Steven Saylor - Wrath of the Furies

“What are we to do?” I asked.

“The slaughter must be stopped before it can begin,” said Kysanias. “The sacrifice in the Grove of the Furies must go awry. If the sacrifice is spoiled-if the Furies have not been appeased-then Mithridates may yet be turned from this course.”

Kysanias paused for a long moment, so that we could all appreciate the gravity of what he had just said. The highest priest of the world’s greatest temple to Artemis was suggesting that we-himself included-should deliberately pervert a sacred ritual calling upon the most dangerous and terrifying forces known to mankind.

“If we do such a thing…” Rutilius seemed hesitant to speak the thought aloud. “Might we not turn the wrath of the Furies on ourselves?”

“We must weigh that possibility against the appalling magnitude of the act we are trying to avert,” said Kysanias. “If in the end the Furies and all of Olympus are on the side of Mithridates, if this massacre is sanctioned by the gods, then any attempt to avert it will fail, and we must suffer for our hubris. But who here, in his heart of hearts, does not believe the slaughter is uncalled for-terrible in itself, and a blight upon the cause of Mithridates? People given sanctuary in the Temple of Artemis will be dragged out and killed. Blood will be shed on sacred ground, not only in Ephesus, but in cities and temples all over the kingdom. I cannot believe such a thing accords with the will of Artemis.

“I believe that each of us here is an instrument of the Fates, for how else did we all arrive from distant points to come together at this very time and place? You, Gordianus-do you not feel that you were guided here for a purpose greater than you imagined? Pretending for your own reasons to be mute, you became the mute witness whose presence was required for the sacrifice.”

“But … as you say, my muteness is a pretense. I meant to fool mortals, not gods! And certainly not … the Furies. At every moment I feel I’m hanging by a thread-”

“Exactly so-a thread woven by the Fates!” Kysanias nodded, his eyes wide with excitement. “The ritual requires a mute witness, and none was found until you, yet you are not genuine. So when the ritual takes place, it will already be compromised, by your presence in place of a genuine mute witness. Surely that is a sign that the ritual is intended to fail. The sacrifice will go awry, and Mithridates will be put off, afraid to proceed with the massacre.”

Rutilius looked doubtful. “It’s hard to imagine the king being afraid of anything.”

“Mithridates is a mortal like any other,” insisted Kysanias. “In the Grove of the Furies, he will sense a power greater than himself. He can be made to feel fear.”

“Your Eminence,” I said, “I understand what you say about the twisted path that led me here. But Samson says we’re all to play a role in the sacrifice.” I looked at Rutilius. “What is your role, Consul?”

He shrugged. “Mithridates wants a Roman to witness the sacrifice, preferably a Roman of high rank, to see that the massacre has been divinely sanctioned. I will be that Roman.”

Antipater bristled. “You claim to be merely a witness? I overheard you outside the king’s door, plotting with Metrodorus the Rome-Hater, discussing how best to dispose of the bodies.”

Rutilius sighed. “Like everyone else here, I’m playing more than one role. Yes, I know something about the planning of this massacre. It might be argued that I even, to some extent, helped to plan it-but only so that I might stop it. How better to avert this mad idea than by discovering all I could about it? Toward that end, you see me here. It was Samson who felt me out, acting on behalf of the deposed Roman governor in Rhodes. I will not become an agent of Rome against Mithridates, but in this single instance I will do what I can to foil the king’s intentions. And you, Antipater-are you also taking part in the sacrifice?”

“So it seems. The king decided that a poet should witness the sacrifice. Who else would he choose but the world’s greatest living poet? But as I was trying to tell you, earlier-”

“I wondered why the king insisted that the poet be a man I’d never heard of,” said Kysanias. “I should have known there was more to this so-called Zoticus of Zeugma than met the eye. Again, we see the hand of the Fates!”

“Or the hand of Samson,” I said. “And you, Your Eminence? And Zeuxidemus? Are you of one mind about this?”

Kysanias put his hand on the younger priest’s shoulder. “Zeuxidemus is pure of heart, as he has demonstrated many times, by words and deeds and by his devotion to the goddess. He is the only one of my fellow Megabyzoi with whom I have shared my true feelings about this matter. As for me … this all began when the king called the Grand Magus and me into his throne room and revealed to us in strictest confidence the massacre he was planning. How his eyes shone, how his voice quavered with excitement!

“I was taken aback. So, to his credit, was the Grand Magus. We suggested alternatives. To rid himself of the Romans, could His Majesty not strip them of all property and send them into exile? Or if he preferred a harsher punishment, might he not enslave them? No! He was insistent that they be killed, every one of them, even the women and infants. But it had occurred to him that dark forces might arise in response to an act of such magnitude.

“By various means, the Grand Magus and I determined that the Furies must be placated, and that only the sacrifice of a virgin would suffice. Only one person could carry out the sacrifice-myself.

“In my many years as a Megabyzus serving Artemis, I have slaughtered hundreds, perhaps thousands of animals. Never have I been squeamish. The glimmer of awareness in the animal’s eyes in the moment before it dies, the slicing of the blade into the flesh, the gushing of the blood, the thrashing of the victim-I have exulted in these things, for they serve the greater glory of Artemis. And yet …

“As I contemplated the act required of me-the slaughter of a young girl, by my own hand … the prospect haunts my dreams. Every night I see myself in the Grove of the Furies, standing at the altar, with the girl restrained and helpless before me. She struggles against her bonds, she cries out through the gag in her mouth-and that is a good thing, for with an animal sacrifice the docility of the victim is a sign of submission to the deity, but with a human sacrifice, the greater the struggle, the better.

“The knife is in my hands. The moment comes. I look into her eyes. I raise the blade-and the moment that follows is so horrible that I wake in a cold sweat. Even now, thinking of it, I feel a chill. My stomach tightens. My hands shake-do you see?”

Kysanias help up both trembling hands.

“A sign from Artemis. These hands are dedicated to her service, and see how they shake at the very thought of what I’m being called to do? I must not do it. I will not! You must all help me. We must find a way to stop it. In doing that, we may stop the greater slaughter that is to follow.”

A grim silence followed his words, as we all looked from face to face in the flickering lamplight.

Antipater opened his mouth to say something, but I spoke first. “What about you, Samson?” I asked.

“Me?”

“You brought us all together. But why? What is your purpose?”

“You know why I came here, Gordianus: to recover what I could of the stolen treasure of the Jews of Alexandria.” He shrugged, and fingered the hem of the old cloak he had taken from the treasury.

“But that doesn’t explain why you brought us all together. Why do you want to stop this sacrifice and avert the massacre of the Romans?”

“You know the answer to that, Gordianus. My mission was in part funded by Rome and Rome’s allies in Rhodes. To the extent that I accepted their help and money, I’m obligated to do whatever I can to further their interests. Surely, stopping the slaughter of tens of thousands of innocent Romans is something Posidonius and Gaius Cassius would want me to do.”