Wrath of the Furies

XII

We entered a room that seemed to be wrapped in layer upon layer of gauze.

Everywhere, hanging vertically, were translucent veils of soft, lovely colors-lilac and azure, mossy green and buttery yellow. Though they were hard to see, there were openings in these veils, for we passed through one shimmering layer after another. The soft touch of the veils as they slid against my cheeks and the backs of my hands was delightful.

Of what fantastic material were they made? I suddenly realized it had to be the famous silk of Cos, an example of which I had first seen in the home of Antipater’s cousin Bitto in Halicarnassus. She had worn a green garment made of the stuff, which clung to her flesh like a rippling sheet of water. No fabric was more costly than the silk of Cos. Had these been sheets of hammered gold they could hardly have been more valuable. I wondered how anyone, even Mithridates, could have got his hands on so much of the stuff. He must have plundered the island’s entire store of silk.

From somewhere ahead of me I heard the sound of someone giggling-a boy, I thought, with some surprise. No, it was a girl-or rather, it was both, a boy and a girl laughing together. Slanting sunlight lit the room, passing through some veils and reflecting off others. The queen was able to see me before I could see her.

“Is this the mute?” said a girlish voice, to a background of boyish giggles.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And who is the lovely creature with him?” asked the boy, whose shape I was just beginning to discern as we stepped through yet another layer of veils.

“His slave. Because he has been struck mute, she travels with him, to speak when he cannot.”

“How tiresome that must be for them both,” said the boy.

The chamberlain pushed aside one last veil, and I finally saw the young man, who half-sat, half-reclined on an elegant couch, propped on one elbow. The cut of his long, sleeveless robe was distinctly Egyptian, as was his simple uraeus crown. It looked as if a slender cobra made of gold had wrapped itself around his head, with its flattened, ruby-eyed face poised to strike from the middle of his forehead. The young man had slender arms but a chubby face. Perhaps he was predisposed to fatness, like his famously fat father-for as surely as the fabrics surrounding us were the silks of Cos, this was the son of the deposed king of Egypt.

By rights, I thought, he probably should not be wearing that royal crown. But then again, he was the nephew of the current king, so perhaps, by the rules of the incestuous Ptolemy clan, he still had some claim to a princely crown. Apparently the chamberlain thought so, for after a great deal of bowing-which I did my best to emulate, indicating to Bethesda that she should do likewise-he addressed both young people before me with royal titles. Both, I say, for seated on an adjacent couch, reclining in a similar pose and head to head with the prince, was a curious being who could be none other than Queen Monime.

“Your Majesty, Queen Monime; Your Majesty, Prince Ptolemy-I present to you Agathon of Alexandria, a young man who has lost the power of speech.”

I had never seen anyone quite like the young queen. She was so petite as to be almost dwarfish. Her size made her appear to be almost a child, but only at first glance, for the curves of her body were decidedly those of a woman. I had always thought that Bethesda was voluptuous, but Monime was even more curvaceous, a fact that her clothing did nothing to conceal. A nod to modesty was perhaps intended by the wispy white veils that hung from her gown here and there, but these were so flimsy they merely accentuated the shimmering white garment beneath, which clung to her like a second skin.

The flesh of her bare arms was as perfectly white as her gown, and had a translucent, pearly sheen; moment by moment it seemed to glitter as if reflecting all the various colors of the roomful of veils around us. Her hair was like red gold, likewise reflecting the colors of the room. Around her forehead, serving as a royal diadem, was a simple fillet of twined purple and white wool.

Her features were delicate, and only very subtly enhanced by cosmetics-a bit of kohl to outline her eyes and some henna to redden her lips. She looked like a girl made up to pass for a woman. Like the Egyptian prince, she was still a teenager. She had very large eyes, so it should have been easy to ascertain their color, but this seemed to change from moment to moment, at first green, then green verging into blue, then blue with hints of violet.

Beside me, the chamberlain stood with his face slightly lowered, not gazing directly at either of the royal personages. I realized I should do likewise, but found myself staring at the queen, unable to look away. She stared back at me with a cool, calculating gaze.

I heard the music of a lute. When had it started? The sound was soft, but not distant. Somewhere in the room there was a musician. Lamps were being lit, for as reddish twilight faded, rosy lamplight took its place. Lamplighters and a musician were in the room, then, and surely there were handmaidens as well, to serve the queen, and there must have been armed guards to protect her and to keep watch on Prince Ptolemy. But I never saw them. Everyone around us was hidden behind layers of veils. I saw only the queen and the young prince of Egypt, reclining head to head. Their couches were atop a dais several steps up from the floor, so that even though they reclined and I stood, our eyes were on the same level.

The queen had a voice to match her giggle, surprisingly girlish from a creature so voluptuous. “So, Agathon of Alexandria, you are a man who once could speak like everyone else, but now you are mute. Is that correct?”

I nodded.

“How is it that you lost your voice?”

The chamberlain turned to Bethesda, who spoke in his ear, not quite loud enough for me to overhear. Eventually the man nodded and turned back to the queen.

“As Her Majesty the Queen may know, and as His Majesty the Prince undoubtedly knows, the inundations of the Nile bring blessings but also curses, for when the waters recede, the muddy ground releases vapors that can cause a multitude of maladies. This man contracted one such illness. He suffered a fever for several days, and afterwards he could not speak. Not a word has passed his lips since then.”

“He’s not still ill, is he?” said the prince, looking at me warily. “He’s not carrying some contagion?”

The chamberlain turned once again to Bethesda. This time she spoke just loud enough for me to overhear. “Tell the fat boy that my master is more fit than he shall ever be.”

The chamberlain grimaced slightly, then turned back toward the dais. “The Alexandrian is well, Your Majesty, and his malady is not contagious.”

“What is he doing in Ephesus?” asked the queen.

With some hesitation, the chamberlain turned to Bethesda. Again I was just able to overhear her. “Tell the white moth that my master comes to seek a cure for his muteness at the Temple of Artemis. Perhaps you should likewise seek a cure for that bad breath of yours.”

The chamberlain was visibly flustered for a moment, then recovered and put on a smile for Her Majesty. “He comes to seek the blessing of Artemis and to ask that she restore his voice.”

“Well, he mustn’t do that!” said the queen, sounding peeved. “Not yet, anyway. He’ll be of no use to us if he gets his voice back. The Magi were quite explicit. The ritual must be ‘heard by one who cannot see, seen by one who cannot hear, witnessed by one who cannot speak.’ Wait … did I get that right?” She frowned, then giggled. “Yes, I think I did. It’s a bit of a mouthful, isn’t?”

“You mean a tongue twister,” said Prince Ptolemy.

“Not a tongue twister, silly. That’s something hard to say because the words sound alike and go all slippery on you.”

“Perhaps, but one shouldn’t say ‘mouthful.’ It sounds rude.”

“You mean it sounds dirty?” The queen giggled.

“Only to you,” said the prince, giggling back at her.

Monime rolled her eyes. “Well, we see what comes of being brought up on a remote island by priests and eunuchs. You’re such a prude, Ptolemy.”

“I am not! I simply have manners. It’s something one acquires after ten generations of being royal. Maybe in couple of centuries, your descendants will have learned some manners, Moni.”

“If you call me Moni, I will call you Ptoly.”

“The indignities I must endure! But I am your prisoner, after all.”

The chamberlain cleared his throat. “If Her Majesty finds the candidate unsatisfactory-”

“Oh, no. He seems satisfactory.” The queen looked me up and down. “Quite satisfactory, in every way. Of course the Grand Magus must have a look at him, and the Great Megabyzus as well. But he appears to be whole and unblemished. Are you whole and unblemished, Agathon of Alexandria?”

I was not quite sure what she meant by this, but I nodded.

“Well, then, the task my dear husband set me is almost complete. We have the blind man, and the deaf man, and now the mute. Next we must acquire the proper virgin for the sacrifice.”

Prince Ptolemy gave her a sidelong glance. “I should think the king had reserved the task of selecting the virgin for himself.”

“Oh, I’m sure he would have liked that, but I insisted that he let me choose all the necessary participants, including the virgin.” Monime looked past me, at Bethesda. “I don’t suppose she’s a virgin?”

The queen returned her gaze to me. I’m not sure what expression crossed my face, but she found her answer.

Monime pursed her lips. “No, I suppose she’s not.”

“But would a slave do, for the virgin?” said the prince.

“Of course a slave will do. It’s customary, in fact, for such sacrifices. Or so I’m told. This sort of thing is more Persian than Greek. It was the Magi’s idea, of course, not the Megabyzoi’s, though they insist on playing a role as well.”

“We Egyptians do not practice human sacrifice,” said the prince, with an air of superiority. “I didn’t think the Greeks did so, either, at least not any longer.”

“Oh, yes, it’s still done, if rarely. Following the example of Agamemnon with Iphigenia, you know. I’m told that even the Romans practice human sacrifice from time to time, though they don’t like to admit it.”

I would have liked to protest this slander, but I kept my mouth shut. Not only was I pretending to be mute, I was also pretending not to be a Roman. But what was this talk of human sacrifice, and what sort of role had I been chosen to play? It seemed a cruel joke of the gods that the pretense meant to protect me from scrutiny-my inability to speak-had somehow made me the thing I least wanted to be, an object of interest to the Roman-hating royal household.

Queen Monime gave me another appraising look, then dismissed us all with a flick of her wrist. “Well then, take the mute away. Give him lodging with the others, and arrange for the Magi and the Megabyzoi to have a look at him and give their approval.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The chamberlain gave a low bow and began to back away. I imitated the bow and did likewise, bumping into Bethesda behind me, who made a complaining grunt. If Their Majesties noticed our awkwardness, they showed no sign. They seemed too busy teasing each other.

“It’s hard work, being a queen,” sighed Monime.

“Ha! You should try ruling Egypt,” said the prince. Despite his jovial tone, there was an edge in his voice; his father had been driven from the throne and he himself was a captive of some sort.

“Rule Egypt?” said Monime. “The King of Kings will have to take back all of Greece, first. But then … who knows?”

How Prince Ptolemy reacted to this suggestion I did not hear. We retreated though the veils, and then through the door, which closed behind us, leaving the chamberlain, Bethesda, and myself once more in the gilded vestibule outside the queen’s reception room.

“Come along, then,” said the chamberlain, unbending his back and straightening the bejeweled turban on his head. “I’ll show you to your quarters.”