Steven Saylor - The Seven Wonders

“More likely,” said Posidonius quietly, “the sculptor Chares realized it would never do for the fellow to remain on Rhodes. What would people think, if they realized a barbarian slave had been the model for Helios, rather than some famous, freeborn athlete of good Rhodian blood? I suspect Chares gave the slave his freedom and a bit of silver, put him on a ship, and told him never to come back.”

“But, even if we grant that this fantastic story could be true,” said Antipater, “we have no way of knowing what Vindovix’s ancestor looked like.”

“Unless he looked exactly like his descendant, who sits before us,” said Posidonius. “Certain features, and combinations of features, recur in a given bloodline, generation after generation; like begets like. Can it be a coincidence that Vindovix claims his ancestor was the model for the Colossus, and that both you and Gordianus saw Vindovix’s resemblance to the statue?”

“Only after you prompted them,” said Cleobulus. “If this was an experiment, Teacher, your methodology was deeply flawed.”

“To be sure, the outcome of my little experiment was merely suggestive, not conclusive.” Posidonius pressed his fingertips together. “Perhaps we shall learn more when my precious cargo arrives tomorrow.”

“Yes, what is this treasure that Gatamandix and Vindovix went seeking down in Lindos?” said Antipater.

“Now that you’ve seen both the Colossus and Vindovix, and judged the resemblance for yourself, I suppose I can tell you,” said Posidonius. “Gatamandix came with me to Rhodes so that he might learn from his travels, but Vindovix came for a more singular purpose-so that he might see the remains of the Colossus with his own eyes. The story of his ancestor’s role in its creation has been in his family for two hundred years, and when Fate brought a visitor from Rhodes into his life, it seemed to him that he must be destined to come here.

“And then, my brilliant pupil Cleobulus-whose studies include the history of the Colossus-got word of a life-sized statue made of plaster that closely resembles the Colossus, down in Lindos. Might it be a scale model created by Chares himself? No such model has ever been found before. The thing was said to be housed in a farmer’s shed, along with some of Chares’ tools. The farmer apparently had no idea what such artifacts would be worth to a scholar like myself, though I daresay I made a fair offer when I sent Cleobulus down to Lindos to ascertain their authenticity and condition. It seemed only fitting that Vindovix should go with him, along with Gatamandix.”

“And was the plaster statue authentic?” said Antipater.

Cleobulus cleared his throat. “I have every reason to think so. The statue didn’t bear Chares’ mark, but then, he wouldn’t have bothered to put that on a plaster cast, would he? However, tools stamped with the mark of Chares’ workshop were found in the same shed, and also a scroll in a leather case. The document is very faded and brittle, but it clearly shows diagrams and mathematical calculations for enlarging the model to the scale of the Colossus.”

“Marvelous!” said Antipater. “What was the statue’s condition?”

“Except for a few nicks here and there,” said Cleobulus, “and patches of mold and other discolorations on the white plaster, it was in remarkably good shape, considering its age and fragility. It was in a corner of the shed, surrounded by moth-eaten rugs. The old farmer said it had been there since he was a child.”

“But did it look like Vindovix?” I asked.

Cleobulus exchanged a look with the two Gauls. His nostrils flared. Gatamandix’s face was inscrutable. Vindovix looked amused.

“On that, we had a difference of opinion,” said Cleobulus.

“No matter,” said Posidonius. “Barring a storm at sea or some other catastrophe, the ship should arrive in the harbor tomorrow. When the statue is brought here and uncrated, we can stand it side by side with Vindovix, and each of us can judge for himself.”

“What a splendid occasion that will be!” declared Antipater. “A suitable subject for a poem.…

Cleobulus glumly shook his head.

* * *

After dinner, Posidonius retired to his library. It was his habit to stay up late, reading and writing. Antipater went directly to bed. The two Gauls retired to their guest quarters. Cleobulus, who lived with his parents in a house not far away but was in no hurry to go home, suggested that he and I share some wine and play a few rounds of a Rhodian board game. Away from the Gauls, and after a cup or two of wine, he turned out to be an amiable enough companion, and very good at tossing dice. When I finally won a round, I suspected it was only because he let me.

After conclusively thrashing me in the final round, Cleobulus took his leave and headed home. I visited the latrina at the far corner of the house-Posidonius’s plumbing was as modern as any in Rome-and was heading to my bedroom when I encountered a hulking silhouette.

The passage was lit only by pale moonlight, but there was no mistaking the figure before me. Who else was that big, and had such a mane of coarse hair? Though I could see him only dimly, it appeared that Vindovix was no longer dressed in his strange Gallic costume. Indeed, he appeared to be wearing nothing at all. Perhaps that was how Gauls slept, I thought. Presuming he was on his way to the latrina, I stepped aside to let him pass, but he didn’t move.

“Can you not sleep, either, my Roman friend?” he said.

“I was just going to bed.”

“Alone?”

I shrugged. “Posidonius’s house is very large. I have my own room.”

“So do I. Perhaps you would like to join me?”

“Oh, no, my room is quite comfortable.”

He sighed, sounding exasperated. “At dinner, you said I could sleep with you if I should ever come to Rome.”

“Well, that’s not exactly-”

“Why wait? We can sleep together tonight.”

His meaning at last became clear to me. I looked at the figure before me-more than a head taller than I, and almost twice as broad-and laughed a bit nervously.

“Is it my moustache?” he said. He shook his head. “How you Greeks seem to hate it! I can’t understand. In Gaul, a fine moustache is a mark of manhood. It’s quite an honor, to be allowed to touch another man’s moustache. Here, Gordianus, see for yourself.” He took my hand and raised it to his face.

For an instant, my fingertips made contact with the silky hair above his lip, then I snatched my hand away. I mumbled something about heading to my room. He did not yield at all, and I had to squeeze past him. He snorted, sounding quite disgusted.

I hurried down the passage and around a corner-where I ran into our host, vaguely lit from behind by the glow from his library.

“I fear you’ve offended him, Gordianus,” Posidonius whispered.

“Offended him? I don’t see how. If anything-”

“The Gauls are not like the Greeks, Gordianus, and certainly not like the Romans. They have their own customs about this sort of thing. He was doing you an honor by inviting you to join him.”

“Yes, perhaps, but-”

“And you gave him great offense when you refused. I don’t think he’s used to that.”

“Perhaps not in Gaul, but-”

“Here, step into the library, where we can talk properly.” He led the way. Once there, he offered me a cup of wine, and I did not refuse.

“It’s a curious thing,” he said, taking a sip. “In my opinion, the Gallic women are the most comely of all barbarian females, yet the Gallic men hardly seem to notice them. They’re all mad for each other. They even have a form of marriage between men, but that doesn’t stop them from being wildly promiscuous. Now among the Greeks, there is a long and venerated tradition of intimate relations between comrades in arms, or between an older man and a younger whom he chooses to mentor. But among the Gauls-well, anything goes! Often they sleep in groups at night, rolling around on fur skins until all hours, the more the merrier. The best-looking young men strut about, flaunting their moustaches and brazenly offering themselves to anyone who might be interested. They have no standards at all.”