Steven Saylor - Wrath of the Furies

“What is that amulet, anyway?” said the Grand Magus, stepping closer.

The Great Megabyzus put his head alongside that of the Grand Magus. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s the tooth of some sort of beast. A bear, perhaps?”

I shook my head.

“Or a big cat?”

I nodded.

“An unusually large Egyptian housecat, probably,” said the Grand Magus. “The Alexandrians adore such creatures. Is that the tooth of some beloved pet?”

I shook my head and made a gesture of enormity, spreading my hands in the air.

“Bigger than a housecat?” said the Great Megabyzus. “Are you saying this was the tooth of … a tiger?”

I shook my head.

“Or a panther?” offered another Megabyzoi.

I shook my head again.

The Grand Magus drew very close, squinting at the tooth. He gasped. “Why, this is the fang of a lion!”

I nodded vigorously. Again I pointed from the tooth to the scar.

“Are you saying, young man, that the mark on your forehead came from that tooth?”

I drew back my shoulders and nodded gravely. The scar had in fact been made by the tooth, but not because the lion bit me. The actual circumstances were rather complicated, and I would have needed a voice to explain. The wise men jumped to their own conclusions.

The Grand Magus stepped back and nodded thoughtfully. “The most ferocious of all animals drew close enough to scar you with its fang-yet here you stand before us, alive and whole, except for that small scar. And the fang that made the scar you wear as a trophy around your neck-an amulet to mark your good fortune, no doubt! You grappled with a lion, and lived to tell the tale-is that correct?”

I held my chin high and nodded. What he had said-the last part, anyway-was the truth, after all.

“Agathon of Alexandria, a fortunate man you must be, indeed,” declared the Grand Magus, “despite the infirmity of your muteness-though for a man to be speechless is not always an unfortunate thing, or an unwise thing, as every wise man here knows. I think, my fellows, that we have here a splendid candidate to play mute witness to the ritual. It took us a while to find him, but here he is. Do you agree, Your Eminence?”

The Great Megabyzus made only a small nod, so as not to upset his towering headdress. “I’m not surprised that he was the last of the three to be found. A man who is mute but not also deaf is not so very common, yet that is what was prescribed. But what the gods prescribe, the gods provide, as the saying goes.”

One of the younger Magi stepped forward. “But what of his muteness, and the exact nature of it? Was the Alexandrian born without speech, or did he possess the power of speech and then somehow lose it? Might this be a factor in his acceptability?”

The chamberlain answered. “This young man lost the power of speech only recently. In fact, he came to Ephesus for the express purpose of making pilgrimage to the great temple and pleading to have his speech restored by Artemis.”

The Grand Magus squinted and hummed. The Great Megabyzus nodded thoughtfully, then spoke.

“It seems to me, Your Eminence, that your fellow Magus raises a pertinent question. Is there more than one kind of muteness, or multiple degrees of muteness, and does this Agathon possess the muteness required for the ritual? We might even ask if he truly is mute at all, since we have only his word for it-so to speak.”

The Grand Magus tilted his head to one side. “Do you suggest that we should test his muteness somehow? I suppose we might place him in some extreme situation, and see if he might indeed mutter a word or two, perhaps to save himself or some loved one from physical harm…”

I drew a sharp breath, not liking the direction this conversation was taking. Was I to be tortured? If so, could I keep from speaking? If I spoke, my torturers would know that I was not only an imposter, but also a Roman.

“We could stick him with a pin and see if he yells,” suggested the Magus who had insisted on examining my backside for blemishes.

The Great Megabyzus saw the look on my face and smiled. “Oh, I hardly think that’s called for. Given the circumstances, we have no reason to doubt this young man’s identity or his inability to speak. He could hardly have foreseen that upon his arrival in Ephesus he would be called before us for the singular fact of his infirmity. More worrisome to me is the idea that he might be curable, if not by human physicians, then by divine intervention. What if, before the ritual-or worse, in the middle of it!-he should suddenly regain his speech? That is, after all, what he came to Ephesus to do.”

The Grand Magus thought about this. “You planned to go to the Temple of Artemis-is that correct, Agathon?”

I nodded.

“Then I say, let him go to the temple. If the goddess sees fit to cure him of his muteness, then this is not the man for us. On the other hand, if he makes propitiation to Artemis but remains mute, then we may take that as a sign that Agathon of Alexandria is indeed the mute witness we seek. Would you agree, Your Eminence?”

“Heartily! As high priest of the goddess, I think it proper that Artemis should have her say in the matter. That will make the ritual all the more definitive. Do you agree, my fellow Megabyzoi?”

A great many yellow headdresses nodded ever so slightly around the room, like long-stalked flowers stirring in a breeze.

“Do you agree also, Magi of the royal court?”

All the Magi nodded. The jewels on their turbans sparkled in the lamplight.

“Then it is agreed. Tomorrow morning, the Grand Magus and I will escort young Agathon of Alexandria to the Temple of Artemis. There, he shall make supplication to the goddess to restore his power of speech. And we shall see the result.”

The Great Megabyzus swept his gaze around the room. Satisfied that the agreement of his fellows was unanimous, he looked me up and down a final time, then turned to the chamberlain. “Help the mute witness get dressed, then escort him back to his quarters.”

[From the secret diary of Antipater of Sidon:]

Late in the day, a messenger arrived at the house of Eutropius to summon me to the royal palace.

Am I allowed to use the main entrance, so that I may see and be seen by the other dignitaries in the grand vestibule? No! I must come in by the back door, tramping through the lower level where mimes loiter and jugglers practice. I passed a group of giggling dancing girls clad in flimsy gowns that left very little to the imagination. They have no manners. One of them asked me if my beard was real, and gave it a tug. She thought I was an actor!

A chamberlain (I don’t remember which one; there are scores of these nameless fellows, all busy running the royal household) escorted me upstairs, not to a ceremonial hall or throne room, but to a small chamber that appeared to be part of the king’s private quarters. The king stood on a small balcony, his back to me. He wore a simple tunic, though the white and purple fillet remained on his head. I noticed that the cloak of Alexander was nearby, folded atop a small table. To my surprise there was no one else present, not even a bodyguard or scribe. When the chamberlain withdrew, I was alone with the king.

My heart pounded in my chest-not a pleasant sensation for a fellow as old as I am. Why was there no one else in the room? All sorts of wild ideas raced through my head. Did the king wish to apologize to me for the shameful way I had been treated? That was certainly something he would want no one else to overhear. Yes, that might be it, I thought-or … was he for some reason angry with me, so angry he planned to throttle me with his own hands, and wished to have no witnesses?