Wrath of the Furies

XIII

A room of my own, in a royal palace? This was to be a new experience, I thought.

We walked down a broad corridor, passing well-dressed courtiers, pretty serving girls, and swaggering soldiers. Down a side corridor I caught a glimpse of some men dressed in wildly colorful robes and headdresses whom I took to be Magi, having seen a few on my trip to Babylon with Antipater. The Magi were engaged in a spirited debate, but I was able to catch only a few words of Persian.

I tried to get a good look at every face we passed. Was it possible that Antipater might not be at the house of Eutropius, but here in the royal palace, summoned for a dinner or some other function? And would I know him if I saw him? During our journey he had several times donned disguises, putting on putty noses, stuffing his cheeks, and wearing wigs. Might he be incognito even here, in the court of the man whom he had served, and perhaps still served, as a spy?

I saw a number of gray heads and stooped elders and tried to get a good look a them, but none appeared to be Antipater.

We descended to a lower level. The floor beneath our feet changed as we went down, from marble on the upper landing to plain wood on the last flight of steps-highly polished wood, to be sure, but no match for the marble upstairs. Here the hallways were narrower, the decorations sparser, and the people less elegantly dressed. I was no longer sure who was a household slave and who was not-except that no slave, even in the most common household, would dare to spit on the floor, as I saw one man do. He leaned against a wall cleaning his teeth with a silver pick, dressed in a sleeveless tunic and wearing a great deal of jewelry. His bearded face registered no emotion as we passed, but I saw him wink at Bethesda. Then he spat again.

The chamberlain wrinkled his nose. “The things that fellow gets away with,” he muttered. “And only because he can throw things in the air!”

I glanced back over my shoulder. This was my first look at Sosipater, whom I would later learn was not only the world’s greatest juggler, but also one of King Mithridates’s favorite dinner companions. His muscular arms were adorned by many bands of silver and gold-bands he had juggled for the king’s amusement, as I would later learn, and with which the king had rewarded him, letting Sosipater keep as many bands as he could keep in the air at once. How many bands was that? There were certainly more of them glittering around his arms than I could count at a glance.

A troupe of giggling, scantily dressed girls swept past us. Normally they would have set my head spinning, but after gazing at Queen Monime I found them plain and uninteresting. Walking beside me, Bethesda noticed my apathetic response and raised an eyebrow, pleased that I showed no reaction, displeased because she probably guessed the reason.

“Dancers!” mumbled the chamberlain. He made it sound as if dancing were the only thing more distasteful than juggling.

We rounded a corner and ahead of us I heard the sound of a flute being played, and not too well. As the shrill music grew louder, I had a sinking feeling. Sure enough, the chamberlain led me to the doorway of the room from which the music was coming.

“Your quarters,” he said.

I had been imagining a spacious chamber that opened onto one of those balconies or terraces I had seen from outside. The room I peered into was dark and dingy. A high window admitted the last faint glow of the long summer day, but afforded no view. The furnishings were sparse. A flickering lamp was set atop a small table, and next to that was a single chair. A rug that had seen better days covered most of the plain wooden floor.

Placed longwise against each of three walls were three narrow beds. On the bed to my left sat the man who was murdering the flute. On the bed to my right sat another man, who gave me a keen look as I stepped inside, then looked at Bethesda as she followed me. The music suddenly stopped. The man on my left lowered the flute and cocked his head. He stared at me with vacant, cloudy eyes.

The two men were neither young nor old, neither handsome nor ugly. Neither had the figure of a dancer or an acrobat. I doubted that either could juggle, and the blind man with the flute was certainly not a musician. Who were they, then, and what were they doing here? I remembered what Monime had said, quoting the Grand Magus: the ritual-whatever that was-must be heard by one who cannot see, seen by one who cannot hear, witnessed by one who cannot speak.

Apparently I was to be the witness who could not speak. The man looking at us so keenly had to be the one who could not hear-how else could he put up with that terrible music?-and the flute player was the one who could not see.

I turned to the chamberlain. I gestured to the room, then looked at Bethesda.

“My master is to sleep here?” she asked.

“Is that a girl I hear?” said the flute player, with a smile that looked at once innocent and lecherous, situated as it was beneath those vacant eyes.

The deaf man had leaned forward on his narrow bed and was staring intently at his blind companion across the room. Apparently he was able to read lips, for he knocked on the wall behind him twice, which, from the blind man’s nod, I took to be a code meaning yes.

“Is she pretty?” asked the blind man.

The deaf man again knocked twice on the wall, with a bit more enthusiasm than I would have liked, though I saw Bethesda smile.

The chamberlain ignored them. “For the time being, this will be your master’s room,” he answered.

“For how long?” said Bethesda.

“Your master is to be the guest of His Majesty until his presence is no longer required.”

“Days? Months?”

“A few days only, from what I’ve heard.”

“And what have you heard?”

I pursed my lips and gave Bethesda a sidelong glance. She was asking exactly the questions on my mind.

“What I have heard…” The chamberlain lowered his voice, smiled, and gestured for Bethesda to lean closer. “What I have heard … is that I should keep my mouth shut! That advice applies to your master, as well-and to you, slave.”

“Ha! You’ll get nothing useful out of that fellow,” said the blind man. “But who exactly is joining us, and why is the girl speaking for him? No, let me guess! The fellow is mute, and the slave girl serves as his voice.”

The deaf man slapped the wall two times.

“Oh, dear, how are we going to communicate?” said the blind man. “I can’t see, you can’t hear, this one can’t speak. And where is his slave to sleep? There are only three beds, and none is wide enough for two.” Again he flashed that lecherous, or perhaps innocent, smile.

“There is a rug on the floor,” said the chamberlain.

I put a finger to Bethesda’s lips before she could say something rash, and gave the chamberlain a plaintive look.

“I suppose I can have an extra blanket delivered to the room,” he said.

I smiled to show my gratitude, then caught a glimpse of a figure passing in the hallway outside-a man of many years, his long white hair and beard illuminated by lamplight.

Could it be-?

At the very instant I moved toward the door, the blind man decided to spring from his bed. I might have avoided colliding with him, but the chamberlain also got in the way. Somehow Bethesda became entangled as well.

The deaf man stayed clear of the jumble, sitting on his bed. He made a strange braying sound, slapped his thigh, and pointed at us. An Alexandrian mime troupe could not have staged a more farcical collision.

When I at last broke free and hurried to the door, there was no one in the hall outside. The passage was lit by lamps set in niches along each wall. I walked to the end of the hall and stuck my head around the corner. No one was in sight, except the bevy of dancing girls, heading back the way they had come, now accompanied by a dwarf who seemed to be on very familiar terms, to judge from the way he kept raising their sheer skirts and peeking under them. The girls giggled and shrieked with laughter.

Had I seen Antipater? I’d had only the briefest glimpse of the man’s profile, but I was certain … almost certain … that it was him.

But how could that be? Surely the world’s greatest poet should be upstairs, in the company of other poets, and philosophers and playwrights and sages. What would Antipater be doing below stairs with the dancing girls and acrobats and other riffraff?

The chamberlain came huffing and puffing after me. “You mustn’t run off like that,” he said. “Not without permission, or someone to look after you. Have you any idea what would happen to me if one of you three went missing before…” His voice trailed off. “Come back and let me properly introduce you to the others.”

I shrugged and followed him back to the dingy little room.

* * *

“And the food is rather good, and there’s plenty of it,” said the blind man, whose name was Gnossipus. He came from a nearby village and had been able to see until a few years ago, when an illness made him blind. His livelihood as a wagon driver ruined, he had come to Ephesus to beg outside the Temple of Artemis, where he made a better living than before. It was outside the temple that the Great Megabyzus had approached him a few days ago and then brought him to the royal palace.

My stomach growled. Darkness had fallen and we had not yet been fed. I was beginning to wonder if I was expected to fall asleep on an empty stomach. Why did Gnossipus insist on talking about food?

“And at this time of year,” he went on, “there are plenty of fruits and vegetables. Oh! The other day, we actually had cherries. Have you ever eaten cherries, Agathon?”

I shook my head, then realized I would need to use the code. I shifted a bit on my narrow bed and knocked once on the wall behind me.

“No? I suppose they’re even rarer in Alexandria than they are here. Cherries come from somewhere up north, on the shores of the Euxine Sea. King Mithridates grew up eating them-‘Summer isn’t summer without cherries,’ he says-and a few days ago a wagonload arrived here in Ephesus. All for the royal court, of course, but there were so many that even we nobodies got some. Oh, how delightful! Small and sweet and juicy, and I am told they have the most beautiful red color, the color of blood. I remember red.…” He sighed. “Do I exaggerate, Damianus? About the cherries?”

Damianus was the deaf man. He banged the wall once, very hard, to communicate the vehemence of his agreement: No, Gnossipus, you do not exaggerate!

But Gnossipus certainly liked to talk. He had been talking nonstop ever since the chamberlain left me in the room. His constant chatter was grating, but marginally more bearable than his flute playing. Had I a voice, I would have yelled at him to shut up. The only voice I had-Bethesda-lay curled on the rug at my feet. She had somehow managed to fall asleep, and began to snore very softly.

Gnossipus paused. “What is that sound? Is there a cat in the room? Cats make me break out in hives!”

Damianus brayed, which was his way of laughing. He drew a breath, then managed to make a passable cat noise, though it sounded as if the cat might be drowning in a well.

“Oh, that’s you, Damianus!” said Gnossipus. “Is there a cat in the room or not? Let the slave girl speak. Oh, wait-that’s her, isn’t it?”

Damianus brayed again and banged the wall twice. I should not have wished to be lodged in the room behind him, with all that banging, though it would have been preferable to the room in which I found myself.

The banging woke Bethesda. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. How delicate she looked in the soft lamplight, leaning back against the bed with her legs tucked beneath her. From where I sat above her on the narrow bed, I had a lovely view of the tops of her breasts and the cleavage between. Oh, if only the two of us had been alone in that room!

The door swung open and the chamberlain stepped inside.

“I hope you’re here to call us to dinner,” said Gnossipus.

“Is that all you ever think about, being fed?” said the chamberlain. “Your dinner will be late tonight. The priests and the wise men need to have a look at your new roommate first.”

“Ah, the same inspection I received, as did our deaf friend, I suspect,” said Gnossipus. “I hope you’re not bashful, Agathon.”

“Shut up, Gnossipus,” said the chamberlain. “No one is to speak to the mute until the priests are done with him. Now come along, Agathon, and follow me.”

I saw that he was accompanied by two armed guards.

I got up from the bed. Bethesda got up and stood beside me. When I stepped toward the door, she followed, but the chamberlain raised his hand.

“Only the mute witness. No one else.”

“But what if they ask questions of my master?” said Bethesda. “How is he to answer? And what if he has questions for them?”

“He will simply have to manage as best he can.”

“But surely he should be allowed to have his voice.”

The chamberlain gave her a sour look. “Let me explain something to you, slave. I am about to take your master to a room full of Magi and Megabyzoi. In case you do not know, the Megabyzoi are the priests of Artemis. They are sworn to chastity, and there are strict rules regarding any contact between the Megabyzoi and women. In an official proceeding such as this, in a closed room, no female may be present unless she is a virgin. Now tell me slave, are you a virgin?” He gave her a penetrating look, and when she did not answer, turned to me. “Well, Agathon, is your slave a virgin? Ah, you may be mute, but that blush on your face tells me all I need to know. Now come along, and leave the slave girl behind.”

I looked at the two men with whom I was leaving her and felt a bit uneasy. Gnossipus seemed harmless enough, but I had learned almost nothing about the deaf man. Bethesda crossed her arms and assumed a posture that announced she could take care of herself. I should have liked to kiss her good-bye, but not in front of this particular audience. I gave her a nod, then turned to follow the chamberlain.

We went up one staircase, exchanging wooden steps for marble, then up another flight of steps, and then another. This uppermost floor of the house was not as grandiose as the main level with its imposing statuary and large reception halls. The hallways were narrower, the rooms smaller, and there were fewer people about, but the fittings and furnishings were exquisite. There was a hush about the place, and an atmosphere of mystery. Perhaps it was just the thick carpets, absorbing every sound, and the faint light from the lamps in sconces on the wall, inadequate to dispel the shadows all around us, but it seemed as if this was a place where secret things were done.

The chamberlain showed me into a room at the end of a long hallway. The room was even more dimly lit than the hall, and for a moment all I could see of the men surrounding me were their faces, peering back at me. There were at least twenty of them. Some were quite old, and only a few were as young as myself. As my eyes adjusted, I began to perceive their costumes.

The Magi were a motley bunch, dressed in many colors, wearing various sorts of head coverings. The jewels in their necklaces and rings glittered brightly, reflecting the lamplight. The Megabyzoi were more alike and austere, dressed entirely in yellow, with tall headdresses that dominated the room.

A number of lamps were brought into the room and placed in a circle on the floor around me. The light blinded me, so that I could barely see the men around me.

One of them stepped forward, inside the ring of lamps, so that I could see him clearly. By the towering audacity of his headdress, I knew he must be the Great Megabyzus. His wizened face looked hard and wily by the harsh lamplight. I recalled some very unpleasant dealings with his predecessor, who had been wicked as well as wily. I would need to keep my wits about me with such a man. That would be no easy task, and it was about to be made harder by the first words he spoke.

“Take off your clothes, Agathon of Alexandria,” he said, in a deep, commanding voice. “Everything, including your shoes. We need to see you naked.”