Wrath of the Furies by Steven Saylor Page B

himself.”
    â€œIs he?” said Gaius Cassius. “Can’t have been much good, if I’ve never heard of him.”
    â€œYou have a fondness for Greek poetry, Governor?” I said.
    â€œI put up with it.” Cassius’s voice was as flat and dry as parchment. “But there’s not a living poet, Greek or Latin, who can compare with Ennius. He was the only true heir to Homer.” His voice, so lifeless speaking Greek, took on an orator’s lilt as he recited the Latin:
    â€œIn sleep, blind Homer appeared at my side.
    â€˜Wake now, poet, and sing!’ he cried.”
    Pythion trained his gaze on me. “Perhaps Gordianus could recite something by this Zoticus.”
    â€œYes, let’s hear something by Mithridates’s spy,” said his brother, his voice dripping with malice.
    My mind went blank for a moment. I didn’t dare to quote anything by Antipater, for they might recognize it. Then I recalled something Antipater had come up with after we left Rome. I tried to speak with perfect Greek diction:
    â€œTwo widows of Halicarnassus lived under the same roof,
    One beautiful, young, and shy, the other stern and aloof.”
    Pythion pursed his lips. “That’s not bad, actually. How does the rest of it go?”
    â€œI … I’m not sure. I don’t think … Zoticus … ever actually finished that poem.”
    â€œPerhaps he’s working on it right now, while he dines in Ephesus with his master, Mithridates,” said Gaius Cassius, reverting to lifeless Greek.
    â€œYou must be wondering, Gordianus, exactly what I’ve told these others about you,” said Posidonius. “I’ve explained that you arrived by ship from Alexandria today, and intend to sail on to Ephesus tomorrow; that a few years back you spent a winter under this roof, along with … Zoticus … whom I knew from my time in Rome; and it turns out that all along, without your knowledge or mine, Zoticus was traveling as a spy for Mithridates, and now seems to be in Ephesus, along with the king’s court; and that, having received information that Zoticus is in danger, you intend to go to him and offer your assistance—despite that fact that he duped you as well as me, and many others.”
    Pythion raised an eyebrow. “Unless, of course, Gordianus is himself a spy for Mithridates.”
    Posidonius sighed. “Putting aside my lapse of judgment in the case of Zoticus, I still think I’m a good judge of character, and I can’t believe that Gordianus is a traitor to Rome. This young man values truth and honesty above all other virtues. He’s not the stuff that spies are made of.”
    â€œAnd yet,” said Gaius Cassius, “a spy is exactly what we would like him to be.” Before I could ask what this meant, he went on. “Tell me, Gordianus, how do you intend to operate in Ephesus, as a Roman among so many Roman-hating Greeks? What makes you think they’ll even let you off the ship?”
    â€œOr that you won’t be torn limb from limb the moment you set foot on Ephesian soil?” said Pythion.
    â€œWhatever happens, you’d better be wearing a toga when you step off the ship,” added his brother.
    â€œA toga?” I managed a small laugh. “Until this evening, I hadn’t worn a toga in years. Posidonius kindly provided this one. I don’t even own one.”
    â€œThen you’d better ask Posidonius if you can take that one with you,” said Pythion. “According to reports from the latest refugees, signs were posted overnight in every village and city under Mithridates’s control. The signs are in both Latin and Greek: ‘By decree of the king and on pain of death, all Romans must wear the toga at all times.’”
    â€œBut why?” I asked. The toga was worn when conducting business or religious rituals, or—as on this occasion—when dining