Wrath of the Furies

VIII

“Samson!” I exclaimed.

The newly arrived dinner guest went about settling his oversized physique on a dining couch that was too small for him. “So you can speak,” he said.

I turned to Posidonius. “What is Samson doing here?”

My host laughed. “Samson? Is that the name he’s traveling under? Appropriate, I suppose, if not very original. At least it will be easy to remember.”

The big Jew shrugged. “I didn’t choose the name. This young Roman’s slave calls me that.” He smiled. “She’s a bit of a flirt.”

I didn’t like the sound of that, but I bit my tongue.

“It seems rather impertinent, for a slave to be assigning nicknames,” said Gaius Cassius. He was clearly one of those Romans who believed the world would be a better place if only everyone would stop coddling their slaves.

Samson grinned. “As far as I’m concerned, Governor, that lovely girl can call me anything she likes-as long as she doesn’t try to play barber.”

The others laughed, apparently at some joke that went over my head.

“‘Samson’ let it be, then,” said Posidonius. “We shall call you nothing else, at least not until you return from Ephesus.”

The man called Samson nodded. He appeared to already know and be known to everyone present, since he addressed them by name. “Is it true, Pythion, what they’re saying down at the waterfront-that Mithridates has put a bounty on your head?”

Pythion choked on the wine he was drinking. “A bounty?”

“Proclamations have gone out far and wide. Some refugees who just arrived from Caunus were talking about it.”

“What sort of proclamations?”

“You’re a wanted man, dead or alive. So is Pythodorus, and your father, too.”

“How much is the king offering?” asked Pythion.

“Mithridates will pay forty talents for each of you, if brought to him alive. Only twenty talents if it’s just your head.”

While the two brothers impulsively touched their throats, Gaius Cassius whistled. “How in Hades can Mithridates offer such extravagant rewards?”

“When he captured the island of Cos, he opened the foreign treasuries kept there and seized all the contents,” said Posidonius. “Added to all his other recent acquisitions, that must make him the richest man in the world. The king has more money than he knows what to do with. Money for troops, for weapons, for bounties.”

“He had no right to plunder the treasuries at Cos,” said Samson. All trace of amusement vanished from his face. “Those riches belonged to neutral parties, to men and nations with whom Mithridates has no quarrel.”

“You speak of Egypt,” I said, remembering that the loss of the Egyptian treasury on the island of Cos had done much to turn the Egyptian people against the deposed king. Along with the tangible assets in the Egyptian treasury, Mithridates had taken into his custody the son of King Ptolemy as well. The young prince had been sent to the faraway island to keep him safe from the palace intrigues of Alexandria, only to fall into Mithridates’s hands. Protective custody, Mithridates called it. Kidnapping, said others.

“Yes, there was an Egyptian treasury on Cos,” said Samson. “And also, among others, a treasury belonging to the Jews of Alexandria. Mithridates had no right to take those riches. The man is no better than a common thief. He should have both hands cut off!”

Gaius Cassius pursed his lips shrewdly. “What a lovely idea. I’ll keep that in mind, when we finally defeat the son of a whore. I should quite like to see Mithridates paraded through the streets of Rome with a chain around his neck and both hands cut off.” He narrowed his eyes and smiled grimly.

“About this bounty,” I said. “If I may ask, what makes the king desire your capture so much?”

“When the war broke out, our father remained loyal to Rome,” said Pythion. “He donated a great deal of grain to feed the Roman troops, and offered other assistance.”

“No man was ever a better friend to Rome than Chaeremon,” declared Gaius Cassius.

“But when Mithridates defeated the Romans, we had to flee from Nysa,” said Pythion. “We headed for Ephesus. We had no idea how much the Romans are hated there. The Ephesians were overjoyed at the prospect of being ‘freed from the Roman yoke,’ as they put it. It was only a matter of time before Mithridates would arrive, and the Ephesians would open their gates to him. Our father managed to book passage for my brother and me on a ship bound for Rhodes.”

“And Chaeremon?” I asked.

“Father stayed behind. We’ve had no word from him since,” said Pythion.

I nodded, knowing how it felt to be separated from a father and to have no news of him.

“So the bounty is actually a hopeful sign,” said his brother. “If Mithridates is offering a reward for Father’s capture, that means he’s still alive. And the fact that Mithridates is offering a bounty for us means he doesn’t know that we’ve escaped to Rhodes.”

“Unless he means to take Rhodes next,” said Samson. The others looked at him sharply. “If your father is still in Ephesus, he’s very likely taken sanctuary in the Temple of Artemis. If that’s the case, Mithridates knows exactly where Chaeremon is, and the bounty is meant to encourage the most rabid of the Rome-haters in Ephesus to storm the sanctuary and capture everyone inside, never mind the laws of gods and men.”

Pythion and Pythodorus both turned pale. The younger brother covered his face.

More food was brought, a fish course garnished with bitter radishes and salted olives. No one touched it except Samson. I had noticed that he always displayed a hearty appetite on board the Phoenix. He took his time, relishing each bite as the rest of us watched.

“This treacherous tutor, this Zoticus of Zeugma,” he finally said, wiping the corners of his mouth. He saw the look on my face. “Oh, yes, Posidonius has already told me everything.” Everything but Antipater’s true name, I thought. “We know he didn’t seduce you into betraying Rome, Posidonius, but what about your students? They come here every day, and they include all sorts. Zoticus must have had contact with them. How are we to know that the old fellow didn’t lure some budding young philosopher into playing spy for Mithridates, right under your own roof?”

Pythion threw up his hands. “How are we to trust anyone, anywhere?”

“My point exactly,” said Samson.

Posidonius nodded. “The question you raise has already occurred to me. That’s why we six are the only guests at this dinner. Every man in this room can be trusted. We all come from different places, but we all have the same goal: to stop Mithridates.”

“Is that your goal, Gordianus?” asked Samson.

“I want to stop Mithridates from harming Zoticus, yes.”

“But is that enough? The rest of us in this room want to see Mithridates destroyed. From what Posidonius told me, you merely want to save the life of a single man, and an enemy at that-a worthless scoundrel whom the rest of us would like to see paraded in chains along with Mithridates through the streets of Rome someday.”

Posidonius raised his hand. “Enough of that, Samson! Gordianus will stand with us. Of that I’m sure.”

“But is Gordianus sure? I should like to hear him say it aloud.”

“So should I,” said Gaius Cassius, staring at me.

“And so should we,” said the two brothers, not quite in unison, so that one sounded like the echo of the other.

I looked from face to face. I had come to the house of Posidonius merely seeking shelter for the night, and perhaps a bit of conversation with someone who knew Antipater. What had I gotten myself into?

“What exactly do you want from me?” I asked.

“We’ve already told you!” snapped Gaius Cassius. “While in Ephesus, or anywhere else under the control of Mithridates, you will act as eyes and ears for Rome. No action is required of you; you need only to watch and to listen, and pass on what you’ve observed to Samson here, who is embarking on his own mission, but who is a friend of Rome. Any information of value will find its way back here to me.”

It would never turn out to be that simple, I thought.

He scowled at my hesitation. “Well? What do you say?”

“Why should I-”

“Because you are a Roman!” Gaius Cassius rose to his feet and gathered the folds of his toga. “Because you are the son of your father! If the Finder were here, what would he say to you?”

Without realizing it, Gaius Cassius had touched on one of the reasons for my uncertainty. My father had helped Antipater to fake his own death in Rome and to set out on his journey under a new name. Had my father known of Antipater’s intentions, and of his loyalty to Mithridates? Had he shared that loyalty? The idea was shocking, but anything seemed possible. By helping Rome, would I be doing what he would wish me to do, or would I be betraying my father?

“How I wish my father were here,” I said aloud.

“Since he’s not, I will speak for him,” said Gaius Cassius. “As he is a Roman, and so am I, I am the nearest thing you have to a father in this place, so far from Rome. Are you not a Roman, Gordianus? Are you not a son of Rome?”

I stared at the governor. No man could be more different from my father. Gaius Cassius struck me as a gruff, scowling bully of a man, quite the opposite of my father. And yet …

“I am a Roman,” I said.

“Then you will do what Rome requires of you!” he shouted.

Still I hesitated.

“And if you don’t,” said Posidonius, almost in a whisper, “then Samson here will see to it that you’re exposed as an imposter and a Roman the moment you set foot in Ephesus. That will be the end of any plan you may have to save Zoticus.”

“And the end of you,” added Samson. “And of that pretty slave girl, as well.”

For a long moment they all looked at me in silence.

“How shall we go about this?” I asked.