Wrath of the Furies, page 19
“Then I’ll let you speak for me. You’ll say that an old pupil has come to see Zoticus of Zeugma, a houseguest of his master.”
Samson nodded. “If pressed for details, we’ll pretend I’m your bodyguard, and traveled with you from Alexandria. The last part is true.”
“But not the first.”
“Do I not look the part?” Samson flexed his biceps. Like most men with large arms, Samson enjoyed showing them off.
There was an iron knocker on the door, shaped like a fish. Samson let it drop a couple of times, and in short order a peephole slid open. It was too dark to see the eyes that must have peered out, but the voice was that of a grown man.
“State your business.”
“An old pupil of Zoticus of Zeugma has come to see him.”
“Has he indeed?”
“Zoticus is staying here, isn’t he, as a guest of your master?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. Perhaps you’d like to state the name of this one-time pupil?”
Samson was about to answer when I pulled him back and whispered in his ear. “The name Agathon of Alexandria will mean nothing to Zoticus, or to anyone else in the house.”
“Should I dare to use your real name, then? To a stranger behind a locked door? I fear we haven’t thought this through.”
The voice from the peephole grew impatient. “If you’re just going to waste my time, be on your way. And don’t hang about. The master is expecting guests soon—important guests. Begone!”
“No, wait!” said Samson. “I believe your master’s daughter has a handmaiden called Amestris.”
“Again, stranger, I would ask you to identify yourselves, especially if you expect me to answer any questions.”
“The man with me once saved the life of your master’s daughter, Anthea.”
“What nonsense is this?”
“Perhaps you don’t know the story, but your master will.”
“If you think I’m going to disturb the master by announcing some fellow who won’t even give his name, but makes wild claims—”
“Then go tell Amestris. Tell her the man who saved the life of her mistress is here. She’ll know who I mean.”
There was a long silence, then the peephole slid shut.
We waited so long that I began to wonder if we should knock again. Then the peephole slid open. I heard girlish laughter from the other side. A few moments later the door swung open. I stepped ahead of Samson into the softly lit vestibule.
“You, bodyguard! You’ll stay here with me,” said the man who had spoken through the peephole, assuming without being told that Samson was a strong-armer like himself. Pound for pound, he looked to be a fair match for Samson.
“And the man I’m guarding?” asked Samson.
“Him I’ll hand over to her.” The doorkeeper nodded to a figure who stepped from the shadows into the lamplight of the vestibule.
I recognized Amestris at once, but let out a gasp of surprise, for somehow she was not the same as I remembered her. Had my memories misled me, or had some curious magic been worked on her? She was neither more beautiful nor less, but different. Younger, I realized. It was as if, in the years since I had seen her, she had grown that much younger instead of older. But that was impossible.…
With an expression of impish glee, the girl watched the confused expressions on my face. She laughed and dared to take my arm, a rather bold thing for a slave to do, then pulled me into a hallway beyond the vestibule, away from the doorkeeper’s hearing.
“No, Gordianus, I’m not Amestris. I’m her little sister, Freny. Oh, but you look exactly as I pictured you.”
“You’ve heard of me, then?”
“The man who saved our mistress? Oh, I’ve heard all about you.”
“Whereas I had no idea you existed.” I couldn’t stop staring at her. The resemblance to her sister was uncanny. It was as if I had stepped back in time to meet Amestris as she must have been when she was barely a teenager.
“You were here in Ephesus so briefly, we simply didn’t have a chance to meet. I was only a child then, anyway, and they kept me in another part of the house. But come,” Freny said, taking my hand—again, exercising a most unslavelike liberty. “I’ll take you to Amestris. We’ll surprise her.”
“Surprise?”
“I came for you myself and didn’t bother to tell her, because she’s too busy—oh, you’ll see for yourself!”
I allowed the girl to lead me by the hand, through the garden at the heart of the house and then up a flight of steps.
“Of course, I shouldn’t be allowing a man, any man, into this part of the house, but, well, everyone knows who you are and what you did for the mistress. Oh, and I thought you had traveled off to the farthest ends of the earth and that I should never have a chance to meet you, but here you are!”
“Your sister and mistress speak well of me, then?”
Freny laughed. “Ah, you’re modest, as well. Of course they speak well of the brave young Roman who—”
“Oh, not so very brave,” I said, simply to interrupt her. She had already spoken my name aloud, and now had identified me as a Roman to anyone who might overhear, though at the moment I saw no one about. “On the occasion of which you speak, your sister was no less brave, and perhaps even more so—being a girl and a slave, I mean.”
“Oh, and freeborn males are necessarily more courageous than slave girls?” asked Freny, rolling her eyes. There seemed no end to her cheekiness. “Here we are,” she said, stopping at a closed door and gently rapping on it.
“Who’s there?” called someone from the other side. Hearing that voice, my heart beat faster.
“It’s only me,” said Freny. “And a surprise visitor.”
“Surprise?”
“You’ll see. Open the door, sister!”
A moment later the door began to open, slowly, so that the person on the other side could peek out discreetly with one eye. In that eye I saw at first caution, then a blink of surprise, then a wide-open stare expressing alarm or delight, or both.
The door swung open. Before me stood Amestris.
XXI
She was as beautiful as I remembered.
No, she was more beautiful.
She wore a garment with sleeves that modestly covered her arms and legs, and with a neckline that only hinted at the fullness of her breasts. Her beautiful body, that I remembered so well, was thus hidden, but no matter; this only served to concentrate my gaze on her face. I looked at it as a man looks at a much-loved city when arriving by ship, noting one by one each fondly remembered landmark: the smooth, olive complexion, the sensual mouth, the elegant nose, the dark eyes of Amestris.
“Gordianus!” she whispered. I couldn’t tell which was greater, her alarm or delight, but Freny read her sister’s expression more adroitly, for she clapped her hands and laughed with joy, and a moment later I was enveloped in the warm embrace of Amestris.
I would happily have remained in that embrace—I began to feel a stirring of arousal almost at once—but a moment later Amestris stepped back, holding my shoulders and looking into my eyes. I had to look up a bit to meet her gaze; I had forgotten she was slightly taller than me. That had made no difference when we had been horizontal together.
“Who is it, Amestris?” called another familiar voice from inside the room.
“See for yourself, mistress.” Amestris let go of my shoulders and gestured that I should step inside.
Anthea sat in a chair with her hands in her lap. Clusters of lamps hung from bronze stands to either side of her, so that the brightest light in the room fell upon her pale face and golden hair. Apparently she was in the midst of having her hair attended to by Amestris, for on a nearby table I saw various combs and pins. The arrangement remained incomplete, for some of her tresses were done up and some were not. She sat motionless, but smiled broadly at the sight of me.
When I had last seen Anthea, she had been only fourteen, about Freny’s age. Now she must be eighteen, and truly looked like a woman, not a girl. Like Amestris, she was even lovelier than I remembered.
“Gordianus!” she said. “Oh, I would get up to hug you, too, but—well, as you can see…” She gestured helplessly to her hair, which apparently was in such a delicate stage that she dared not disarrange it.
She guessed my reason for being there at once. “You’ve come to see Antipater, of course. Or Zoticus, as we’re supposed to call him, since the king insists that he maintain his masquerade.”
“Yes.”
Her face darkened. “Have you come from Alexandria? That’s where Antipater told us he last saw you.”
“Yes.”
“But why, Gordianus? Do you not understand the situation here in Ephesus? You’re a Roman—yet you’re not in a toga.” She scrutinized the yellow tunic the Megabyzoi had given me. “No Roman is safe here.”
“I realize that. Still, I’ve come to see Antipater.”
Anthea sighed. “I fear I have to disappoint you. He’s staying here, yes, but no one has seen him since early this morning. Am I right, Amestris?”
“Yes, mistress. Zoticus is not in his room and his attendants don’t know where he’s gone.”
“His attendants?” I asked.
“His two personal servants,” Amestris explained, “supplied to him by the royal household. They look after all his needs, which is why we sometimes hardly see him for days. But earlier today I sent Freny to find him, since of course he should be in attendance when our special visitor arrives.”
She exchanged a knowing look with Anthea, who raised a pale eyebrow. “Perhaps dear Zoticus wishes to avoid seeing her. As will I, if my hair is still only half-done when she arrives!”
Amestris laughed softly—the sound of that laughter sent a thrill through me—and picked up a comb from the table. “Don’t worry, mistress, we’ll be done before you know it. And you shall look very beautiful.”
“As beautiful as our visitor?”
“I’m sure she won’t think so!” said Freny. “The master says he’s never met such a vain creature—”
“Sister, enough of that!” said Amestris.
“Yes, Freny,” said Anthea. “You really must learn to curb your tongue.”
Freny put a finger to her lips to show that she understood. Then she commenced chattering again. “But sister, surely you want to visit with Gordianus. Let me finish the mistress’s hair. I can do it as well as you, if not better.”
“Who’s vain now?” said Amestris.
“You know it’s true.”
“So it is,” said their mistress. “Freny is right. Go find a quiet room, Amestris, and spend some time with Gordianus. Freny can finish my hair.”
“If you’re sure, mistress…”
“Go!” said Anthea. She smiled and shook her head, then stopped herself, reaching up to hold in place the delicate arrangement of her golden hair.
Carrying a lamp, Amestris led me down a hallway and into a room that startled me with its familiarity. I had lost my bearings in the house, but now I regained them, for this was the room where I had slept when I was a guest of Eutropius—the very room where I had lain with Amestris, and known the pleasures of coupling for the first time. Had she led me here to continue what we began those many months ago?
By the soft lamplight, she looked incredibly alluring. Her dress was modest, yes, but fitted her in such a way that the play of light and shadows displayed the contours of her hips and breasts to perfection. The sight of her took my breath away.
At the same time, I felt a stab of guilt, for what would Bethesda think if she were present? I tried to banish this most unRoman thought from my mind. Bethesda was my slave, after all. I was a free man and free to do whatever I pleased in pursuit of pleasure. If Amestris were willing, why should I not begin by kissing her? Looking at her lips, the desire to kiss them was irresistible.
But as I stepped toward her, she stepped back. A coincidence—or did she deliberately avoid my kiss?
“Amestris,” I said, “I’ve thought about you many times since we parted. I’ve pictured you in my mind, just as you look now—only you look more beautiful than I could imagine.”
There was something dismissive in the smile she gave me. Did she think I was merely paying her a pretty compliment? The words I said were heartfelt and true.
“And you look just as I remember,” she said. “Only…” She touched a fingertip to my forehead and traced the small scar. “I don’t remember this.”
“Oh, that,” I said. “It’s from a lion I met in the Nile Delta.”
“A lion!”
“This is the very fang that caused the scar,” I said, pulling the necklace from inside my tunic and showing her the talisman. She touched it with genuine wonder, and looked again at the scar.
Had I been entirely honest, I might have explained the series of events that resulted in that scar, which perhaps were not quite as perilous as she imagined. But if she saw my scar as a measure of manhood and the fang as a trophy, why not? How many men can say they were wounded by a lion’s fang and survived to tell that tale?
“The Nile Delta?” she asked. “So you’ve traveled in Egypt?” She sounded impressed.
“Oh, yes. I’ve been living in Alexandria. Before that, Antipater and I traveled all the way to Babylon.”
“Babylon! My mother told me that our people came from Babylon.”
This came as no surprise. Amestris was a Persian name, and so was Freny. Both sisters possessed the elegant features and dark beauty I had seen in such abundance among Persian women.
I proceeded to name some of the other exotic places I had visited, and to recite a few of my more colorful adventures. Again, why not? Not every man can claim to have seen all of the Seven Wonders of the World.
But for all my bragging, the next time I moved toward her, with kissing on my mind, she eluded me again.
“What about you, Amestris?” I asked, realizing all the talk had been about me. Perhaps my boasting had put her off.
“Oh, little has changed for me, Gordianus. But I can’t complain. I’m quite happy here in the house of Eutropius, surrounded every day by those I love.”
“Ah, your little sister.”
“Yes. And Anthea.”
“It’s good that you have such a close friendship with your mistress. But who is this special visitor you’re expecting, the one for whom Anthea feels obliged to do up her hair in some extraordinary fashion?”
“Why, Queen Monime, of course. Did we not say?”
My heart lurched in my chest. Of course, neither Anthea nor Amestris had any way of knowing that I had met the queen, or that if Monime saw me in the house of Eutropius when I was supposed to be sleeping in the Temple of Artemis it would be the end of me. “Why is the queen coming here?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think anyone in the house knows what the queen has in mind, not even the master. A messenger arrived earlier today saying the queen would pay us a visit after nightfall. The household has been in a flurry ever since.”
“Has the queen been here before?”
“No, this will be her first visit. The king has been here a few times, though.”
“Mithridates himself?”
“Is there any other king? Or King of Kings, as he likes to be called.”
“Why should King Mithridates visit Eutropius?”
“Why shouldn’t he? The master is one of the most important men in Ephesus. Especially now that the Romans have been driven from power…” She hesitated, perhaps thinking such talk would offend me.
“Go on,” I said.
“Well, when the Romans were still in charge, the master was always—how shall I put it?—butting his head against a wall. He was never a Roman-hater—you know that from your own experience, Gordianus, for he likes you very much. But he often complained that the Romans were holding back men like himself, independent-minded Ephesians who wanted to put the interests of Ephesus first, not those of Rome. Now that Mithridates has gotten rid of the Roman governor in Pergamon and driven the Romans from power, men like the master are finally in charge.”
“I thought the father of Monime was put in charge of Ephesus.”
“Yes, that’s right, but no man runs a city alone, and Philopoemen is still feeling his way—so the master says. And as long as the king is in residence, all major decisions come directly from him. When the king comes to visit the master, other men come, too—the important men of Ephesus. They have long discussions. They’re planning something…”
“Planning?”
“Something secret, for often they speak in low voices, careful that the household slaves can’t overhear. As if any of us might be a spy!” She shook her head and shrugged, then lowered her eyes. “And I think … I think there’s another reason the king keeps coming here.”
“Yes?”
“A certain someone has caught his eye.”
“You mean … a girl?”
She nodded. I had a sinking feeling. “Not … you, Amestris?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you not think I could turn the head of a king?”
“No, it’s not that…” In fact, I could imagine only too well that the king might desire her. My face turned hot.
“No,” she said, “it isn’t me who’s caught his eye.”
“Who, then? Oh, no—does he have his eye on your mistress?” Mithridates could have as many wives as he wished. Being newly wedded to Monime would not necessarily stop him from taking Anthea for a wife, as well.
Amestris laughed. “No, he has no interest in Anthea—thank the goddess!”
I sighed, feeling relieved. I had managed to save Anthea from the clutches of one murderous lecher, but saving her from the King of Kings was surely beyond my capabilities. “I’m rather surprised Anthea isn’t married by now.”
“There were marriage plans, for a while. To some rich, powerful Roman. The master wasn’t fond of the arrangement; I think the Roman was somehow coercing him. Nor did Anthea much like the man. Then came Mithridates, and poof! That almighty Roman disappeared on the next boat to Rhodes, along with the marriage plans. Anthea and I both heaved a sigh of relief. Now it seems that she will never marry.”
