“I am not! I simply have manners. It’s something one acquires after ten generations of being royal. Maybe in couple of centuries, your descendants will have learned some manners, Moni.”
“If you call me Moni, I will call you Ptoly.”
“The indignities I must endure! But I am your prisoner, after all.”
The chamberlain cleared his throat. “If Her Majesty finds the candidate unsatisfactory-”
“Oh, no. He seems satisfactory.” The queen looked me up and down. “Quite satisfactory, in every way. Of course the Grand Magus must have a look at him, and the Great Megabyzus as well. But he appears to be whole and unblemished. Are you whole and unblemished, Agathon of Alexandria?”
I was not quite sure what she meant by this, but I nodded.
“Well, then, the task my dear husband set me is almost complete. We have the blind man, and the deaf man, and now the mute. Next we must acquire the proper virgin for the sacrifice.”
Prince Ptolemy gave her a sidelong glance. “I should think the king had reserved the task of selecting the virgin for himself.”
“Oh, I’m sure he would have liked that, but I insisted that he let me choose all the necessary participants, including the virgin.” Monime looked past me, at Bethesda. “I don’t suppose she’s a virgin?”
The queen returned her gaze to me. I’m not sure what expression crossed my face, but she found her answer.
Monime pursed her lips. “No, I suppose she’s not.”
“But would a slave do, for the virgin?” said the prince.
“Of course a slave will do. It’s customary, in fact, for such sacrifices. Or so I’m told. This sort of thing is more Persian than Greek. It was the Magi’s idea, of course, not the Megabyzoi’s, though they insist on playing a role as well.”
“We Egyptians do not practice human sacrifice,” said the prince, with an air of superiority. “I didn’t think the Greeks did so, either, at least not any longer.”
“Oh, yes, it’s still done, if rarely. Following the example of Agamemnon with Iphigenia, you know. I’m told that even the Romans practice human sacrifice from time to time, though they don’t like to admit it.”
I would have liked to protest this slander, but I kept my mouth shut. Not only was I pretending to be mute, I was also pretending not to be a Roman. But what was this talk of human sacrifice, and what sort of role had I been chosen to play? It seemed a cruel joke of the gods that the pretense meant to protect me from scrutiny-my inability to speak-had somehow made me the thing I least wanted to be, an object of interest to the Roman-hating royal household.
Queen Monime gave me another appraising look, then dismissed us all with a flick of her wrist. “Well then, take the mute away. Give him lodging with the others, and arrange for the Magi and the Megabyzoi to have a look at him and give their approval.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The chamberlain gave a low bow and began to back away. I imitated the bow and did likewise, bumping into Bethesda behind me, who made a complaining grunt. If Their Majesties noticed our awkwardness, they showed no sign. They seemed too busy teasing each other.
“It’s hard work, being a queen,” sighed Monime.
“Ha! You should try ruling Egypt,” said the prince. Despite his jovial tone, there was an edge in his voice; his father had been driven from the throne and he himself was a captive of some sort.
“Rule Egypt?” said Monime. “The King of Kings will have to take back all of Greece, first. But then … who knows?”
How Prince Ptolemy reacted to this suggestion I did not hear. We retreated though the veils, and then through the door, which closed behind us, leaving the chamberlain, Bethesda, and myself once more in the gilded vestibule outside the queen’s reception room.
“Come along, then,” said the chamberlain, unbending his back and straightening the bejeweled turban on his head. “I’ll show you to your quarters.”
XIII
A room of my own, in a royal palace? This was to be a new experience, I thought.
We walked down a broad corridor, passing well-dressed courtiers, pretty serving girls, and swaggering soldiers. Down a side corridor I caught a glimpse of some men dressed in wildly colorful robes and headdresses whom I took to be Magi, having seen a few on my trip to Babylon with Antipater. The Magi were engaged in a spirited debate, but I was able to catch only a few words of Persian.
I tried to get a good look at every face we passed. Was it possible that Antipater might not be at the house of Eutropius, but here in the royal palace, summoned for a dinner or some other function? And would I know him if I saw him? During our journey he had several times donned disguises, putting on putty noses, stuffing his cheeks, and wearing wigs. Might he be incognito even here, in the court of the man whom he had served, and perhaps still served, as a spy?
I saw a number of gray heads and stooped elders and tried to get a good look a them, but none appeared to be Antipater.
We descended to a lower level. The floor beneath our feet changed as we went down, from marble on the upper landing to plain wood on the last flight of steps-highly polished wood, to be sure, but no match for the marble upstairs. Here the hallways were narrower, the decorations sparser, and the people less elegantly dressed. I was no longer sure who was a household slave and who was not-except that no slave, even in the most common household, would dare to spit on the floor, as I saw one man do. He leaned against a wall cleaning his teeth with a silver pick, dressed in a sleeveless tunic and wearing a great deal of jewelry. His bearded face registered no emotion as we passed, but I saw him wink at Bethesda. Then he spat again.
The chamberlain wrinkled his nose. “The things that fellow gets away with,” he muttered. “And only because he can throw things in the air!”
I glanced back over my shoulder. This was my first look at Sosipater, whom I would later learn was not only the world’s greatest juggler, but also one of King Mithridates’s favorite dinner companions. His muscular arms were adorned by many bands of silver and gold-bands he had juggled for the king’s amusement, as I would later learn, and with which the king had rewarded him, letting Sosipater keep as many bands as he could keep in the air at once. How many bands was that? There were certainly more of them glittering around his arms than I could count at a glance.
A troupe of giggling, scantily dressed girls swept past us. Normally they would have set my head spinning, but after gazing at Queen Monime I found them plain and uninteresting. Walking beside me, Bethesda noticed my apathetic response and raised an eyebrow, pleased that I showed no reaction, displeased because she probably guessed the reason.
“Dancers!” mumbled the chamberlain. He made it sound as if dancing were the only thing more distasteful than juggling.
We rounded a corner and ahead of us I heard the sound of a flute being played, and not too well. As the shrill music grew louder, I had a sinking feeling. Sure enough, the chamberlain led me to the doorway of the room from which the music was coming.
“Your quarters,” he said.
I had been imagining a spacious chamber that opened onto one of those balconies or terraces I had seen from outside. The room I peered into was dark and dingy. A high window admitted the last faint glow of the long summer day, but afforded no view. The furnishings were sparse. A flickering lamp was set atop a small table, and next to that was a single chair. A rug that had seen better days covered most of the plain wooden floor.
Placed longwise against each of three walls were three narrow beds. On the bed to my left sat the man who was murdering the flute. On the bed to my right sat another man, who gave me a keen look as I stepped inside, then looked at Bethesda as she followed me. The music suddenly stopped. The man on my left lowered the flute and cocked his head. He stared at me with vacant, cloudy eyes.