Wrath of the Furies (27 page)

“The most important. The sacrifice herself. The virgin sacrifice.”

Eutropius appeared to shrink. His shoulders slumped and his head fell forward. Though I saw him only from the back, I could imagine a look of fear and anguish on his face. All at once I realized what he was anticipating. I let out a gasp and then covered my mouth, fearing I had been heard in the garden. But the attention of everyone present was riveted on the strange drama taking place between Eutropius and the queen. Monime herself was staring at someone in the assembly before her.

I looked at Anthea, standing stiffly upright beside her father. I saw that she had begun to tremble and to clench her fists.

“Anthea!” I whispered, too quietly for anyone but myself to hear.

A virgin was required for whatever ritual was intended in the Grove of the Furies, the ritual to which I had been selected to pay mute witness. But how would I be able to stand by in silence and witness the slaughter of beautiful, innocent Anthea? I had rescued her once from death. To think I could do so again was surely hubris. It seemed a cruel joke of the gods that I would be made to witness the destruction of a life I once had saved.

“Please, Your Majesty,” said Eutropius. His small voice was so choked with emotion he could barely speak. He swayed slightly, as if he felt faint. “The necessity of the sacrifice I do not question. It will be essential, if we are to … to take the actions desired by His Majesty. But surely there must be some other suitable candidate for this role.”

“At every step, I have conferred with Their Eminences,” said Monime. “The leading astrologers of the court have also been consulted. What we do, we do not do lightly. Divine will and the aspects of the stars themselves affirm all the choices that have been made.”

“But … surely you don't need to take my child, my only child, a girl who longs for a pure life devoted to the service of Artemis—my beautiful Anthea!”

Monime threw back her head and laughed.

I heard gasps from the gathered household—what monstrous amusement could the queen find in Eutropius's suffering?

Monime seemed to enjoy the consternation caused by her incongruous laughter, for she let the uncomfortable silence linger, surveying the faces of those assembled in honor of her visit, until her gaze fixed upon someone I could not see.

“You may put your fears to rest,” she finally said. “Your daughter, however worthy she might be, has not been chosen for this honor. I pray that the beautiful Anthea will enjoy a long and healthy life in the service of the virgin goddess.”

Eutropius released a giddy noise of relief. But next to him, I saw that Anthea continued to tremble, and to clench her hands. Amestris came into my sight as she stepped forward and joined her mistress—a breach of protocol in the presence of the queen, perhaps, but she could not resist offering comfort to her mistress. Or so I thought, at first; but as they drew very close and one put their arms around each other, it seemed to me that that it was Anthea comforting Amestris, not the other way around.

Then I realized what they had already grasped.

Before I has whispered the name of Anthea. Now I whispered another. “Freny!”

“The virgin we have come for is not your daughter, Eutropius,” said the Great Megabyzus, stepping forward. “It is one of the slaves in your household. Her name is Freny, I believe.”

Amestris let out a choking sob. How I wanted to hold her at that moment! But it was Anthea who held her tightly—not just to comfort her, but also to restrain her, for a number of armed men now appeared in the garden, striding past Eutropius, heading toward his assembled slaves. There was some sort of commotion that I couldn't see, and a moment later the armed men began to lead Freny away.

They did not drag her; their coercion was subtler than that, as one on each side held her by a shoulder and the others formed a tight cordon around her. As the group passed Amestris and Anthea, Amestris frantically reached toward her sister, but Anthea held her back. The two women shook with weeping.

Just before she disappeared from sight, Freny looked over her shoulder. I saw the terror on her face.

“I expected rejoicing in this house, not tears,” said Monime in a frigid voice. “Perhaps, Eutropius, you need to explain to your family and slaves just what an honor this is for your house, that one among you should be chosen to take part in a ritual that is essential to the freedom and safety of Ephesus—not only Ephesus, but all the world. The King of Kings will eliminate every last remaining Roman in Asia, and then from Greece, and then from Italy itself, and from every corner of the earth—and the annihilation of the Romans will begin with the blood of this virgin.”

The queen turned around and disappeared. The Great Megabyzus and the Grand Magus followed her. The stunned silence was broken only by the sobbing of Amestris and Anthea.

Freny was to be sacrificed in the Grove of the Furies, while I was made to watch in silence.

 

XXIII

[From the secret diary of Antipater of Sidon:]

Most alarming! Most alarming!

Only now have I realized that a sheet of parchment is missing from the document I have been writing. Someone has taken it.

The sheets are unbound, not yet sewn together into a scroll. Could this single sheet somehow have slipped away from the others, then slid beneath a piece of furniture or into some other hidden spot? Perhaps. But I have looked everywhere. Everywhere! The sheet is gone.

Someone has taken it.

Who? And for what purpose?

It may be that some member of the household of Eutropius has been spying on me. But far more likely is the treachery of one of these servants assigned to me by the royal household. I have always suspected them of serving two purposes, or perhaps even three—to serve my immediate needs, for one, but also to watch and report on me to someone above them in the royal court. If they are serving that second function, they might as well serve a third, to watch and report on any developments that might be of interest here in the house of Eutropius.

Spies and treachery and betrayal! Spies, spies, everywhere one turns! But who am I to complain, since I am just another of them?

If in fact someone stole this sheet, when did they do so? The words were written some while ago, and since I haven't reread that section since I wrote it, the sheet could have been taken at any time since then.

What exactly did I write on that particular sheet? If I could recall, exactly, that might give me some clue as to why that sheet among all the others was taken, and just how incriminating it might be, or how easily it might be misconstrued.

The final sentences before the gap read, “While the king is busy plotting his next military campaign, the little queen and her father wield absolute power over this city. As long as I remain here, I know…” Then the gap. Then the text resumes with, “… is in an even worse dilemma than myself, it would be the Romans who remain in Ephesus.”

Clearly I was expressing my detestation of Queen Monime—I suppose that very sentiment might be read as treason, though I cannot recall exactly what words I used. I believe I went on to express some suspicion about the two servants assigned to me by the royal household—and as it turns out, those suspicions may have been well founded! Did I express some opinion about Eutropius, and his feelings toward both the king and the Romans? I hope I didn't say anything that might get him into trouble. I seem to recall mentioning young Gordianus, who naturally would have sprung to mind, since when I last stayed with Eutropius it was in the company of Gordianus, who of course endeared himself to our host by the brave deed he did on behalf of Anthea.

Oh, how I miss that youth! How clearly I can picture him in my mind. Of course, months and years have passed, and Gordianus is not quite so young now as he was when I last saw him. He is at that age when a youth truly matures into a man. He will look older now. He will have learned a great deal, living by his wits in Alexandria—if indeed he's still there, and hasn't returned to his father in Rome. Or could some terrible fate have befallen him? One hears about the civil war in Egypt, and dreadful riots in the capital. People die in such circumstances, even fleet-footed, quick-witted young fellows like Gordianus. Especially such a fellow, if he makes the mistake of poking his nose where it doesn't belong!

But my thoughts are rambling. It's because I miss him, I suppose. Because I wish we could have parted on better terms, in happier circumstances—

I have just now checked to see that my letter to Gordianus is still where it should be, and, thank Artemis, it is. At least no one has taken that!

(Or letter-in-progress, I suppose I should call it, since I can't seem to finish it and send it to him. I write one draft of the letter, then read it the next day and decide to burn it—but before doing so, I carefully copy the name and the street of the banking house where Gordianus arranged to receive letters in Alexandria, then I start the letter again. Even if I were to finish it and post it, I have no idea whether Gordianus would receive it or not. Is he still in Alexandria? Does the banking house still exist? For all I know, it might have been burned to the ground as the result of some riot.)

So much uncertainty surrounds every thought. It seems to me the world is like an ocean arrayed with endless whirlpools; escape the pull of one, and you'll only find yourself sucked into another. Over our destinies we have no control whatsoever. But if the Fates control every decision made by every mortal everywhere, then what difference does it make whether Rome rules the world or Mithridates does so? Or rather, what difference does it make whether I think that one is good and the other bad?

Now
that
is most definitely a treasonous statement.

(Another reason I have never finished or sent that letter to Gordianus: it would surely get me into trouble with either the Romans or Mithridates or with both, should someone intercept it.)

But now I will write what I want, for I have taken all my pieces of parchment and my writing tools and what few of my personal belongings I could carry, and I have departed from the house of Eutropius. I think I managed to do so without either of the two treacherous “servants” taking notice—the wily Zoticus is not out of tricks yet!—so I have successfully escaped to the house of another old friend and associate, whose name I shall not mention, lest I get him into trouble should this document fall into the wrong hands. This place is a more humble abode, not as comfortable as the house of Eutropius, but here I feel free of the constant possibility of discovery and exposure. Here, perhaps I can finish my letter to Gordianus, and be done with this rambling confession, if in fact that is what I am writing.

The massacre of the Romans is imminent. A few days ago, the king paid a call on Eutropius, and I overheard His Majesty pronounce the date for the event. (Was I spying on them? This vile habit of skulking and eavesdropping has become second nature to me.) The thing has been very long in the planning—imagine the logistics of killing every one of them all on the same day, in every city under his control. I think it is his wish that the murdering should be done not by soldiers or city guardsmen, or rather not only by them, but mostly by the ordinary people. A deliberate campaign of deriding and belittling the Romans has been going on, making them not only objects of fear and loathing, but also of ridicule. They have been set apart, not only by having been driven from their homes and forced to seek sanctuary, but by such measures as the decree that they must wear the toga—ostensibly so that decent folk can see these thieves and rapists coming and protect themselves.

To set the slaughter in motion everywhere at once, there must be a chain of command running all the way from the king down to important men in each city, like Eutropius, and then down to neighborhood ringleaders and rabble-rousers who can be relied upon, at the appointed hour, to incite everyone around them to pick up stones and cudgels and knives and set about the bloody work.

My blood runs cold at the thought of it. How I dread the coming of that day!

But first, the king must placate the Furies. If that ritual is to take place before the massacre, it must be very soon—

[Here ends this fragment from the secret diary of Antipater of Sidon.]

 

XXIV

“We should go back now. Especially if you want to get any sleep tonight.”

Sleep was far from my thoughts, though as soon as Samson mentioned it I felt a great weariness descend on me. It was not the weariness of spent muscles but of spent emotions. I had been made to feel more than enough for one day—beginning with the sight of that poor Roman begging for food and being driven from the city, to the sacrifice to Artemis, through my long day inside the temple, to my reunion with Amestris—which by itself would have unsettled my emotions quite enough—and then to the terrible moment when we all watched, helpless, as lovely little Freny was led away, destined for slaughter.

After the queen's departure, Amestris and her mistress rejoined me in Anthea's room upstairs. The two women were so distraught they could hardly speak. I would have held Amestris had she indicated any inclination to allow it, but the two women seemed entirely occupied in hugging and comforting each other, so I stood by and watched them, as mute as the man I pretended to be, unable to think of anything I could do or say that would bring consolation.

There was a knock at the door. It was Samson. I let him in and told the women what I had told the doorkeeper, that he was my hired bodyguard. It seemed simpler than explaining the complicated truth.

“How did you find your way to this room?” I asked him.