Wrath of the Furies

XXVIII

[From the secret diary of Antipater of Sidon:]

To be mocked and made a fool of by that creature Sosipater! I surely can fall no lower. So here I sit, brooding and hungry and alone, unwilling to step foot in that dining hall as long as the juggler is holding court. Why am I back in the palace? What does the king want from me? Or was I brought here at the queen’s behest?

I wonder sometimes what would have happened if I had not hearkened to the call to serve Mithridates, had not faked my death, had never left Rome. Would I have been happier? Probably not, for Italy was plunged into a miserable civil war shortly after I left, and with the rise of Mithridates it is hard to imagine that Greek poets (or any other Greeks) are very popular in Rome nowadays. And had I not taken the course I chose, I would not have seen the Seven Wonders, watching young Gordianus grow from a boy into a man along the way. So it must be with any fork in the road of life, that either way may lead to joy and tribulation, and both will end at the same place.

I had thought that serving the king as court poet was to be my destiny, the capstone to my career. I would be celebrated not only for my poems in honor of the king, but for the risks I had taken and the dangers I had braved. All my secrets I would proudly reveal, and Antipater of Sidon would be famous as the poet who cheated death, who traveled the world as a spy, who witnessed the rebirth of the Greek world at the side of King Mithridates. Instead I am like a Titan forced into a tiny box and barely able to move. I cannot speak my own name, much less recite my poetry. I feel no inspiration to make a new poem. I am an old man and not long for this world. Is there not one last useful, meaningful thing I can do before the end?

But there, I hear someone knocking at my door. This cannot be good. But I suppose I cannot ignore it …

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

Zeuxidemus led us by a circuitous route that took us upstairs, then kept to the shadows of a square portico that surrounded a courtyard open to the sky, then headed down a long hallway and up another flight of stairs. Few people were abroad at this hour. Guards stood outside some of the doorways, but we saw them only at a distance.

I was hopelessly turned around by the time we halted at a door where Zeuxidemus made a peculiar knock, apparently using some sort of code, for this was followed by a rapping from inside the room, at which Zeuxidemus knocked again, and then the door swung open.

We stepped into what appeared to be a storage room. Even palaces must have places to put the mops and buckets and spare furniture. Several lamps illuminated the room, but the stacked crates and other contents were so jumbled that much of the space was in deep shadow, including the face of the man who must have opened the door, for he appeared to be the only person present.

The light did illuminate his feet, however, and I could see that his Corinthian-style slippers were made of very finely tooled leather. “Look at a man’s feet if you want to determine his station in life,” my father had taught me. Even in disguise, a rich man will seldom forego the luxury of wearing fine shoes, and these looked quite expensive. His tunic was plain, but well-made. Though his face was in shadow, by his silver hair and his spotted, gnarled hands I judged him to be in his seventies.

“This is the fellow?” he asked, indicating me. He spoke Greek almost like a native, but not quite. His accent, and the way he held himself, made me sure he was a Roman, even though he was not wearing a toga. But then, neither was I.

“This is the fellow,” said Samson. “If I introduce him as Agathon of Alexandria, you’ll laugh when he opens his mouth, so we might as well call him Gordianus.”

The man nodded. “I knew your father, young man, back in Rome. Not well, mind you, but my path and that of the Finder crossed from time to time, over the years.” His Latin accent became more pronounced as soon as he said the word Rome. “I am Publius Rutilius Rufus.”

“The consul?” I asked.

“Why, yes, though that seems a lifetime ago. You were no more than a child the year I was elected.”

“I was five,” I said. “That was the year my father made me memorize all the consuls of Rome, beginning with Brutus and Collatinus. The list ended with you and your co-consul, Gnaeus Mallius Maximus.”

“Ah, well, the world has taken many a turn since then, and most of them for the worse. I understand you’re quite well traveled for a fellow your age.”

“I’ve been to Babylon and back.”

“And seen all the Seven Wonders. Yes, Samson told me a few things about you. You live in Alexandria.”

“For the last few years, yes.”

“Perhaps that makes you a bit of an outsider in this struggle between Rome and Mithridates, since Egypt has thus far stayed out of it.”

“Agathon of Alexandria is an Egyptian, but I’m not,” I said. “I was born a Roman citizen and I remain one, no matter where I may live. I’m every bit as much a Roman as you, Consul.”

“More than I, some would say. The conviction that resulted from my trial imposed only a fine. My enemies didn’t manage to strip me of my citizenship and exile me from Rome, as they would have liked. But I left Rome anyway, in disgust, and I’ll never go back. I’m in voluntary exile. My enemies say that I’ve renounced my citizenship.”

“Have you, Consul?”

“Absolutely not! I may regret but I’ll never renounce being Roman. Like you, young man, I was born and will always be a Roman, no matter that I can no longer bear to be in Rome.”

“You find Ephesus more bearable?”

“For the moment.”

“Does King Mithridates know that you’re here?” I asked.

Rutilius laughed. “Do you think I snuck into the palace? No, the king brought me here.”

“As prisoner or guest?”

“With a king, I suppose a man can never be entirely sure until he tries to leave; but I’m being treated as a guest. I am even, about certain matters, the king’s advisor.”

“His advisor? Then you’ve turned against Rome and thrown in your lot with Mithridates.” Why had Samson brought me to this traitor? What purpose could the consul and I have in common?

“It’s not quite that simple, young man,” said Rutilius.

“Surely a man must be with Mithridates and against Rome, or vice versa.”

He turned so that the light revealed his face. He looked neither calculating nor exasperated, but only rather weary. “In the first place, Gordianus, the war perpetrated by Manius Aquillius was illegal and without the authorization of the Roman Senate. A true patriot would oppose such a war; had I been in Rome, I would have spoken out against it. But once hostilities commenced, as a Roman, even a Roman in exile, I could not favor the king’s cause over Rome. I did not take up arms or involve myself in espionage for either side. Then I found myself in territory captured by Mithridates. I hoped the king would overlook me, that I would be of no interest to him. But no, the king knew exactly who and where I was, and summoned me to his presence. Perhaps, Gordianus, you’ve heard about the punishment inflicted by the king on Manius Aquillius, another Roman of consular rank? Yes, by your face I see you have. I feared that a similar fate awaited me. As a Stoic, I prepared myself for death-and a most unseemly death at that.

“But the king is neither a fool nor a fanatic. He knows that not all Romans are the same. I settled in this part of the world because I have so many friends here, far more than I have in Rome. And why is that? Because of my humane conduct and upright dealings when I was a legate here. I stood up for the locals when Roman businessmen and bankers sought to squeeze every denarius from them-the conduct that got me into so much trouble back in Rome. When I entered the throne room, instead of chopping off my head, Mithridates threw his arms around me. He asked me to join his court and to advise him-never on military affairs, mind you, but only on matter of jurisprudence.”

“Jurisprudence?”

“Conquering a kingdom is one thing. Administering it is quite another. Courts must be created. Honest judges must be found. Laws must be drafted.”

“Like the proclamation that all Romans must wear the toga?” I asked. “You seem to be in violation of that decree, Consul.”

Rutilius pursed his lips, but did not respond.

“Or the decree that any Roman in possession of a weapon will be killed on the spot?” I asked.

“Ah, yes. Zeuxidemus told me about today’s … unfortunate incident.”

“Very unfortunate indeed for the Roman who had his throat slit, not to mention his starving wife and child, who had to witness such a thing.”

“You would help that man’s family, if you could?” asked Rutilius.

“Of course I would.”

“Good. That’s why we’re here. We all agree that the slaughter of innocents must be prevented.”

“What slaughter? Which innocents?”

Rutilius looked at Samson. “He doesn’t know?”

“I’m not sure what Gordianus knows and doesn’t know,” said Samson.

“I know the king is planning some sort of ritual. There’s to be a human sacrifice, meant to appease…” I had caught Bethesda’s superstitious dread, and hesitated to name the Furies aloud.

“We all know to whom the sacrifice will be made,” said Rutilius. “But do you know why the so-called Kindly Ones must be appeased? And not merely appeased, but won over, made to take the side of the king against his victims-”

“Victims?” I asked.

The consul cocked his head, not understanding my emphasis on the word.

“You didn’t say enemies,” I said. “‘Take the side of the king against his enemies’-that would mean the Roman legions. You said victims. You’re talking about those Romans who’ve taken sanctuary at the Temple of Artemis. Mithridates intends to kill them.”

Rutilius nodded. “And not only those Romans, Gordianus. In a single day, at a prearranged time, Mithridates plans to slaughter every Roman left in Asia. We are speaking not of thousands, but of many tens of thousands. All at once.”

I had known that something of this nature was afoot, but I had not imagined the scale of it. “How could such a thing be done? Does the king have enough soldiers in every town, every village-”

“The killing will not be done by soldiers,” said Rutilius. “Oh, in some instances, soldiers may lead or initiate the slaughter, and they’ll surely be called on to help dispose of the bodies, but most of the killing will be done by ordinary men and women, roused by the leaders of their communities to such a pitch of hatred that they’ll take up whatever weapons they possess-stones and sticks, if they have to-and murder every Roman they see. Men, women, children, the old-all of them. The next morning, there won’t be a Roman left alive in any part of the kingdom. It will be as if everyone woke up, and the Romans had simply vanished.”

“Except for the blood on the temple steps,” I said. “And the stench of the dead.”

“The blood will have been mopped up. The corpses will have been burned and buried, or taken to sea and dumped for Poseidon to swallow,” said Rutilius.

“Rome will never forgive such a slaughter,” I said. “The Senate and the people will demand vengeance.”

“Vengeance against whom? The killing will have been done not by armies but by ordinary people.”

“Then Rome will take vengeance on the people,” I said.

“And kill every person in Ephesus, and every other city that takes part in a massacre?”

“Yes. Kill or enslave them. Consul, you know that Romans never forgive, and they never forget. How many generations did the war against Carthage last? How many times did old Cato end every speech by saying, ‘Carthage must be destroyed’?”

Rutilius sighed. “I actually heard one of those speeches, when I was a boy.”

“And in the end, Cato got his way, though he didn’t live to see it. Carthage was destroyed, and all her people slaughtered or sold into slavery. This massacre won’t be the end of Roman oppression; it will only be the beginning, because Rome will never stop until every city that takes part is punished. You know what I say is true, Consul. A massacre of the Romans will be a disaster for the people of Ephesus.”

Rutilius bowed his head. “What you say is true, Gordianus. All the more reason that we must do something to stop this massacre.”

“But how?”

“Before the slaughter takes place, Mithridates must seek to appease the Kindly Ones. He will do so by sacrificing the virgin you spoke of, this girl called Freny. But such sacrifices are rare-so rare that the Grand Magus and the Great Megabyzus were at pains to determine exactly how and where it should take place, and were sometimes at odds with each other. The king thought to perform the ritual quickly and be done with it, but there was one delay after another as various requirements had to be met, including the participation of certain ‘witnesses,’ such as you. While the ritual was repeatedly put off, planning for the massacre carried on, so that now the king is hard-pressed to offer the sacrifice before the massacres are committed. Only a handful of men across the kingdom know the exact date for the massacres-I do not-but it must be very soon now.”

“So the sacrifice will take place, and poor Freny will die, and then … the massacre of the Romans,” I said. “But how are we to stop any of this from taking place?”

There was a rapping at the door. It was gentle, but it startled me even so.

The consul’s face brightened. “Once all of us are here, the situation shall be made clear to you, Gordianus.”

“‘All of us’?”

After an exchange of coded knocks, the consul indicated to Zeuxidemus that he could open the door.

A tall, slender man stepped inside, dressed much like Rutilius in a plain tunic and good shoes. For a moment I didn’t recognize him without his yellow robes and headdress. It was none other than the Great Megabyzus. His long, gray-streaked hair was pulled back from his face and tied behind his head. Without his priestly robes and the severe expression that went along with them, he looked quite ordinary. He gave me a faint smile of recognition.

Another man followed him into the room, a graybeard who furtively ducked his head so that I couldn’t see his face. At last he looked up, and our eyes met. He looked as if he might faint from astonishment.

It was Antipater.