Steven Saylor: Wrath of the Furies

I looked from face to face. They seemed not to have heard me.

It was Bethesda who finally spoke. “Master, I have no intention of being left behind.”

I blushed a bit, chagrined that the eunuchs should hear my slave speak to me in such a way. “Bethesda, whether you go or not is for me to decide.”

“Well put, Gordianus!” said Kettel. “And of course you must decide to take her with you.”

I shook my head. “I think not.”

“Think again! Did you not just hear her? The slave speaks perfectly passable Greek, with an Alexandrian accent. No one in Ephesus will think of Rome when she opens her mouth. And if she says her master-her mute master-is a native Egyptian of Greek descent, no one will think to question that, either. As to why you might be traveling with such an interpreter … well, no one who sees Bethesda will wonder why you wish to keep her by your side.” Kettel cast a sidelong glance at Bethesda, and I was reminded that even eunuchs are not entirely immune to the allure of a voluptuous young female.

Bethesda narrowed her eyes and gave me an inquisitive look. “Well, Master, how soon shall we leave for Ephesus?”

“You’ll need a pseudonym.” Kettel stood in the doorway of the little room I shared with Bethesda and watched me pack. His bulk filled the passageway, making it hard for him to move his arms freely, so that as he nibbled at a handful of dates his fleshy elbows repeatedly struck the doorframe.

“When he traveled into the Delta, looking for the Cuckoo’s Gang, the Master called himself Marcus Pecunius,” said Bethesda. She was helping me look through my small wardrobe of well-worn tunics to see which ones needed mending, if I were to be presentable on my journey.

“But that’s a Roman name,” noted Kettel. “Unsuitable for this occasion. Nor should you take a native Egyptian name, I think, for you haven’t the proper complexion. You have the nose of a Roman, that’s for sure, but still, with your dark, curly hair and olive skin you could easily pass for a young man of Greek descent.”

“It needs to be a simple name-either that, or something very unusual,” I said. “Either way, a name that’s easy for me to remember, even if I’m half-awake or caught by surprise. And a credible name-something that won’t arouse suspicion or disbelief.”

“How do you know so much about assuming a false identity?” asked Berynus, who was so thin that he somehow managed to slide past Kettel to enter the room.

“I learned from my father, back in Rome,” I said. “He knows everything there is to know about using disguises and false names, not to mention poisons and antidotes, and how to pick any lock, or follow someone without being seen, or tell if someone is lying to you.” I sighed, suddenly missing my father very much and feeling homesick for Rome.

“Ah, yes, your father, who calls himself the Finder.” Kettel nodded. “You seem to have learned a great deal from the man, Gordianus.”

“Yet I never knew how much, until I was out in the world on my own and needed all those lessons. How would he choose a name for this occasion?” I glanced about the room, until my eyes fell on a scroll from my hosts’ library that I was reading at my leisure, an old play called in Greek Anthos, or “The Flower.” A copy had been among the few scrolls my father owned-the gift of a wealthy, satisfied client when he learned that the Finder’s son was studying Greek. Antipater had taught me to quote long passages from the play, to my father’s delight. The copy now at my bedside was owned by the eunuchs; during their years of royal service, they had acquired a great many scrolls, laying claim to damaged or redundant copies no longer needed in the great Library of Alexandria.

“Agathon,” I said. “I shall call myself Agathon, like the playwright of old Athens who wrote ‘The Flower.’”

Berynus glimpsed the scroll at my bedside and clapped his long, narrow hands. “An excellent choice! The name is neither too common nor too uncommon nowadays in Alexandria-we’ve all met an Agathon or two. And the name in Greek means ‘good fellow,’ which you certainly are.”

“And as I recall,” said Kettel, nibbling at a date, “‘The Flower’ was especially praised by Aristotle for giving pleasure, despite the fact that everything and everybody in the drama is completely made up-invented wholly from the author’s imagination. As shall be this identity under which you’ll be traveling, Gordianus-or rather, Agathon.”

“In this drama, our Agathon is going in search of Antipater,” said Berynus. “A playwright seeks a poet-there you have a mnemonic device that makes it easy to remember.”

I nodded, and did not explain that I should hardly forget the connection, since Antipater himself had drilled me in reciting Agathon.

“You’ll be needing travel documents, too,” noted Berynus.

“Yes, I was just thinking about that.” I had traveled widely with Antipater, but always as myself, Gordianus, citizen of Rome, and never using a false name. “Everyone entering Ephesus by ship is questioned, perhaps more closely now than ever. My old documents-the ones I’ve carried ever since I left Rome-won’t do. But I’ve crossed paths with a forger or two since I came to Egypt. I suppose, for a reasonable sum…”

“Nonsense!” said Kettel. “You needn’t hire a forger to produce suitable documents for this so-called Agathon of Alexandria. We can take care of that for you. Can’t we, Berynus?”

The thin eunuch squeezed his lips together to make a sour expression of displeasure, or so I thought at first; then I realized that his wizened features had compressed into a sly smile. The face of Berynus was not as easy to read as that of Kettel. Behind his tightly shut lips he was silently laughing.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “One does not spend a lifetime in the service of the royal palace without learning how to cut a corner here and there, or grant a special favor to a friend-or forge an official document, so expertly that not even the king himself could detect the counterfeit. Kettel and I can whip up documents for you that will fool the port authorities at Ephesus, never fear.”

“For such a favor, I would be very grateful,” I said. “How long does the journey take, if a ship sails directly from Alexandria to Ephesus?”

“Five days, more or less, depending on the weather and the winds,” said Berynus.

“How easy will it be for me to book passage on such a ship?”

“I don’t think you should have any trouble. With the new king on the throne, and the new king’s soldiers manning the docks and operating the Pharos Lighthouse, the shipping traffic in Alexandria appears to be back to its normal summer pace.”

“Yes, but for how long?” said Kettel. “The civil war here in Egypt may not be over. Shipping could be disrupted at any moment by some unforeseen event. If you must go, Gordianus, it will be best to book passage right away.”

I nodded, then frowned. “But when I arrive, along with examining my documents, the gatekeepers are sure to ask about the purpose of my visit. What pretext could a mute from Alexandria have for visiting Ephesus?”

“Why, to be cured of his muteness, of course!” said Kettel. “Perhaps you weren’t born mute. The affliction came upon you suddenly, as the result of some illness or because you offended some god. You’ve consulted every physician in Egypt, to no avail, and visited all the temples, seeking the help of any god or goddess willing to listen-”

“But again, to no avail.” I nodded, seeing where this tale was leading. “And some omen or oracle here in Egypt has directed me to go to Ephesus in search of a cure. Only the Artemis worshipped in Ephesus can grant me the favor I seek.”