Wrath of the Furies (20 page)

Obediently, I followed. Probably it was not Antipater, I told myself. It was only my imagination.

*   *   *

Since she was not merely my slave, but also my voice, Bethesda was allowed to join me in a large room where we dined with a great many others. Some stood about talking. Some sat on chairs or reclined on couches while servants carrying trays passed through the room offering various delicacies. The diners included the juggler Sosipater, who was actually one of the less colorful characters, for in this company eccentric manners and flamboyant dress were the norm. I was reminded of the actors and mimes I had known in Alexandria, and felt quite at ease, especially since I was not required to say anything.

As Gnossipus had promised, the food was excellent. Apparently we were served dishes that had been deemed not quite good enough to serve to the upstairs guests, along with the leftovers they failed to eat. If this was the food deemed second-rate, I could only imagine the quality of the dishes being enjoyed by the king and the more esteemed guests and residents of the royal palace.

There were various kinds of fowl and fish, steamed or broiled or grilled, all served with wonderful sauces. There were a great many vegetables, and ripe summer fruits, including peaches and plums and the much-talked-about cherries, which were indeed delicious.

I heard many languages being spoken, and saw many different sorts of dress. The patchwork kingdom of Mithridates now stretched from the farthermost shores of the Euxine Sea to the Mediterranean, and from the land of the Scythians to the north to that of the Persians to the south. The people around me represented a sampling of the many nationalities now united under the king's sway. Mithridates himself was said to speak two dozen languages. That sort of polyglot virtuosity amazed me, since I often thought that I was still mastering my native tongue and barely fluent in a second. Or as an exasperated Antipater had once said of me, “The boy knows little Latin and less Greek.”

Moving about the room, I had a closer look at the dancing girls, who dined in a group and never seemed to stop giggling. Not one of them could compare to Bethesda, I thought. But when Bethesda caught me staring at them, she got the wrong idea, and gave me a withering look. How I longed to tell her—no, show her—what I was truly feeling at that moment. How frustrating it was, that there was no place where we could be alone. Perhaps later, in my quarters, if we waited until both Gnossipus and Damianus were asleep.…

A large man brushed by me and spoke so quietly I barely heard him. “Latrina. Bethesda knows and will stay here. Follow me.”

With a start, I realized that the speaker was Samson. I turned to see his mane of dark hair and his broad shoulders as he walked toward one of the exits. I glanced at Bethesda, who gave me a barely perceptible nod, then cast a look at Samson perhaps not unlike the looks I had given the dancing girls. Feeling a twinge of jealousy, and annoyed at the interruption to my dinner, I did as Samson asked and followed him at a discreet distance.

He headed in the direction of a latrina that had already been pointed out to me by the chamberlain, but before reaching it he turned about, ascertained that only the two of us were in the hallway, then gestured for me to follow him down a side passage and into a shadowy room. He pulled me inside, then closed the door. There was a simple latch to lock it.

The room was not completely dark. A high window admitted a bit of starlight, so that I could vaguely see the features of his broad face and his plaited beard.

“We're alone,” he whispered. “No one will disturb us here. You can speak, but keep your voice low. I'll keep you here as briefly as I can, and I'll ask you to speak as little as possible. From the gossip around the palace, I understand that you were selected to come here because of your muteness. They want you to take part in some sort of ritual.”

I didn't speak for a long moment. “Yes,” I finally said. “Now you answer a question for me. What are
you
doing in the palace?”

Samson smiled. His white teeth gleamed in the starlight. “Isn't it convenient, that we should both have ended up in the king's household?”

This was no answer at all. “If you won't tell me, I'll have to guess. You're not here as a juggler or an actor. I think you're a diplomat, Samson. Or posing as one.”

“A diplomat?”

“An official representative of the Jews of Alexandria.”

Even by the faint starlight, I could see the deep furrow that wrinkled his brow. I was right, or right enough to have thrown him off balance.

He made a scoffing noise. “Do you really think a diplomat would be put downstairs to dine with acrobats?”

“Perhaps. If the king wishes to show just how little he values your mission.”

The furrow across his brow deepened. “Very well,” he finally said. “It's just as you said. My role—one of my roles—here in Ephesus is to speak on behalf of the Jews of Alexandria.”

“Because Mithridates seized their treasury on Cos.”

“Yes.”

“And they want to get it back.”

He hesitated. “Some of it. If we can.”

“Why would Mithridates give any of it back?”

“There are certain items not of great monetary value, but of … sentimental … value.”

“Here's something I don't understand,” I said. “Why on earth would the Jews of Alexandria keep their treasury anywhere but in Egypt, where they could easily lay hands on it?”

“Because of the uncertainty there. I don't have to explain the situation in Alexandria to you, Gordianus.”

“But why Cos?”

“We had knowledge of the Cosian treasurers, because of their longstanding service to the Ptolemy family. We felt we could trust them. And we thought that Cos would be a safer place for our gold and silver than Alexandria, where one Ptolemy or another might seize it to pay for troops. Civil wars are expensive.”

“All wars are expensive,” I said. “Mithridates has to pay his soldiers, too. You thought Alexandria was unsafe, so you moved your treasure to Cos—and promptly lost it to the king.”

“Yes, Gordianus, I appreciate the irony.”

“How great was this treasure, anyway?”

“The total value was calculated at eight hundred talents.”

“Since I've never possessed even a single talent of silver myself, that amount means nothing to me.”

“Consider this: the cost of building the Pharos Lighthouse was also said to be eight hundred talents.”

I had not only seen the great lighthouse, but had been inside it, more than once, so I had some idea of its size and grandeur. “Yes, that must be a great deal of silver,” I said.

“Or put it this way. You know what amphorae are, those big clay jugs used to transport wine?”

“Of course. They have handles on each side, because it takes two men to carry one.”

“One talent equals the mass of water required to fill an amphora, or about one cubic foot. Now, imagine eight hundred amphorae all filled with silver.”

I whistled. “That would be an awful lot of silver. No wonder the Jews of Alexandria are so pained at the loss.”

“I've let you ask a great many questions, Gordianus. Now you answer mine. Have you seen the king?”

“No.”

“Or someone else high up in the palace? One of his trusted generals?”

“His queen, actually.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? The beautiful Monime?”

“It seems the king charged her with making certain arrangements for this ritual that's being planned, the one that I'm to witness but not talk about.”

“Not talk about?”

“Because I'm mute, of course. I am the mute witness.”

“What sort of ritual?”

“The sacrifice of a virgin. Both the Magi and Megabyzoi are playing roles.”

“When is this sacrifice to take place?”

“I'm not sure. Soon, I think. But my role is not yet confirmed.”

“No?”

“I'm to go to the Temple of Artemis tomorrow, and beg the goddess to restore my voice. Only if she refuses will I be deemed appropriately mute.”

“I see.”

“I've half a mind to let the goddess cure me.”

“I wouldn't recommend that, considering—”

“I'm only joking, Samson. Of course I won't give myself away, if only for Bethesda's sake. And the sake of … Zoticus.”

“Ah, yes, your old tutor. Have you spotted him yet?”

I hesitated.

“Well, have you?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe.”

“Here in the royal palace?”

“Yes. If it was him, which it probably wasn't.”

He nodded. “Have you had any contact with the others you were to watch for? Chaeremon, or Rutilius, or—”

“By Hercules, Samson!” I said, and then laughed, for how often does one say those two names in a single breath? “I've been in Ephesus less than a day, and I've already met the queen.”

“Yes, that's something,” he said, without much enthusiasm. The queen was not on the list of those I was to watch for. But someone else was. I had been holding back on telling Samson that I had seen Prince Ptolemy, not wanting to give him this information too cheaply. But since he had answered all my questions, I decided to tell him.

“There was someone else, with the queen.”

“Yes?”

“The young Ptolemy. The prince who was living on Cos.”

“Ah, yes. He was with the queen, you say?”

“They seem to be friends.”

“So he wasn't in shackles, or—”

“Nothing of the sort. He and Queen Monime were like…” I thought for a moment. “Like brother and sister.”

“Did they squabble?”

“Quite the contrary. They were like a brother and sister who like each other perhaps a bit too much.” I wasn't sure if young Ptolemy had any sisters, but everyone knew there were many instances of incest in the Ptolemy lineage. Perhaps a sort of fraternal flirtation was the only way he knew to relate to a young woman. As for Monime, finding herself in a court of grizzled warriors and gray-bearded priests, was it any surprise that she was drawn to one of the few people her own age, and the only one close to her in status? Having been born royal instead of ascending to royalty by marriage, Ptolemy was perhaps a sort of role model for the callow queen.

“Their relationship struck me as rather … complex,” I said.

“Does the king have cause to be jealous?”

“I didn't see them kiss, if that's what you mean.”

“Is the queen as beautiful as everyone says?”

“Beautiful? Yes, in the way that certain dangerous animals are beautiful. I didn't desire her, if that's what you mean.”

Samson smiled. “I think you're the sort of man who settles on one woman to desire. You're lucky that woman is so beautiful. She's probably missing you now, stuck as she is in a room full of social climbers and actors—and a few minor diplomats, like myself.” I heard him unlatch the door. “I'll let you go back to her now. I'll leave first. When I see the way is clear, I'll knock on the door and you'll know it's safe to come out.”

“When will I see you again?”

“You'll see me when you see me,” he said, then slipped out the door.

A few moments later I heard a single knock, and stepped into the hallway. Samson was nowhere to be seen. Like Antipater—if it
was
Antipater I had seen—he seemed able to vanish at will.

 

XVII

“You can't possibly wear that,” said the chamberlain, studying me with a glum expression. “Here, put this on.”

He handed me a spotless tunic that appeared to be made of the same fine yellow fabric as the robes of the Megabyzoi. I dutifully stripped off my own tunic, though I could see nothing wrong with it, and put on the new one.

He looked me up and down. “I suppose you're presentable. You may wash your face and comb your hair.”

From behind the chamberlain two servant girls slipped inside the room, one carrying a basin of water, the other a fine comb that appeared to be made from ivory. While I washed the sleep from my eyes, the girl with the comb set about untangling my hair. She even combed my beard, which hardly needed such attention.

Bethesda also took advantage of the basin of water. But when she took the comb and began running it through her hair, the chamberlain became impatient. “You may bring your slave with you, if you wish. Come along!”

Bethesda and I followed him out the door.

“Good luck!” Gnossipus called after me. The sun was barely up, and he remained in his bed. Damianus, oblivious to the knocking that had awakened me and the noise made by my visitors, continued to snore beneath the coverlet pulled over his head.

At such an early hour, the dim hallways of the palace were very quiet. The chamberlain led us upstairs and into a large courtyard, where the Great Megabyzus and the Grand Magus and a troop of spear-bearers awaited me.

The Great Megabyzus stepped forward. “Well, young man, for better for worse, this is an important day for you. The goddess shall show favor to you, or she shall not. Either way, we will witness her divine will at work.”

Three litters appeared, carried by their bearers. Each was set upon blocks, and wooden steps were produced. The first litter, with a canopy of yellow silk festooned with yellow tassels, was for the Great Megabyzus. The compartment was so tall that he had no need to remove his towering headdress. The second litter had an even more elaborate canopy made of many colors. This was for the Grand Magus.

The third and by far plainest litter was much like the simple conveyance that had brought me to the palace the day before. The chamberlain drew back; apparently he was not to accompany me. As I mounted the steps, I turned back to take Bethesda's hand. At this, the chamberlain stepped forward, shaking his head.

Bethesda looked at me, then at the chamberlain. “My master wishes for me to accompany him in the litter.”