Steven Saylor - Wrath of the Furies

“But the king is neither a fool nor a fanatic. He knows that not all Romans are the same. I settled in this part of the world because I have so many friends here, far more than I have in Rome. And why is that? Because of my humane conduct and upright dealings when I was a legate here. I stood up for the locals when Roman businessmen and bankers sought to squeeze every denarius from them-the conduct that got me into so much trouble back in Rome. When I entered the throne room, instead of chopping off my head, Mithridates threw his arms around me. He asked me to join his court and to advise him-never on military affairs, mind you, but only on matter of jurisprudence.”

“Jurisprudence?”

“Conquering a kingdom is one thing. Administering it is quite another. Courts must be created. Honest judges must be found. Laws must be drafted.”

“Like the proclamation that all Romans must wear the toga?” I asked. “You seem to be in violation of that decree, Consul.”

Rutilius pursed his lips, but did not respond.

“Or the decree that any Roman in possession of a weapon will be killed on the spot?” I asked.

“Ah, yes. Zeuxidemus told me about today’s … unfortunate incident.”

“Very unfortunate indeed for the Roman who had his throat slit, not to mention his starving wife and child, who had to witness such a thing.”

“You would help that man’s family, if you could?” asked Rutilius.

“Of course I would.”

“Good. That’s why we’re here. We all agree that the slaughter of innocents must be prevented.”

“What slaughter? Which innocents?”

Rutilius looked at Samson. “He doesn’t know?”

“I’m not sure what Gordianus knows and doesn’t know,” said Samson.

“I know the king is planning some sort of ritual. There’s to be a human sacrifice, meant to appease…” I had caught Bethesda’s superstitious dread, and hesitated to name the Furies aloud.

“We all know to whom the sacrifice will be made,” said Rutilius. “But do you know why the so-called Kindly Ones must be appeased? And not merely appeased, but won over, made to take the side of the king against his victims-”

“ Victims? ” I asked.

The consul cocked his head, not understanding my emphasis on the word.

“You didn’t say enemies, ” I said. “‘Take the side of the king against his enemies’-that would mean the Roman legions. You said victims. You’re talking about those Romans who’ve taken sanctuary at the Temple of Artemis. Mithridates intends to kill them.”

Rutilius nodded. “And not only those Romans, Gordianus. In a single day, at a prearranged time, Mithridates plans to slaughter every Roman left in Asia. We are speaking not of thousands, but of many tens of thousands. All at once.”

I had known that something of this nature was afoot, but I had not imagined the scale of it. “How could such a thing be done? Does the king have enough soldiers in every town, every village-”

“The killing will not be done by soldiers,” said Rutilius. “Oh, in some instances, soldiers may lead or initiate the slaughter, and they’ll surely be called on to help dispose of the bodies, but most of the killing will be done by ordinary men and women, roused by the leaders of their communities to such a pitch of hatred that they’ll take up whatever weapons they possess-stones and sticks, if they have to-and murder every Roman they see. Men, women, children, the old-all of them. The next morning, there won’t be a Roman left alive in any part of the kingdom. It will be as if everyone woke up, and the Romans had simply vanished.”

“Except for the blood on the temple steps,” I said. “And the stench of the dead.”

“The blood will have been mopped up. The corpses will have been burned and buried, or taken to sea and dumped for Poseidon to swallow,” said Rutilius.

“Rome will never forgive such a slaughter,” I said. “The Senate and the people will demand vengeance.”

“Vengeance against whom? The killing will have been done not by armies but by ordinary people.”

“Then Rome will take vengeance on the people,” I said.

“And kill every person in Ephesus, and every other city that takes part in a massacre?”

“Yes. Kill or enslave them. Consul, you know that Romans never forgive, and they never forget. How many generations did the war against Carthage last? How many times did old Cato end every speech by saying, ‘Carthage must be destroyed’?”

Rutilius sighed. “I actually heard one of those speeches, when I was a boy.”

“And in the end, Cato got his way, though he didn’t live to see it. Carthage was destroyed, and all her people slaughtered or sold into slavery. This massacre won’t be the end of Roman oppression; it will only be the beginning, because Rome will never stop until every city that takes part is punished. You know what I say is true, Consul. A massacre of the Romans will be a disaster for the people of Ephesus.”

Rutilius bowed his head. “What you say is true, Gordianus. All the more reason that we must do something to stop this massacre.”

“But how?”

“Before the slaughter takes place, Mithridates must seek to appease the Kindly Ones. He will do so by sacrificing the virgin you spoke of, this girl called Freny. But such sacrifices are rare-so rare that the Grand Magus and the Great Megabyzus were at pains to determine exactly how and where it should take place, and were sometimes at odds with each other. The king thought to perform the ritual quickly and be done with it, but there was one delay after another as various requirements had to be met, including the participation of certain ‘witnesses,’ such as you. While the ritual was repeatedly put off, planning for the massacre carried on, so that now the king is hard-pressed to offer the sacrifice before the massacres are committed. Only a handful of men across the kingdom know the exact date for the massacres-I do not-but it must be very soon now.”

“So the sacrifice will take place, and poor Freny will die, and then … the massacre of the Romans,” I said. “But how are we to stop any of this from taking place?”

There was a rapping at the door. It was gentle, but it startled me even so.

The consul’s face brightened. “Once all of us are here, the situation shall be made clear to you, Gordianus.”

“‘All of us’?”

After an exchange of coded knocks, the consul indicated to Zeuxidemus that he could open the door.

A tall, slender man stepped inside, dressed much like Rutilius in a plain tunic and good shoes. For a moment I didn’t recognize him without his yellow robes and headdress. It was none other than the Great Megabyzus. His long, gray-streaked hair was pulled back from his face and tied behind his head. Without his priestly robes and the severe expression that went along with them, he looked quite ordinary. He gave me a faint smile of recognition.

Another man followed him into the room, a graybeard who furtively ducked his head so that I couldn’t see his face. At last he looked up, and our eyes met. He looked as if he might faint from astonishment.

It was Antipater.

Antipater stared at me with his jaw hanging open. Slowly, the deep furrows of his brow turned upward and his gaping mouth formed an uncertain smile.

“Gordianus!” he whispered.

“So the two of you do know each other,” remarked the consul, “just as Samson said.”

A part of me longed to embrace Antipater. Instead, I took a step back. In the small room, I could retreat no farther.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What is the Great Megabyzus doing here? Isn’t he the very man we’re hiding from?”