Outside, the chamberlain awaited me in the hallway. Two men were walking toward us. I gasped a little when I recognized Metrodorus of Scepsis, the Rome-Hater. With him was the Roman exile, Rutilius-the Roman without a toga, as I shall always think of him.
The two were deep in conversation. I heard a few scattered words, something to do with “logistics” and “weapons to be used” and-at this my ears pricked up-“the problem of disposing of all those bodies.”
Then, quite clearly, I heard Rutilius say, “Burn them, bury them, take them out to sea and dump them overboard! I’m more concerned about what’s to be done with all the personal effects-jewelry and coins and such. It mustn’t descend to simple looting and chaos-”
Rutilius at last took notice of me, and fell silent. He gave me a quizzical look. Did I look vaguely familiar? Had he seen me across a room on some occasion, back in Rome? I was certain we had never been introduced.
Nor were we to be introduced now. Metrodorus spoke to the chamberlain. “Don’t just stand there, man. The king is expecting us. Go in and announce us.” He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then turned to look me in the eye.
Without thinking, I spoke his name aloud, as one sometimes does in the presence of a famous man. “Metrodorus the Rome-Hater!”
He smiled rather grimly and nodded. “And who are you?”
“Nobody,” I said. “Nobody at all.”
The chamberlain showed them into the room and announced them to the king, then withdrew. Without a word he escorted me back the way we had come, all the way out of the palace. I was not even fed dinner with the entertainers and buffoons below stairs.
[Here ends this fragment from the secret diary of Antipater of Sidon.]
XVI
After the examination by the Magi and Megabyzoi, on the way back to my quarters, again I thought I saw Antipater.
I was following the chamberlain, lost in thought, when I happened to look down a hallway that opened to our left. In the passageway parallel to ours I saw-for only a moment, since they were heading in the opposite direction-another chamberlain escorting a man with a white beard. I was certain this was the man I had seen before. I was almost certain it was Antipater.
I very nearly called his name, but bit my tongue. I tugged at the chamberlain’s cloak.
“What are you doing?” he snapped. “Your room is this way.”
I gestured with some urgency my desire to go the other way.
“If it’s a latrina you need, that’s in this direction, as well.” He grabbed my arm.
I broke from his grip and headed down the adjoining hall, walking fast. When I reached the spot where I thought I had seen Antipater, I turned and headed in the direction they had been walking. I went for some distance, looking up and down the intersecting hallways. The gray-bearded man and his escort were nowhere to be seen.
The chamberlain caught up with me. “If you keep running off like this, I shall assign an armed guard to watch you! What were you thinking, anyway? If only you could speak…” He shook his head. “Now, are you going to follow me or not? Your dinner is this way.”
Obediently, I followed. Probably it was not Antipater, I told myself. It was only my imagination.
* * *
Since she was not merely my slave, but also my voice, Bethesda was allowed to join me in a large room where we dined with a great many others. Some stood about talking. Some sat on chairs or reclined on couches while servants carrying trays passed through the room offering various delicacies. The diners included the juggler Sosipater, who was actually one of the less colorful characters, for in this company eccentric manners and flamboyant dress were the norm. I was reminded of the actors and mimes I had known in Alexandria, and felt quite at ease, especially since I was not required to say anything.
As Gnossipus had promised, the food was excellent. Apparently we were served dishes that had been deemed not quite good enough to serve to the upstairs guests, along with the leftovers they failed to eat. If this was the food deemed second-rate, I could only imagine the quality of the dishes being enjoyed by the king and the more esteemed guests and residents of the royal palace.
There were various kinds of fowl and fish, steamed or broiled or grilled, all served with wonderful sauces. There were a great many vegetables, and ripe summer fruits, including peaches and plums and the much-talked-about cherries, which were indeed delicious.
I heard many languages being spoken, and saw many different sorts of dress. The patchwork kingdom of Mithridates now stretched from the farthermost shores of the Euxine Sea to the Mediterranean, and from the land of the Scythians to the north to that of the Persians to the south. The people around me represented a sampling of the many nationalities now united under the king’s sway. Mithridates himself was said to speak two dozen languages. That sort of polyglot virtuosity amazed me, since I often thought that I was still mastering my native tongue and barely fluent in a second. Or as an exasperated Antipater had once said of me, “The boy knows little Latin and less Greek.”
Moving about the room, I had a closer look at the dancing girls, who dined in a group and never seemed to stop giggling. Not one of them could compare to Bethesda, I thought. But when Bethesda caught me staring at them, she got the wrong idea, and gave me a withering look. How I longed to tell her-no, show her-what I was truly feeling at that moment. How frustrating it was, that there was no place where we could be alone. Perhaps later, in my quarters, if we waited until both Gnossipus and Damianus were asleep.…
A large man brushed by me and spoke so quietly I barely heard him. “Latrina. Bethesda knows and will stay here. Follow me.”
With a start, I realized that the speaker was Samson. I turned to see his mane of dark hair and his broad shoulders as he walked toward one of the exits. I glanced at Bethesda, who gave me a barely perceptible nod, then cast a look at Samson perhaps not unlike the looks I had given the dancing girls. Feeling a twinge of jealousy, and annoyed at the interruption to my dinner, I did as Samson asked and followed him at a discreet distance.
He headed in the direction of a latrina that had already been pointed out to me by the chamberlain, but before reaching it he turned about, ascertained that only the two of us were in the hallway, then gestured for me to follow him down a side passage and into a shadowy room. He pulled me inside, then closed the door. There was a simple latch to lock it.
The room was not completely dark. A high window admitted a bit of starlight, so that I could vaguely see the features of his broad face and his plaited beard.
“We’re alone,” he whispered. “No one will disturb us here. You can speak, but keep your voice low. I’ll keep you here as briefly as I can, and I’ll ask you to speak as little as possible. From the gossip around the palace, I understand that you were selected to come here because of your muteness. They want you to take part in some sort of ritual.”
I didn’t speak for a long moment. “Yes,” I finally said. “Now you answer a question for me. What are you doing in the palace?”
Samson smiled. His white teeth gleamed in the starlight. “Isn’t it convenient, that we should both have ended up in the king’s household?”
This was no answer at all. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll have to guess. You’re not here as a juggler or an actor. I think you’re a diplomat, Samson. Or posing as one.”
“A diplomat?”
“An official representative of the Jews of Alexandria.”
Even by the faint starlight, I could see the deep furrow that wrinkled his brow. I was right, or right enough to have thrown him off balance.