Steven Saylor - Arms of Nemesis

Such apparitions are not unknown at sacred shrines. I had witnessed them before. Still, there is always a sudden stirring of dread and doubt in that instant when the world changes and the powers of the unseen begin to manifest themselves.

Though I could not see her shadowed face, I knew that the priestess was watching me. She saw that I was ready. Again we followed her up a steep, stony path that traversed the slope, then descended into a dark, ever deepening ravine. The way seemed very far. The path was so difficult that I found myself stooped over, scrambling on my hands and feet. I glanced behind to see that Eco did the same. Strangely, the priestess was able to walk upright, striding forward with perfectly measured steps.

We came to the mouth of a cave. As we stepped inside, a cold, clammy wind rushed over my face, carrying a strange smell like the breath of many flowers in decay. I looked up to see that the cave was not a tunnel but a high, airy chamber, pierced all about by tiny holes and jagged fissures. These openings admitted a twilight glimmer, and the rush of the wind sighing through them created an ever changing cacophony that was sometimes like music, sometimes like a great chorus of moaning. Sometimes a singular sound would rise above all the others and then fade away — a trilling of notes like a satyr playing his pipes, or the bellowing voice of a famous actor I heard once as a boy, or the sigh that Bethesda makes before she wakes in the morning.

We descended deeper into the cave, to a place where the walls narrowed. The darkness deepened and the chorus of voices receded. The priestess raised her arm to signal that we should stop. In the dimness her blood-red robe had become jet black, so dark that it seemed to be a gaping hole that moved about in the grey gloom. She stepped onto a low shelf of stone, like a stage, and for a moment I thought that she danced. The black robe spun and twisted and seemed to fold in on itself. There was a long, wailing shriek that made my hair stand on end. The contortions were not a dance but the convulsions of the priestess as her body was possessed by the Sibyl.

The black robe fluttered to the ground, becoming nothing more than a great lump of cloth. Eco stepped forward to touch it, but I restrained him. In the next instant the robe began to fill again and rise up. Before our eyes the Sibyl of Cumae began to take shape. She seemed taller than the priestess, larger than life. She lifted her hands and pushed the cowl from her head.

Her face was barely discernible in the darkness, and yet it seemed that I could make out her features with a kind of supernatural clarity. I chided myself for ever imagining that the priestess was Iaia. This was the face of an old woman, to be sure, and in some superficial regards it resembled Iaia; the mouth might have been the same, and the high, gaunt cheekbones, and the proud forehead — but no mortal voice ever uttered such noises, and no mortal woman ever possessed such eyes, flashing as brightly as the light through the fissures in the cave.

She began to speak, then clutched herself. Her breast heaved, and a rattling sound issued from her throat as the god began to breathe through her. A sudden wind blew up from behind us and scattered her hair like flailing tendrils. She struggled, not yet submissive to the god and trying to shake him from her brain, like a horse trying to unseat its rider. Her mouth foamed. Noises came from her throat like wind in a cavern, and then like the gurgling of water in a pipe. Little by little the god mastered her and then calmed her. She hid her face in her hands, then slowly drew herself erect.

'The god is with me,' she said, in a voice that was neither male nor female. The Sibyl seemed merely to mouth words that issued from some other source. I glanced at Eco. His forehead was beaded with sweat, his eyes were wide open, his nostrils were dilated. I clutched his hand to give him strength in the darkness.

'Why do you come?' the Sibyl asked.

I started to speak, but my throat was too thick. I swallowed and tried again. 'We were told… to come.' Even my own voice sounded unnatural to my ears.

'What do you seek?'

'We come… seeking knowledge… of certain events… in Baiae.'

She nodded. 'You come from the house of the dead man, Lucius Licinius.' 'Yes.'

'You seek the answer to a riddle.'

'We seek to know how he died… and by whose hand.' 'Not by the hand of those who stand accused,' said the Sibyl emphatically.

'And yet I have no proof of that. Unless I can show who murdered Licinius… every slave in the household will be put to death. The man who seeks to do this thinks only of his own advancement… not of justice. It will be a cruel tragedy. Can you tell me the name of the man who killed Licinius?'

The Sibyl was silent.

'Can you show me his face in a dream?'

The Sibyl set her eyes upon me. An icy shiver ran through my bones. She shook her head.

'But this is what I must know,' I protested. 'This is the knowledge I seek.'

Again the Sibyl shook her head. 'If a general came to me and asked me to strike his enemies dead, would I not refuse? If a physician came and asked me to heal his patient, would I not send him away? The oracle does not exist to do the work of men for them. Yet if these men came to me seeking only knowledge, I would give it. If it were the will of the god, I would tell the general where his hidden enemy lurked, and I would tell the doctor where he might find the herb that could save his patient. The rest would be up to them.

'What shall I do with you, then, Gordianus of Rome? To find knowledge is your work, but I will not do your work for you. If I give you the answer you seek, I will rob you of the very means by which you may achieve your end. If you go to Crassus with nothing but a name, he will merely laugh at you or punish you for false accusations. Unless you acquire it on your own, using your skills, the knowledge you seek will be meaningless. That which you assert you must be able to prove. It is the will of the god that I assist you, but I will not do your work for you.'

I shook my head. Of what use was the Sibyl if she refused to utter a simple name? Could it be that she did not know? I cringed at playing host to such impious thoughts, but at the same time it seemed that a veil was being slowly lifted from my eyes and the Sibyl once more began to look suspiciously like Iaia.

Eco touched my sleeve, demanding my attention. With one hand he held up two fingers, and with the other hand turned two fingers down, his sign for a man: two men. He wrapped one hand around the wrist of the other, symbolizing a shackle, his sign for a slave: two slaves.

I turned back to the Sibyl. The two missing slaves, Zeno and Alexandros — are they living or dead? Where can I find them?'

The Sibyl nodded in stern approval. 'You ask wisely. I will tell you that one of them is hidden, and the other is in plain sight.'

'Yes?'

'I will tell you that after they fled from Baiae, this was their first destination.'

'Here? They came to your cave?'

'They came to seek the guidance of the Sibyl. They came to me as innocent men, not guilty ones.' 'Where can I find them now?'

'The one who is hidden you may find in time. As for the one in plain sight, you will find him on your way back to Baiae.' 'In the woods?' 'Not in the woods.' 'Then where?'

'There is a stone shelf that overlooks Lake Avemus…' 'Olympias showed us the place.'

'On the left side of the precipice there is a narrow path that leads down to the lake. Cover your mouth and nose with your sleeve and descend to the very mouth of the pit. He will await you there.'

'What, the shade of a dead man escaping from Tartarus?'

'You will know him when you see him. He will greet you with open eyes.'