Wrath of the Furies

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The Phoenix rounded a bend in the Cayster River, and there ahead of us lay the city of Ephesus, glittering in the lowering sunlight like a many-faceted jewel set into the scooped-out hillside. Crowning Mount Pion, the city’s highest point, and dominating the skyline was the massive semicircular theater, one of the grandest in the world. Antipater had called Ephesus the most cosmopolitan of all Greek cities, the pride of Asia, the jewel of the East.

Above us, to the right, loomed wooded bluffs. Somewhere up there was the sacred Grove of Ortygia, where-on my previous visit to Ephesus-in the dark recesses of a cave I had matched wits with the Great Megabyzus himself, and saved the young daughter of my Ephesian host from a fate worse than death.

I had not rescued the beautiful Anthea by myself. I was helped in that endeavor by Anthea’s slave, the equally beautiful Amestris. She was not quite as young as her mistress, and was more darkly complexioned, with skin like burnished bronze and hair the color of a midnight sky in summer-yes, very much like the night sky, for even in darkness her lustrous black hair had seemed to glitter with starlike points of light. Our mission to rescue her mistress had been successful, but had placed us in terrible danger. The joy and relief we both felt afterward, back at the house of Eutropius, had only been fully realized when she came to me that night, and for the first time in my life I knew a woman.

That night had been four years ago, but it lingered vividly in my memory. Such exquisite moments; such sublime sensations! As I turned my distracted gaze from the bluffs back to the glittering city ahead of us, I seemed to see the smiling face of Amestris before me.…

With a start, I realized that I was gazing not at a phantom from the past, but at a female very much present in the flesh.

“Why are looking at me in such a strange way, Master?” Bethesda titled her head to one side and cocked an eyebrow. Passing close by me, she whispered in my ear, “I suppose I can only wonder what you’re thinking, since it’s not possible for you to speak.”

She was right. Although we appeared to be out of anyone’s earshot, no one is ever really alone on board a ship, where any spoken word might be heard by an unseen listener.

For once, I was glad to have assumed the pretense of muteness. I had never told Bethesda about Amestris. I had no desire to tell her now.

Besides, with our arrival in Ephesus imminent, I had plenty of other things to think about. My first challenge would be to gain entry into the city. I had my story-stricken mute, come to seek a cure from the city’s patron goddess-and I had my counterfeit papers, thanks to the two eunuchs. I should have no problem-unless, of course, something went wrong.

What could go wrong?

I was on a secret mission. Samson was on a secret mission. Who else on board was not what he pretended to be, but was instead a smuggler, or an assassin-or a spy for Mithridates? And what if this person had already spotted my deceit, and planned to expose me the moment I stepped through the city gates? What sort of punishments would King Mithridates inflict on a young Roman who pretended not to be Roman and who tried to sneak past his guards? These Eastern kings were said to have devised tortures so intricate and horrific that a Roman could hardly imagine them. If I were exposed, I would not need to use my imagination-

“What must you be thinking now?” whispered Bethesda with a frown.

I blinked and tried to make my face a blank. I endeavored to think more positive thoughts. We would gain entry to Ephesus with no problem and no delay. Before sundown I would be in one of the world’s most sophisticated cities, teeming with taverns and temples and everything between. What then?

I knew, in a general way, what I had come to achieve. I wanted to see with my own eyes that Antipater was alive, and well; and if he was in danger, I would try to help him.

Besides my original agenda, I now had another, imposed on me by Gaius Cassius. As the standing Roman governor of the province of Asia, Cassius had every right to impose it on me, since I was after all a citizen of Rome, entitled to all the privileges-and liable to add the obligations-adhering thereto.

There were four main points to this agenda.

First, I was to discover the fate of Rome’s stalwart ally, Chaeremon of Nysa, believed by his sons to be in Ephesus. If he was still alive, and if I was able to contact him, I was to render whatever assistance he might require of me.

Second, I was to discover, if I could do so discreetly, the fate of the Roman commander Quintus Oppius, who had last been seen in headlong flight from Mithridates, but who had failed to rendezvous with Gaius Cassius in Rhodes. Was Oppius still a fugitive? Was he being held captive by Mithridates? Had he been horribly executed, as had been reported about Manius Aquillius?

Third, I was to discover, if I could, the whereabouts and circumstances of a certain prince of the Egyptian royal family, the son of the recently deposed King Ptolemy. This young man, about seventeen years of age, had been kidnapped by Mithridates from his dwelling place at Cos, at the same time Mithridates seized the treasuries on the island. At that time, he had been heir to the throne of Egypt. Now that his uncle had seized the throne, young Ptolemy’s position, and his value as a hostage, was more uncertain. Nevertheless, any information about him might be useful to Roman strategists, since Egypt, thus far neutral in the conflict, might not remain so much longer. How Mithridates treated the young prince, and what conditions he placed on his release, might yet play a role in the king’s future relations with Egypt, and Egypt’s relations with Rome. The multiple diplomatic variables at play (as explained to me by Cassius) were too complicated for me to remember; my only concern would be to gather any information regarding the kidnapped Prince Ptolemy.

Fourth, I was to inquire, again discreetly, about a Roman named Publius Rutilius Rufus, a hero of the long-ago Numantine War who had served a term as consul eighteen years ago. More recently, Rutilius had been a legate in Asia, serving under the Roman governor. Apparently, not long after I left Rome on my travels, this Rutilius had been called on to defend himself against charges of malfeasance in Asia. The trial had created a sensation in Rome. Rutilius had been found guilty and was made a pauper by the fines imposed on him, whereupon he fled back to Asia. “Where he now sponges a living off Greek-speaking royalty,” Gaius Cassius had explained in a sarcastic tone that left no doubt that he detested Rutilius.

Posidonius had been more measured. “It may be that Rutilius has been captured by Mithridates and is being held against his will; a Roman of consular rank would make a fine prize. Or it may be that the situation is … more complicated.”

“What does that mean?” I had asked.

“It means that we don’t wish to prejudice you one way or the other,” Cassius shot back. “Assess the situation with your own eyes and ears and make of it what you will.”

I took this to mean that Rutilius might have “gone Greek,” as the saying goes, taking up the cause of Mithridates and his mostly Greek-speaking allies against Rome. Even if that were so, of what use to the king was a penniless septuagenarian? Then it occurred to me that Antipater was even older than Rutilius, but had managed to cause a great deal of mischief despite his creaking bones.

All my discoveries and observations I was to report to Samson. Once we reached Ephesus, I was not to try to contact him, or speak to him or even give any indication that I recognized him should I see him in a public place; he would contact me. On the short journey from Rhodes to Ephesus the two of us kept well apart and did not make eye contact. Exactly why Gaius Cassius thought the Jew was to be trusted, I did not know. It seemed to me that Samson must have his own agenda, but if so, perhaps it coincided with the interests of Rome, at least in the short term. At any rate, Samson was to be my only conduit to Cassius, and I was to obey any order he gave me as if it came from the Roman governor himself.

My original plan, hazy as it was, was of my own choosing. The agenda imposed on me by Cassius was very much not of my choosing. I cursed myself for my decision to leave the ship at Rhodes and seek out Posidonius. At the time it had seemed a reasonable thing to do; given their long relationship, Posidonius might have had news about Antipater, and I wanted his advice. How could I have anticipated that a Roman governor would appear, and conscript me to serve as an agent of Rome?

At least I had received something from Cassius in return. First, he promised to assist me financially, via Samson, in case I ran short of funds in Ephesus; second, he and the others had shared with me what they knew about the king and his court, especially Queen Monime, of whom Antipater had seemed especially fearful in the passage from his journal. Their intelligence was scant, derived largely from rumor, but I was glad for any bits of information they could give me.

Just before I left the house of Posidonius, in the predawn hour as I made ready to head back to the Phoenix, Cassius appeared at my door, slipped into my room, and made me repeat back to him all the orders he had given me the night before. Satisfied, he gave me a curt nod and left the room. His place was taken by my host, who yawned-unused to being up at such an hour-and wished Bethesda and me a safe voyage. As he escorted us to the vestibule, Posidonius gave a grunt.

“Ah, yes, I just remembered-there’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you. If I understand correctly, Gordianus, you actually made the acquaintance of the king of Egypt-the recently deposed king, I mean-shortly before he fled from Alexandria.”

“I saw him in the flesh, and we spoke, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yes, that’s precisely what I mean: You have seen with your own eyes this fellow in the flesh. Tell me-is he really as incredibly fat as rumor makes him out to be?”

I had been expecting a weightier question. Surprised, I laughed aloud. “I’ve never seen a fatter man in my life.”

“They say-well, this is rather indelicate … but they say-oh, now how can I put this…?”

I laughed again, anticipating his question. “Yes, I’ve heard the story, as has everyone in Alexandria. The man is so fat, he can’t take a piss or a shit without servants to help him. He has to be hoisted on and off the latrina, and his arms are too short to aim his manhood in front or wipe himself behind, so others have to do it for him. That vulgar rumor was memorably enacted in a rather rude mime show I saw in Alexandria. But I myself never saw the king tend to his bodily functions, so I can’t affirm that it’s true.”

Posidonius nodded thoughtfully. “They also say that when he’s in his cups, he can dance and jump on tables and cavort with the best of them.”

“That also I never saw. But yes, that’s what the Alexandrian gossips say.”

“Ah, yes, I see.” Posidonius produced a stylus and wax tablet and began scribbling notes. He was famous for recording the habits of Gauls and Celts and other exotic folk he had observed in his travels. Did he intend to record the appearance and behavior of King Ptolemy for posterity? Such gossip hardly seemed the kind of thing that would be of use to some future historian.

* * *

Because we came from Rhodes, everyone disembarking at Ephesus from the Phoenix was herded by port officials into a special queue for passengers arriving from “unfriendly” ports. After an hour or so of waiting in line on the wharf, my turn at last arrived to pass through the city gates. As it turned out, I was not exposed as a Roman spy. Nor was I allowed to simply enter the city, as I had hoped. As so often happens, there was a third possibility that I could not have foreseen.

Before we left Alexandria, the eunuchs and Bethesda and I had rehearsed the scene of my arrival, employing several different scenarios. Kettel and Berynus played the Ephesian entry officials, asking all the many questions that might come up. I had been made to maintain complete silence, while Bethesda had been coached to answer as simply and briefly as she could. (“And if the snooty bureaucrat seems even the least bit susceptible to your charms, my dear, do not hesitate to use them,” Kettel had advised her, putting his hands on his hips and batting his eyelashes to demonstrate, at which an unamused Bethesda returned an unblinking sphinxlike stare that was infinitely more provocative.)

As it turned out, the eunuchs had done an excellent job of anticipating the kinds of questions we would be asked, and all the various reactions our answers might elicit-all except one.

Things seemed to be going very well, I thought. The official was a young man, decidedly not a eunuch to judge by his neatly trimmed beard. As he looked over my travel documents, his manner was brisk and efficient, but not unfeeling. He seemed mildly susceptible to Bethesda’s charms, and not unsympathetic with the plight of a man in the prime of youth struck dumb and desperately in search of a cure.

“Do you have a place to stay in the city?” he asked.

“The last time my master was in Ephesus,” answered Bethesda, “he stayed with a man called Eutropius, who lives up the hill, near the theater.”

“Not a cheap neighborhood. This Eutropius must be a man of means.”

Bethesda turned to me. I nodded vigorously, and she replied, “Oh, yes, Eutropius is a man of considerable means.”

The young bureaucrat cast a skeptical glance at my clothes, obviously wondering what relationship might exist between a man as humble as me and a rich Ephesian.

Bethesda, too, noticed his skepticism. “I believe my master and this Eutropius met through a mutual friend, a traveling tutor by the name of Zoticus. Zoticus of Zeugma-perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

The young man seemed amused. No one famous ever came from Zeugma. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, he’s quite widely known,” said Bethesda with a sly smile. “He writes poetry, too. My master would recite some lines of it for you, I’m sure, except that … well, as I explained … my master is dumb.”

I bit my tongue and resisted the urge to give her a kick. Giving complete answers was one thing. Spinning needless elaborations was another.

“Dumb, did she say?” Another functionary suddenly appeared-this one a eunuch, to judge by the softness of his downy jowls. He was more senior than the official who had been questioning us, to judge by the ostentatious headdress he wore, a kind of turban from which dangled a great many gewgaws made of cheap metal and colored glass.

The younger official nodded. “Yes, sir. He’s an Alexandrian come to seek healing at the Temple of Artemis. I explained that he’d be lucky to get in, with that mob of Romans cramming themselves inside, seeking sanctuary-”

“And mute?” said the older man, giving me a hard look.

“So he says. Or rather, so his slave says-”

“Can’t say a word?” The eunuch kept staring at me until I nodded. He snatched my documents from the younger man and gave them a cursory glance. “Well, then-Agathon of Alexandria-this is your lucky day.” He swatted his underling with the documents. “Did you forget, Terpsicles, that we’re to be on the lookout for specimens exactly such as this one?”

Terpsicles grimaced to acknowledge some oversight. I frowned, not liking the sound of that word: specimens.

“Follow me, Agathon of Alexandria,” said the eunuch.

Bethesda shot me a questioning glance. I shrugged.

“Is there some problem?” she asked.

“No problem at all,” the eunuch called over his shoulder. “Did you not hear me? Not deaf as well, are you? Follow me!”

“Follow you where?” insisted Bethesda.

“To the royal palace.”

“Royal … palace?” Bethesda wrinkled her brow. So did I.

“Yes. You know, the big building where the king stays when he’s in residence. You have one of those in Alexandria, don’t you?” He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “What a pair the two of you make. A mute master and a simple slave!”

Bethesda’s expression turned stormy. She opened her mouth, but I silenced her with a jab from my elbow. I took her by the arm and pulled her after me.

“But why are we going to the palace?” she whispered.

The question was spoken to me, but it was the keen-eared eunuch who answered. “To meet Queen Monime, you silly girl.”

Until then I had only been pretending. Now I was genuinely dumbstruck.