The Mystery Megapack

progress through the province of Bithynia as I might write to a friend, rather than merely as an official might report to his emperor, and so I shall be, as requested, fulsome in the details.
    Having concluded our business in Heracleia Pontica, my party has turned inland, toward Claudiopolis, where there is much to occupy my attention: accounts in arrears and possible civil disturbances.
    Unfavorable winds prevent us from sailing up the local river (Sangarius), and so we proceed over rough roads by carriage. The heat oppresses us. My assistant, Servilius Pudens, became ill for a time, but my Greek physician, Arpocras, yet again proved himself invaluable.…
    * * * *
    2. Trajan to Pliny
    Your own well-being, my dear Pliny, and that of your party remain foremost in my thoughts. I am glad that the invaluable Arpocras has cured Pudens of his illness. You are wise to adapt your travel to local conditions. Report to me in detail what you find in Claudiopolis, as the disturbances there have the potential of creating a greater danger.
    * * * *
    3. Pliny to Trajan
    … It begins with two crows.
    I call them my two crows, from the way they squawk at one another. Servilius Pudens and Arpocras (whose name means “Crow” in Greek, I remind myself) remain the best of friends, despite their constant arguments about anything and everything. At times this even resembles genuine philosophical debate, and might occasionally produce a flash of wisdom, like a spark from an anvil.
    As we three lay back in our carriage, bumping over the hot, dusty roads, and the subject of current contention was whether or not each of us resembles, either in his name or person, some kind of animal. Indeed, Arpocras, the Crow, is a thin, beak-nosed man whose hair was once dark, while Pudens, so said the Greek in a jesting mood, more resembles a walrus, a fabulous, flabby beast reputed to inhabit northern seas; which is ridiculous, and maybe even insulting, as Pudens more resembles a somewhat over-fed but still quite formidable bull.
    I might have put a stop to this, but I dozed off instead, and when I awoke the conversation had somehow turned to theology.
    “Are you saying, then, Greek”—Pudens put a sneer into that word, which he would not have done if they were not friends—“that the forms of the gods and goddesses do not matter, and Mars does not look like a warrior and Venus does not look like, well, Venus?”
    “I suggest,” said Arpocras slowly, as if explaining something to a dull-witted schoolboy, “that the true forms of the gods are ineffable, incomprehensible, not something which can be imitated by human art. Therefore, when the sculptor carves a statue of Venus, the goddess may inspire him, but the result exists for the benefit of mankind, as a focus of devotion, but not as a literal representation.”
    Pudens rummaged about and produced an apple and a small knife. He cut a slice out of the apple, ate it, then contemplated the apple. “You’re saying then that if I carve this apple into a face and call it a goddess, it’s just as valid a statue by Phidias?”
    The Greek snatched the apple and the knife before the astonished Pudens could react, cut the apple in half, then impaled both pieces on the blade, and handed the result back to him.
    “Theoretically, yes, but somehow I doubt that you are inspired by any other than the goddess of food. Now, finish your deity.”
    Pudens ate the apple.
    * * * *
    This might have seemed too trivial an incident to report, Sir, but it proved prophetic in more ways than one. Indeed, the question of the forms that divinity might take was much on my mind in the next couple days.
    We reached Claudiopolis toward evening, and were of course admitted immediately, despite which we were unable to make our way through the crowded streets because a religious festival was in progress. The city, despite its name, despite its refounding as a colony in the time of the deified Claudius, is of a distinctly Oriental character, with many remnants of the culture and way of life that were in place before even the Greeks arrived.
    This was made all the more apparent when we came to the intersection of the two main streets of the city and, despite our imperial banners, squadron of cavalry, and large caravan of assistants, staff, and baggage, we had to pause to let the goddess Venus pass by. Goddesses outrank imperial envoys in most parts of the world, it would seem.
    It was an amazing sight, this festival, which