Steven Saylor - The Seven Wonders

I frowned, feeling vaguely insulted.

“And if anyone should turn him down, a young Gaul takes such rejection as a terrible affront to his dignity. Vindovix is a very proud young fellow. As I say, I don’t think he’s used to being rebuffed.”

I grunted. “How do you know all this about the Gauls?”

Posidonius raised an eyebrow. “A traveler must be open to new experiences, Gordianus, or what is the use of travel? But I was not entirely surprised to find such customs among the Gauls. Aristotle commented on the relations between Gallic men. How he knew, I’m not sure, since Aristotle lived long before the invasion of Cimbaules-”

“Are you saying I should apologize to Vindovix?”

He smiled. “The two of you are set to spend the winter together under my roof. Do try to remember that Vindovix is a very long way from home, and he’s not much older than you are.”

I shook my head. “I must admit, I don’t know much about the world beyond Rome. This journey with Antipater is certainly opening my eyes. As for … touching Vindovix’s moustache … my father taught me that, while the Greeks may take a different view, among Romans carnal relations between males are acceptable only between a master and his slave, and only if the master plays the conqueror, and only if no one ever talks about it. My father frowns on such relations.”

“Why is that?”

“He says it’s unseemly to subject any slave, male or female, to unwanted advances.”

“What if the desire is mutual?”

“I asked him that. Between master and slave, he says, there inevitably exists some element of coercion.”

“I think your father is a bit of a philosopher, Gordianus.”

“I suppose he is.”

“Clearly, you’ve given some thought to these questions of human behavior. I’m sure things will work out between you and Vindovix, one way or another. Tell me, was your rejection of his advances predicated on your reaction to his primary or secondary substance?”

I recognized this as philosopher talk, but had no idea what he meant.

Posidonius pursed his lips. “Let me put it this way: is it that you find this particular man unattractive, or do you have no attraction to men at all?”

I considered this. “He’s awfully big.”

“Big? Oh, I see. You find the prospect daunting?”

“Well, yes.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. I believe Vindovix prefers that his partners ‘play the conqueror,’ as you call it.”

“Are you sure about that?” I pictured Vindovix, looming over me in the passage.

Posidonius gave me a knowing look. “Did you not embark on this journey with Antipater to have new experiences? We have a long, gloomy winter ahead of us. A bit of companionship might make the time pass much more pleasantly.”

From a small table nearby, a flash of light caught my eye. It was the knife of Gatamandix, its blade reflecting the light of a lamp hung above it. Lying next to it was a parchment with drawings on it.

Posidonius followed my gaze. “How Gatamandix loves that knife of his! It’s a sign of his authority, you see. Among the Gauls, the Druids are not just seers, but the guardians of moral conduct; they judge those accused of crimes and mete out punishments, including executions. A Druid’s knife is his ultimate tool of enforcement. Gatamandix cursed himself for leaving his knife behind when he went to Lindos; that’s why he was so disgruntled to see me holding it when he returned. Even so, I’ve persuaded him to lend it to me for a few days, so that I can make a thorough study of the decorations on the hilt. The iconography of the Gauls is amazingly complex, quite fascinating, really-”

I tried to suppress a yawn.

“Off to bed with you, then,” said Posidonius.

“No, please continue-”

“Off, I said.”

Before I knew it, I was back in the darkened passage, and Posidonius had shut the library door behind me. I headed to my room.

* * *

The ship from Lindos did not arrive the next morning. Apparently, there had been a windstorm off the coast-exactly the sort of weather that stopped ships from sailing at this time of year, even to make short journeys like that from Lindos to Rhodes. Probably the ship was merely delayed, said Posidonius; but I could see that he was nervous, no doubt imagining the precious plaster model lost forever at the bottom of the sea, or, just as bad, reduced to dust if the crate had come loose from the ropes securing it and been thrown this way and that on a storm-tossed ship. As darkness fell, the ship still had not arrived.

When we all gathered with our host for dinner-the Gauls, Cleobulus, Antipater, and myself-I noticed, with a bit of a start, that Vindovix had shaved his moustache. He looked almost civilized, I thought, and the change definitely heightened his resemblance to the Colossus. I tried not to stare, fearing he would misinterpret my interest, but he seemed to avoid my gaze altogether.

We were still eating when Zenas came rushing in to inform his master that the ship and its cargo had just arrived in the harbor, apparently safe and sound.

“Shall I have the crate unloaded and carted here at once, Master?” said Zenas.

Posidonius’s eyes lit up at the prospect, but he shook his head. “No, the hazards of transporting such a fragile object across the city by night are too great. We’ll leave that until morning. In the meantime, Zenas, I want you to spend the night on the ship and to keep watch over the crate. I can’t trust the crew to do so; after sailing through a storm, they’re likely to drink themselves into a stupor. Can you stay awake until dawn?”

“Certainly, Master,” said Zenas. “You can rely on me. I’ll guard the crate with my very life!”

Posidonius laughed. “And how would you do that-wielding your stylus and wax tablet like a sword and shield? Just see that the crate is securely tied down and that nothing falls on it or bumps into it. At first light, hire some carters to bring it here and make sure they avoid any potholes or sudden jolts.”

“The statue will come to no harm while it’s in my care, Master. Just let me fetch a heavy cloak to keep myself warm.” Zenas took his leave.

Smiling broadly, Posidonius clapped his hands and called for more wine. “Tomorrow, we shall see the face of the Colossus as it was rendered by the hand of Chares himself.”

* * *

But it was not to be.

Posidonius’s guests were all up early the next morning, and Cleobulus, having gone home after dinner, rejoined us shortly after dawn. An hour passed, and then another, and still the crate had not arrived. At last Posidonius sent a boy to check on Zenas’s progress.

An hour later the boy ran into the garden. “Master! I looked for Zenas everywhere, but I couldn’t find him.”

“Is he not on the ship?”

“No. The captain says that Zenas arrived there last night, just as the crew were going to bed. The last time they saw him, he was sitting atop the crate, looking very alert. But when they awoke this morning, Zenas was nowhere to be seen.”

“And the crate?”

“It’s still there, just as it was, tied down on the deck.”

Posidonius frowned. “This is not like Zenas. Not like him at all. I must go to the harbor at once to see what’s happened.”

“We’ll go with you,” said Antipater, and we all made ready to set out.

* * *

The slave was right: Zenas was nowhere to be seen. But some trace of him did remain. On the deck of the ship, not far from the crate, lay his stylus, and some distance away, amid a coil of rope, lay his wax tablet.

Posidonius shook his head. “Zenas would never mislay or abandon his stylus and wax tablet-not by choice. And why do they lie so far apart? This makes me very uneasy. At least the crate appears to be untouched,” he said, walking slowly around it.