Naomi made a harrumphing noise. “I don’t believe he has anything to complain about, although that doesn’t stop him from complaining.”
“That hasn’t changed,” Daphne said disgustedly. She sat down in a chair that was set apart from the couch my mother and Naomi occupied. Tacitus and I pulled up chairs directly opposite her.
“When you say, ‘that hasn’t changed’,” I began, “it suggests to me that you have known Apollodoros for some time. I would like to hear your story.”
“I feel like someone from Homer,” Daphne said. “ ‘With words on wings—’”
“I hope you’ll give us the truth, not some Homeric fable.”
“Yes, sir. The truth. You may count on it.”
Considering everything that had happened in the last two days, I wasn’t sure I could believe anything she said, but I was ready to listen. I just hoped she got to the heart of the matter directly, not in a round-about fashion, like Odysseus telling his fanciful tales in the palace of Alcinous.
She took a deep breath and began. “As I told you, my name is Daphne. My mother was Xanthippe and my father is Aristeas of Alexandria. Well, I say ‘of Alexandria,’ but he was born on the island of Proconnesus. His father was a merchant from Alexandria who lived on Proconnesus for much of his life. He came back to Alexandria when my father was ten.”
“Gaius, you look odd,” my mother said. “Your face is white. Is something wrong?”
“No ... No. I ... I read something about Proconnesus the other day. I was just struck by hearing the name again.”
Tacitus got me off the hook. “You say your mother is dead?”
“Yes. She died fifteen years ago, when I was ten, while giving birth to a child, who also died.”
Tacitus and I looked at my mother and Naomi, as if to apologize to them and to all women.
“Is Apollodoros actually the name of the man who is in my house now?”
“It’s what he calls himself now, sir. He also has an Indian name.”
“So he is not the son of a Greek man and an Indian mother?”
“He is, sir. His mother is Indian. Her family has lived in Alexandria for years. Her husband is now dead. Apollodoros claims to be the son of her first husband, who was Greek.”
I looked at my mother but before I could say anything, she said, “You’re living under a name you weren’t born with, Gaius.”
I could see there was going to be no dissuading her from her affection for this scoundrel. “How did you meet Apollodoros?” I asked Daphne.
“Five years ago he met my father in a bath and heard him playing the lyre.”
“Is your father an entertainer?” I asked.
“No, sir. He and a circle of friends fancied themselves poets and musicians. They gathered regularly in one of the baths to work on their compositions.”
“If they were in a bath,”Tacitus said, “Apollodoros must have seen the mark on his chest that you mentioned.”
I tried to quiet him, but it was too late.
“The raven’s head?” Daphne asked. “You saw it? Then you have seen my father.”She sat forward in her chair. “Why won’t you tell me where he is?”
“He’s not here. That’s all I can tell you. I and others in my household saw him yesterday.”
“Was he well?”
I had to think about my response. “That’s a hard question to answer. All I can say is that he was well enough that he’s not here any longer. Do you know where he got the mark?”
“He was born with it. He made it his symbol. The plectron of his lyre was shaped like a raven’s head. Please, tell me what you know of him.” Her distress seemed genuine.
My mother started to say something, but I held up my hand to quiet her. “In time. You’re telling your story now, and I want to hear all of it.”
Daphne took a cup of wine from a servant and leaned back in her chair. “Apollodoros came to our home and wanted my father to become his partner, the accompanist to his singing. I was worried because my father isn’t a smart man, and he’s easily influenced by flattery. Since my mother’s death I’ve worried about him being duped.”
“Duped?” Tacitus said. “Duped out of what?”
Daphne raised her chin, and I thought I detected pride. Or perhaps arrogance. “My family has enough wealth to make us comfortable, sir. Not nearly this comfortable.” She gestured at her surroundings. “But comfortable. Most of it comes from an inheritance from my mother’s family. She had no brothers or sisters, so she inherited all that her family had. We’re fortunate to have a capable and trustworthy steward who managed our affairs until I was grown.”
“That does make you one of the fortunate few,” Tacitus snorted. “In that situation, most stewards would have siphoned off the money before you were grown, like Demosthenes’ guardians robbed him.”
“But our steward, Ictinus, was an honest man in his own right,” Daphne insisted. “And I believe he was ... my mother’s lover.”
“You say ‘was’—”
“Ictinus died three years ago.”
“But he was resolved to manage your mother’s affairs well,” I said, “to protect her wealth from a man he must have resented.”
“Yes, and I am not his daughter, in case that’s your next question. When you see my father and me side-by-side, you’ll know whose child I am.”
It would be difficult to spot a resemblance with all the make-up she wore. “But you’re old enough now to manage your own affairs, aren’t you?” I said.
Daphne nodded. “For the last several years I’ve been overseeing where our money goes. Ictinus taught me well. I am usually able to rein in my father’s love of schemes.”
“Schemes?” I glanced at Tacitus. That was what I expected, but I hadn’t expected to hear the word blurted out like that. “What kind of schemes?”
“Anything he thinks will make him money. I think he resents living on my mother’s money.”
“He might have been aware of his wife’s affair with your steward as well,” Tacitus suggested.
“He’s never mentioned it, but he could have been. He wants to make himself important. He wanted to buy a chariot-racing team, or import Nubian slaves—it always turned out to be just a way for someone else to get his money.”
“So you were suspicious of Apollodoros.”
“From the first moment I met him, but my father was eager to make a name for himself as a musician. It would be something he did himself, not something he got from my mother and her family.”
Tacitus put his hand over his mouth and muttered to me in Latin, “Every gelding’s wish—he’d get his balls back.”
“How much money did Apollodoros want?” I asked.
Daphne took a sip of wine and ran her tongue around her lips. “That’s the odd thing. He didn’t want any money. My father tried to give him some, but he wouldn’t take it. He said he would bear the expense of training my father because he was so confident they would win prizes in the big musical festivals and become some sort of popular idols. Then they would be able to give performances in all the big cities around the empire.”
That wasn’t an unreasonable aspiration. Musicians and actors are treated as demigods. They make large sums of money—as much in a single day as a teacher might make in a year—and they’re invited to entertain in the wealthiest homes in Rome. But, like Daphne, I felt a vague uneasiness about Apollodoros’ ultimate objective. Performers of that sort, no matter how popular and how wealthy they become, always remain social outcasts. Why would anyone aspire to that status? Most people fall into it when they have no other options. Was the money all that mattered to Apollodoros?
“I can see why Apollodoros might expect to win,” my mother said. “His singing is absolutely divine.”
The servant woman standing behind her giggled and Mother turned to smile at her. “You know what I mean, don’t you, Blandina?”
Blandina nodded energetically. “I hope we’ll get to hear him again, my lady.”
&nb
sp; “Perhaps he’ll favor you with a song on his way out tomorrow morning,” Naomi said, drawing a glare from the other two women.
I raised a hand to silence them. “Blandina, make yourself useful. Get us some more bread and cheese.”
“Yes, my lord.” With a smile still playing on the corners of her mouth, Blandina hurried out.
I turned to Daphne. “Please continue.”
The mysterious young woman drew her cloak almost up to her chin, as though she were cold or wanted to conceal something. “Apollodoros and my father spent a month practicing, then they left Alexandria. Apollodoros said they were going to spend a year in Greece, competing in musical festivals. I had two letters in the first two months, just saying they were in Corinth or Athens and doing well. After that, nothing.”
“And this was five years ago?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you try to get information about them?”
“Yes, sir. I met ships coming from Greece and asked people if they knew anything about the contests there, but no one had heard of my father or Apollodoros. When Ictinus died, I sold my family’s business and some property we owned and began trying to find my father. At first I hired others to do the job, but they took my money and found nothing, so I decided to search for him myself. I’ve devoted my life to that goal for the last two years.”
“You’re a brave young woman,” my mother said with a slightly softer tone, “to strike out alone like that.”
“I’ve always had to take care of myself, my lady, because my mother died when I was so young.”
“It sounds like you’ve had to take care of your father, too,” Mother said. “If our parents live long enough, we do sometimes change roles and become their guardians, as they were for us when we were children. You’ve taken on that role, I think, at a younger age than most.”
“He’s my father,” Daphne said. “What else can I do?”
“What have you learned about your father and Apollodoros?” I asked.
“They’ve not been singing. That was what made it so hard to find them. I was looking for two musicians, but no one had ever heard of them. Last year I was in Antioch two days after they left, but I didn’t know that because I was looking for them at musical contests.”
“Where did you finally find them?” Tacitus asked.
“I picked up their trail in Padua. Apollodoros has made some connection between the mark on my father’s chest and a man named Aristeas, so he’s pretending that my father is this Aristeas and that he’s hundreds of years old.”
“For what purpose?” Tacitus asked.
“They’ve been selling small vials of blood, supposedly my father’s blood. Apollodoros claims that anyone who drinks his blood will live for hundreds of years.”
“Who would ever believe such a ridiculous thing?” I said.
“Do you want to die, sir?” Daphne said.
“We’re all going to die. There’s nothing we can do about that.” I got up and began to pace.
“Some people claim there is. Have you ever heard of Aristeas?”
“We’ve read about him in Herodotus and in my uncle’s own work.” I hated to admit it.
“Herodotus claimed that he was hundreds of years old in his day,” Tacitus added, “and that he appeared to be dead a couple of times but came back to life.”
“That’s the story Apollodoros uses to convince people to buy his little vials.”
“Why would anyone believe such nonsense?”
“People have been reluctant to tell me much, I think because they’re embarrassed. I’ve been told that they go into a town and stage some sort of argument. A fight results and my father appears to fall dead, but he comes back to life by the next morning.”
I nodded. “And then Apollodoros touts the vials filled with his blood.”
“I don’t know what they’re filled with.”
“Animal blood, no doubt,” Tacitus said.
“That’s what I suspect, sir.”
“But he can’t have many vials with him at any given time,” I said. “How can they make any money off of this scheme?”
“I’ve been told that people will pay a hundred aurei for a single vial.”
“Apollodoros had no money with him when we found him in my woods. He wasn’t carrying anything. Neither was the man with the raven’s head mark we found the day before yesterday. I thought he was dead.”
Daphne gave a contemptuous laugh. “Apparently the only thing Apollodoros has taught my father is how to put himself into a death-like trance. Not even a doctor can tell if he is alive or not. Is that how you found him?”
I nodded, feeling better about my inability to determine whether Aristeas was alive. If a doctor couldn’t tell, how could I expect to?
“Where is he?” She got out of her chair and knelt before me, like a client or a suppliant throwing herself on my mercy. “Please tell me, sir.”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Daphne sat back on her heels, putting her hands on her face. “Why should I expect anything else? I’m always one or two days behind him. Do you have any idea where he could be?”
“We thought he was dead, so we put him in my stable and posted a guard, but the next morning the stall was empty. Do you know how your father brings himself out of this trance?”
“No, I don’t. He must be able to at will, though, from the reports I’ve heard.”
“That’s an amazing story,” I said.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” my mother said. “Apollodoros couldn’t possibly be doing something so underhanded.”
“I’m sorry to disillusion you, my lady,” Daphne said, returning to her chair. “He is a charming man who can weave a kind of spell with his songs, like Homer’s Sirens.”
“Does that mean he’s out to destroy those who cross his path, like the Sirens?” I asked.
“I haven’t heard of him harming anyone, and I’ve been following him for two years now. A few people have ruined themselves financially trying to buy one of his vials.”
“I’m surprised,” Tacitus said, “that no one has tried to capture Aristeas and keep him prisoner to have a supply of the blood for his own use, as ghoulish as that sounds.”
“Apollodoros always stresses that a second drink from a vial will not add more years. Quite the opposite. It will kill a person on the spot. And then he and my father leave town as quickly as they can.”
“Before someone dies from drinking whatever is in those vials,” I said.
“Do you think he was coming here to try to dupe us?” Mother asked.
“I’ve never been able to tell in advance what he was doing,” Daphne said. “I always seem to be a few days behind him.”
“Well, you’re both here now,” I said, “and I’d like for you both to stay until we can find your father—or Aristeas, or whoever he is—and clear up this whole business.”
“Thank you for your help, sir. It will be a great relief for me to have someone on my side.”
“I didn’t say I was on your side. I just said I want to get this cleared up. My mother will show you to a room. Mother, tell Tranio I want two guards on her room and two on Apollodoros’ at all times.” I stood and started out of the arcade, with Tacitus following me.
“What are you going to do now?” Mother asked.
“Now we’re going to talk to Apollodoros again.”
The guards were alert when Tacitus and I arrived at the door of Apollodoros’ room. Tranio had rigged a bolt across it to guarantee the man stayed there.
“Have you heard anything unusual?” I asked.
“No, my lord. He asked for a bit to eat, but nothing else. He’s been singing.”
“Perhaps you should put wax in their ears,” Tacitus said, “like Odysseus did for his crew when they sailed past the Sirens.”
“Don’t worry, my lord,” one of the guards said. “This one seems to appeal to women only.”
The other man snickered. “We could le
t him sing to Melanthos.”
“That’s enough of that,” I said. “Let’s talk to him.”
One of the guards unbolted the door and I was relieved to see Apollodoros sitting on the bed.
“I hope you’ve come to tell me I may leave.” He looked up at me but not did stir.
“No one’s going anywhere until I have some answers that satisfy me.”
“What did that lying bitch tell you?”
“What she said is not your concern. All I want from you is the truth.”
He rested his head against the wall. “The truth is so bizarre you would never believe it.”
“You don’t know what I’ll believe until you tell me.”
“I’m sure she told you her pathetic story of her mother dying when she was young and how she has spent years trying to find her father whom I lured away under false pretenses.”
Neither Tacitus nor I acknowledged what he said.
“It’s all lies. The truth is ... that she’s some sort of ghoulish creature of the night—an empusa.”
Tacitus and I laughed. “An empusa?” I said. “That’s ridiculous.”
“They’re just legendary monsters,” Tacitus said. “They supposedly drink the blood of anyone they find roaming around at night. My nurse used to tell me stories about them—and about the Lamia—so I would stay in bed at night when she put me there. I still wake up in a sweat sometimes.”
Apollodoros shook his head. “This one is very real. And she wants the blood of Aristeas. She has convinced herself it will make her immortal.”
“But you’ve been telling people that more than one drink would be fatal.”
“She wants to drink it all at one time. We’ve been trying to escape her for years. We keep on the move, changing our names, but she’s always on our trail.”
“This makes no sense at all,” I said. “According to the stories I’ve heard, doesn’t the empusa have feet of bronze?”
“That’s one version,” Tacitus said.
“But Daphne’s feet are perfectly normal. I didn’t see anything about her that wasn’t normal.”
“She did keep her cloak wrapped closely around her,” Tacitus said.
“The evening is chilly.” I didn’t mean to defend her, just point out the obvious.
The Corpus Conundrum Page 11