Wrath of the Furies Read Online Free Page A

“And how is that young Roman?” asked Eutropius. “Faring well, I hope!” For it was Gordianus who saved his daughter’s life during our visit. If only for that, Eutropius does not judge all Romans harshly.
    Ah, Gordianus! How I miss that youth—his steadfastness, his courage, his cleverness. How I could use a companion with those qualities now, if I am to have any hope of escaping the parlous predicament in which I find myself. Instead I am alone, with no one to turn to.
    And if anybody …
    My voice trailed away. Bethesda clutched my arm. “Then what does it say?”
    â€œThat’s it. There is no more.”
    â€œBut there must be. That can’t be the end of it.”
    I nodded and sighed. “You’re right. Something tells me this is just the beginning.”

 
    II
    â€œThat final, incomplete sentence—how do you suppose it would end?” asked Berynus.
    I was back at the eunuchs’ house after a long, busy day in the city. The hour was late, but my hosts often stayed up well past sunset, talking and dining by starlight and the soft glow of lamps on the roof terrace. With the sound of waves gently lapping the beach as backdrop, the setting could not have been more serene, even as my own state of mind could not have been more turbulent. In my distress, I had taken both of them into my confidence, explaining the circumstances of my parting with Antipater and reading the fragment aloud to them.
    Holding the scrap of parchment in my hand, by the light of a nearby lamp I stared at the familiar handwriting. “What comes next? I suppose … I suppose it would say: ‘If anybody … if anybody could help me, it would be … Gordianus.’”
    â€œYou’re certain this was written by Antipater?” asked Kettel, giving me a quizzical look and lacing his pudgy fingers beneath his multiple chins.
    â€œAbsolutely. The handwriting is unmistakable.”
    â€œAnd that’s all that arrived, that single scrap of parchment?” said Berynus, pursing his thin lips.
    â€œYes. The fragment begins and ends in mid-sentence. Clearly, it’s been taken from some longer piece of writing.”
    â€œFrom a letter, perhaps?” said Kettel.
    â€œNot a letter addressed to me, obviously, since he refers to me in the third person. Not a letter at all, I suspect. And certainly not an official document of any sort, or something meant for publication; that would have been dictated to a scribe, while this is in his own hand. It seems to have been written more to himself than to someone else. Or written for posterity. It’s as if Antipater wanted to record the events going on around him.”
    â€œBut why?” asked Berynus.
    â€œBecause he has a story to tell, but fears that he may not be around to tell it much longer. These words were written by a frightened man. A man who fears for his life.” I sighed and lowered the piece of parchment. “And here I am in Egypt, frittering away my time, unable to help him.”
    â€œI thought you parted on bad terms with the old fellow,” said Kettel.
    â€œWhat if I did? He still thinks of me fondly. He says so in this fragment. He wishes that I were with him.”
    â€œHe doesn’t actually say that .” This came from Bethesda, who sat on a rug before me, massaging my feet, which were sore from so much walking that day. My hosts had grown used to my slave’s unruly manners and my tendency to indulge her, and hardly raised an eyebrow when she made bold to enter the conversation.
    â€œHe doesn’t say what?” I asked.
    Bethesda raised an eyebrow and resumed massaging my feet. “He doesn’t say that he wishes you were with him, Master. What he actually says is that he could use someone with certain of your qualities. That is not exactly the same thing.” Like many who cannot read, Bethesda was a careful listener and had a sharp memory.
    I