Leaving the litter-bearers behind, and led by a few among us bearing torches, we walked a short distance, stopping at a low wall made of rough-hewn stones. There was a break in this wall, beyond which a gravel path led to a circle of towering cypress trees. In the darkness, it was hard to judge the diameter of this circle. The tall, slender trees stood so close together that they formed a sort of wall. Whatever might be inside that circle of trees could not be seen.
The night was very still. There was no sound except that of footsteps and the crackling of torches. A company of spear-bearers approached; these were the king’s private bodyguards, clad in armor and helmets that gleamed in the torchlight. They escorted a small group dressed in the same dark tunics as the Magi and Megabyzoi. Among the approaching faces illuminated by the flickering light I saw those of Antipater and Rutilius.
At the head of this company was a man who would have stood out even if he had not been wearing a fillet of purple and white on his head. Mithridates stood taller than even the tallest of his bodyguards, and his black tunic did not conceal the breadth of his shoulders and the brawniness of his arms and legs. Though the night was warm, he wore a cloak as well, just as Kysanias had predicted, saying the king always wore it for important occasions-the purple cloak of Alexander the Great, taken from the Egyptian treasury at Cos. The gold embroidery on the cloak caught the light, further setting him apart from the rest of us.
The king’s face was clean-shaven, showing his powerful jaw. Torchlight picked out strands of silver amid the long hair combed back from his face. His strong features were those of a man who looks his best in middle age. His mouth was grim but his eyes glittered with confidence.
The only other monarch I had ever seen so close at hand was the recently deposed King Ptolemy, back in Egypt. Two men could not have been more dissimilar. If King Ptolemy was the fattest man I’d ever seen, Mithridates was one of the fittest, and certainly the most formidable. Seeing him in the flesh, I despaired for his enemies, including Rome.
I despaired for myself, as well, for this was the man we were conspiring to deceive. Even at a glance, I saw that Mithridates was no man’s fool. What had we been thinking? I remembered the scoffing noises Bethesda had made as I described our scheme. I felt light-headed. A trickle of sweat snaked its way down my spine.
Next to the king, so much smaller that she seemed almost a child, was the queen. Monime was swathed in black silk. Her body merged into the darkness, so that her red-gold hair and pale round face seemed almost to levitate, as if attached to nothing beneath.
I glanced at the others in the king’s company. Besides Antipater and Rutilius, I recognized the young Prince Ptolemy, who stood near Monime. The golden cobra of his uraeus crown, with its ruby eyes, glittered in the light. Why was he being included in the ritual? Did the king think of the kidnapped prince as part of his household? Or, since he wore a crown, was Ptolemy present as a royal representative of Egypt, despite his father’s fall from the throne?
There was also a man I took to be Metrodorus of Scepsis, the so-called Rome-Hater, one of the king’s closest advisors. Kysanias had described the man and told me a little about him the previous night, saying Metrodorus would be the observer around whom we must be most careful, because of his famous ability to remember every detail of everything he saw and heard. Metrodorus had perfected his memory with a method of his own invention, based somehow on the divisions of the zodiac. I wished I could have met him under other circumstances. My father had taught me some simple tricks of memorization, but what might Metrodorus be able to teach me?
Also near the front of the company was a man I assumed to be Monime’s father, Philopoemen. As Episcopus of Ephesus, he carried a staff with a gold knob at the top to show his authority as a royal overseer. I looked at him only for an instant, because I suddenly saw two men farther back in the group, hidden in the shadows until that moment.
The two men stood out for very different reasons, one on account of his size-he was even taller than the king, indeed quite possibly the largest man I had ever seen-and the other because, unlike everyone else, he was dressed in white. The giant had a gaunt, grim face and yellow hair, and held a chain linked to an iron collar around the Roman’s neck-for the other man was most certainly a Roman because he was wearing a toga, and not just any toga but one with a broad purple stripe, marking his status as a promagistrate authorized to wage war. This had to be the captured Roman general, Quintus Oppius, and his keeper was the giant called Bastarna. Kysanias had told me these two might be present, the king’s bully leading the king’s pet Roman on a leash. Standing out because of his toga, was Oppius meant to attract the attention of the Furies and call down their wrath on his fellow Romans?
Kysanias stood before at the opening in the low stone wall. We gathered before him in a semicircle. He addressed us in his deep, commanding voice. “We have arrived at the Grove of the Furies. This stone wall marks the perimeter of the sacred precinct. Except for the sacrificial knife and ax in my hands…” Kysanias held them upright, so that the blades glittered in the torchlight. “Except for these, no weapon of any sort can be allowed beyond this point. If you wish your bodyguards to accompany you, Your Majesty, they must lay down their arms.”
“That will not happen, Your Eminence,” said Mithridates. “These men keep their arms at all times.”
“Then they must remain outside the wall,” said Kysanias. In his voice I heard no quaver of doubt or hesitation, and took heart. Might we succeed, after all?
“Very well,” said the king. “These men will stay here. Except for Bastarna. I want the Roman dog to witness the sacrifice, and someone has to hold his leash. Lay down your weapons, Bastarna.”
The giant made a grumbling noise, but obediently unbuckled the sword and sheathe from his belt and removed several other small knives and bludgeons from his person.
“Does any other man here have a weapon?” asked Kysanias. “If you wish to enter the grove, you must lay it down now. Any weapon present during the ritual is likely to provoke the rage of those we are here to placate.” Kysanias looked at Mithridates as he said these words. Even in Alexandria people knew the story of the concealed blade that Mithridates had used to kill an unsuspecting rival in full view of both their armies, pulling it out of a hiding place next to his genitals after both men had professed to be disarmed.
Kysanias continued to stare at the king. Mithridates gazed back defiantly, but finally reached into his clothing and pulled out a dagger. The silver handle glittered with jewels. He handed it to the captain of his bodyguards.
The man took the dagger reluctantly. “Your Majesty should not go unarmed into a place where his bodyguards cannot follow.”
“But if every other man present is unarmed, there will be no danger,” said Mithridates. His eyes swept across the semicircle of listeners, and for an instant he looked straight at me. Another trickle of sweat worked its way down my spine.
The king’s gaze eventually came to Monime. They smiled at each other, as if at some private joke, and then Monime reached into the folds of black silk and pulled out her own bejeweled dagger, a smaller companion to the one carried by her husband. Mithridates took it and handed it to the captain, who now held a royal dagger in each hand and did not look happy about it.