Wrath of the Furies (33 page)

“We have strayed from the purpose of this meeting,” said Kysanias. “And we have very little time. Tell us at once, young Roman: Who is this man?”

I drew back my shoulders. I stood with my chin up and my arms bent in a particular way, assuming the posture learned by every young Roman when he becomes a man. I felt almost as if I wore a toga, for the weight and the folds of the garment become second nature to those who are taught to take the stance of a dignified Roman citizen. “This man, whom I was proud to call my tutor and traveling companion, is better known to most of the world—the parts of the world that speak Greek, anyway—as the greatest of all living poets. Surely you know his name, Consul.”

Rutilius looked confounded. “But … no!” He shook his head and stared at Antipater, who seemed to shrink under such intense scrutiny. “I knew the man by reputation, of course, but I never met him. When he died, I was too busy preparing for my trial to attend the funeral, though everyone else did. You can't mean to say…”

Zeuxidemus stood back a bit from Antipater, gazing at him with a mixture of curiosity and wonder. “Do you mean to say that in our midst, all this time, without anyone knowing—”

“The king knows who I am,” said Antipater. “So does the queen—or she knows my name, anyway. About poetry I suspect she knows very little.”

“Yes,” I said, answering Zeuxidemus. “This man is Antipater of Sidon.”

Though they had already guessed, still I heard small gasps from the consul and the two priests. Such is the power of fame. Antipater seemed to grow a bit—especially when, under his breath, Zeuxidemus recited the famous line, “‘But the house of Artemis at Ephesus, of all the Wonders Seven.…'”

“What an unlikely group this is,” said Kysanias. “A Roman consul in exile … a Jewish envoy from Alexandria … a young Roman pretending to be a mute Egyptian … two priests of Artemis … and—of all people, living or dead!—Antipater of Sidon. But I take it we are all desirous of the same end: to somehow avert the mass slaughter of the Romans. Agreed?”

Kysanias looked at each of us in turn. Each of us nodded, and said aloud, “Agreed.”

I added, “And I would prevent the death of Freny—if I could.…”

“As would I,” said Kysanias, very quietly. “To stop the massacre, once it commences, will be impossible. So many people are already so eager to do away with the Romans, it will take very little to set them into action, and once that's done, there will be no stopping them.”

“What are we to do?” I asked.

“The slaughter must be stopped before it can begin,” said Kysanias. “The sacrifice in the Grove of the Furies must go awry. If the sacrifice is spoiled—if the Furies have not been appeased—then Mithridates may yet be turned from this course.”

Kysanias paused for a long moment, so that we could all appreciate the gravity of what he had just said. The highest priest of the world's greatest temple to Artemis was suggesting that we—himself included—should deliberately pervert a sacred ritual calling upon the most dangerous and terrifying forces known to mankind.

“If we do such a thing…” Rutilius seemed hesitant to speak the thought aloud. “Might we not turn the wrath of the Furies on ourselves?”

“We must weigh that possibility against the appalling magnitude of the act we are trying to avert,” said Kysanias. “If in the end the Furies and all of Olympus are on the side of Mithridates, if this massacre is sanctioned by the gods, then any attempt to avert it will fail, and we must suffer for our hubris. But who here, in his heart of hearts, does not believe the slaughter is uncalled for—terrible in itself, and a blight upon the cause of Mithridates? People given sanctuary in the Temple of Artemis will be dragged out and killed. Blood will be shed on sacred ground, not only in Ephesus, but in cities and temples all over the kingdom. I cannot believe such a thing accords with the will of Artemis.

“I believe that each of us here is an instrument of the Fates, for how else did we all arrive from distant points to come together at this very time and place? You, Gordianus—do you not feel that you were guided here for a purpose greater than you imagined? Pretending for your own reasons to be mute, you became the mute witness whose presence was required for the sacrifice.”

“But … as you say, my muteness is a pretense. I meant to fool mortals, not gods! And certainly not … the Furies. At every moment I feel I'm hanging by a thread—”

“Exactly so—a thread woven by the Fates!” Kysanias nodded, his eyes wide with excitement. “The ritual requires a mute witness, and none was found until you, yet you are not genuine. So when the ritual takes place, it will already be compromised, by your presence in place of a genuine mute witness. Surely that is a sign that the ritual is intended to fail. The sacrifice will go awry, and Mithridates will be put off, afraid to proceed with the massacre.”

Rutilius looked doubtful. “It's hard to imagine the king being afraid of anything.”

“Mithridates is a mortal like any other,” insisted Kysanias. “In the Grove of the Furies, he will sense a power greater than himself. He can be made to feel fear.”

“Your Eminence,” I said, “I understand what you say about the twisted path that led me here. But Samson says we're all to play a role in the sacrifice.” I looked at Rutilius. “What is
your
role, Consul?”

He shrugged. “Mithridates wants a Roman to witness the sacrifice, preferably a Roman of high rank, to see that the massacre has been divinely sanctioned. I will be that Roman.”

Antipater bristled. “You claim to be merely a witness? I overheard you outside the king's door, plotting with Metrodorus the Rome-Hater, discussing how best to dispose of the bodies.”

Rutilius sighed. “Like everyone else here, I'm playing more than one role. Yes, I know something about the planning of this massacre. It might be argued that I even, to some extent, helped to plan it—but only so that I might stop it. How better to avert this mad idea than by discovering all I could about it? Toward that end, you see me here. It was Samson who felt me out, acting on behalf of the deposed Roman governor in Rhodes. I will
not
become an agent of Rome against Mithridates, but in this single instance I will do what I can to foil the king's intentions. And you, Antipater—are you also taking part in the sacrifice?”

“So it seems. The king decided that a poet should witness the sacrifice. Who else would he choose but the world's greatest living poet? But as I was trying to tell you, earlier—”

“I wondered why the king insisted that the poet be a man I'd never heard of,” said Kysanias. “I should have known there was more to this so-called Zoticus of Zeugma than met the eye. Again, we see the hand of the Fates!”

“Or the hand of Samson,” I said. “And you, Your Eminence? And Zeuxidemus? Are you of one mind about this?”

Kysanias put his hand on the younger priest's shoulder. “Zeuxidemus is pure of heart, as he has demonstrated many times, by words and deeds and by his devotion to the goddess. He is the only one of my fellow Megabyzoi with whom I have shared my true feelings about this matter. As for me … this all began when the king called the Grand Magus and me into his throne room and revealed to us in strictest confidence the massacre he was planning. How his eyes shone, how his voice quavered with excitement!

“I was taken aback. So, to his credit, was the Grand Magus. We suggested alternatives. To rid himself of the Romans, could His Majesty not strip them of all property and send them into exile? Or if he preferred a harsher punishment, might he not enslave them? No! He was insistent that they be killed, every one of them, even the women and infants. But it had occurred to him that dark forces might arise in response to an act of such magnitude.

“By various means, the Grand Magus and I determined that the Furies must be placated, and that only the sacrifice of a virgin would suffice. Only one person could carry out the sacrifice—myself.

“In my many years as a Megabyzus serving Artemis, I have slaughtered hundreds, perhaps thousands of animals. Never have I been squeamish. The glimmer of awareness in the animal's eyes in the moment before it dies, the slicing of the blade into the flesh, the gushing of the blood, the thrashing of the victim—I have exulted in these things, for they serve the greater glory of Artemis. And yet …

“As I contemplated the act required of me—the slaughter of a young girl, by my own hand … the prospect haunts my dreams. Every night I see myself in the Grove of the Furies, standing at the altar, with the girl restrained and helpless before me. She struggles against her bonds, she cries out through the gag in her mouth—and that is a good thing, for with an animal sacrifice the docility of the victim is a sign of submission to the deity, but with a human sacrifice, the greater the struggle, the better.

“The knife is in my hands. The moment comes. I look into her eyes. I raise the blade—and the moment that follows is so horrible that I wake in a cold sweat. Even now, thinking of it, I feel a chill. My stomach tightens. My hands shake—do you see?”

Kysanias help up both trembling hands.

“A sign from Artemis. These hands are dedicated to her service, and see how they shake at the very thought of what I'm being called to do? I must not do it. I will not! You must all help me. We must find a way to stop it. In doing that, we may stop the greater slaughter that is to follow.”

A grim silence followed his words, as we all looked from face to face in the flickering lamplight.

Antipater opened his mouth to say something, but I spoke first. “What about you, Samson?” I asked.

“Me?”

“You brought us all together. But why? What is your purpose?”

“You know why I came here, Gordianus: to recover what I could of the stolen treasure of the Jews of Alexandria.” He shrugged, and fingered the hem of the old cloak he had taken from the treasury.

“But that doesn't explain why you brought us all together. Why do
you
want to stop this sacrifice and avert the massacre of the Romans?”

“You know the answer to that, Gordianus. My mission was in part funded by Rome and Rome's allies in Rhodes. To the extent that I accepted their help and money, I'm obligated to do whatever I can to further their interests. Surely, stopping the slaughter of tens of thousands of innocent Romans is something Posidonius and Gaius Cassius would want me to do.”

“You have no religious qualms? You fear no punishment for impiety or hubris?”

“As I told you before, Gordianus, I am a Jew. I don't worship Artemis. Nor do I fear these Furies you all regard with such awe. At any rate, I have no part to play in the sacrifice. Tomorrow night, you won't see me in the Grove of the Furies.”

Antipater stamped his foot and gritted his teeth. I thought he was vexed by Samson's impiousness, until he spoke.

“You must all be quiet! You must let me speak. I know the date for the massacre. I know, because I overheard the king give instructions to Eutropius, telling him the day and the hour. It's sooner than you seem to think. It will happen two days from now—the day after tomorrow!”

 

XXX

There was a stunned silence.

“But that means…” Zeuxidemus furrowed his brow.

Kysanias shook his head. “Impossible! Without placating the Furies, the king cannot proceed with the massacre. What if the ritual goes badly? If the killings have been arranged to take place the very next day, there'll be no way to stop them—no way to send the organizers a message. Winged Hermes couldn't travel that fast!”

Rutilius looked at Antipater. “You're absolutely certain of this?”

“It's not something a man would forget,” said Antipater. “I've been counting the days, dreading what's to come.”

“Impossible!” Kysanias repeated.

“No, it's all too possible,” said Rutilius. “It's just like Mithridates, isn't it? The man has never been afraid to take a risk. While the date for the sacrifice was repeatedly postponed, the date for the massacre was firm. Now the one will take place on the very eve of the other. Mithridates is gambling that the sacrifice will go well. He thinks himself so favored by the gods, how could it go otherwise?”

“The hubris of the man!” said Zeuxidemus.

Kysanias raised his hand. “We are not here to speak against the king. Our purpose is to stop the king from making a terrible mistake.”

“But Your Eminence, don't you see? We can't stop it now,” said Zeuxidemus. “No matter what happens in the Grove of the Furies, the massacres will take place the next day, everywhere at once.”

“Perhaps … not everywhere,” I said. “Might we avert the massacre here in Ephesus, at least?”

Kysanias considered this. “Yes. If we can contrive to spoil the sacrifice, and the king is made to fear the consequences, then he might at least put a stop to the killing here. The Romans in Ephesus might be saved, and the sanctity of the Temple of Artemis preserved. That would be … no small accomplishment.”

“But much smaller than we hoped,” said Rutilius. “What of the Romans in Pergamon and Adramyttion, in Caunus and Tralles? What of all the temples that will be profaned in those cities?”

Zeuxidemus bowed his head. He was weeping.

Kysanias put his arm around the younger priest. “This is … a disappointment. But we mustn't be deterred from our purpose. If only one life can be saved, is that not worth our efforts?”

“Only one life?” I whispered. I was thinking of Freny, remembering her smile and her laughter, and also the look of terror on her face as she was taken from the house of Eutropius. “I still don't understand. Who will disrupt the sacrifice, and how?”

“Who?” said Kysanias. “
We
must do it—the five of us in this room who will be there. As to how … that is what we must decide.”