Steven Saylor - Wrath of the Furies

“Taking you with us was not in my plans,” said Samson.

“If it’s payment you require, that can be arranged.” The prince gestured to the sacks carried by his two servants. “I managed to bring along a few personal items-rings and bracelets and other such trinkets.”

“I wouldn’t consider taking payment from you,” said Samson.

“You show wisdom. One day, I shall sit on the throne of Egypt, and when that happens, I shall not forget those who helped me in my time of tribulation.”

Without his fancy robes and ruby-eyed cobra crown, Ptolemy looked no different from any other plump-cheeked teenager. It was hard to imagine him ruling Egypt, but stranger things had happened.

“There’s something I want to know,” I said. “Was it you who sent me that page from Antipater’s diary?”

He nodded. “After my servants showed me the page, I told them to send it to you.”

“Why?”

“I thought it might lure you here, Gordianus of Rome. And so it did.”

“For what purpose?”

The prince sighed. “Luring you here was only one of many, many small schemes I’ve hatched in the days since I was captured. All the other schemes came to nothing, but this one…” He smiled. “It so happened that these two servants, assigned by Monime to spy on Antipater, were actually loyal to me- my spies, if you will. They secretly read his diary and reported back to me. It was clear that Antipater had lost enthusiasm for the cause of Mithridates, and that he especially disliked Monime. How might his discontent be turned to my advantage? When I discovered that Antipater had a young protege in Egypt-a Roman no less-my interest was further piqued. What mischief might occur if I could lure that young Roman to Ephesus, and reunite him with the disgruntled poet?”

“You merely wanted to make mischief?”

“Mischief creates opportunity! When a prince finds himself without power, making mischief and sowing discord may be the best he can do, along with biding his time. Many a Ptolemy has learned that lesson over the centuries. So-how to bring Gordianus of Rome to Ephesus? I couldn’t write to you myself-any such letter might be intercepted-but it occurred to me that that particular page from the diary might do the trick. And so it did. And the mischief created has borne fruit beyond my wildest expectations-for here am I, and there is the ship to take me away from this infernal place.”

I thought about this, and looked at the capsa in my hand. “Other pages from the diary seem to be missing. Antipater himself noticed.”

“Yes, there were certain comments he made about Egyptian politics-about my father and uncle, and even about myself-that I prefer no one should read. So I had those pages destroyed-as I suggest you do with the pages that remain. One never knows what further mischief they might spawn.”

I looked at the others on the pier, including Freny. “How did Monime learn of the king’s attraction to Freny-from the two servants watching Antipater?”

“Yes. They had to report something back to the queen, to make a pretense of being her spies in the household. A tidbit like that seemed harmless enough.”

“Yet it almost got poor Freny killed!”

He nodded. “But you managed to prevent that. What a show you all put on the other night! Mithridates almost wet himself, and his vile bitch of a queen nearly fainted from terror.”

“I thought you liked Monime.”

“Like her?” He made an ugly face. “I loathe her! Oh, yes, I made a pretense of being her crony, her comrade, her cozy confidant-all the while trembling inside with disgust. She and her father are the worst sort of upstarts, crude commoners pretending to be royal. They’re nobodies, with no manners and no breeding. Cousin Mithridates is bad enough, but Monime…” He made a retching sound.

The captain called to Samson that the boat was ready to sail.

Samson looked at the prince for a long moment, then stepped aside and indicated that the rest of us should do likewise, so that Ptolemy could board first. As he walked up the pier, from somewhere in his tunic the prince produced his cobra crown and fitted it on his head. A shaft of sunlight pierced the mist and fell upon the sparkling ruby eyes.

Samson boarded the vessel. He helped Chaeremon step aboard. I boarded next, then helped Bethesda onto the ship.

On the pier, with much weeping, Anthea and Amestris said their last farewells to Freny. At last she came aboard, and the ship cast off. The two women stood on the pier, waving. I gazed at the face of Amestris for as long as I could. Then the fog thickened, and I saw only two spots of yellow that gradually disappeared in the mist.

“Will we stop at Rhodes?” I asked.

“That was my plan,” said Samson, “but according to my informants in Ephesus, the king’s navy has already blockaded the island. We’ll have to steer well clear of Rhodes.”

We were a day out of Ephesus, sailing on the open sea under a cloudless sky. Freny and Bethesda were nearby, dozing under the warm sun. Prince Ptolemy, stricken by seasickness despite the calm waters, was somewhere belowdecks, attended by his two servants. Chaeremon, still wearing Antipater’s tunic, stood at the prow, gazing at the sea.

“So there’ll be no reunion for Chaeremon and his two sons on Rhodes?”

“Not yet.”

“Will we head straight for Alexandria, then?” That was my hope.

Samson shook his head. “I’m not sure about that. Amestris asked me to take Freny to Tyre. And I have some business in Jerusalem. To get there, we would land at Joppa.”

“Isn’t that where Perseus rescued Andromeda from the sea monster?”

“So the Greeks say.”

I stared at the sea for a while. “Why go to Jerusalem? I thought you were an Alexandrian Jew.”

“A Jew is a Jew, Gordianus. Every Jew has a reason to visit Jerusalem.”

“What is your reason?” Once again I realized how little I knew of Samson’s true agenda.

“I want to make an offering at the Temple.”

“Which one?”

“There is only one Temple.”

“What sort of offering? One of those precious items you retrieved from the stolen treasury?”

“Perhaps.” He fingered the hem of the old cloak he insisted on wearing. “Did I ever tell you that one of my ancestors fought for Alexander the Great?”

“No. I wasn’t aware there were Jews in Alexander’s army.”

“Oh, yes. Alexander himself visited Jerusalem, and my ancestor fought for him all the way to India and back.”

We stared at the sea.

“What was in that capsa Antipater gave you?” asked Samson. “Some final poems from the world’s greatest poet?”

“No. There were no poems. Only a sort of diary.”

“Still, the world might want to read it. There must be an audience for anything that came from the hand of Antipater of Sidon. You could hire scribes to copy it, and sell copies to rich Romans who like to appear cultured. I’m sure the Library at Alexandria would want a copy.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think it would enhance Antipater’s reputation. Also, he makes references to people and events that might yet do harm to someone, as this war between Mithridates and Rome continues. No, I think Antipater’s diary must remain a secret-though it would be hard for me to burn it, as he asked me to. It’s too precious to me.”

“By all means, don’t burn it! So many precious things are lost to fire, and decay, and flood, and even to hungry insects.” Samson smiled. “I have a secret, too.”

“ You, Samson? Imagine that!”

“Now that we’re safely away from Ephesus, on the open sea, where no one can overhear, I think I shall tell you.”