Steven Saylor - Wrath of the Furies

“I suppose it does,” I grudgingly admitted. “But when will-”

“So the precious treasury built up by generations of Jews in Egypt, buying and selling, saving whatever they could, year after year, surviving intact even when one Ptolemy threw another off the throne and heads rolled at the palace in Alexandria-half of that treasure is already gone, spent by Mithridates in a matter of months. Even so, I did manage to get my hands on a few items-”

“You were allowed to take some of the treasure?”

“Only a handful of items-literally a handful, or two, I should say, for I was allowed to take no more than I could carry, and each item I selected had to be approved by an assessor from the palace. The agreement was that I could take only items of historical or religious significance, things particularly precious to the Jews of Alexandria. Naturally, I grabbed the most expensive-looking objects I could find. Oh, you won’t believe your eyes when you see the jewel-encrusted cup they let me walk away with. That required some special pleading, but I wore them down at last. I told them it was a thousand-year-old drinking cup, presented as a gift to King Solomon by the Queen of Sheba.”

“Is it?”

“Who can say? But I tell you, the emeralds and rubies alone must be worth a fortune! That was the biggest prize, but I also left with some very nice pieces of silver. Still, compared to the entire treasure as listed in the ledger, I walked out with a mere pittance, only the feeblest gesture of goodwill from the looter to the looted.”

“And the cloak you’re wearing? That came from the treasury, too?”

“Ah, yes!” He looked down and touched a bit of the frayed hem to one side of his broad chest. “Well, there it was, lying amid some other pieces of cloth-elaborate wall hangings with golden threads and such-and I said, ‘May I take this, as well, so as to have something to wrap around the cup and the other items?’ The assessor hardly glanced at it, and when I held it closer, so that he could take a better look, he turned up his nose.”

“It has a smell, Samson. Like something from an old person’s house.”

“Does it? Well, at any rate, he let me take this cloak as well. It worked nicely as a sort of sack to carry the other items.”

I nodded. “So you’ve achieved one of your main objectives. The Jews of Alexandria sent you here to assess whatever remained of their stolen treasure, to negotiate for its return, and, failing that, to retrieve whatever token restitution Mithridates might offer.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“Congratulations, Samson. But I, too, came here with an objective.”

“Ah, yes. To see your old tutor again.”

“I could have run after him earlier this evening, when I saw him in the dining hall-”

“And take him by surprise? Have him call out your real name, and then wait for you to answer? Cause any passersby to wonder how the two of you might know each other? No, Gordianus, that would never do. You realize that.”

I took a deep breath. “Yes. But when-”

“So you don’t think the cloak flatters me?”

“No!” I said, raising my voice, then biting my tongue.

“Is it too small for me? Perhaps it would look better on you.” He began to pull it off. “If I were to offer it as a gift-”

“Samson, no more talk about this old cloak! Will I see Antipater tonight?”

He looked at me shrewdly. “Antipater, you say?”

“I mean … Zot-” I stammered awkwardly on the Z. “Zoticus-of course.”

“Of course. Zoticus, Antipater-well, we all seem to have more than one name, don’t we? Except for that beauty.” He smiled at Bethesda, who slept on her side with her hands folded beneath her head, too exhausted to be awakened by our hushed conversation.

I looked at her peaceful face and shook my head. “I should never have brought her here. What a situation I’ve landed us in! I should have thought of some other way, or simply stayed in Alexandria. But I was selfish. I wanted to come, and I wanted her with me. I didn’t want to be parted from her…” I was saying more than I should. I had already let slip Antipater’s true name. “Please, Samson. No more jesting. I want to see Zoticus. If he’s here in the palace, I want to see him now.”

Samson saw that my patience was exhausted. The smile vanished from his face. He nodded, and seemed about to speak when we heard a gentle rapping at the door. Bethesda turned in her sleep, but did not wake.

Samson cracked the door to peer out with one eye, then opened it just enough for the visitor to slip inside. It was not Antipater. The man was much younger, and slender, with chestnut hair. With a start, I realized it was Zeuxidemus, dressed not in his yellow robes but in a plain tunic and with his hair neatly combed.

I was so surprised I almost spoke, but caught myself. Samson saw my consternation. He smiled. “It’s all right, Agathon-Agathon, I say, because it will be simpler if we can all stick to one name, though we no longer have anything to hide from Zeuxidemus. You can speak, Agathon.”

Never had I trusted Samson less, and never had I needed to trust him more. A priest of Artemis was in the room, and Samson seemed ready to give me away, if he had not done so already. At last I found my tongue. “What does this mean? Why have you let this man into the room?”

“Things are moving very fast now,” said Samson. “Almost too fast for even me to keep up. As of yesterday, you had every reason to keep your secrets from Zeuxidemus. But today, all that has changed. Zeuxidemus has been vouched for, at the very highest level.”

“The highest level of what?”

“I understand your confusion, Agathon. But everything will soon be made clear to you-what is being asked of you, and what is being offered.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “Something tells me this bargain will be lopsided.”

Samson cocked his head. “Indeed, it will be. What will be asked of you is as nothing compared to what may result.”

“What is that?”

Zeuxidemus spoke. “A chance, however slim, to save the lives of many people. Tens of thousands of people.”

“I came here to save only one.”

“You may yet be able to do that, as well,” said Samson.

“Something tells me there’s a risk involved.”

“Yes,” said Samson. “A terrible risk. But then again-no. None at all. If you accept what we offer, and things do not go precisely as we hope, then yes, you will almost certainly die. But if you don’t accept the role we offer, we shall expose you as a fraud, and then you will most certainly die, without question.”

The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. What was this talk of dying? I had been thinking only of somehow helping Antipater-if indeed he needed my help-and then contriving some way to get Bethesda and myself out of Ephesus, perhaps by relying on Samson, who seemed to understand every situation and had access to money and other resources from Rome. The idea that I might be killed-indeed, would probably be killed, no matter what, as so starkly stated by Samson-had not been in my mind.

The two of them saw the look on my face. They looked at each other.

“Will they be coming here?” asked Samson.

“No. Too risky,” said Zeuxidemus. “We’ll go to them.”

Samson nodded. “I see you’ve changed out of your yellow robes. A good idea. Less conspicuous that way.”

“Yes, but I’ll also have less authority to override anyone who questions us.”

“A headdress does give one perquisites,” said Samson.

“You, on the other hand, might wish to take off that … what is that thing you’re wearing over your shoulders, anyway?”

“Oh, this?” Samson touched the frayed hem of the cloak and smiled.