Steven Saylor - Wrath of the Furies

Moving awkwardly and in darkness, I managed to undo her gag and the bonds constraining her arms. Then I fell into a sort of stupor. My performance as the embodiment of Antipater’s uncanny voice had depleted all my resources. I was exhausted.

Time seemed to grind slowly to a stop. The air became thick. The darkness was absolute. I began to wonder if we might already be dead, slain by the Furies, and this was to be our afterlife. Had we arrived in Tartarus, here to dwell in blackness forevermore?

Perhaps I slept for a while, and this notion of Tartarus was only a dream. In such a place it was hard to tell whether I was awake or not.

At last I heard the noise of the door being opened, and a shaft of light entered the compartment. It was the faint gray light of the hour before dawn, but to my light-starved eyes it seemed bright. At the same time a small gust of fresh air entered the chamber. I sucked it in, and realized how foul the air had become inside that tomblike space.

Stiff and blinking at the sudden light, and gasping for air, I managed to crawl backward out of the chamber. Freny, more nimble than I, quickly followed. Samson averted his eyes from her nakedness and handed her a simple tunic and a pair of shoes. She quickly dressed herself, and then the two of us managed to stand, blinking at the predawn glow that revealed the aftermath of our night in the Grove of the Furies.

The tree that had fallen lay broken into two parts on either side of the marble altar, bisecting the circular space. We three were alone in the grove.

“Your performance last night was quite amazing,” said Samson.

“So was yours,” I said, “far beyond what I expected.” For it was Samson, acting alone, who had shaken the trees and caused one of them to fall. “How exactly did you do it?”

He smiled. “Last night, while you and Antipater were going over your lines, I slipped out of the palace and came here, to have a look at the place.”

“By yourself?” said Freny, staring up at him wide-eyed. “You dared to come to such a spot in the dead of night, alone?”

“Young lady, I am a Jew,” he said. “This place is not sacred to me. I have no fear of these so-called Furies. I looked at the grove purely as a theatrical venue, and asked myself: what is there to work with, and what sort of effects might be achieved? As I circled the grove, from the outside, it occurred to me that if a man were strong enough, he might be able to run from tree to tree, leaping inside them and giving them a good shaking. I practiced doing so, and by breaking a few branches here and there I was able to clear a sort of path which allowed me to run from tree to tree, making each one shiver. Then I thought, what if, ahead of time, one of the trees was nearly severed, near the base, and then, when the time came, given a very hard push-”

“But how did you manage to cut through the tree trunk?” said Freny.

“I used an ax I found in that storage compartment inside the altar, where you’ve been hiding.”

I shook my head. “You used a consecrated ax from the altar of the Furies to cut down one of the sacred trees in the Grove of the Furies.” The brazen impiousness of such an act made my head spin. “I think we should leave this place as quickly as we can.”

“At once,” said Samson. “If you’re strong enough to walk,” he added, looking at Freny. “If not, I can carry you-”

“I’m not a weakling!” said Freny, with a laugh. She looked very slender and delicate by the soft morning light, but her laughter was strong and clear, and to hear it brought joy to my heart.

“Where are we going?” I asked, for this next step had been left undecided the night before.

“To the Temple of Artemis,” he said. “With all that’s happening, we decided that would be the only safe place for us all.”

“So the massacre has been called off?”

His face darkened. “The thing we hoped for … was not accomplished.”

“But why? What went wrong?”

“Come with me now. Hurry! We’ll have plenty of time to talk about it when we reach the temple.”

“But surely that’s the last place we want to be.”

“Trust me, Gordianus.”

“Where is Bethesda?”

“She’s already there, waiting for us. Follow me.”

On shaky legs, I followed Samson out of the Grove of the Furies. It was first necessary to climb over the fallen tree, and then to duck through the tunnel-like entrance surrounded by foliage. Once we stepped beyond the stone wall that marked the sacred precinct of the Grove, I had no idea where we were, and saw no landmarks by which to orient myself. The land around us was a mixture of woodland and meadows, misty in the early light.

By what route we made our way to the Temple of Artemis I cannot remember. Perhaps the vividness with which I remember what came later that day somehow blurred my memories of what came before. I know that we didn’t go through the city. At some point I saw the temple ahead of us, and the thousands of Romans who crowded the temple grounds.

“Samson!” I hissed, taking his arm. “If this is the day, and the thing is to happen, we have to warn them.”

At that moment the captain of a troop of armed men took notice of us. The soldiers were patrolling the perimeter of the sacred precinct.

“Who are you and what’s your business here?” asked the captain.

“We’re pilgrims, come to worship at the temple,” said Samson.

The captain scrutinized him. “What sort of accent is that?”

“Alexandrian Greek,” said Samson. “The purest form, handed down from Alexander himself.”

The captain laughed. “You Alexandrians, always full of yourselves! But if you wish to worship Artemis of Ephesus, you might want to wear something nicer than that.” He indicated the faded old cloak that Samson insisted on wearing. “Anyway, this is not a good day to visit the temple. Come back tomorrow.”

“But I have an appointment with the Grand Megabyzus.”

“I’m sure you do!” the captain scoffed.

Samson produced a rolled-up piece of parchment, undid the yellow ribbon tied around it, and showed it to the captain. The man examined it for a moment, then handed it back.

“The Grand Megabyzus himself! Well then, I suggest you get inside the temple and find him, quickly. In fact, my company will escort you, to make sure these Roman scum don’t give you any trouble.”

“That’s not necessary-”

“I insist.”

The troop formed a cordon around us. As we strode toward the temple I looked at all the people around me, longing to cry out to them, to warn them of what was about to happen. But I said nothing.

As we approached the temple, I saw a strange thing. The round window in the pediment through which one could see the statue of Artemis was black, as if some sort of curtain or screen had been drawn across it from inside.

The temple steps were covered with refugees, many of them still asleep. They stirred and scrambled out of the way to let us pass. The troop came to a halt at the temple entrance.

“Stay here, men,” said the captain. “I’ll be back shortly.”

He handed his sword to his second-in-command and then escorted Samson, Freny, and me into the temple, hailing the first of the Megabyzoi he saw and telling the priest to fetch the Great Megabyzus. When the man balked, the captain told Samson to produce the document. The priest raised his eyebrows as he read it, then quickly went off to find the Great Megabyzus.

The interior of the temple was dimly lit. Only a few lamps were burning, and the weak morning light from the doorway did little to dispel the shadows. While we waited, I looked around us, at all the unsuspecting refugees lying huddled in sleep or milling about. Again, I longed to warn them, and again I said nothing.