Wrath of the Furies (7 page)

The slaves used a long-handled shovel to scoop up the coins and pour them into the crucible. At the same time, Bastarna dragged Aquillius to the rack and bound him to it in such a way that the Roman was made to kneel with his arms outstretched and his head bent back, his eyes staring upward. Into his gaping mouth Bastarna inserted a hollow bit. Into this cavity Bastarna inserted a large funnel.

It now became evident to everyone what was about to happen, including Aquillius, who began to scream, or at least to scream as best he could with the bit and the funnel shoved into his mouth. The sound that came out sounded strained and distant, like the squeak of a mouse. From the side of the stage his fellow Roman, Quintus Oppius, stared in wide-eyed horror. Mithridates smiled. Queen Monime leaned forward to get a better view.

A strange noise arose from the many-tiered seats behind me. It was like the roar of the sea heard inside a shell—all those screams and jeers and laughs and gasps melded into a sort of sigh, like an intake of breath, or the hissing of wind in tall grass. It was not so loud that the voice of Mithridates could not be heard above it as he rose from his throne and began to speak.

“People of Pergamon, you are the witnesses to this act of justice. As he has lived by greed—committed crimes, killed the innocent, corrupted all those around him for the sake of greed—let this Roman die by greed. Look at him there, with his mouth gaping open. Even now, he hungers for gold! Shall we satisfy his craving? Shall we feed him the gold?”

The crowd of ten thousand roared their assent.

With three slaves managing the long handle, the scoop was inserted into the tilted crucible, and then withdrawn, brimming with molten gold. Bastarna strode forth and took hold of the long handle, waving the others aside. He carried the scoop to the rack and positioned the molten contents directly above the funnel fitted into Aquillius's gaping mouth. Aquillius's staring eyes were so wide I thought they might pop from their sockets. His mouse-squeal of a scream rose even higher. He clenched and unclenched his bound fists, and wriggled his body as much as he could within the constraints of his bondage.

Bastarna held the scoop in place, but it was Mithridates who took hold of the end of the handle and gave it a turn, so that the contents were emptied into the funnel.

What happened then—

It is this moment that haunts my nightmares. I feel the heat of the crucible on my face. I smell the burning flesh and the sizzling blood. I hear the popping and exploding of the vital organs inside Aquillius. Behind me I hear the din of the crowd, a bellowing roar filled with hate.

Every part of Aquillius convulses in agony. Unable to bear the sight, I turn about, only to confront ten thousand faces contorted with fury and derision.

In my nightmare, I look from face to face, but they are all the same. Not one shows the slightest hint of pity or revulsion. Are these the people whom I dreamed of saving from the Romans?

I turn back, and on the stage I see Mithridates with his arms raised and a smug smile on his face. He has put on a show for the people, and the people love it. Their roar of hatred for Rome gradually turns to cheering, becoming a roar of adoration for their
Shahansha,
their King of Kings. Is this the man for whom I became a liar and a spy, for whom I sacrificed everything, even my name?

I lower my face and cover my ears, unable to bear the sights and sounds around me. When I dare to look up again, I see Queen Monime staring back at me, her pretty mouth misshapen by a scowl of contempt.

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

 

IV

It was Bethesda's idea that we should consult a fortune-teller before our departure for Ephesus. Indeed, she insisted on it.

How Bethesda chose this particular fortune-teller, I didn't know. I had never heard of the woman, despite my network of contacts among the lowlifes and shady characters of Alexandria. Yet somehow Bethesda had chosen this fortune-teller above all others, and insisted that only she would do. I sometimes think there is a secret web, invisible to men, that links all the women of the world.

However that may be, very early on the morning we were to board ship, when a soft light pervaded the sky but the sun had not yet risen, and pockets of pitch-dark night still darkened doorways and the space between buildings, I found myself in a narrow street in the Rhakotis district, the oldest part of Alexandria. Before Alexander drew the boundaries for the great city that would bear his name, and laid out its grid of broad boulevards intersecting at right angles, Rhakotis was a ramshackle fishing village on a barren stretch of coast. Unlike the rest of the city that grew up around it, Rhakotis remains a network of narrow, winding alleyways, so mazelike that a visitor can easily become lost. Rhakotis seems quaint when one visits by daylight, but dangerous after dark.

Rhakotis reminds me of the Subura district in Rome, but is much more cosmopolitan. In the Subura, the stranger who might offer to sell you stolen goods, or invite you to have sex with his sister, or knife you in the back, is almost certain to be a Roman and to speak Latin, but in Rhakotis such a fellow might come from anywhere in the world, have skin of a color never seen in Rome, and speak any of a hundred different languages. The Subura, for all its seedy reputation, seems a rather tame and homey place compared to the exotic seep of vice and menace that is Rhakotis.

The alley down which we ventured that morning was particularly winding and narrow, and stank of cat urine. We arrived at a squat, mud-brick building with a black door upon which was carved the Egyptian symbol called an ankh. Here, according to Bethesda's information, we would find a fortune-teller called Ameretat. The name sounded neither Greek nor Egyptian; perhaps it was Persian. I knocked on the door. In the predawn stillness, the noise sounded very loud.

The door seemed to open by itself, for I saw no one on the other side. Then I lowered my eyes and perceived a small, shadowy figure no taller than my waist. The child—though I could not see him clearly, I presumed it was a little boy—took a good look at both of us, then without a word let us in.

“Follow,” he said, in a high-pitched but peculiarly husky voice. He carried a small lamp, which provided the only illumination as he led us down a hallway so narrow I banged my elbows against the walls. The place had a peculiar smell, a mixture of incense and stewed onions. We came to a room at the back of the building where the shutters of a high window had been opened to admit the first feeble light of morning. The boy told us to sit, which we did on the rug beneath us, since the room had no furniture. Because she sat on the floor below the window, with the light in her visitors' eyes, the woman before us appeared as little more than a patch of gray against a field of black. At least I presumed the patch of gray to be a woman, though thus far she had not said a word.

The boy disappeared for a moment, then brought us each a cup of something to drink. The brew was slightly tepid and smelled like the fermented beverage the Egyptians make from grain, a beer with aromatic spices added. It was an old charlatan's trick, to intoxicate a customer with drugged food or wine—so my father had taught me—and this act of suspect hospitality immediately put me on my guard. When I lowered my cup to the floor without drinking from it, and gestured for Bethesda to do the same, I expected the woman to encourage us to drink, but instead she remained silent. The vague outline amid the shadows seemed less certain than ever. I thought I could make out the shape of a dark cloak and a cowl, but peer as I might, I could see no face within the shadowy folds of cloth. I couldn't tell if she looked at us or not, or even if she was awake.

Bethesda had arranged ahead of time, with an agent who worked for the fortune-teller, that we should visit Ameretat on this day and at this hour, so of course she knew who we were. Still, it was startling to hear a strange voice from the shadows suddenly speak my name, loudly and with a peculiar accent.

“Gordianus of Rome!” she said. “And you, the slave girl called Bethesda. You come to Ameretat seeking knowledge of what lies ahead, yes?”

Before I could answer, Bethesda whispered, “Yes, Ameretat, we do.” I was about to chide her for speaking out of turn, when Ameretat interrupted me with a laugh.

“You might as well get used to it, Gordianus of Rome,” she said. “Soon enough the slave girl will be doing all the talking, and you will be mute!”

I wrinkled my brow. Just how much had Bethesda told this woman's agent about my plans and the purpose for my journey? The more a fortune-teller knows about you, the more easily she can spin a tale so as to make herself appear more prescient than she is. So my father had told me.

“First, the payment,” she said. That seemed straightforward enough. I produced a small bag that contained the agreed-upon amount. The boy appeared from the shadows and snatched it from my hand. He emptied the bag onto his cupped palm, counted the coins out loud, and gave the woman a nod.

“Something else I must have, some article of clothing or other item close to you. Your shoes, I think. Yes, each of you, give me a shoe, since it is on a journey of many steps that you are about to embark.”

I slipped off a shoe, and so did Bethesda. The little boy collected them and gave them to the woman. I still couldn't see her clearly amid the shadows. If anything, as the light from outside very gradually grew stronger, the shadows across from us seemed to grow deeper.

I heard her draw a sharp breath—of surprise, I assumed, for Bethesda and I both were wearing finely crafted footwear of supple leather, with brass buckles for the narrow straps and tiny brass hobnails to secure the soles. Such shoes were far better than anything I would normally have possessed; they had come from the booty of the Nile bandits with whom we both had resided for a while. The woman sighed—with regret, I thought, for she must be thinking that the owner of such fine shoes could have afforded to pay considerably more for her services.

“I see a long journey,” she said. “A journey of many days. Most of your travel will be by sea. Still, many a step each of you will take in these shoes. Friends and foes … but the friend is sometimes not a friend, and the foe not always a foe … a loved one from the past … a trusted teacher … danger … a sacrifice—”

“Danger?” whispered Bethesda.

I shook my head. The woman was speaking gibberish. She could have uttered the same words to any two people going on a long trip, and left it up to her listeners to make out a meaning.

“Danger?” Bethesda repeated. “Who is in danger?”

“I see … a beautiful young girl,” the fortune-teller said.

So do I
, I almost said, casting a sidelong glance at Bethesda.

“A virgin girl…”

Ah, well,
not
Bethesda, then—who looked a bit peeved, I thought, at the mention of this other beautiful girl looming mysteriously in my future.
Think nothing of it,
I wanted to tell her.
These fortune-tellers always throw in a beautiful virgin, don't they, just to get one's attention?

Ameretat gasped, and heaved a sigh. “The virgin is soon to be in terrible danger…”

Of losing her virginity, no doubt!
I thought these words, but did not speak them. I was finding Ameretat's performance to be less than impressive, but Bethesda gazed raptly at the shadowy figure, hanging on every word.

“And someone else I see…”

“Who?” I said, growing impatient. “Who else do you see besides the virgin?”

“An old man. Close to you, or close to your thoughts. Not your grandfather, I think. But old, yes. And dear to you—despite the rift between you…”

I shook my head. It was obvious that Bethesda must have given too much information to the so-called fortune-teller's agent. Such intermediaries were trained to elicit useful details, even from the canniest customer. Having been briefed ahead of time, Ameretat was simply repeating back to me what I already knew.

“I suppose that next you'll tell me the dear old man is in danger, too?” I said.

“He most certainly is.”

“And that he wants me to come and help him?”

“Most certainly not! For you to join him is the last thing he desires. It is his wish that you should stay far away from him.”

I shook my head. Somewhere between Bethesda and the agent and the fortune-teller, the story must have become garbled, or else Ameretat's memory had failed her. If anything had been clear to me from the words written by Antipater, it was that he greatly needed and desired my help.

“I intend to go to him, nonetheless,” I said. “I leave this very day—as I'm sure you know. What else awaits me on this journey, besides a virgin in peril and an old man who's bitten off more than he can chew?” I almost laughed, for it sounded as if I were describing a plot from Plautus.

“If you think a comedy lies ahead of you, young man, think again!” Ameretat seemed to pull the thought from my mind with such precision that I was taken aback.

Suddenly thirsty, I reached for the cup I had earlier put down. I took a cautious sip of the tepid beer and tasted nothing suspicious. I drank the whole cup, thinking I might as well get some value for the money I had spent.

The woman appeared to stir uneasily. It was as if a bundle of rags suddenly became animated and rearranged themselves in the dark corner beneath the window. The feeble light of approaching dawn had grown just bright enough to acquire a pale blue tinge.

When she spoke again, her voice seemed like that of another woman, so strained and unnatural did it sound. “Fool of a Roman, you have no idea what awaits you!” she whispered. “Blood! Fountains of blood, lakes of blood, a sea of blood! The streets will be filled with rejoicing. The temples will be filled with corpses!”