“I see their eyes, in the trees! I see their wings!” This cry, surprisingly high-pitched and with a strange accent, came from Bastarna. By the light of one of the few remaining torches, I could see the giant’s face. His expression was one of sheer terror. He had shortened the chain held in his fist, doubling it over several times as if to make it into a weapon. Quintus Oppius was forced to stand on tiptoes, clutching at the iron collar around his neck. His tongue was out and his face was dark red.
Bastarna stiffened. He shut his eyes and whimpered-then screamed like a little girl.
The squealing giant looked so ridiculous, I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.
Even as I helplessly laughed I felt a quiver of panic, thinking I had ruined everything. But because I tried to stifle it, the laugh came out as a blubbering bark. The sound was so bizarre, so horrifically out of place, it must have seemed yet another manifestation of the uncanny voice, for it caught the attention of everyone in the grove. They flinched at the sound, and grimaced, and stared at me, aghast.
Antipater gave me another poke. “Darkness comes!” cried the uncanny voice, while I mouthed the words. “We bring upon you darkness and death and destruction!”
Only two torches still burned. They sputtered and went out.
“Everyone will be staring at one of those torches, craving the light,” Kysanias had predicted. “Their eyes will be dazzled, so that when the torches go out they’ll be as blind as Gnossipus. Close your eyes for a moment, Gordianus, so that when you open them, you’ll be able to see by starlight.”
There was a sharp cracking noise. Severed near its base, one of the trees directly behind Kysanias swayed and then began to fall into the circle, toppling toward the altar in the center. Kysanias grabbed the Grand Magus and shoved him out of the way. Damianus did the same for Gnossipus, who cried out in confusion.
Below me, Freny could see the dark silhouette of the towering tree falling straight toward her. She screamed into her gag and writhed wildly from side to side.
This was the most critical moment. My instinct was to run from the falling tree, but if I were to save Freny, this was the only chance.
I stepped off the wooden platform. The altar, carved from a single block of marble, was also hollow. When I kicked aside the platform on which I had been standing, a door was revealed. The door opened to an empty compartment within the altar. This space, Kysanias had explained, was now used only for the storage of sacrificial utensils, but it had originally been intended for hiding the animal to be sacrificed, which could thus, under the right circumstances of darkness and distraction, be produced as if from nowhere-a typical example of the chicanery used by priests to awe their congregants.
With all my strength I took hold of Freny’s shoulders and pulled her toward me, off the altar and into my arms. Holding her tightly, I fell to my knees and scrambled inside the hidden chamber.
As soon as we were inside, the door was closed behind us, and the concealing platform was pushed back in place by Kysanias. We were in absolute darkness.
There was a tremendous crash as the midsection of the tree struck the altar and splintered into pieces. The altar lurched as if there had been an earthquake, but the marble did not crack.
Freny struggled against her bonds and squealed into the gag.
“Quiet!” I whispered in her ear. “Trust me, Freny.”
She grew still, but her body remained stiff and wary in my arms, like a frightened bird.
Only vaguely could I hear any noises from outside. It was impossible to know what was being said or done.
My work was finished. I had only to lie very still, keep Freny quiet, and wait until one of the others came for us.
Unless the enraged Furies came for us first.
XXXIII
In that dark, tomblike chamber, Freny and I lay side by side for what seemed to be hours.
For a while I heard muffled, indistinct noises from outside. Then the noises stopped, and there was only silence.
Eventually I dared to speak, but only in a whisper. I explained to her what had happened, and what I hoped would happen next. We would have to be patient. If we were to push open the door, and someone should see us, all would be lost. We had to wait until one of the others came for us.
Moving awkwardly and in darkness, I managed to undo her gag and the bonds constraining her arms. Then I fell into a sort of stupor. My performance as the embodiment of Antipater’s uncanny voice had depleted all my resources. I was exhausted.
Time seemed to grind slowly to a stop. The air became thick. The darkness was absolute. I began to wonder if we might already be dead, slain by the Furies, and this was to be our afterlife. Had we arrived in Tartarus, here to dwell in blackness forevermore?
Perhaps I slept for a while, and this notion of Tartarus was only a dream. In such a place it was hard to tell whether I was awake or not.
At last I heard the noise of the door being opened, and a shaft of light entered the compartment. It was the faint gray light of the hour before dawn, but to my light-starved eyes it seemed bright. At the same time a small gust of fresh air entered the chamber. I sucked it in, and realized how foul the air had become inside that tomblike space.
Stiff and blinking at the sudden light, and gasping for air, I managed to crawl backward out of the chamber. Freny, more nimble than I, quickly followed. Samson averted his eyes from her nakedness and handed her a simple tunic and a pair of shoes. She quickly dressed herself, and then the two of us managed to stand, blinking at the predawn glow that revealed the aftermath of our night in the Grove of the Furies.
The tree that had fallen lay broken into two parts on either side of the marble altar, bisecting the circular space. We three were alone in the grove.
“Your performance last night was quite amazing,” said Samson.
“So was yours,” I said, “far beyond what I expected.” For it was Samson, acting alone, who had shaken the trees and caused one of them to fall. “How exactly did you do it?”
He smiled. “Last night, while you and Antipater were going over your lines, I slipped out of the palace and came here, to have a look at the place.”
“By yourself?” said Freny, staring up at him wide-eyed. “You dared to come to such a spot in the dead of night, alone?”
“Young lady, I am a Jew,” he said. “This place is not sacred to me. I have no fear of these so-called Furies. I looked at the grove purely as a theatrical venue, and asked myself: what is there to work with, and what sort of effects might be achieved? As I circled the grove, from the outside, it occurred to me that if a man were strong enough, he might be able to run from tree to tree, leaping inside them and giving them a good shaking. I practiced doing so, and by breaking a few branches here and there I was able to clear a sort of path which allowed me to run from tree to tree, making each one shiver. Then I thought, what if, ahead of time, one of the trees was nearly severed, near the base, and then, when the time came, given a very hard push-”
“But how did you manage to cut through the tree trunk?” said Freny.
“I used an ax I found in that storage compartment inside the altar, where you’ve been hiding.”
I shook my head. “You used a consecrated ax from the altar of the Furies to cut down one of the sacred trees in the Grove of the Furies.” The brazen impiousness of such an act made my head spin. “I think we should leave this place as quickly as we can.”
“At once,” said Samson. “If you’re strong enough to walk,” he added, looking at Freny. “If not, I can carry you-”
“I’m not a weakling!” said Freny, with a laugh. She looked very slender and delicate by the soft morning light, but her laughter was strong and clear, and to hear it brought joy to my heart.
“Where are we going?” I asked, for this next step had been left undecided the night before.