Ancient World 02 - Raiders of the Nile (22 page)

“And have you done so? Is she unharmed? Untouched?”

Ismene raised an eyebrow. “What do you think, Roman? The men in this place are all scared to death of me and my curses. Not one of them would dare to come into this hut uninvited. No one has so much as touched a hair on the girl’s head. From the hour she arrived, your slave has been treated like a princess.”

I felt another surge of emotion, this time of relief. “Bethesda!” I whispered.

“You must never call her by that name, not if others might overhear. The men who brought her here thought she was a woman called Axiothea, and that’s who Artemon believes her to be. That is the name she called herself when she arrived, and she maintained her pretense even with me, until she saw there was no point in trying to hide anything from Metrodora the Soothsayer, and told me the truth. Eventually, she also confided to me that she was a slave, and her master was a man named Gordianus. The name was familiar. I questioned her further, and soon enough it was evident that the young Roman who purchased her in an Alexandrian slave market was the very same young Roman who passed through the Peloponnesus a few years ago, the traveler named Gordianus whom I last saw in the ruins of Corinth. Bethesda was certain that you would eventually come for her—and so you have. When I saw you step out of the boat and walk up the pier today, I thought I recognized you. When Artemon confirmed that the man who had joined us was a young Roman, I knew it must be you.”

“And just now, you told him my true name as a sort of trick, to dazzle him with your skills as a soothsayer?”

She smiled. “Does it matter how a soothsayer comes by her knowledge, as long as she speaks the truth?”

I considered all she had told me. “You know that Axiothea is really Bethesda, but does she know that Metrodora is really Ismene?”

She laughed. “Of all the people in Egypt, only you know that I was ever called Ismene. And what makes you think that’s my true name? What do you actually know about me, Gordianus? Do you think I was always a serving woman at a tavern near Corinth?”

“But what are you doing here? What strange path brought the witch of Corinth to such a place?”

“Has my path been any stranger than yours, Gordianus? We have arrived at the same spot, in the same moment.”

“Artemon says that once upon a time you trained to become the Pythia at the Temple of Apollo in Delphi.”

“Do you find that hard to believe?”

“A bit.”

Her face lost all trace of humor. “Where I came from, and how I came to be here, is none of your business. You know nothing for certain about me, Roman, and I suggest that you say nothing about me, if you know what’s good for you. Here I am not Ismene, but Metrodora. Remember that.”

I nodded. “Bethesda,” I said. “Is she truly beyond that curtain? Why can I not see her?”

“Oh, you can
see
her, Roman. But you mustn’t speak to her, not yet.”

“Why not?”

“That will become evident when you see her.”

Again I stepped toward the curtain, but Ismene gripped my arm to stop me.

“There is a price to pay.”

“What do you want from me, witch?”

“Lower your voice!” she hissed. “Surely no price would be too great, to lay eyes on Bethesda again. Give me the most valuable thing you possess.”

I looked at her blankly, then understood. I reached into the pouch at my waist and pulled out the ruby necklace.

“If I give this to you, what can I use to pay Artemon as a ransom?”

“I hear the jingling of coins in that pouch.”

“They won’t be enough.”

“Nonetheless, if you want to see Bethesda, you must give me the ruby. Now!” She held out her hand.

I looked from Ismene’s stern face to the curtained doorway and back again. I felt an impulse to return the ruby to the pouch, push her aside, open the curtain, and step through. But I remembered the deadly magic Ismene had wielded at Corinth, and also that she had never used it, thus far, to harm me. I would be a fool to make an enemy of her now. And was the sight of Bethesda, after all this time, not worth the cost?

I pressed the ruby necklace into Ismene’s open palm. She held the jewel up to the hanging lamp. Red spangles of light played across her face.

“There’s a curse on this jewel, just as Artemon suspected, but I’ll find a way to remove it. Your payment is sufficient, Roman. You may step through the curtain. Tread softly and say nothing. I’ll be right behind you.”

XXI

The curtain doorway did not open directly into the adjoining hut, but into a passageway between the two. The dark little hallway was cluttered with trunks, boxes, and piles of clothing stacked all the way to the ceiling—yet more of Ismene’s loot, I presumed. The clutter on either side created a passage within the passage, so that I had to turn this way and that to make my way forward. It also served to deaden the sound, so that a noise in one of the huts could hardly be heard in the other. The wind also covered any noise I made. It had begun to rise, whistling through the thatched roof above my head.

Even so, as I approached another curtained doorway—the twin of the one I had just passed through—I heard voices from the room beyond. First I heard a man’s voice, so quiet that I could discern nothing more than the gender of the speaker, and then—my heart skipped a beat—a voice I would have known anywhere, even though she, too, spoke so quietly that I couldn’t make out the words.

I reached for the curtain, intending to draw it aside, but Ismene drew beside me and stayed my hand. Keeping a finger pressed to her lips, she shook her head, then raised her palm, indicating that I should stay where I was and do nothing. Slowly and silently, she parted the curtain, but only to a finger’s width, and indicated that I should put one eye to the narrow opening and take a look.

Even with her back to me, I instantly recognized Bethesda by her long black hair, and also by the way she stood, with her shoulders back and her head tilted up, looking at the much taller man who stood before her. I had no trouble recognizing Artemon, whose face was clearly lit by the lamp that hung above them.

Whenever I had thought of Bethesda in the days since she went missing, I had pictured her as I had seen her last, wearing the green dress that I had given her for my birthday. I was a bit disconcerted to see that she was wearing something altogether different—a robe of many colors, made of some rich fabric that glistened in the warm glow of the lamp, cinched at the waist with a leather belt ornamented with jewels and silver medallions. I had seldom seen silk, especially in such a quantity, but surely that was what this garment was made of. According to Ismene, Bethesda had been treated like a princess in her captivity. She had been dressed like one, too.

Artemon spoke again. Pressed to the narrow opening, I was just able to make out his words.

“When, Axiothea?” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “When will you give up hope that the old man wants you back? If he intended to pay the ransom, he would have done so by now. He would at least have given some response to our messages.”

Bethesda bowed her head. “Not yet, Artemon. The time has not come yet.”

“But it
will
come—is that what you mean to say?”

Though I couldn’t hear it, from the rise and fall of her shoulders I knew that Bethesda sighed.

“Give me a sign, Axiothea—some token to show me that what I long for is not beyond my reach. Do you share my feelings, or not?” His tone became strident.

From the look on his face, from the words he spoke, from the way he stood before her, like a suppliant rather than a captor, there could be no doubt. Artemon was in love with Bethesda.

On his face I saw a look of mingled hope and despair. I might have been looking into a mirror. His suffering was the same as mine. I had been deprived of the thing dearest to me, separated by miles of wilderness and water. Artemon, too, was being denied the thing he wanted most—even though she stood before him.

“If you won’t give me a sign, then let me give you one,” he whispered. He reached into his tunic, pulled out the little sapphire ring he had taken from me earlier, and held it before him, like an offering. “For you, Axiothea.”

“Another?” Bethesda said. From the exasperation in her voice I gathered this was only the latest in a long line of gifts.

“Here, let me put it on your finger.” He stepped closer to her. His eyes lit up and his face flushed. He looked so young and helpless that I found it harder than ever to imagine him as the leader of a dangerous band of brigands. He looked like a mere boy, and more than that, like a boy in love, breathless at the mere prospect of touching his beloved’s hand.

“It fits your finger perfectly! That must be a sign, don’t you think? Go on, hold it up to the light. See how it sparkles.”

He raised her hand toward the lamp. The jewel caught the light and shone like a star in the space between them, but only for a moment. Bethesda pulled her hand from his.

“Perfect and beautiful, yes,” she admitted. “Like this dress, and my shoes, and the necklace I’m wearing. Like all the lovely things you’ve given me. Even so, Artemon, I can’t—”

“I don’t imagine such gifts impress you, after all that Tafhapy must have given you. He’s spoiled you, I suppose.”

“No, Artemon, it isn’t that—”

“A kiss!” he said. “That’s all I ask. Only a kiss. Only one.”

He drew closer still. Because he was taller than Bethesda, I was able to see his eyes until the moment he bowed his head, took her face in his hands, and turned it up to his. Bethesda dropped her hands to her sides. She clenched her fingers.

I gave a start. My body seemed to act on its own, without thought. In another instant I would have been through the curtain, but Ismene dug her fingernails into my arm, so hard that I gasped at the pain. Had it not been for the rising wind and the rain that suddenly pelted the roof, Artemon and Bethesda would surely have heard me.

Or would they? Suddenly they seemed to be in a world utterly removed from me, totally absorbed in each other. Was he kissing her? Almost certainly he was, but all I could see was the back of her head, and a bit of his forehead just beyond. Was she kissing him in return? It was impossible to tell. Her body seemed tense, her shoulders stiff, but only her eyes could have revealed what she felt. Was Artemon looking into her eyes at that moment? What did he see there?

Time seemed to stop. The kiss seemed endless, suspended in time, like every kiss between true lovers. I felt the ground drop away below me. I seemed to hang in empty space, surrounded by darkness, seeing only the two of them through the narrow slit.

With a sudden, resounding crack, the moment ended. The crack was the sound of Bethesda slapping him across the face.

I stiffened, fearing that Artemon would strike her in return. Instead he staggered back, touching his flaming cheek. He gave her a stricken look and simply stood there, staring at her, for a long time. All expression drained from his face. At last he turned his back on her, squared his shoulders, and appeared to draw several deep breaths, as if composing himself. He pushed aside the cloth that covered the entrance and left the hut.

I reached for the curtain, eager to step into the room and join Bethesda, but again Ismene held me back.

“No!” she whispered, pressing her mouth close to my ear to be heard above the rising wind. “You can’t go to her now. Artemon might yet come back. You’ve seen what you needed to see. Come back to my room. Come, Roman! Follow me!”

She clutched my arm, as a hawk clutches its prey, and pulled me back. Her strength was uncanny. Or was I weak, drained of my will by what I had seen? I allowed her to draw me through the cluttered passage and back into her room.

The lamp had burned low. The room was darker than before. The wind howled outside.

“Do you see now why I couldn’t take you to her?” said Ismene. “Do you understand why you can’t go to her, even now? If Artemon were to realize the truth—that you’ve come here to find Bethesda and take her back—there’s no telling what he might do.”

“Artemon is a boy!” I said. “A lovesick boy.”

Ismene nodded. “Yes, that’s true. But if you think that’s all he is—if you think that makes him ridiculous, and harmless—then you’re a greater fool than I imagined. There is much more to Artemon than you seem to think.”

“But once he realizes that Bethesda isn’t Axiothea, that she’s merely another man’s slave—”

“He’ll lose interest in her? Do you really know so little of love? No, Roman, as far as everyone here is concerned, you must be Pecunius, and she must be Axiothea, and the two of you must never have met before.”

“What about Bethesda? Does she know I’m here?”

“Not yet.”

“Will you tell her?”

“I suppose I must, if only so she won’t be startled and give you both away the first time she sees you.”

“When will that be? When can I see her?”

Ismene shook her head. “I don’t know. Not yet. For now, you must keep your distance.”

This was not the answer I wanted. I began to object, but a rapping at the door interrupted me.

Artemon called out. “Metrodora, are you done with the Roman? We need to get back to our huts.”

“Go,” Ismene said, pushing me out the doorway.

Suddenly I faced the prospect of standing face to face with Artemon. Would I be able to hide what I felt? I braced myself, but before our eyes could meet, he turned away and headed back the way we had come, walking very quickly. Menkhep, Djet, and I followed.

Above our heads, glowering clouds were faintly lit with the last gray glimmer of twilight. Scattered raindrops pelted my face. The vegetation all around us shivered and thrashed like frenzied Bacchantes performing some ecstatic dance. Even the waters of the Nile were churned into a frenzy. Foaming waves splashed against the muddy shore, and when we reached the huts, I gazed between them to see little whitecaps dancing on the surface of the lagoon.

Artemon turned his face to the sky, narrowing his eyes against the wind and rain. “Metrodora predicted the storm would reach this far south. She knew there would be strong winds and rain.”