“I could have run after him earlier this evening, when I saw him in the dining hall-”
“And take him by surprise? Have him call out your real name, and then wait for you to answer? Cause any passersby to wonder how the two of you might know each other? No, Gordianus, that would never do. You realize that.”
I took a deep breath. “Yes. But when-”
“So you don’t think the cloak flatters me?”
“No!” I said, raising my voice, then biting my tongue.
“Is it too small for me? Perhaps it would look better on you.” He began to pull it off. “If I were to offer it as a gift-”
“Samson, no more talk about this old cloak! Will I see Antipater tonight?”
He looked at me shrewdly. “Antipater, you say?”
“I mean … Zot-” I stammered awkwardly on the Z. “Zoticus-of course.”
“Of course. Zoticus, Antipater-well, we all seem to have more than one name, don’t we? Except for that beauty.” He smiled at Bethesda, who slept on her side with her hands folded beneath her head, too exhausted to be awakened by our hushed conversation.
I looked at her peaceful face and shook my head. “I should never have brought her here. What a situation I’ve landed us in! I should have thought of some other way, or simply stayed in Alexandria. But I was selfish. I wanted to come, and I wanted her with me. I didn’t want to be parted from her…” I was saying more than I should. I had already let slip Antipater’s true name. “Please, Samson. No more jesting. I want to see Zoticus. If he’s here in the palace, I want to see him now.”
Samson saw that my patience was exhausted. The smile vanished from his face. He nodded, and seemed about to speak when we heard a gentle rapping at the door. Bethesda turned in her sleep, but did not wake.
Samson cracked the door to peer out with one eye, then opened it just enough for the visitor to slip inside. It was not Antipater. The man was much younger, and slender, with chestnut hair. With a start, I realized it was Zeuxidemus, dressed not in his yellow robes but in a plain tunic and with his hair neatly combed.
I was so surprised I almost spoke, but caught myself. Samson saw my consternation. He smiled. “It’s all right, Agathon-Agathon, I say, because it will be simpler if we can all stick to one name, though we no longer have anything to hide from Zeuxidemus. You can speak, Agathon.”
Never had I trusted Samson less, and never had I needed to trust him more. A priest of Artemis was in the room, and Samson seemed ready to give me away, if he had not done so already. At last I found my tongue. “What does this mean? Why have you let this man into the room?”
“Things are moving very fast now,” said Samson. “Almost too fast for even me to keep up. As of yesterday, you had every reason to keep your secrets from Zeuxidemus. But today, all that has changed. Zeuxidemus has been vouched for, at the very highest level.”
“The highest level of what?”
“I understand your confusion, Agathon. But everything will soon be made clear to you-what is being asked of you, and what is being offered.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Something tells me this bargain will be lopsided.”
Samson cocked his head. “Indeed, it will be. What will be asked of you is as nothing compared to what may result.”
“What is that?”
Zeuxidemus spoke. “A chance, however slim, to save the lives of many people. Tens of thousands of people.”
“I came here to save only one.”
“You may yet be able to do that, as well,” said Samson.
“Something tells me there’s a risk involved.”
“Yes,” said Samson. “A terrible risk. But then again-no. None at all. If you accept what we offer, and things do not go precisely as we hope, then yes, you will almost certainly die. But if you don’t accept the role we offer, we shall expose you as a fraud, and then you will most certainly die, without question.”
The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. What was this talk of dying? I had been thinking only of somehow helping Antipater-if indeed he needed my help-and then contriving some way to get Bethesda and myself out of Ephesus, perhaps by relying on Samson, who seemed to understand every situation and had access to money and other resources from Rome. The idea that I might be killed-indeed, would probably be killed, no matter what, as so starkly stated by Samson-had not been in my mind.
The two of them saw the look on my face. They looked at each other.
“Will they be coming here?” asked Samson.
“No. Too risky,” said Zeuxidemus. “We’ll go to them.”
Samson nodded. “I see you’ve changed out of your yellow robes. A good idea. Less conspicuous that way.”
“Yes, but I’ll also have less authority to override anyone who questions us.”
“A headdress does give one perquisites,” said Samson.
“You, on the other hand, might wish to take off that … what is that thing you’re wearing over your shoulders, anyway?”
“Oh, this?” Samson touched the frayed hem of the cloak and smiled.
I gnashed my teeth at the prospect of being made to endure the same conversation again. “Let him wear the old cloak if he wants to,” I said. “If we’re going somewhere, why don’t we get started?”
Zeuxidemus raised an eyebrow. “He really can speak, can’t he? But by Artemis, that Roman accent! I hear accents like that every day, from all those Romans at the temple, but it’s a bit of a shock, hearing such a thing under this roof.”
“His accent isn’t as bad as some,” said Samson in my defense.
Zeuxidemus looked dubious. “It’s pretty thick. Say something else, Agathon.”
“I’ll call down some curses on you in Latin, if I don’t get some answers soon.”
Zeuxidemus pursed his lips. “Yes, I suppose we should go. That lamp is almost burned out. No point in the three of us standing here in the dark.”
“What about Bethesda?” I asked.
“The girl?” said Zeuxidemus. “Don’t worry. She’s quite safe here. Leave her sleeping.”
“Will I be back before she wakes?”
“If you come back at all,” said Samson.
XXVIII
[From the secret diary of Antipater of Sidon:]
To be mocked and made a fool of by that creature Sosipater! I surely can fall no lower. So here I sit, brooding and hungry and alone, unwilling to step foot in that dining hall as long as the juggler is holding court. Why am I back in the palace? What does the king want from me? Or was I brought here at the queen’s behest?
I wonder sometimes what would have happened if I had not hearkened to the call to serve Mithridates, had not faked my death, had never left Rome. Would I have been happier? Probably not, for Italy was plunged into a miserable civil war shortly after I left, and with the rise of Mithridates it is hard to imagine that Greek poets (or any other Greeks) are very popular in Rome nowadays. And had I not taken the course I chose, I would not have seen the Seven Wonders, watching young Gordianus grow from a boy into a man along the way. So it must be with any fork in the road of life, that either way may lead to joy and tribulation, and both will end at the same place.
I had thought that serving the king as court poet was to be my destiny, the capstone to my career. I would be celebrated not only for my poems in honor of the king, but for the risks I had taken and the dangers I had braved. All my secrets I would proudly reveal, and Antipater of Sidon would be famous as the poet who cheated death, who traveled the world as a spy, who witnessed the rebirth of the Greek world at the side of King Mithridates. Instead I am like a Titan forced into a tiny box and barely able to move. I cannot speak my own name, much less recite my poetry. I feel no inspiration to make a new poem. I am an old man and not long for this world. Is there not one last useful, meaningful thing I can do before the end?
But there, I hear someone knocking at my door. This cannot be good. But I suppose I cannot ignore it …