There had been no call for literature in the remote Alpine village in which he had been born. He had learnt to read and write serving in the Legion in Raetia. Although his Greek had not progressed much beyond putting the letter theta on rosters against the name of a soldier who was thanatos, dead. His promotion into the frumentarii had been the result of native wit, a good memory, and the efficient obeying of orders, no matter how unsavoury. Yet now he accepted that knowledge, if not power itself, was a key to gaining that desirable and both status and wealth enhancing quality. To move unnoticed in elite circles, a frumentarius needed to be able to pass himself off as a man of culture. Censorinus had bought a primer on the poetry of Homer, and, when unobserved in the barracks, had begun to laboriously plough through its turgid pages.
‘The oracle was founded back in the reign of Marcus Aurelius by a man called Alexander. Lucian says that he was as great in villainy, as his namesake the son of Philip was in heroism. This Alexander was worse than a bandit, because he filled not just one region, but the whole empire with brigandage. His soul was a compound of lying, trickery, perjury, and malice. He deserved to be torn apart by foxes and apes in the amphitheatre.’
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