Furies

by D. L. Johnstone

  “May the gods be with you,” the young man said as Aculeo stepped onto the dock.

  I’d feel safer if they kept to themselves for a change, Aculeo thought and looked about the dusty looking palm grove where a small settlement of Egyptian-style buildings seemed to have risen whole from the muddy banks of the broad canal. The only signs of civilization were the priapic wooden Hermes posts that lined the road to Canopus. He set out down the road.

  He heard the raucous sounds of nightlife from town well before he stepped foot on its streets an hour or so later, the strains of flute and lyre and the drunken voices of the revellers echoing across the dark, sloshing waters of the canal that bordered the dusty road. Canopus was essentially a playground for wealthy Alexandrians, soldiers on leave and tourists looking for a fun night out on the town. Aculeo could see the lights from countless taverns that had been built out over the murky-smelling lagoon. Musicians played from barges well-stocked with food and wine to serenade and serve their boisterous patrons, whose little round boats drifted about the lagoon through tangled islands of lotus.

  Aculeo rented himself a room at a dingy little inn at the edge of town, then visited a dozen taverns along the waterfront over the next several hours, asking for information on Posidippus of Cos. While a number of people were willing to sell him virtually anything else he might be looking for, no one seemed to know anything about the Cosian. Or would admit to it at least. He left them each with a promise of reward for the information and the name of the inn where he could be found. He was taking his chances being so open, he knew, but desperation won out over caution. Time was running out.

  Exhausted and out of options, Aculeo returned to the inn and fell into bed. He’d just drifted off, having learned to ignore the stench of dry-rot that pervaded the room, when a knock came at the door. He slid out of bed, listening at the door for a moment. The knock came again, more urgent this time. He opened the door – a plump, furtive little fellow he’d talked with in a tavern that night quickly pushed his way into the room.

  “Close the door, will you,” the man said, nervously eyeing about the room. “I know where you can find Posidippus of Cos.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when we spoke earlier?” Aculeo asked.

  The man snorted. “You can wander about Canopus all day and night blabbing about the damned Cosian to anyone who might care to listen, but I’d like to keep my head attached to my neck, thank you. Ten silver sesterces, right?” he said, touching Aculeo’s travelling satchel with an appraising eye.

  “Put that down. I said five.”

  “Let’s call it eight.”

  “Six. Now where is he?”

  “Pay me first.”

  “I don’t think so,” Aculeo said.

  “Then never mind,” the little man said, and turned to go.

  “Wait,” Aculeo said, taking some coins out of his purse. “I’ll pay you three now. The other three after you take me to him.”

  The man considered it for a moment, licking his lips. And finally, “Alright, then, let’s go.”

  They headed out into the street, the street torches burning low by now, the songs and cries more raucous then ever as the night unwound. The town never slept – its stinking streets churning with drunks, gamblers, government workers and pornes spilling out of the taverns to find their next drink. Aculeo’s erstwhile guide led him down some back streets where eventually the rough crowds thinned to a scattered few.

  They made their way down to the main harbour district, then to the docklands. The jetties were filled with boats of all shapes and sizes, rocking in the waves, past dark warehouses, pens of livestock, the beggars and riffraff that made their beds there watching them warily as they passed.

  “Posidippus lives here?” Aculeo said dubiously, keeping his hand on his knife.

  “Just hurry up,” the man said.

  They came at last to a deserted-looking building at the edge of the docklands, the sound of rats scuttling into the darkness, the only light coming from the flickering torchlight and the stars overhead.

  “This is it then,” the man said. “Pay me the balance now.”

  “Where’s Posidippus?”

  “He’ll be here soon.”

  “So will your payment then,” Aculeo said, moving towards the edge of the dock, gazing into the darkness, the sound of the waves slapping against the jetty. He looked back towards the west. He could see the fire from Pharos even from here, like a golden eye glittering against the blackness of the night. You can’t escape it easily. He thought of Calisto and the girls, wondering whether they’d make it out of this ghastly mess safely, out of Ralla’s clutches.

  “So when is Posidippus coming?” he asked finally as he turned around. The little man was gone – he was alone. He heard something to his left, a creak of the boards of the jetty, a blur of movement towards him … the back of his head exploded in pain and everything crashed into a sea of blackness.

  Aculeo choked and gagged as cold, brackish water filled his mouth and seeped into his lungs. He struggled to move but something was pinning his arms and legs. Dark starbursts exploded in his head. He thrashed and twisted, trying desperately to free himself as it all began to slip away …

  Rough hands dragged him from the water and dropped him on the muddy shore. Aculeo crouched on his hands and knees, coughing and retching but alive at least. Someone kicked him hard in the ribs, once, then again until he rolled onto his back. He blinked up at them, trying to make out the features of the three figures looming over him in the darkness.

  “Why are you here?” a man’s voice growled.

  “Depends,” Aculeo said, still coughing. “Who the fuck are you?” One man nodded to the others, who seized Aculeo and dragged him back into the water. “No!” he cried. “No, wait!”

  He managed to gasp a single breath as they forced him under. He clung to it desperately until his lungs felt like they’d burst. He roared in impotent rage when they hauled him back up and threw him in the stinking mud.

  “Still want to play games?” the man asked.

  “Fuck you … up the ass,” Aculeo gasped.

  The man knelt down in the mud beside him, grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up – his axe-thin face cold, merciless, considering Aculeo with detached puzzlement. “Old Corvinus always said your tongue was faster than your wits, Aculeo. You’ve come to kill me, haven’t you?”

  “Posidippus … I didn’t come to kill you, dammit, I came to ask your help!”

  Posidippus gave a gap-toothed grin, then struck him sharply across the face. “You lie more than a Persian porne, Roman.”

  “I’m just looking for answers.” The Cosian struck him again, his gold rings cutting Aculeo’s cheek open, the warm coppery tang of blood trickling across his lips. “Will you stop doing that.”

  “Asshole. How’d you even find me?”

  “You did a poor job covering your tracks. The opium dealers in Alexandria knew where you were.”

  “You’re a lying son of a poxed cunt whore,” the Cosian said, then drew a knife from his belt and placed the cold blade casually alongside Aculeo’s throat, sending a shiver of fear coursing down his spine. “Last chance, Roman – Gurculio sent you after me, didn’t he?”

  “Gurculio’s dead,” Aculeo gasped. “He was murdered last week.”

  “You don’t like to make it easy for yourself, do you?” Posidippus said, slowly tracing the tip of the razor-sharp blade across Aculeo’s naked neck, like a thread of liquid fire across his flesh.

  “No, wait! Wait. I know who killed Petras.”

  The Cosian stared at him, his eyes cold, expression blank. “What did you say?”

  “Petras,” Aculeo said. “I know who murdered her.”

  “Petras … she’s dead?” Posidippus asked, his voice thick with emotion, disbelieving. Aculeo nodded, not sure how the man would react. The Cosian said nothing for a moment, just stared at him. Then he dropped the knife, covered his face with his hands and began t
o weep like a child.

  They sat on the loading bay of an abandoned warehouse near the docks. “Tell me what happened,” Posidippus said in a hoarse whisper. “Leave nothing out Roman or on my oath I’ll gut you like a fucking tunny.”

  Aculeo told him most of what he knew, about the murders of Iovinus, Myrrhine and Gurculio, the discovery of Neaera’s necklace, the freedman’s wretched farm where likely a dozen more women had been murdered and disposed of.

  “You’re sure of this?” the Cosian asked.

  “As sure as I can be. We found no bodies.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The killers fed the victims’ remains to the pigs.”

  “Gah. Throw me that skin, will you?” the Cosian said to one of his men, who tossed him a wineskin. Finally he asked, hesitantly, “And what of Petras? Was … was she among them?”

  “No. We discovered her body in the Necropolis. She was buried anonymously as a fellahin. She was murdered three months ago.”

  “Three months, by the gods. Februarius then?”

  “Yes. Why? What’s so …?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Roman. What else d’you know?”

  “Her wounds were similar to those found on Myrrhine. They were likely murdered by the same person. Her burial was paid for by someone named Sabazius.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s a false name. Sabazius is another name for Dionysos.”

  “Dionysos,” the Cosian said, and spat on the ground. “Filthy peasant god that he is, him and his fucking Symposium of Gallus.”

  “What happened, Posidippus? Tell me what you know.”

  The Cosian raked his fingers back through his lank, greasy hair and sighed. “Petras was a part of Panthea’s brothel. I fell in love with her the moment I laid my eyes on her – so lovely, witty, bright, beautiful, and her voice like honey in my ears. I had to have her. I’d had enough dealings with that foul bitch Panthea to know it wouldn’t be easy to buy Petras from her. And when she figured out I’d fallen for her, that multiplied the price tenfold – and she played me for all it was worth. Gurculio agreed to loan me the money. Like a fool, I agreed, not caring about the price or the interest. It gave us no way out, though. I’d leveraged myself far too much already. Then Ralla bought her out from under me. I wanted to murder the man but I couldn’t even get close to him. I’d lost Petras, yet my debts remained. I paid back what I could but the interest that had already gathered hobbled me. Then Gurculio began to squeeze. He wanted to take over my trade routes, my ships, everything. Everything was closing in. I made plans for Petras and I to escape. We’d go to Assyria, make our way from there,” the Cosian said bleakly, taking another draw on the wineskin.

  “The night before we were to leave, Petras was told to attend a special symposium. The Symposium of Gallus. She couldn’t say no, it would have raised too many suspicions. We planned to make our escape the next day. Except … she never returned. I held onto my hope, but feared for the worst. I knew the people I was up against were far too powerful. I was no match.”

  “Ralla?”

  “Him, yes, but there were a dozen others as well. Gurculio, Avilius Balbus …”

  “The Prefect’s son?”

  “The same. Petras had no chance against them. Nor did I.”

  “And what of Iovinus?” Aculeo asked. “Was he involved in this as well?”

  “Iovinus?” Posidippus said with a bitter laugh. “He’s just the mouse that fell in the pitch when he stood on the edge of the pot for a sniff. He went up against too many powerful men, with even more powerful friends. You should have learned from his mistake, Aculeo.”

  “I’ve lost too much already to give up now.”

  “Have you? We’ll see about that, I suppose.” Posidippus stared into the distance. “Iovinus was living right here in Canopus all the time, did you know that?”

  “No.”

  “He came here to hide right after the second fleet was supposed to have sailed to Porteus. I learned he was here soon after I arrived. I had him brought to me. He told me all about Corvinus’ treachery. Did you know of this?” he demanded.

  “Only recently. Corvinus betrayed me as much as anyone.”

  “So you say,” Posidippus said dubiously. “I should have cut Iovinus’ fucking balls off the moment I saw him.”

  “I wish I’d done the same. Did he have some tablets with him?”

  “Ah, so you know about Flavianus’ tablets do you?”

  “Why did Iovinus have them?”

  “Blackmail, why else? He stole them from Corvinus to use against Ralla and Flavianus. He got cold feet though. He tried to sell them to me but I wanted no part of it. Far too dangerous, even for me. He thought Gurculio might give him a good price.” The Cosian looked warily at Aculeo, evaluating him. “You said the moneylender was murdered.”

  “Yes, a week ago.”

  “Who did it?”

  “Panthea.”

  “The whore finally made her move then,” the Cosian said. “She wants it all, that one. Pah, fuck them all. It’s all over.”

  “No it’s not,” Aculeo said. “We still need to stop them.”

  “To what end? They’ve already won, and I’ve cut my losses.”

  “You won’t avenge Petras?”

  “You really are the worst kind of fool – an earnest one. You go after these people you’ll accomplish nothing more than getting yourself caught, which will bring them that much closer to finding me.”

  “What of Petras?” Aculeo demanded. “You were ready to give up everything to be with her. Ralla and the others stole from you, from her, just to feed their sick desires. They murdered her, and others like her, using them and throwing them away like trash.”

  “It’s over damn you!”

  “Is it? And what will you tell Petras at the end of your days, Posidippus, when you find her shade still wandering on the banks of the Styx, her murder unavenged?” The Cosian looked away for a moment, lost in his misery. “We’ve a chance to stop them.”

  “We’ve no chance at all!” the Cosian roared, hurling the wineskin into the darkness.

  “So we should just turn our backs and run away?”

  Posidippus glowered at Aculeo for a long while, looking as though he might murder him on the spot. Finally, he held out an open hand. Aculeo took it, relieved, and the Cosian grasped it tight, pulling him close. “Fine. I’ll give you passage, Roman. But let’s be clear about something. You haven’t seen me. You don’t know where I am. As far as you’re concerned or anyone asks, I’m already dead. Understand me?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Posidippus stared him hard in the eye, unblinking, not releasing his hand. “I’m not sure you do. Not fully.” He signalled his men who grabbed Aculeo and forced him face-first to the ground. The Cosian knelt on his right forearm, pinning the hand flat on the ground, splaying the fingers out. “I won’t make the same mistake I made with Iovinus. Try not to move,” he said calmly, then put his knife to the base of Aculeo’s little finger.

  “No!” Aculeo cried. The Cosian chopped the knife down quick. Aculeo screamed, the pain excruciating, hot blood pumped from the stump where his finger had been only seconds before.

  “Now you understand, eh?” Posidippus said, his voice cutting through the searing pain. “Every fucking time you eat, drink, wipe your arse or stick your hand up a woman’s box, you’ll remember. And the thing I want you to remember most of all is that if I ever see your fucking face again, Roman, I swear to all the gods it won’t just be your finger I take.”

  Zeanthes of Araethyrea took little notice of the man walking towards him along the crushed red gravel pathway of the Museion grounds, a broad-brimmed straw sun hat obscuring his face. The sophist, lost in meditation, tried to veer around him, but the man shot towards him suddenly, seized him roughly by the wrist and clapped a hand roughly over his mouth. Zeanthes tried to break free but the man held him fast, shoving him back against a marble column. They were quite
alone. His attacker looked up at him then from beneath the brim of his hat, wary, watching, and slowly took his hand from the sophist’s mouth.

  “Aculeo!” Zeanthes said in relief. “By the gods, you startled me. But I thought you’d left the city.”

  “I just got back this morning,” Aculeo said, eyeing him still.

  “Why did you come back? It isn’t safe.”

  “I could hardly have stayed away. It’s time I did something right in my life.”

  Zeanthes smiled. “The Skeptics contend one can never truly tell right from wrong. In fact …”

  “Enough with your fucking sophistry,” Aculeo snapped. The scholar’s smile faltered. “Where’s Calisto? She’s not in her villa – it looked abandoned.”

  “I don’t know,” Zeanthes said. “I understand Ralla moved her.”

  “Of course,” Aculeo said wearily, dropping onto a nearby bench.

  Zeanthes sat next to him, then stared at Aculeo’s hand. “You’re injured!” he gasped. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing I want to discuss now,” Aculeo said. “What do you know about the Symposium of Gallus.”

  “Ah,” Zeanthes said, looking across the grounds at a shallow meditation pond, where a snow-white ibis waded stilt-legged through the water lilies, spearing fish with its sharp beak. The bird stared back at them for a moment, its bright yellow eyes cold, unblinking. “I take it you found Posidippus.”

  “You knew?” Aculeo cried and grabbed him by the neck of his chiton, wrapping his other hand around the man’s throat.

  “Aculeo, please!” the sophist gagged.

  Aculeo squeezed his fingers into the soft flesh of Zeanthes’ throat. “No more lies old man. Tell me, damn you, or I’ll break your fucking neck.”

  “Please, please stop, I beg you!” the sophist gasped, his fleshy face turning from red to purple. Aculeo loosened his grip and Zeanthes slumped back on the marble bench, coughing, rubbing his throat. Another sophist walked by then, giving them an odd look before moving on.

  “Let’s find a more private place to talk,” Zeanthes said. They followed the maze of pathways through the lush, exotic gardens to a private meditation area near a plane tree and a shrine to the Muses. The sophist found another shaded marble bench and sighed. “It’s not what you think.”