Furies (20 page)

“Pah!” Epiphaneus said sourly. “You sound like a damned Epicurist, pursuing pleasure through the avoidance of pain.”

“Oh? And what pain do you imagine I seek to avoid?”

“Why, the pain we all face, of course,” Epiphaneus said hoarsely, his bloodshot eyes suddenly filled with a profound sadness as they gazed into some indeterminate place far removed from the courtyard. “The pain of the void.” Tears slipped down his sagging cheeks and he began to cry.

“I think you’ve had enough for now,” Zeanthes said, signalling one of the slaves. “Perhaps Kushu can find you a couch where you can sleep it off.”

The other sophist was still sobbing as the slave
helped him to his unsteady feet and led him
into one of the adjoining rooms.

“You’ll have to forgive Epiphaneus, he spoke without thought,” Zeanthes said. “We should have watered down his wine a bit more.”

“Of course.”

“Come,” Calisto said with a smile. “I’m sure you’re both famished.”

Servants brought forth platters of food, far too much for the three of them to eat on their own. There were exotic fruits, cheeses, cold meats and bread, and a large silver platter overflowing with succulent, milky-pink shrimp and a delicious Tameotic wine as fine as any Aculeo had ever tasted – certainly far better fare than he’d had in months. He had to consciously keep from making an ass of himself and devouring everything in sight like some starving dog.

Calisto summoned Idaia partway through the meal and asked her to perform a dance while Calisto herself played the aulos, the same haunting melody he’d heard that first day they’d met. Aculeo sat back and watched her play, her fingertips dancing along the twin ivory flutes, her dark hair glistening in the soft rays of the afternoon sun as Idaia danced and twirled in the courtyard. There was something captivating in Calisto’s manner, her elegance, her grace …

It was over too soon. Zeanthes led the applause, which Aculeo quickly joined. Idaia beamed, out of breath, her face flushed.

“Such beauty and talent combined, truly a wonder,” Zeanthes said, sipping his wine, his eyes twinkling as he regarded Aculeo.

“A pleasure to behold,” Aculeo agreed.

“You’re both exceptionally kind,” Calisto said graciously.

“Calisto, I wonder if we might talk in private for a moment?”

“Certainly. I trust you’ll be alright here for a moment, Zeanthes. Idaia will be happy to entertain you.”

“Yes, yes, of course my dear,” the sophist said with a smile.

Calisto led Aculeo along a path of crushed red stone and box hedge that wound from the courtyard towards a chest-high wall housing a lovely inner garden, filled with lush tropical plants, great colourful and fragrant flowers and pretty little birds that flitted about the grounds through the trees, chirping their intricate melodies.

“Zeanthes is an interesting man,” Aculeo said.

“And a brilliant scholar,” she said. “I’m pleased you got a chance to meet one another.”

“You mentioned that Myrrhine lived here with you,” Aculeo said.

“Yes,” Calisto said. “Why?”

“Can you show me her room? I’m hoping I can find some clue of what happened to her among her belongings.”

“Of course. Come, I’ll take you there now.”

She led him past a sparkling fountain in the centre of the garden with a beautiful statue of a woman in a chariot being drawn by a pair of lions. At the edge of the garden stood a statue of a handsome youth sitting on a tree trunk, two nubs of horns sprouting from his forehead, a wreath of grape and ivy wrapped in his thick stone curls, a flute in his hand. Two doors faced the garden. Calisto opened one of the doors to reveal a large, elegant sitting chamber. Half of it was filled with sunlight that streamed in from a rectangular window cut near the ceiling, while the other half remained in shadows. An exquisitely carved wooden chair and table with ivory legs stood against the far wall just beneath a small silver mirror. On the table was an empty copper bowl, a water jug, an assortment of cosmetics – white lead, malachite, antimony – ivory application sticks and several small clay jars. Aculeo lifted the lid from one of the jars and smelled it.

“They’re unguents,” Calisto said. “Frankincense, myrrh and the like.”

On the floor next to the table was an ivory board game shaped like a coiled snake. The pieces looked expensive, precious wood inlaid with mother of pearl. “What is this?” he asked.

“It’s called menet,” she said. “A fellahin game. The players move their pieces around the board until one of them reaches the end – the hole in the snake’s mouth. The secret of life, they say. Myrrhine’s bedroom is in here.”

In the adjoining room was a wooden bed with bedclothes neatly folded over the mattress. Next to the bed sat a wooden chest. Aculeo opened it. A blue silk chiton. A white linen tunic. A breastband. Two girdles. Some ivory combs. He took out the chiton, ran the cool, soft silk between his fingers, held it to his nose and smelled it. There was a faint perfume – hyacinth, he thought. Calisto gave him a curious look.

A small ceramic jar sat at the bottom of the chest. Aculeo picked it up and lifted the black enamelled lid, which was engraved with a silver profile of a naked nymph walking alongside a panther. A few dried flowers with broad, faded red petals and pale yellow centres lay within. Aculeo smelled one of the flowers – it had the faint, dusky scent of incense. He passed the jar to her. Calisto sat on the bed and opened it up, looking with puzzlement at the fragrant flower petals within. She smelled them, then handed the jar back to him. “What are they?”

“Persian opium. Or the flowers anyway.”

“But why would she have them?”

Aculeo smiled ruefully. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Did she have any kind of connection to the moneylender, Gurculio?”

“That horrid moneylender? No. Why?”

“I think it likely he was involved in Iovinus’ murder. He also seems to have a connection to Myrrhine’s former patron, Albius Ralla.”

“Ralla?”

“You told me they’d argued at the symposium that night. Someone else mentioned he treated Neaera cruelly when he was her patron. Apparently he took pleasure in beating and tying her up before taking her.”

Calisto’s lips were pale, pressed tightly together, her fists clenched in her lap She was visibly upset at the prospect, but held her pretty tongue.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She gave a small, tentative nod. “It’s just … everything seems so mad lately. Do you think Neaera could still be alive?”

“I’ve stopped looking for her,” Aculeo said.

Calisto gazed up at him from the bed, her eyes searching his, the crisp sound of a fountain burbling from the garden outside the room. He could sense the warmth of her body so close to him, could smell the rich, dense perfume of her skin. A thin, white scar ran from her ear down along her jaw line, flicking up near the tip of her chin, barely visible against her smooth olive skin, like a hairline crack on a sculpture’s face. He found himself wondering what it would be like to push her back on the bed, to kiss those lips, that neck …

She cocked her head, regarding him. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Calisto gave a small, perfect smile. “You hold onto your thoughts without speech while Epiphaneus speaks without thought. I’m not sure which is preferable,” she said, then stood up, smoothing the folds of her chiton. “We should get back. Zeanthes will be wondering what’s taking us so long.”

She took his arm and they walked back along the crushed gravel path towards the atrium. They could hear the sound of Idaia’s laughter, followed by Zeanthes’ feeble cry of protest. They found them sitting beneath the awning, while Epiphaneus sprawled in a chair next to them, eyes tightly closed, pinching the bridge of his fleshy nose between his thumb and forefinger. Zeanthes and the girl were in the midst of an intense game of Hounds and Jackals, which, judging by the dwindling array of pegs on the board in front of him, the illustrious sophist appeared to be getting routed.

“This young lady seems suspiciously brilliant at this game,” Zeanthes said in mock anguish.

“You’re not very good at it,” Idaia proclaimed.

“So gracious of you to inform the world, gentle child,” he said. He looked at Calisto with sudden concern. “Are you alright, my dear?”

“Yes, yes, I’m just very tired all of a sudden.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No, thank you. I’ll be alright. I think I need some rest,” Calisto said.

“Then my new friend Aculeo and I should gather up Epiphaneus and take our leave.”

“Of course,” Aculeo said.

“Please, feel free to stay,” Calisto said.

“A good guest knows the perfect time to leave.” Zeanthes nudged Epiphaneus.

“What d’you want, damn you!?” the other sophist whispered hoarsely, opening his eyes the smallest of cracks.

“Time to go.” Epiphaneus gave a dramatic groan, then slowly climbed to his feet, leaning on the chair to keep himself steady. Zeanthes sighed. “Perhaps we’d best send you back by litter.”

“Thank you so much for coming,” Calisto said. “I apologize for being such a poor hostess.”

“Not at all,” Aculeo said.

She embraced Zeanthes, then Epiphaneus, and finally Aculeo. “Tell me if you learn anything,” she whispered in his ear, then she was gone, Idaia close on her heels in a swirl of coloured silks.

Zeanthes took Aculeo’s arm as they headed towards the Agora, walking amidst the throng of pedestrians along the narrow, dusty streets, tumbled blocks of whitewashed, red-tiled buildings rising on either side of them. The streets were a cacophony of sound, a mad procession of merchants bellowing out their offerings to passersby, drovers herding their bleating sheep and goats to market, street performers singing and tumbling through open squares, actors standing on corners, sonorously reciting fragments of recent plays and poetry.

“Where do you hail from, Aculeo?” Zeanthes asked.

“Rome, originally,” Aculeo said. “Though I’ve lived in Alexandria since I was a boy.”

“Really? For what reason may I ask?”

“My father was posted here to work in the Office of the Annona, contracting agents to secure grain for Rome. I carried on that work after his death.”

Marble columns and tall, fragrant bay trees lined the public walk that circuited the quadrangle of the Museion. In the centre was an enormous and ancient plane tree, its thick, trunk-like branches sweeping gracefully down and back along the ground like a great living fountain. It had been imported from the copse in Plato’s Academy itself in Athens centuries prior at an astounding price, and not altogether legitimately, it was said. The promenade ended in a lush garden with black and white veined marble benches and small shrines to the Twelve Gods scattered amongst the groves.

“The gardens here are said to contain flowers, plants and trees from every part of the world,” Zeanthes said. “A library of life one might say. See there? Orange trees from Phoenecia, fig trees from Asia Minor, olives from Attica, those great red flowers are from the forests beyond Upper Egypt. The animals and birds as well,” he said, pointing towards the calm man-made ponds amongst the gardens, where pink flamingos waded on their yellow stick-like legs and monkeys rattled about and shrieked in their cages. In the distance he saw a camel-leopard, a strange, long-necked creature, nibbling leaves from a towering tree.

“There used to be some great cats here as well, I understand, but they didn’t do as well as the other beasts unfortunately. Inside, of course, there are even more wonders. The bones of the Titans that fought Zeus for Olympus. A mermaid. A cow with two heads, a pig born without any head at all, even a young girl with two faces, like the God Janus himself. All of these things give us a chance to enhance our understanding of life, its mechanism, the forces that guide it.”