii V Emmaus and X Jericho had besieged a town called Jerusalem in an area well south of Tyre. Ares climbed the city wall with the soldiers, sword in hand, and leapt for what was called the Temple Mount to challenge this god to a duel. He found an empty sanctuary. Just a group of old men calling on someone named 'Y-H-W-H.' Something or other. Ares couldn't remember the vowels. He went looking for another of this god's temples nearby, assuming he might be elsewhere. But this Jewish god only had one.
"Wish you had been there, dear," Father had confided earlier today when he assigned me to go look in on the Emperor while the Bishop (this god's chief acolyte in Rome, it appears… when he's a Galilean) visited, and to attend the Senate session in which the Bishop was to speak if it seemed necessary. "Mars saw no other Jewish temples and gave up," Father had grumbled. "Decided there wasn't any god! 'What kind of god has only one temple,' he said to me. Went back into the city proper to watch his men strip the dead and load up the treasure wagons."
"Wasn't I attending a festival?"
"I believe so, but if you hadn't found their god, you'd have torn up the countryside looking! Not a chance with my son."
I nodded: "He sees no god and decides that there's no god to see."
"Correct! While you know that no evidence of a thing's existence is not evidence that it doesn't exist." Father lifts his hands, a gesture I wish he wouldn't use since it reminds of fish sellers in Athens' marketplaces. "I understand that much."
"I've tried, Father," I smiled at him.
"If I can comprehend some of Plotinus with your help, you're doing very well. All right,
so that Bishop Dionysus - did he have to use that name?"
"Blame his parents," I replied to avoid him going off on another rant; there's work to do. "You were saying."
"Yes, whenever that man goes near the Emperor I get nervous. We don't need any more Galileans, or whatever the Jewish are calling themselves now."
"I think the Jews and the Galileans are two different groups."
Father turned here. "Two religions which share a god?"
"To that effect."
"…Then one of them's got to be wrong."
"If not both."
"I only wish we could be certain."
"We don't know because we can't read these people. Or what they have in mind."
Father looked away, towards a sky-wide cloud bank. Grim, "Not having a lot of luck finding this god of theirs either. As for Dionysus… if you could put your spear through that one's nostrils -- "
"The Bishop? In one and out the other, with my eyes shut. But it would only encourage them."
"From past experience, yes. And they'd blame Gallienus."
"Apple falling close to the tree, they'd say."
"We don't need, it, I know! All right, come see me when the show's over."
Now in the Palatine Hill's gathering dark, I hear cries of terrified men and women in the Subura while I stand in an unlit corner of Gallienus' main receiving hall, listening for the tack of the meeting thus far. I bless my Father quietly here, grateful that he has chosen not to notice yet how a few of our recent favors to the Emperor may have begun to backfire. Not that we could have done otherwise. Yes, the Senate is largely cowed since the murder of Sedulus Atticus, but one doesn't convince a man by silencing his fellow. The rest simply grow more circumspect, and less cooperative. So what might that mean for Gallienus' initiative to catalogue the many religions currently in practice here? Given Father's disdain for the Galileans - he's grown used to the Jews - that ball may break to his liking, after all. Still and all, when one reappears who might do Gallienus real damage, one we don't comprehend for peas and beans, we can't move on him.
"How not?" asks a shade to my right. "You know Cybele's and Atys' penitents well enough."

The meeting hall, lit bright only where it must, contains Gallienus, Quirinus Aurelius, Satreian the Senator, Arintheus, and the Bishop. Gallienus does most of the pacing.
"Another thing you can't mention," Satreian declaims, "is how you also sacrifice to the god of the Jews. There aren't many of those in the Senate just now, and you'll lose more friends than you'll gain."
"We don't sacrifice to anybody, Excellency."
"Right, right," the Senator admits, paging among a small pile of documents. "Probably best not to say that either."

My uncle has stopped in to keep me company! Delightful. His ability to appear with no notice is one he shares with Father, with Apollo, and thankfully few others. For this reason I do my best to keep on good terms with him.
"Not so well, Hades," I greet him.
"Dear niece…" he replies with the bare minimum of respect, and turns to look below at those who will soon come to stay. "Tell me what you think thus far."
"It has to do with cross-currents, Uncle," I explain. And I begin to note something odd about his aspect, but I say on: "I know he's a pile of paste, but this Bishop is too close to the Emperor and talk could go around that Gallienus is the Bishop's lapdog."

Sad to say, that couldn't be more wrong.
"I believe that I have a right -- "
"The Senate isn't your enemy, ah, Bishop?"
"Yes."
"Sorry. I did my assignments, the majority is willing to give you a fair hearing. Some feel they need to see more of a show, naturally. There won't be a lot of questioners. Most will want to sit and watch how you reply to those who do take up time."
"Anything like the shows that go on in the Flavian Amphitheater?"
Gallienus turns to view the Bishop, but the look goes unanswered.
Satreian passes also. "It could get especially rough when Tigellinus Helius takes the floor. Those who want you to sweat will put their money on him."
"How many of those are there?"
"Thirty per cent. The remaining Senators who wouldn't support the proposal are going along to get along."

"Does 'talk' matter all that much?" Hades asks me. "What of the 'flamen' from other religions who march in and out of here?"
"His first wife was Galilean."
"And all that time the Emperor spends sacrificing in temples isn't a hint to anyone?"
"Mortals are suspicious."
"Superstitious," he agrees, to a point. "Then kill him."
I decide not to ask who. "That'll tip the scale the other way." Whoever he means! One death is like another to my uncle. No surprise to any, I'd think. "Haven't you enough Galileans down below already?" I crack somewhat wise.
I'm not prepared for his reply. "I have no Galileans at all." He looks down on the men's gathering, taller and thinner than his brother, and not having quite as much of a 'swimmer's build' than my other uncle Poseidon.
"What!"
"It seems they go elsewhere."

Copyright 2007 by K. Egbert. See 'About the Author' for full statement of wnership.

Send author a comment on this post

The Harvester of Tongues

The foot-high images each bear a name on a stubby pedestal: there are few of the divine Augustus on show, somewhat more Trajans, more Septimius Severuses yet, and a large number of Gallienuses. Cornelius calculates with some wit how many of them actually resemble their subject! Thanks to the vast population of statues in public places in the city, the fellow had access to research if he'd wanted it.
This artisan has talent but he's certainly got Gallienus all wrong. The actual man is tall, somewhat imposing but not really enough for an Emperor, slender of face with a close-cut beard in a style somewhere between the classic Greek and the current Roman style. The half-measure frankly pleases no one. Playing it down the middle, Gallienus often gains more detractors than he would otherwise. That's my opinion, though; these depictions of Gallienus are a hair crab-backed, more bearded, not as possessive of what gravity the man does have. But Cornelius can't recall where the one public statue of the current Emperor is anyway, and he won't dawdle in this temperature. Selecting one of each for his household altar - still spreading his bets, you will note - he draws from his slave's coin purse the proper fee.
Resulis nods with relief at the Senator's speedy transaction and is just turning to fill his lungs for another "Make way -- !" when an old woman appears before him, near to fainting.
She'd seen the Senator's staff of office in his hands and mistook him for a policeman.
"Sir, sir, someone's been -" and she stops, for she has no idea who's been what. It is simply too monstrous.
"Thanks very much, come again," Resulis hears the shopkeeper say when he hands over the Senator's package, but he could be addressing someone half of Italy distant, because the look on the old woman's face has frozen him more than the wind. Cornelius looks over his shoulder.
"Resulis -- ?" the Senator nearly asks but the woman's eyes land on him as well. Her face is a mask one wouldn't want to see onstage.
She opens her mouth. "Kind sir!" she finds voice again. "Can you come with me?! We've found a bag of tongues!"
"NO! NO! DON'T SAY IT!" a teenaged boy, half-dressed, shouts as he runs back the way Cornelius had come. It's as if he doesn't want any to know. Too late.
Resulis was a member of the urban cohort years before, and those reflexes take time to disappear, so he turns to Cornelius with a look. "Go! I'm with you!" he says immediately, and to spare Gelli the bother he sends the slave off to Taius' with the news.
"Show us," Resulis urges the woman, who takes his unoccupied hand. The 'fasces' is not easy for a man to hold on one arm, but the lictor manages. Crossing the street, weeping and horrified citizens greet the men with eyes telling them they're bad omens if not worse. They strike towards the men in uniform.
A cohort holds the sack with a fellow officer, looking into it as though it were a crater. It's of medium heft, a rough brownish weave of which one might find thousands on a ship coming from Sicily or Carthage. But this is from somewhere other.
Knowing his place, the lictor announces the Senator to the policemen, and Cornelius Marinus defers to the best of his ability, "Is this the bag?"
"Yes, Excellency," the smaller fellow says. "About a hundred of them, too slick to take out."
Cornelius' inherited property includes a slaughterhouse by the Tiber but his next question sounds foolish as soon as he hears himself: "They don't smell, though."
"The cold might have done that," Resulis offers.
"No, sir!" corrects the shorter man. "They don't smell at all. As if they were torn out by the roots, minutes ago."
The old woman bursts out as if she knew none would hear, "And it's not ours, my husband was just closing up and saw it under the table…" Again she points to a pair of legs jutting out of their shop front. He's fainted dead away.
The lictor and his Senator calculate, each in their own order, as to how the nearest slaughterhouse is half the Aventine away; how no meat cart has been by on this street since before dawn, if there'd been one at all…
Cornelius lets 'civitas' take over from paralysis and manages, "Tell us what we can do."
"Your Excellency," the larger of the men manages after a beat, "we have to find out whose these are."
A cry over the throng answers the officer from further up the street, "Eyes! A damned bag of eyes!" A man's voice, pitched as high as it will go.
And another yet. "A second! A second bag!"

Copyright 2007 by K. Egbert. See 'About the Author' for full statement of ownership.

Send author a comment on this post

In the Subura

It's the day after the Senate's first February session began, and a young Senator is attempting to unwind the narrow, dim, thronging streets by the Tiber enough to actually make his way through them. He's been warned, repeatedly. Sedulus Atticus, now dead nearly thirteen months, had advised, "Mind the Subura, young fellow. You grew up in the countryside! Jam any number of foreigners together under pressure as they do by the Tiber, they don't turn into Romans. In fact I don't know what they turn into."
"Senator, what brought this up?" he'd asked. This was part of their first conversation, in fact.
"You're a Senator yourself now, stop that. One of our group of ten, Taius Medius, he loves
to have people to dinner. He's lonely over there in the Aventine, and he likes to watch people eat. Doctor's trying to starve him. You'll be invited, you should know."
"Thought that the divine Julius had lived there."
"Three centuries ago! So -- "
"Where exactly, now?"
"Far side of the Circus Maximus."
"Oh, I've never been."
"To the Circus!"
"I only recently bought property here. Sir."
"Of course! It'll be expected of you to attend, but don't any more than you have to, Cornelius." That's Cornelius Marinus again, incidentally. Intrigued in just how green this fellow was, Sedulus gave him the verbal short tour to see how he'd react. "Doesn't matter who they root for, the raving geese in the cheap seats never seem to pay a visit to the baths when they should."
"Really."
"Great fun when the wind changes."
"So why does Taius Medius live there?"
"Guilt, perhaps!" the older man had laughed. "He was born there, made his fortune, forgot to leave."
The tour might have gone on, but the attendant whom most referred to as 'the Ostian duck' for his nasal voice had called for the Senators to come to order; the first session of the year was underway. Time to make obeisance to the gods, and so forth. Myself included.
But here it is the second of February in the following year. Sedulus' murder in his own house, whatever still-unknown assailant did it, underlined to young Cornelius that it wasn't your location, it was simply when your time was up. So today the Subura's just another part of the city to him, as I suppose it should be, and Taius expects him shortly. A guest speaker is expected in the Senate for the following day's session; there are details to think over, a possible strategy to discuss.
In February the weather chills the Roman bones, so occasional pans of coals or small fires cast a bit of heat from sturdy stands along the streets. A few vendors and artisans who can afford it will set one just by their tables of items for sale, to afford shoppers a little comfort while they browse. I was nowhere near here when all this occurred, but gods can see fairly well from a good distance, as you have noticed by now. Cornelius Marinus is making little headway this late afternoon against stiff foot traffic. Neither the breezes nor the crowds returning down the street that he and his companions move up are all that friendly. Some appear almost to be fleeing, but that might be due to the cold.
"All due deference, Senator," Resulis his lictor turns and says, "you should have got the litter out for this one." And he turns toward the fumbling throng to again attempt in a tone of some threat, "Make way for Senator Marinus, make way for a Senator." Few if any actually do.
Cornelius isn't interested. "The thing's nearly as wide as one of these streets, and it's not that far." He can talk to Resulis while the lictor's working because the man can listen and shout at the same time. Again the young man notes how he'd make a better Senator than half of those in the chamber now, for that alone. Humor is something I've come to late, so the gods tell me. I didn't inherit Father's ability to jape, entirely, so if you want chuckles I don't know how good I'll be. Try to keep up, though, this is the next rung down in the tale.
"We're just as lost as we would otherwise…" And Resulis returns to throwing forward the formula, "Make way for a Senator, make way for Senator Cornelius Marinus." He changes it every time he says it, as if to keep himself awake. Now he turns back. "Might as well be comfortable!" And forward again. "Make way…"
"If we continue on we're bound to see something we know."
The difficulty is not that every street looks the same, although they can. There is far too much to look at, smell, listen to, step on and so forth here, much less actually take in: apartment buildings or 'insulae' stolidly front both sides of the tiny street, winter flowers bedecking their porticos; piles of waste - yes, that kind - dot the gutters, where there are gutters; and hanging plants hug every pillar. Their perfumes don't conceal what's below them terribly well. Riots of shops line either side of the street, their owners calling out as if they know half the crowd. Most of the languages one hears along the Mare Nostrum (that name was the Romans' idea, not mine) jumble through the passersby. Children loudly accompany their parents or play knucklebones in tiny spaces between copses of students attending to their rhetoric master or open-air hairdressers looking for a customer with a cheery, "You, sir, I'll make you look years younger! Or older, if you prefer…" No, it's not any of this; the problem is so few streets in the Subura are named! Makes me miss my Athens even more. So one can be utterly at sea half a block over from one's destination and never know it. The young Senator likes puzzles, however, and he always found his father's country villa a crushing bore, so this would be a game to him if the winds didn't knife him so and the going weren't so snail-like.
Cornelius understands the burden on his fellows, so he too keeps an eye peeled for any familiar clue. He also looks back to see how his favorite slave is getting on, as it is he who is carrying their host's present. Gelli shakes his head as if to say 'lead on, when I know where we are I'll call out,' so Cornelius smiles hopelessly and turns forward again. Not a lot of sun here either unless it's directly overhead, and it's too late in the day anyhow.
On one corner an instrument dealer blares from a mismatched pair of flutes he is playing simultaneously, maybe to give himself an excuse, but here Gelli speaks up: "Master, I think it's a left at the next cross street!"
Resulis hears this, mutters a prayer to the Lares - gods of the crossroads -- and looks back. "Thank your slave for me, Senator." And forward once again, "Make way, make way…" forgetting in his relief to say whom all should be making way for, but aren't.
"Don't know what we'd do without you, Gelli," Cornelius grins, and looks first right, then left himself. He still has no idea where they are, but Gelli was his late father's favorite slave before him, thus his authority is never questioned. Such as it is. One shop to the left is a notable pile of figurines, carved in varying woods, some more expensive ones in stone. Others are actual marble! "Gentlemen!" the Senator calls his attendants closer, and a few women thrashing along in the opposite direction stare as if to ask why he's calling them that. Cornelius doesn't catch their unease.
"Make way for the -- !" Resulis looks back. "Hm?"
"Give your voice a rest, you're overworking it," Cornelius suggests. "Just a moment, Gelli." Viewing the stand of well-worked statues, he greets the shopkeeper. Good day, sir!
You do nice work, what have we here?"
The owner looks over the well-dressed man and his attendants, considers him a good possible catch, so: "Figurines of recent Emperors, kind sir. Some more popular than others, as you can see."

Copyright 2007 by K. Egbert. See 'About the Author' for complete statement of ownership.

Send author a comment on this post

The ground rules for this page
originally posted: November 17, 2007

This page is a gateway to my characters' website,
up and running at www.warfampestdeath.net; excerpts will be found here, and all are welcome at the main show. New
posts will appear here 2 to 3 times a week, and new content at the web site will be announced here whenever it is posted.
What's the gist of my own little look into this world? We all know how reality (or our view of it) is rather malleable. Maybe it's time to see just how malleable. And this latest twist on our existing knowledge comes from a very surprising angle, a source known to most of us in the Christian Western world, but long thought of as silent leviathans at the far edge of our sight; lethal but held at a remove by a well-recognized if unseen Hand. Well, that's what we've assumed. After all, all we can see of them are fore-images. Right? But what if we misinterpreted? (and don't say 'Misinterpreted what?") What if we were meant to? What if those giants of our most revelatory nightmares were already here? What if they were to speak? What would they have to tell us? And in the end (whichever one it turned out to be...) would we wish we hadn't listened?
Now, about theogonies. That's a Greek word defined as "a study of the genealogies and the origins of the gods." Or G-d, if you prefer not to be pagan. Harlan Ellison, in the introduction to his great 1970s collection DEATHBIRD STORIES, is quoted as saying that when belief in a god dies, the god dies. The stories in that volume, describing another route that fantasy might take besides that implied in Ballard's UNLIMITED DREAM COMPANY, show the old order of gods (Dis, Zeus, Prometheus, certain others who might actually be listening) giving way to new (money, notoriety, cars, beauty, overindulgence, fate, etc.). Clearly none of these are gods yet; Ellison was right to describe the nodes of worship many of us genuflect before now, not the impending personalities he felt they might eventually be fitted with. He may not have wanted to write more than he was sure about. For me, well, what about the process? Considering all the above 'new' nodes I've mentioned, aren't they all extensions of self to some degree? So that we might escape this mess, maybe we had better start formulating our own theogony(ies) of the present and future. Now.
In point of fact, maybe Ellison was right not to give names and aspects to the new nodes. If it's true that all gods and pre-gods contain some part of ourselves, why not eliminate the middle(wo)men?
A few correspondents who've checked out the web site 'www.warfampestdeath.com' have been questioning the
author's sanity. Morals, too. 'Hebephrenic schizophrenia' has been mentioned. Well, no one knows their own mind, so why not acknowledge their willingness to contribute to the ongoing dialogue that is the human race's swath through the aether... and change my web page's name? Just a little. I am still wondering about the coming crop of gods. But maybe they won't
take that particular form when they finally do appear. Maybe we'll have moved on and we won't need that kind of god any more. You can't tell me our view of G-d Himself hasn't changed over the last 2000 years. So, to add the term 'Hebephrenica'
hopefully widens the picture a bit. Even if all it does is turn the spotlight back in our faces.
This situation and its response is especially appropriate when we consider that it's become commonplace for only positive comments on any kind of expression, any cultural or political stand, to be considered 'contributions.' I don't think it works that way. Negative comments 'tell' as well. They also have their
uses. Nobody's going to tell me, for example, that Tom Pynchon's AGAINST THE DAY or David Foster Wallace's INFINITE JEST aren't too long. They are. But that's the point. Those books are universes within a set of pasteboard covers. They do not simply tell a story and get their butt out of there, like, say, Hemingway's THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA. This may not be the best example of a negative comment illuminating a work of expression anew, but I believe it's cogent and not without some merit for thought.
Time to let the excerpts and the half-told tales you regularly find here to speak, or remain silent, for themselves. As I've said previously, a lot of authors give themselves the 'front and center position' on their web sites. I would never say an author who has created his/her own fiction is wrong, but for my own part I've decided that my characters are a lot more interesting than I am. Don DeLillo says in MAO II that the author is what's left over when the work is complete; how can I argue with that? And how many authors interview better than their books read? So when you have a look at www.warfampestdeath.net, you'll see the mythology behind the characters. Hopefully this will shed some light on what made them what they are. Feel free to drop them - or me - a line. Your choice.
So thanks to all who've written, even if you hated it, and to all who've inquired. We've a ways to go. Possibly not as far as you think, but still...

Send author a comment on this post

I'm a great believer in the concept of collaborative knowledge. Not every advance in thought or idea can be reached by just one person. So join in the free exchange of ideas here! Or elsewhere...
Unlike in the outside world, everybody here gets a fair hearing. And thanks to those who've commented already. Here's one now...

"Just read your comments on The Gospel of Judas and thought
I'd drop a note. It is a little odd that something everyone admits has existed since AD 180 is suddenly 'new' - but I'm not certain the splash will be as small as you think.

"I believe the world - the US in particular - is looking for something that makes more sense than orthodox Christianity, and regardless of the Gnostic ties, the Jesus of Judas' Gospel is a lot more logical and believable than thaty of Matthew, Mark, Luke or John. It is also true that books and documentaries on all these subjects have become a lot more popular, and more people are becoming aware of little nit-picking inconsistencies. Most folks don't know that Matthew, Mark, Luke and John didn't write their own Gospels, or that no one really knows who did.

"Anyway, it was a good subject for an Easter Sunday post. I wrote a novel in my career, "This is My Blood," in which I wrote bits and pieces of a fictional Book of Judas - it's odd how my train of thought mirrored a lot of what was found in this actual translated version. "

"Thanks for making me think..."

David Niall Wilson

(Re-'printed' by kind permission. Check out Mr. Wilson's published works on Amazon.com; well worth a look.)
______________________________________________________

RE "Are authors certifiable? Creativity and transmigration"
(1-7-06)

This was an enjoyable read, thanks!

Gerald
______________________________________________________

RE The Navigator Unbound (9-10-07)

quintuplribbed schuit chromaturia photobranchia devulcanize
subsample income cloakage

Israel Hester

What can I say? My writing obviously makes people speak in tongues!
-K.E.

I write sci/fi and fantasy with religious and historical overtones. I have this sinking feeling that fantasy on the E.R. Eddison/ J.R.R. Tolkien/ Mervyn Peake variety is no longer a viable way
to go, however. Much as I liked those books... If you want my idea of what fantasy may have to become in the 21st Century, I suggest J.G. Ballard's THE UNLIMITED DREAM COMPANY.
In regard to anything that I post here after 7-8-07, please be advised that all of it is copyrighted by myself in the year indicated at the bottom of the text, and any quoting of the text posted must be OK'd by myself. I don't subscribe to the concept of 'fair use,' and I ask that all visitors here do the same. Naturally, I recognize that I have copyrighted the characterizations but not the characters, which are in the public domain. Send me an Email with any questions, I'll answer ASAP. Thanks for checking it all out! -- K.E.
P.S. Steganographers need not apply!