Furies (26 page)

“Excuse me, Master, if you’re not too busy turning our kitchen into a complete disaster,” Xanthias said.

“Can’t you see I’m busy,” Aculeo snapped. He leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes. Too many documents, too many cursed questions, and no time to find the answers. What if the Cosian…?

“
Alas, Master, I’m but a simple-minded slave after all, it’s difficult for me to comprehend the many complex demands placed upon a master’s shoulders. But t
here’s a fellahin boy outside who claims that someone named Sekhet wants to see you as soon as possible. I would have – wait, where do you think you’re going? Master, you haven’t even eaten yet! Fine, go,” the old slave muttered. “Down into the gutter, yes, that’s where civilization is going, straight down into the gutter.”

The morning air in Rhakotis hung with the heavy, yeasty smell of fermenting beer, baking bread and the rich spice of the foods being peddled by the bellowing street vendors. Sleepy-looking merchants crouched at the sides of the road beside large reed baskets, offering goods for sale – linen clothing, leather bags, sandals, crockery, glass amulets and figurines, cones of salt, dried fish, ox hides - watching Aculeo curiously as he passed.

The healer herself answered her door. She took one look at him, then clicked her tongue and shook her head in disapproval, a shock of grey hair straying across her deeply etched face. “A porne was attacked last night near the western walls,” she said.

“Is she still alive?”

“Yes, praise Isis, she managed to fight her attacker off.”

“You think it’s connected to the murders?”

“No, I simply missed seeing your cheerful face.” Sekhet stabbed a crooked finger sharply into his chest, her dark eyes hard as flint. “Be gentle with her, understand me, Roman? She’s been through quite enough already.”She led him past the room filled with waiting patients into her back office. A figure lay beneath a blanket on the daybed in the corner of the room, facing the wall, asleep.

“Is she alright?” he asked.

“She will be. Philomena,” the healer said gently. “Are you awake, dear?” The girl reluctantly turned to face them. She was young, no more than twenty. Her left eye was red and swollen almost shut, the other bloodshot, her lower lip split and puffy, her neck bruised black and blue. Her good eye widened when she saw Aculeo. She began to cry and turned away to face the wall. Sekhet sat beside her on the bed, stroking her head. Philomena flinched. “Shhh, don’t worry, it’s alright, I promise you. He’s a friend of mine.”

“Leave me alone,” the girl pleaded, her voice muffled by the blanket.

“He’s here to help, dear one. His name is Aculeo. He only wants to find the man who did this to you.”

Philomena turned over in the bed and looked at him with her one good eye. “Why?”

“Just tell us what happened,” Sekhet said, stroking her hair.

The girl took a deep, trembling breath, then told them her story of how she’d been attacked and almost murdered near the funerary monuments. Her voice trembled at first, uncertain, frightened, but she gained confidence as she went, until, near the end, she was sitting up in bed, more angry than anything.

“You’re lucky to be alive I think,” Sekhet said, squeezing her hand.

“You said you knew the man who attacked you,” Aculeo said.

“I … I think so.”

“Did he tell you his name?”

“Orpheus.”

Damn, he thought. “How’d you know him then?”

“I used to see him sitting on the steps of a little tavern in Epsilon. He’d sit there almost every night, waiting for me, wanting to talk. It’s on my route, see?”

“He hired you?”

“Once,” the girl admitted, blushing.

“Did he hurt you that time?”

“No.” She closed her good eye, thinking. “I mean, yes. I … I didn’t think he meant to do it, he always seemed so harmless.”

“What did he do to you that time?”

“He grabbed my arm was all,” she said, touching her fingers to her throat.

“So what was different this time? Why did he attack you?” Aculeo asked.

“Maybe he was jealous. I don’t know. I was with another man. He’s a different sort, you know? Maybe he was confused, thought just because we’d been together that one time.”

“You said you always saw him sitting in the same place,” Sekhet said. “Where was that?”

“In Epsilon Quarter at the Tavern of Sefu. He’d sit on the steps there and wait for me.”

Such attacks are likely common enough, he thought. It’s possible that the attack is linked somehow to the murders, but for that matter so could a dozen other assaults that take place on any given night. “Sekhet, I don’t know…” he began.

“Show him your wrists,” the healer told the girl.

Philomena looked at her oddly, then pulled her hands out of the blanket and held them up in the dim lamplight. She wore a number of bracelets on both wrists made of silver and copper and bronze. On the left wrist, she also wore a bracelet of yellow twine.

Aculeo felt his heart pound in his chest. “You worship Sarapis?”

“What?”

“That yellow cord tied about your wrist – that’s part of your worship of Sarapis, isn’t it?”

She looked at her wrist and bit her lower lip, puzzled. “I’d forgotten about it. He gave it to me that first time. He may have said something about Sarapis, I can’t remember really …”

“What does this Orpheus look like?”

“Very skinny, his hair and fingernails are filthy, and he has a big scar across his face, running across his lips and down his chin. Must have almost split his head open whatever made that.”

Apollonios, Aculeo thought, his heart pounding. It had to be. “And you’re sure his name was Orpheus?”

“He called himself that. Kept calling me Eurydice. I thought he was being sweet,” she said, her voice trailing off. “You know all I could think of when he attacked me? That this is what must have happened to those poor girls who disappeared. That I’d be the next one. Just another missing porne that everyone forgets about in a day or so.”

Aculeo stared at the girl – more stories of missing pornes like the ones that frightened Tyche, or is there some truth in it? “Do you know who Gurculio is?” he asked.

“Who?” the girl said, a look of confusion on her face.

“Gurculio the moneylender. Did he ever hire you for any private parties?”

“No,” she said, her lower lip trembling.

“Aculeo,” Sekhet said.

“What about Ralla? No? Iovinus? Think, damn you!”

“No! No no no no no no!” Philomena held her fists tight against her temple, her arms tucked tight to her breast and curled against the wall, sobbing like a child.

“Hush, you’re fine now,” Sekhet said, stroking the girl’s head. She glanced at Aculeo, her expression more troubled than her tone implied. “That’s enough for now. You just close your eyes and rest.”

Sekhet led Aculeo out of the room and closed the door. “I told you not to upset her. The poor child was attacked once already today,” the healer seethed.

“I had to see if she was hiding anything.” Sekhet shot him a withering look. “I’m sorry.”

“And what did you learn?”

“Apollonios is the one who attacked her.”

Sekhet raised a puzzled brow. “She said his name was Orpheus.”

“And he called her his Eurydice,” Aculeo said, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. “It’s from schoolboy stories. Orpheus was a Thracian king, Eurydice his wife. She went out walking in the valley one morning, whereupon she was raped and murdered. Orpheus followed her shade down into Tartarus where he tried to convince Hades to allow him to bring her back to the land of the living. Hades relented on one condition – when Orpheus led his wife’s shade from Tartarus, he must not look back at her until they reached the safety of the sun. They set out at once, and as soon as Orpheus felt the sun on his own face again he was overjoyed and turned to kiss Eurydice’s lips – but part of her was still in shadow. She disappeared as soon as his eyes touched hers, losing her forever.”

“So perhaps in his madness he thought he was trying to save this woman,” Sekhet mused. “From the streets. From that life.”

“And when he couldn’t, he tried to kill her instead,” Aculeo said. “Her, Myrrhine, the river slave, Neaera. It’s been him behind these murders all the while. The question is whether he acted alone.”

“We can only guess.”

They almost missed him. Drawn by the sweet scent of bread, spices and grilling meat and the friendly chatter of the customers, Apollonios wandered past the courtyard of the white-washed little tavern in Epsilon later that afternoon, hoping for handouts. He hardly looked dangerous as he shambled barefoot along the crowded street, weaving his way amongst the other pedestrians, favouring one leg. He was skinny as a beggar, his beard and hair unkempt, likely crawling with vermin. His chiton was as filthy as the rest of him.

A cold rage coursed through Aculeo as he watched the man, his mind filled with the horrific images of the poor women raped and murdered, their savaged bodies left behind like garbage. Could a wretch like him be working on Gurculio and Ralla’s behalf? Why not hire a mad dog to commit a mad crime? He nodded to Capito, who considered Apollonios for a moment, then signalled the two soldiers to move in. The recluse squatted down outside the tavern, picked up a scrap of food he saw on the ground, sniffed it, tasted it before tossing it aside.

The soldiers drew closer, only fifteen cubits from him. Ten. Apollonios scratched an armpit and stretched, watching the people walking by. Capito nodded to the lead soldier, who headed straight for their quarry. Apollonios suddenly stood up and slipped quietly into the back alley. The soldiers followed, Capito and Aculeo right behind them.

As they entered the back door of the building, Aculeo saw the recluse waiting for them with a steaming copper kettle in hand. “No!” he cried, but too late. The lead soldier screamed in agony as the boiling water poured over him, scalding his face and outstretched hands. The recluse threw the kettle at the others and bolted through the back kitchen, knocking over a table of food and plates behind him where they smashed on the floor. The servants and patrons looked up in amazement as the three furious men came crashing into the dining room, then burst through the door out onto the street behind their quarry.

They spotted him just ahead, limping at a furious pace down the street, weaving his way through the crowd. Aculeo, Capito and the remaining soldier chased after him, knocking aside any pedestrians that got in the way. Ah, there now, he’s turned up a blind alley. But as they rounded the corner, they saw he’d managed somehow to squeeze himself through an impossible spot between two buildings. They could only watch as Apollonios scrambled up over a wall and into another side street.