Wrath of the Furies

VI

With the harbor so busy, it took a long time for the Phoenix to dock and begin disgorging its passengers. When it came our turn to step off, the captain asked me how long I intended to stay ashore. I held up one finger.

“An hour?” The grizzled old seaman nodded. “That’s probably all you need to stretch you legs. I don’t expect you’ll have much chance to spend your money. The shops will all be picked clean. Anything left worth buying will cost a small fortune.”

I frowned and shook my head, then mimed the act of laying my head to rest for the night.

“You plan to spend the night? With all these refugees, you’re unlikely to find lodgings. If you’re intending to sleep under the stars, you can do that just as comfortably here on the ship, and with less chance of being picked clean by some sneak thief.”

“Perhaps young Agathon has a host here in Rhodes, as I do,” said Samson, who was next in line to disembark. “Don’t expect me back until tomorrow morning, Captain. And don’t sail without me!” He laughed and stroked his long, plaited beard.

As soon as we stepped onto the dock, a harried-looking port official demanded to see my travel documents and to state my purpose for visiting and how long I intended to stay. When Bethesda told him I intended to spend the night in the house of Posidonius, the official gave me a reappraising look; the name Posidonius carried much weight in Rhodes. The man handed me a small blue piece of fired clay that had been stamped with a crude image of the standing Colossus.

“Produce that if anyone demands to see your permission to be in the city. The color means it was issued today, and the numeral stamped on the back means you can stay one night-and one night only. Stay any longer without obtaining permission, and you’ll be hurled over the city wall. Even if your host is Posidonius.”

I nodded to show I understood, and smiled. The official did not smile back.

I hurried into the crowd, trying to get well ahead of Samson and away from anyone else from the ship. As I wandered through the multitude, all around me I heard people speaking Latin, and felt a pang of homesickness, but the looks on their faces and the strain in their voices were disturbing. A crying mother called for a lost child, an elderly couple begged for food, and all around I heard squabbling and complaining. I had never seen so many people so crowded together, and all looking so wretched. They were of all ages and of all social ranks, to judge by their dress-I saw everything from rags to togas, the distinctive garb of the Roman citizen at home and abroad-but there was not a smile to be seen. On their faces I saw weariness, anxiety, anger, and confusion.

Suddenly I found myself looking at another face, expressing quite the opposite of those things-serenity, confidence, pride. It was the face of the man who had caused all this chaos. I was looking at a statue of King Mithridates of Pontus.

The statue had been erected in the main square of Rhodes at about the time I was born, and portrayed the king at about the age I now was. As a young ruler he had taken a grand tour of various provinces and cities and kingdoms, including Rhodes, where he had been well received and in return had lavished many gifts on the city. The Rhodians had shown their gratitude by putting up this statue of him. I only vaguely remembered seeing it on my previous visit to Rhodes. Now chance had guided me to a spot in the crowded square directly before the statue, where I could not help but notice it.

The king was portrayed in garments more Greek than Roman, which showed off his fine physique, including his muscular arms and brawny legs. His face was quite handsome, and more than a little reminiscent of images I had seen of Alexander the Great, with a smooth brow, broad nose, and thick mane of windswept hair. It was a bit odd, seeing him at roughly my age, and knowing he must now be close to fifty, more my father’s age.

The king’s name was inscribed on the pedestal. Bethesda could not read it, of course, but somehow she knew whom the statue portrayed.

“King Mithridates?” she asked, standing beside me and peering up.

I nodded.

“So this is the fellow who’s causing so much trouble for Rome,” she said quietly.

As if to give action to her thoughts, a rotten piece of fruit hurtled through the air and struck the statue’s face. Bethesda and I jumped back as the person who had thrown the fruit rushed up to the statue. It was a woman with gray hair, dressed in a matronly Roman stola that badly needed mending. She glared up at the statue and shook her fist.

“Murderer!” she screamed. “Liar! Traitor! Fiend!”

Others rushed toward the statue, and more objects were hurled at it: fruit, vegetables, horse dung, small stones, and bits of broken tile.

Soldiers appeared, brandishing spears and swords to drive the crowd back. They formed a cordon around the statue.

“Every blasted day!” I heard one of the soldiers mutter. “Why don’t they just take the statue down? Or else let these poor people pull it down themselves?”

“It’s not for Romans to decide which statues stand in the agora of Rhodes,” one of his companions reminded him. “We’re not at war with the king. Not yet.”

Bethesda and I moved on. With the streets so crowded, it took a long time to cross the heart of the city. As I began to walk up the hill, into one of the better residential districts, I intentionally took a circuitous route and occasionally doubled back to make sure that no one was following us. I communicated with Bethesda using nods and hand signals, and did not speak a word, in case someone from the Phoenix should happen to cross our path.

The long summer day was almost done when we finally arrived at Posidonius’s house. A handsome young slave answered the door. Before I could speak, I had to cough and clear my throat. My own voice sounded a bit odd to me as I uttered the first words I had spoken aloud in days, stating my name and asking to see the master of the house.

We were admitted into the very crowded vestibule and told to wait. Here I saw no people in rags, but I did see a number of men in togas, and overheard snatches of Latin, mingled with the elevated Greek spoken by well-educated Romans.

“One keeps hearing rumors of warships spotted on the horizon-”

“They say Mithridates could invade any day now-”

“Certainly before the end of the sailing season, so perhaps we still have some time to get ready-”

“If anyone will know the truth of the situation, it’s Posidonius. The man’s been a marvel, rallying the Rhodians, taking in us Romans-”

“I hear that Gaius Cassius is staying here-you know, the Roman governor. They say he’s afraid to sail back to Rome, for fear of the thrashing he’ll get from the Senate for losing Asia-”

“At least Gaius Cassius is still alive. Quintus Oppius was captured, they say-”

“Nothing compared to what was done to Manius Aquillius! What, you’ve not heard the news? Horrible, horrible…”

I pricked up my ears, but at that moment the slave returned. I half-expected him to turn me away; the house of Posidonius was obviously full to bursting with guests, and who was I to expect hospitality from a man of such importance, at such a crucial time? True, I had once been his houseguest for a whole winter, sitting out the stormy months when no ships would sail, but that had been four years ago, and as traveling companion to his old friend Antipater. Posidonius would certainly remember me, but would he be happy to see me?

Apparently he was, for when the slave led us across the garden-as crowded with togas as the vestibule-and up a flight of stairs, Posidonius greeted me on the landing with open arms and an affectionate hug.

“Gordianus! Truly, you are the last person I expected to see today. Yet here you are, looking quite fit and well, I must say. Did you and Antipater manage to see all seven of the Wonders, as you intended?”

“We did.”

“Marvelous! Is he with you?”

“Not any longer.”

Posidonius frowned. “Oh, dear, the old fellow isn’t…?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Then where is he? Ah, but you shall tell me everything over a cup of wine.” He raised an eyebrow. “And who is this?”

“This is my slave, Bethesda. If you wish, she can stay in the vestibule-”

“And have all those old lechers in togas gawking at her? Much better to have such a beautiful creature ornament my private study while you and I catch up.”

Posidonius ran his fingers through his thick locks, which showed a bit more gray than when I had last been a guest in his house, then led us down a short hallway to a room of which I had fond memories. The study of Posidonius was filled with scrolls and scientific instruments and curious souvenirs from his many travels.

While Bethesda withdrew to a corner, Posidonius and I sat facing each other in elegant chairs carved from ebony with inlays of ivory. A slave appeared and poured us each a cup of wine, then quickly vanished.

“How long have you been in Rhodes?” said Posidonius.

“I’ve only just arrived, by ship from Alexandria.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I was hoping…”

“I see. Oh, yes, you must stay here, of course. At least, I think there’s a spare room left. How long do you intend to stay?” He made a face and clucked his tongue. “That’s a very rude question for a host to ask, I know, but with things as they are-”

“No need to apologize,” I said. “I’m very grateful for your hospitality, Posidonius. I’ll only stay the night. Tomorrow we sail on to Ephesus.”

He looked at me, aghast. “Ephesus? Are you out of your mind?”

“I think I still had my wits about me, the last time I checked for them.”

“Gordianus, this is no joke. Sail for Ephesus, tomorrow? Oh, no, you must think again. Reconsider, I beg you!”

“But I-”

“On your way here from the waterfront, Gordianus, did you not see all the Romans who’ve fled from Ephesus, as well as from Pergamon and Mytilene and so many other cities? Not just Romans, but friends of Rome-Rome-lovers, Mithridates calls them, all fleeing as far and as fast as they can.”

“See them?” I said. “I could barely squeeze past them! They’re all along the waterfront, and fill the main square and all the streets around it for blocks. A great many seem to be camped out in that big sporting complex just down the hill from here-”

“It’s called a gymnasium,” said Posidonius, in that weary tone that even friendly Greeks often adopt when speaking to us uncouth Romans.

“Yes, well, it’s full of refugees. The track of the foot-racing stadium is crowded with tents. The viewing stands have been covered with canvas and turned into shelters. The people all look miserable.”

Posidonius cocked an eyebrow. “Miserable, no doubt, but also sensible. You do understand that all those people are fleeing from the storm-not rushing straight into it?”

“From what some passengers on the ship are saying, the storm you speak of is likely to follow those refugees and come crashing into Rhodes.”

“And if it does, we shall be ready for it!” Posidonius was not just a scientist and scholar and world traveler, but also one of the city fathers of Rhodes. From the proud confidence in his voice, I assumed he played some role in organizing the defense of the city.

I had managed so far to avoid telling him my purpose for traveling to Ephesus, wanting first to get some sense of where his loyalty lay. To all appearances Posidonius was firmly allied with Rome, along with his fellow Rhodians, yet I knew him to be a close friend of Antipater, and Antipater had turned out to be a spy for Mithridates. During our long stay on Rhodes, had Antipater sought to recruit Posidonius in the anti-Roman fold-and might he have succeeded?

Across the room, Bethesda was sitting in a chair beside a table upon which a number of scrolls had been unrolled. She seemed more interested in the decorative bronze weights that were used to hold the scrolls open. One was fashioned as a Gorgon’s head, another as a sphinx. Bethesda fiddled with them as a curious child might fiddle with dolls.

“Bethesda!” I said. “You mustn’t touch anything in this room.”

She drew back her hands and sat on them, then cast her eyes to the floor and pouted her lips.

Posidonius glanced at her, briefly amused. “But back to the matter at hand,” he said briskly. “This nonsense about sailing to Ephesus tomorrow. What possible reason could you have for going to such a dangerous place?”

“I received a certain document.”

“This was in Alexandria?”

“Yes.”

“A letter?”

“Not exactly. An excerpt from a private journal, I think.”

“Not so private if it was shared with you. Who was the author?”

“It was written in the hand of Antipater.”

“Ah! When did the two of you part ways?”

“Three years ago, after we saw the last of the Seven Wonders-the Great Pyramid in Egypt. I stayed in Alexandria. Antipater … moved on. He didn’t come here, did he?”

“No. I’ve neither seen him nor received a letter from him in all the months since the two of you stayed here.”

I studied his face for any sign of guile, and saw none. “The document I received caused me to believe that Antipater is in grave danger … and in Ephesus.”

Posidonius frowned. “I see. And that’s why you’re going there?”

“Yes.”

“In grave danger, you say?”

“‘Every hour of every day,’” I quoted.

“Is he still traveling under that ridiculous assumed name-Zoticus of Zeugma?”

“Apparently he is.”

“But why? I never really believed that feeble excuse he gave me for remaining incognito the whole time he was here on Rhodes-something about fleeing from his fame and being freed from all the expectations people had of him.”

“Antipater assumed that false name … because he was a spy,” I said.

Posidonius frowned. “For Rome? But if that were the case, then why-”

I shook my head. “For Mithridates.”

I had thought Posidonius looked aghast when I told him of my intention to go to Ephesus, but that expression was mild compared to the one that now spread across his face. Patches of bright red appeared on his forehead and cheeks, and his ears turned a shade that was almost purple.

He stood up from his chair, then staggered to one side. He dropped the empty wine cup and grabbed the back of the chair to steady himself, then fell to the floor, pulling the chair with him.

The chair and the cup made such a clatter that a slave or a bodyguard would surely come running at any moment. What would they think when they saw the master of the house lying lifeless at my feet?