Steven Saylor - Wrath of the Furies

Bethesda had arranged ahead of time, with an agent who worked for the fortune-teller, that we should visit Ameretat on this day and at this hour, so of course she knew who we were. Still, it was startling to hear a strange voice from the shadows suddenly speak my name, loudly and with a peculiar accent.

“Gordianus of Rome!” she said. “And you, the slave girl called Bethesda. You come to Ameretat seeking knowledge of what lies ahead, yes?”

Before I could answer, Bethesda whispered, “Yes, Ameretat, we do.” I was about to chide her for speaking out of turn, when Ameretat interrupted me with a laugh.

“You might as well get used to it, Gordianus of Rome,” she said. “Soon enough the slave girl will be doing all the talking, and you will be mute!”

I wrinkled my brow. Just how much had Bethesda told this woman’s agent about my plans and the purpose for my journey? The more a fortune-teller knows about you, the more easily she can spin a tale so as to make herself appear more prescient than she is. So my father had told me.

“First, the payment,” she said. That seemed straightforward enough. I produced a small bag that contained the agreed-upon amount. The boy appeared from the shadows and snatched it from my hand. He emptied the bag onto his cupped palm, counted the coins out loud, and gave the woman a nod.

“Something else I must have, some article of clothing or other item close to you. Your shoes, I think. Yes, each of you, give me a shoe, since it is on a journey of many steps that you are about to embark.”

I slipped off a shoe, and so did Bethesda. The little boy collected them and gave them to the woman. I still couldn’t see her clearly amid the shadows. If anything, as the light from outside very gradually grew stronger, the shadows across from us seemed to grow deeper.

I heard her draw a sharp breath-of surprise, I assumed, for Bethesda and I both were wearing finely crafted footwear of supple leather, with brass buckles for the narrow straps and tiny brass hobnails to secure the soles. Such shoes were far better than anything I would normally have possessed; they had come from the booty of the Nile bandits with whom we both had resided for a while. The woman sighed-with regret, I thought, for she must be thinking that the owner of such fine shoes could have afforded to pay considerably more for her services.

“I see a long journey,” she said. “A journey of many days. Most of your travel will be by sea. Still, many a step each of you will take in these shoes. Friends and foes … but the friend is sometimes not a friend, and the foe not always a foe … a loved one from the past … a trusted teacher … danger … a sacrifice-”

“Danger?” whispered Bethesda.

I shook my head. The woman was speaking gibberish. She could have uttered the same words to any two people going on a long trip, and left it up to her listeners to make out a meaning.

“Danger?” Bethesda repeated. “Who is in danger?”

“I see … a beautiful young girl,” the fortune-teller said.

So do I , I almost said, casting a sidelong glance at Bethesda.

“A virgin girl…”

Ah, well, not Bethesda, then-who looked a bit peeved, I thought, at the mention of this other beautiful girl looming mysteriously in my future. Think nothing of it, I wanted to tell her. These fortune-tellers always throw in a beautiful virgin, don’t they, just to get one’s attention?

Ameretat gasped, and heaved a sigh. “The virgin is soon to be in terrible danger…”

Of losing her virginity, no doubt! I thought these words, but did not speak them. I was finding Ameretat’s performance to be less than impressive, but Bethesda gazed raptly at the shadowy figure, hanging on every word.

“And someone else I see…”

“Who?” I said, growing impatient. “Who else do you see besides the virgin?”

“An old man. Close to you, or close to your thoughts. Not your grandfather, I think. But old, yes. And dear to you-despite the rift between you…”

I shook my head. It was obvious that Bethesda must have given too much information to the so-called fortune-teller’s agent. Such intermediaries were trained to elicit useful details, even from the canniest customer. Having been briefed ahead of time, Ameretat was simply repeating back to me what I already knew.

“I suppose that next you’ll tell me the dear old man is in danger, too?” I said.

“He most certainly is.”

“And that he wants me to come and help him?”

“Most certainly not! For you to join him is the last thing he desires. It is his wish that you should stay far away from him.”

I shook my head. Somewhere between Bethesda and the agent and the fortune-teller, the story must have become garbled, or else Ameretat’s memory had failed her. If anything had been clear to me from the words written by Antipater, it was that he greatly needed and desired my help.

“I intend to go to him, nonetheless,” I said. “I leave this very day-as I’m sure you know. What else awaits me on this journey, besides a virgin in peril and an old man who’s bitten off more than he can chew?” I almost laughed, for it sounded as if I were describing a plot from Plautus.

“If you think a comedy lies ahead of you, young man, think again!” Ameretat seemed to pull the thought from my mind with such precision that I was taken aback.

Suddenly thirsty, I reached for the cup I had earlier put down. I took a cautious sip of the tepid beer and tasted nothing suspicious. I drank the whole cup, thinking I might as well get some value for the money I had spent.

The woman appeared to stir uneasily. It was as if a bundle of rags suddenly became animated and rearranged themselves in the dark corner beneath the window. The feeble light of approaching dawn had grown just bright enough to acquire a pale blue tinge.

When she spoke again, her voice seemed like that of another woman, so strained and unnatural did it sound. “Fool of a Roman, you have no idea what awaits you!” she whispered. “Blood! Fountains of blood, lakes of blood, a sea of blood! The streets will be filled with rejoicing. The temples will be filled with corpses!”

Bethesda gazed at the darkness below the window. Could her eyes discern what mine could not, a face amid the shadow? She gripped my arm, so hard that I winced at the bite of her fingernails.

“Are we among those rejoicing?” Bethesda whispered. “Or are we among the dead?”

“Neither, I should hope,” I mumbled, feeling a bit unnerved, and not liking the feeling. I shouldn’t have drunk the beer, I thought. The fortune-teller had seen me do it, and had taken it for a sign of weakness. Now she would make her prophecy as alarming as possible, hoping to scare me into giving her more money in the hope that I might avoid some vague catastrophe.

“Where are these streets you speak of?” I asked. “Where are these temples filled with bodies? Are you describing Ephesus-or some other place?” I thought of my father in Rome, and the awful stories I had heard about the fighting and slaughter there. I thought of the death and destruction I had seen with my own eyes in Alexandria during the recent upheaval. Was no place safe?

Again, she seemed to read my thoughts. “Danger is everywhere, yes-but the danger ahead of you is more terrible than you can imagine, you fool of a Roman! The mightiest mortal on earth is about to inflict death and destruction on a scale the world has never seen before. The wrath of those whose very name the ancient poets feared to speak-yes, the wrath of the Furies!-will be unleashed, before which all men flee in terror. Even you, fool of a Roman!”

My head felt light. A chill ran up my spine. Freeing my arm from Bethesda’s grip, I reached for her untouched cup, thinking another drink might settle my nerves. After I drank it down, the chill subsided, but the growing light from the window hurt my eyes. The light was no longer faint blue, but pale yellow. The sun must have just peeked above the eastern horizon.