Steven Saylor - Arms of Nemesis

Then the spots vanished and I saw the cave.

It was visible only when the waves receded, and then only for a moment. I saw a jagged black opening cut into the jagged black rock, like the gaping maw of a toothless beast. Foam eddied and poured from the lips, then the waves filled it up again.

Until the tide had ebbed substantially, it would be impossible to enter that hole. Any reasonable man could see as much. But a reasonable man would not be immersed to his neck in cold water, clinging to a slippery stone for dear life in the pale light of early morning.

I managed to release the rock and push myself towards the fissure, and then grabbed hold of the foaming lips and pulled myself inside. The waves came rushing in from behind and I was trapped, unable to go either forward or back while the spray surged around me, whipping seaweed against my face and filling my nose with saltwater. When the waves receded I scrambled forward and hit my head against the low ceiling or rock. That must have been when the wound on my head started bleeding again.

Darkness surrounded me. My strength suddenly vanished, sucked out to sea with the tide. I steeled myself for the next wave, which came surging around me like a blast from Neptune's nostrils. My nose was flooded with saltwater and I tasted blood on my tongue. The water ebbed. I thought it would surely pull me with it, but somehow I held on.

I opened my eyes, blinking at the burning salt. The wave had pushed me deep into the fissure. I looked up and saw a ray of sunlight from a hole high above. I was within the cave.

It was not merely surprising that I should have managed such a thing; it was impossible. The stunned looks on their faces told me as much.

Even in the dim light I recognized Olympias. I had dreamed of seeing her naked. Now I saw. Her flesh was smooth and unblemished, covered with a sheen of sweat that made the paler parts of her glow like alabaster in the sepulchral light. Her arms and legs were darker than the rest of her, burned by the sun to pale gold. She was slender but hardly frail, and looked even more vital and robust naked than clothed. Her breasts were full and round, with large nipples that were surprisingly dark considering her golden mane and the patch of gold between her sleek thighs. Sadly, I was in no condition to appreciate the sight.

Her companion appeared to appreciate it very much — just how appreciative was evident when they sprang apart and I saw the proof of his arousal. He scrambled to his feet, bumped his head against a shelf of rock, and cursed. Olympias meanwhile rolled onto her side and searched among the cushions and coverlets on the stone floor. She found what she was seeking, a shiny dagger with a blade as long as a man's forearm, and swung it upward in a great arc. I suppose she meant to hand it to her defender, but in her haste and confusion she very nearly cut his arousal short. They both gasped loudly at the near miss. Alexandros staggered back, struck his head again, and cursed. I might have laughed, had I not been in so much misery from the cold and wet and the throbbing in my head.

He was a physical match for Olympias, as I would have expected; it was unlikely that a beautiful young woman of her talent and discernment would have fallen in love with a Thracian stable slave who was anything less than impressively broad-shouldered and handsome. His shaggy mane of hair glinted chestnut in the dim light; his chest and limbs were dusted with a covering of the same soft stuff. His features were starkly moulded, with generous lips and bushy eyebrows that converged in a single line above his fiery eyes; his sparse beard, only a few days old, accentuated his high cheekbones and thrusting jaw. His arousal, even in its rapidly fading state, looked substantial. He was not beautiful as Apollonius was beautiful, but I could see why Olympias had chosen him. Apparently he had a brain as well as brawn, since Zeno had used him to help keep accounts, but at the moment he looked rather dull and bovine as he rubbed his head and fumbled to take the dagger from Olympias.

'Put the weapon away,' I said wearily. 'I haven't come to hurt you.'

They stared at me, wide-eyed and dubious. There was a softening in Olympias's eyes; only in that instant did she finally recognize me. What must I have looked like, rising up from the spuming tunnel wrapped in tendrils of seaweed, with blood trickling down my face? Alexandros stared at me as if I were a sea monster, and perhaps he thought I was.

'Wait,' Olympias whispered. She laid her hand on Alexandros's arm. 'I know him.'

'Yes? Who is he?' He spoke with a heavy Thracian accent, and there was a wild, desperate note in his voice that caused me to slide my hand nearer to where my own dagger was sheathed beneath my tunic.

'The Finder,' she said. 'From Rome — the man I told you about.'

'Then he's found me at last.' He pulled his arm free. The long blade sliced through a pale shaft of sunlight and glimmered like quicksilver. He drew back against the cave wall and stared at me like a trapped animal.

'Is that what's happened, Gordianus?' Olympias looked at me suspiciously. 'You've come to take him to Crassus?'

'Put the knife away,' I whispered. I began to shiver uncontrollably. I clenched my teeth to stop them from chattering. 'Can you make a fire? I suddenly feel very cold, and a little faint.'

Olympias studied me for a moment, then made up her mind. She reached for a woollen gown and pulled it over her head, then stepped towards me and reached for the hem of my tunic. 'Out of this, first, or else you'll die from the cold more surely than you will from a dagger. No fire, I'm afraid — we can't have anyone seeing the smoke — but we can wrap you in something warm. Alexandros, you're shivering as well! Put that knife away and cover yourself.'

The cave, when I had first glimpsed it, had seemed enormous, stretching away like the Sibyl's cave into unknown space. It was not as large as that, but it did rise to a considerable height and was cut into the stone at an angle that slanted sharply away from the sea, so that the floor was stepped in a number of rocky terraces. Stowed here and there in small nooks were Alexandros's comforts — dirty coverlets, bits of food, utensils, jugs of fresh water, and a plump wineskin. Olympias took me to one of the higher terraces and wrapped me in a wool blanket. When my shivering subsided she offered me some crusts of bread and cheese, and even a few delicacies that I recognized from the funeral banquet; she must have pilfered them from the table and brought them as a treat for Alexandros. I protested that I wasn't hungry, but once I began I could hardly stop eating.

Soon I felt better, though bolts of pain still shot through my head when I moved it too sharply. 'How soon will the opening of the cave be passable? Without serious risk of drowning, I mean?'

Alexandros glanced at the mouth of the cave, where already the foaming tide seemed to have ebbed. 'Not long now. There won't be clear beach beneath the opening for another few hours, but already you could make your way into the water and up to the path without danger.'

'Good. Whatever else happens, I must be there, at the arena. No matter how terrible. And I must find Eco.'

'The boy?' said Olympias. Apparently she had never cared enough to catch his name.

'Yes, the boy. My son. The one who casts such longing looks in your direction, Olympias.'

Alexandros wrinkled his brow disapprovingly. 'The mute boy,' Olympias explained to him. 'I told you about him, remember? But, Gordianus, what do you mean when you say you must find him? Where is he?'

'Last night, when we set out for Cumae, we followed the route we took with you. We were attacked, on the precipice that overlooks Lake Avernus.'

'By lemures?' whispered Alexandros.