“And who is this?” A woman gestured to Kirrha and hurried to us with towels in hand.
“Yes… she was… well, the situation… she’ll be staying with us for a while, with your permission,” I said.
“Of course. The presence of a child is always a blessing.” The woman beamed.
“This is Anthea, my wife,” Niarchos said.
“It’s a pleasure, ma’am.” I kissed her hand.
“We’ve prepared a meal for you, if you’re hungry.” The potter gestured to a table with a few simple bowls of porridge and figs, as well as some bread I was unfamiliar with.
“No, no. I thank you. But if you’ll show us to our rooms we will—”
The potter shuffled and clicked his tongue. “Of course. However, you should know…” He smiled. “It is considered rude to refuse the meal of a Greek.”
“Then we’ll eat the whole table, won’t we?” I ignored my almond and fig-bloated belly and prepared to join them. I sat and gestured for Kirrha to join me, but she only stared at the ground, her eyes glazed over. “The girl has had a very long journey. Is there any way we can lay her down to rest before we dine?”
“We understand.” Anthea smiled. “Just follow me.”
“I’ll lay her down, Sertorius,” Apollonius said as the two of them followed her to a second floor.
“I thank you for your hospitality, Niarchos,” I said when he slid a bowl to me.
“You Romans could have demanded it at sword point I suppose, so I appreciate being asked by your commander. It’s no trouble, anyhow. We’re simple craftsmen, you see, and it’s just the two of us. Aphrodite never blessed us with child.”
“Thank you regardless. We came across the girl clutching to a piece of driftwood during our voyage to Greece. I didn’t know what else to do but bring her with me until an opportunity presents itself.”
“You’re a fine man.” Niarchos poured me a cup of wine from a decorative black-figure amphora. Looked like one of the finer pieces in the home, and I have no doubt he’d crafted it himself.
“Well, it’s complicated further by the loss of her family. From what I gather, her brother and her parents … or owners … were on the same ship, and none of them were lucky enough to survive. I’m sure I’ll be occupied with my military duties but—”
“Say no more of it. We’ll look after her as long as you need. I’ll teach her to mold and perhaps she can help me in my shop.”
Apollonius and Anthea returned and joined us. We managed to devour the rest of the food but continued to sit together for several hours after Kirrha fell asleep. We spoke of Greek life, customs, and traditions, which thrilled Apollonius. We discussed Greek history and literature, the potters surprising me with the extent of their knowledge. But more than anything, we discussed the current situation in Athens. I didn’t want to ask him about the enslavement, not yet, but I searched for other clues which might help me in my search.
As the wine flowed freely, I reclined on the couch and seemed to take the first exhale since I set foot on the Medusa. I probably filled my cup a time or two more than I ought, but I needed it.
“Well, I think we’ll retire,” Niarchos said. “Potters rise with the sun, and I’ll bet soldiers do too.” He stood and stretched.
“You’re correct. I shall soon follow you,” I said. They departed but left the half-full amphora.
Apollonius guessed correctly I wasn’t ready for sleep.
“What am I supposed to do, my old friend?” I asked. My belly was warm and my vision swirled but my mind was working clearly.
“About what specifically?” He already knew the answer but he always made sure to clarify.
“No one will believe me if I tell them what’s happening. And no one is willing to share information about what’s behind it. Do you really think it’s possible? Roman citizens disappearing in the streets?”
“I suppose it is, but it would take bold men to do it.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Quintus…” He leaned forward and tapped a finger to his lip as he did before saying something I wouldn’t like. “Is there any chance you want to find something? Perhaps you’re anticipating a war because you’ve never worn that armor without one, and you think finding it early will make enduring it bearable?”
His comments irritated me so I looked away and took a larger pull of my wine. “You heard what the man said just the same as me. I want to make it back to my wife and son. I don’t want insurrection. I don’t want to chase gorgons in the night.”
“Of course, of course. I just mean… well, you know what I mean.” His voice was gentle and I knew it only carried the weight of his concern for me.
My expression softened and I turned to him again. “You may be right, Apollonius. I don’t know. Perhaps you are right,” I said, “And if I did discover anything definitive it would throw a peaceful land into chaos. I think I just need to sleep.”
He patted his knees and stood. “I agree. Let’s get some rest while we can.”
“Go on ahead.” I saw the concern in his eyes. “Go ahead. I just need a moment to myself,” I reassured him. At length he departed, so I poured another cup.
I walked barefoot on the dirt road, searching on all sides for someone friendly to show me the way. No one appeared.
Rays of sunlight poured around dead tree branches but offered no warmth. There was no breeze. I could hear nothing. Silence is deafening when you’ve heard only noise for so long. We pay no mind to the movements of critters and insects, or the rustle of leaves, but when they cease we take notice.
My mouth was as dry as an old leather sandal, and I tried to cry out but couldn’t. The trees seemed to enclose around me. My lungs expanded but yet I felt no air enter.
I tried to quicken my pace, but my legs refused to move any faster. Ahead I noticed a bubbling spring. Something deep within me groaned. The water was as clear as the August sky, and appeared tastier than the gods’ ambrosia.
I knelt to drink but recoiled when I heard the faint cry of a babe in the distance. I swiveled each direction but found nothing. The sun had all but faded, the tallest branches of the barren trees now hidden in shroud.
“Hello? Anyone!” I managed to say, my voice faint.
There was no response.
I turned back to the water and tried to scoop some to my lips, but my palms came up dry. I heard the creaking of a tree branch above me. I lifted my gaze until I saw the dead feet of a woman dangling from a noose.
I fell back and scurried away. Everything remained still around me save the woman who swayed slowly from side to side.
“What is it, child?” the woman asked.
“Mother?” I cried, eye wide with fear. I searched the face and realized I did not know her. The flesh of her body was rotting but her face was smooth as silk and white as snow. I did not know her.
Her eyes opened. Colorless and emotionless they watched me.
“What do you need to know?” she asked, her lips not moving and her voice enveloping me from all directions.
“I don’t know where I am,” I said.
“You’ve asked me no questions, Quintus,” her hypnotic voice resounded.
“Who am I looking for?” I asked, reaching up to touch her feet as if in prayer.
“You already know the answer.”
“I don’t! I’m lost and alone. I can find no one. I don’t know how I got here.”
“You know how you got here, Quintus Sertorius. And you know where you are going. You know this from your first breath to your last. And you know who you’re looking for, but not where to find them.”
“Please, tell me where to find them,” I begged. I kissed her purple feet, freezing against my lips.
“The one who sees all, and yet is seen by none.”
“The gods?”
“You will play your part and the gods will play theirs. They are watching,” she said. Her swaying quickened.
“If not the gods then who?�
� I cried. “Please tell me.”
“I will not tell you what you’ve been told before. What you already know.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
Her eyes remained vacant and her lips still, but she began to shout at me.
“Quintus! Quintus! Quintus!”
My eye split open and a sea of reality flooded over me, the woman’s voice becoming that of my friend. I was in a bed. Apollonius stood over me.
“Quintus, a messenger has arrived for you.” He pat my face until I appeared to register. I was in Greece, in the home of Niarchos the potter.
“I was dreaming,” I said, mostly to myself.
“Must have been some dream. What of?”
“Making love to my wife. Third time tonight,” I said.
“Spare me the details,” he said. “A messenger from Didius has arrived and is waiting at the door.” He didn’t seem to discern anything unusual for once.
“What? Who? Why didn’t you tell me?” I pounced to my feet and began putting on my armor.
“What do you think I’ve been doing?” he asked, helping me slip into my lorica and tie my bracers.
I hurried to the envoy, who to my chagrin carried a torch because dawn had not yet broken.
“Legate.” He saluted. “Proconsul Titus Didius requests your presence.” He was a smooth-faced young man, likely the son of a senator.
“It isn’t even light out.” I clenched my jaw.
“My apologies, sir… your first campaign under Proconsul Didius?”
“Yes.”
“He rises early, sir. And he doesn’t like to rise alone. He requests your presence at the western gate in one hour.”
“May I ask why?” My nostrils flared.
“He never says.” The envoy saluted and departed.
Didius was saddled on his horse with one hand gently holding the reins, the other on his hip. As always, Didius spoke before I could address him. “Timoxenos has invited us to break bread.”
“Who?” I asked, giving a salute I knew wouldn’t be returned.
“Timoxenos. The man Governor Atius mentioned to us.” He pointed to a riderless stallion beside him.
“But who is he?” I took the reins and pounced onto the steed, grateful for the chance to ride again but uncertain of the destination.
“I don’t know. And I don’t care, at least yet,” he said. “Atius seemed confident this man is someone we should know. I wouldn’t generally listen to a word the fool says, but this smells of truth. I know where he lives. It’s hard to miss. Let’s make our formal introductions.”
He pushed his horse to a trot and I followed, his guard trailing behind us. He led us down a dirt path surrounded on all sides by blossoming trees, the fragrance sweet. The winds strengthened as we sped up. I wasn’t thirsty, and my lungs filled with air, but I wondered if we would discover the hanging woman at the end of our ride, and I would still be dreaming.
We rode on until the sun had nearly reached its apex. We passed by families on their way to the Athenian markets, to visit their ancestral graves, or to see one of Aristophanes’ plays reenacted.
When we arrived, I thought we were taking a detour to visit a small city. We cut off the main road once we reached Megaris onto a dirt path. It led to a singular building so far away it was difficult to see. Two heavily armed guards remained fixed as statues as we passed between them.
The path was flanked on one side by olive trees as tall and far as the eye could see, and on the other by every fruit I’d ever seen and some I hadn’t. The mansion at the end of the long stretch of road was so large and grand it would have appeared more natural on the acropolis than on a dirt path in Megaris.
I could hear cattle in the distance, and such an outrageous number of dogs roamed toward us for a moment. I wondered again if I was dreaming. “This is it?” I asked, craning my head to see the top of the home, where a marble statue of Apollo and Aphrodite rested at the zenith.
“If it isn’t, I say we forget Timoxenos and meet whoever lives here,” Didius said, equally as impressed. He waited until one of his guards crouched by his horse, then used the man’s back as a stool to step down.
The massive doors swung open with the labor of two slaves. A single man and woman exited and swaggered toward us, hand in hand. They smiled from ear to ear and walked with a careless gait. The man was average height at best, and had no discernible physical characteristics suggesting greatness. His hair was longer than most, oiled back and curled at the bottom, so pale it was almost white. He had a neatly trimmed beard, the height of fashion at the time if I remember correctly. Not young, perhaps, but there wasn’t a wrinkle or blemish to be found on him. He glistened like the sun god himself with gold necklaces, torques and armbands, and earrings inset with emeralds.
“Great Romans! How good of you to come on such short notice. I am humbled and honored to greet you here. My name is Timoxenos, and I welcome you.” He bowed low before approaching and embracing us. Afterward, he stepped past us and greeted each of Didius’ guard with the same deference.
“With all the flowers blooming here I would think Aphrodite herself must have strode this land,” one of the guards said.
Timoxenos smiled and reached again for the hand of his wife. “Indeed she has. This is my wife and dear friend Phaidra, queen of this house,” he said.
Her cheeks blushed as she bowed. Her copious bracelets jingled with her every movement. Her hair was as red as her complexion, styled and curled to perfection.
Didius hesitated but was eventually wise enough to kiss the hand of the lady, and I did as well.
“We thank you for your hospitality, Timoxenos.” Didius crossed and uncrossed his arms.
“My friends call me Timo, and you are my friends! I would suffer greatly if you had arrived in my homeland without a formal welcome. I have prepared a traditional Greek meal for you, if you’d like to join me.” He led us back to his home, and to my disappointment he led us up a stairwell to the roof rather than give us a tour of what lie within. “It’s so lovely this time of year, we’ll take our meal on the shade of our balcony if it pleases you,” he said, leading the way.
“It… pleases me,” Didius grumbled.
Garlands draped the rooftops. A sheer white cloth wrapped around a pergola and fluttered in the breeze. Couches had been prepared for us in advance, and enough for all of Didius’ guard as well. Their eyes glistened. No one of such stature had ever given them a place at their table.
“Please, sit. We shall feed you the best Greece has to offer,” Timo said, taking a seat beside his wife.
Everyone was too stunned to say anything, so we took our seats in silence. Too many servants to count appeared from all around us, gilded decorative plates and amphorae in hand.
“The black vintage is from Smyrna, the same wine the Greek heroes drank in the Iliad, if you remember. If you prefer something sweeter, the white Psythias wine is for you.” He watched us, pleased as we accepted his gifts gratefully.
“You fancy yourself a connoisseur then?” Didius asked.
“I considered myself a vintner at one time, but I failed miserably,” Timo said. “Now, I just consider myself a drinker. I import the good wines and just grow what I can manage.” He flashed a charming smile and leaned back on his wife’s bosom. “Like these olives, for instance. Just plucked this morning.”
Didius wasn’t known for conversation, so he ignored him and moved on to the point, “What do you do, Timoxenos? Who exactly are you?” he asked, setting aside the wine offered to him.
“Who am I?” He considered it thoughtfully. “What a complex question. I’m not certain any of us could truly ascertain the answer. And even if we knew, could we communicate it properly?”
“Your occupation then,” Didius snapped.
“Retired, if you’d like me to answer honestly,” he said, a panting dog appearing at his side. “I spend my time here. King of my own little kingdom. This month, I play with my dogs and spend
time with my wife. Next month, I’ll oversee the harvest.” He pet the friendly mutt beside him.
“You must have acquired this wealth somehow,” Didius said.
“Indeed.” Timo nodded and sat up. “My father was a famous sculptor in Argos. They say men of every nation would come to have him sculpt their image. When he died, he left me a small fortune. Now, as a young man, of course, I considered squandering it all on temple prostitutes, wine, and the games. Instead, I decided to do something that’d pay dividends for the short remainder of my time here on earth: I bought an army.”
“You bought an army?” Didius arched a brow.
“A few small bands of mercenaries at first. Then I lent them out and used the return to hire more. Now I have an army.” He sat on the edge of his seat and fixed his attention entirely on Didius. “And that’s why it is in your best interest to work with me.”
“In what capacity?” I asked.
“Allow me to keep all of Greece in line for you,” he said. “I receive ten percent of the taxes, and I will ensure all of Greece complies with your every whim and command.”
“I have my own army, Timoxenos. Two legions at full capacity. I do not require outside support to keep your countrymen in line.” Didius’ grey eyes were cold as the two remained transfixed on one another.
“I do believe you are wrong, my dear Roman. You see, if men of the Colors are seen beating Greek peasants in the street, it will incite unrest. The Greeks do not want to fight the Romans, you see, but we were a proud people once and we can only take so much. The trick is to offer Greece the guise of sovereignty. It’s how you avoid a war here. Allow my men to do what the Romans should not, and your time here will be much easier,” he said. “I assure you.”
“And why should I work with you?” Didius asked, the food in his lap growing cold.
“Because every Roman governor for thirty years has worked with Timo,” Phaidra said. “And for thirty years he’s ensured no conflict has broken out between Rome and Greece.”
For a moment, I expected Timo to reprimand her for speaking out of turn. Instead he smiled and nodded.
“Nonsense. You would have been little more than a child thirty years ago.” Didius shook his head.
Whom Gods Destroy: A Novel of Ancient Rome (The Sertorius Scrolls Book 4) Page 7