Wrath of the Furies

XXIII

[From the secret diary of Antipater of Sidon:]

Most alarming! Most alarming!

Only now have I realized that a sheet of parchment is missing from the document I have been writing. Someone has taken it.

The sheets are unbound, not yet sewn together into a scroll. Could this single sheet somehow have slipped away from the others, then slid beneath a piece of furniture or into some other hidden spot? Perhaps. But I have looked everywhere. Everywhere! The sheet is gone.

Someone has taken it.

Who? And for what purpose?

It may be that some member of the household of Eutropius has been spying on me. But far more likely is the treachery of one of these servants assigned to me by the royal household. I have always suspected them of serving two purposes, or perhaps even three-to serve my immediate needs, for one, but also to watch and report on me to someone above them in the royal court. If they are serving that second function, they might as well serve a third, to watch and report on any developments that might be of interest here in the house of Eutropius.

Spies and treachery and betrayal! Spies, spies, everywhere one turns! But who am I to complain, since I am just another of them?

If in fact someone stole this sheet, when did they do so? The words were written some while ago, and since I haven’t reread that section since I wrote it, the sheet could have been taken at any time since then.

What exactly did I write on that particular sheet? If I could recall, exactly, that might give me some clue as to why that sheet among all the others was taken, and just how incriminating it might be, or how easily it might be misconstrued.

The final sentences before the gap read, “While the king is busy plotting his next military campaign, the little queen and her father wield absolute power over this city. As long as I remain here, I know…” Then the gap. Then the text resumes with, “… is in an even worse dilemma than myself, it would be the Romans who remain in Ephesus.”

Clearly I was expressing my detestation of Queen Monime-I suppose that very sentiment might be read as treason, though I cannot recall exactly what words I used. I believe I went on to express some suspicion about the two servants assigned to me by the royal household-and as it turns out, those suspicions may have been well founded! Did I express some opinion about Eutropius, and his feelings toward both the king and the Romans? I hope I didn’t say anything that might get him into trouble. I seem to recall mentioning young Gordianus, who naturally would have sprung to mind, since when I last stayed with Eutropius it was in the company of Gordianus, who of course endeared himself to our host by the brave deed he did on behalf of Anthea.

Oh, how I miss that youth! How clearly I can picture him in my mind. Of course, months and years have passed, and Gordianus is not quite so young now as he was when I last saw him. He is at that age when a youth truly matures into a man. He will look older now. He will have learned a great deal, living by his wits in Alexandria-if indeed he’s still there, and hasn’t returned to his father in Rome. Or could some terrible fate have befallen him? One hears about the civil war in Egypt, and dreadful riots in the capital. People die in such circumstances, even fleet-footed, quick-witted young fellows like Gordianus. Especially such a fellow, if he makes the mistake of poking his nose where it doesn’t belong!

But my thoughts are rambling. It’s because I miss him, I suppose. Because I wish we could have parted on better terms, in happier circumstances-

I have just now checked to see that my letter to Gordianus is still where it should be, and, thank Artemis, it is. At least no one has taken that!

(Or letter-in-progress, I suppose I should call it, since I can’t seem to finish it and send it to him. I write one draft of the letter, then read it the next day and decide to burn it-but before doing so, I carefully copy the name and the street of the banking house where Gordianus arranged to receive letters in Alexandria, then I start the letter again. Even if I were to finish it and post it, I have no idea whether Gordianus would receive it or not. Is he still in Alexandria? Does the banking house still exist? For all I know, it might have been burned to the ground as the result of some riot.)

So much uncertainty surrounds every thought. It seems to me the world is like an ocean arrayed with endless whirlpools; escape the pull of one, and you’ll only find yourself sucked into another. Over our destinies we have no control whatsoever. But if the Fates control every decision made by every mortal everywhere, then what difference does it make whether Rome rules the world or Mithridates does so? Or rather, what difference does it make whether I think that one is good and the other bad?

Now that is most definitely a treasonous statement.

(Another reason I have never finished or sent that letter to Gordianus: it would surely get me into trouble with either the Romans or Mithridates or with both, should someone intercept it.)

But now I will write what I want, for I have taken all my pieces of parchment and my writing tools and what few of my personal belongings I could carry, and I have departed from the house of Eutropius. I think I managed to do so without either of the two treacherous “servants” taking notice-the wily Zoticus is not out of tricks yet!-so I have successfully escaped to the house of another old friend and associate, whose name I shall not mention, lest I get him into trouble should this document fall into the wrong hands. This place is a more humble abode, not as comfortable as the house of Eutropius, but here I feel free of the constant possibility of discovery and exposure. Here, perhaps I can finish my letter to Gordianus, and be done with this rambling confession, if in fact that is what I am writing.

The massacre of the Romans is imminent. A few days ago, the king paid a call on Eutropius, and I overheard His Majesty pronounce the date for the event. (Was I spying on them? This vile habit of skulking and eavesdropping has become second nature to me.) The thing has been very long in the planning-imagine the logistics of killing every one of them all on the same day, in every city under his control. I think it is his wish that the murdering should be done not by soldiers or city guardsmen, or rather not only by them, but mostly by the ordinary people. A deliberate campaign of deriding and belittling the Romans has been going on, making them not only objects of fear and loathing, but also of ridicule. They have been set apart, not only by having been driven from their homes and forced to seek sanctuary, but by such measures as the decree that they must wear the toga-ostensibly so that decent folk can see these thieves and rapists coming and protect themselves.

To set the slaughter in motion everywhere at once, there must be a chain of command running all the way from the king down to important men in each city, like Eutropius, and then down to neighborhood ringleaders and rabble-rousers who can be relied upon, at the appointed hour, to incite everyone around them to pick up stones and cudgels and knives and set about the bloody work.

My blood runs cold at the thought of it. How I dread the coming of that day!

But first, the king must placate the Furies. If that ritual is to take place before the massacre, it must be very soon-

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