The Shadow of Ararat

by Thomas Harlan

  Ahmet could feel the eyes of the old man upon him. He did not turn, draining the mug of water.

  "He will sleep two, maybe three days. Then he will be hale again." Ahmet turned slightly; the old man was looking up at the mural on the ceiling.

  "I will have a place prepared for him in the second circle apprentices' quarters," Ahmet said. The master turned then, his eyes shadowed in the dim hall.

  "No, that will not be necessary," he said, his voice thin and quiet.

  Ahmet rose up slightly, his eyes narrowed, his lips tight.

  "What do you mean?" he whispered.

  The headmaster reached into his loose robe with a narrow, gnarled hand and drew out a message tube, pale white and bound with a coiling piece of purple and tan twine. He placed it on the tabletop, halfway between himself and Ahmet.

  Ahmet nudged it with his finger. "What is this?"

  "A letter of request from the exarch of Alexandria to this school, a request for a second-tier sorcerer to complete the levy upon Egypt to satisfy the demands of the Eastern Emperor."

  "What? What demands of the Emperor?" Ahmet was incredulous, his voice rising.

  "Quiet, quiet, young master. There is no explanation here, only the request that we supply one second tier sorcerer to meet the levy. I have been unable to learn anything more from my colleagues at the Karnak school, or in Alexandria itself. The tribune has made the same demand, in varying degree, upon all of the schools and temples in the province."

  The master placed a hand on Ahmet's shoulder, pushing him gently back down onto the bench. "We are neither over- nor underfavored by this, Ahmet. All of the schools have been levied and all are equally unhappy. Unfortunately, ours is one of the smallest schools, with few masters and a limited number of students. I cannot afford to send a journeyman, or even one of the more advanced apprentices."

  Now Ahmet did rise up, pushing back the bench, his face flushing with rage.

  "So you send a boy, a youth without even a fringe of beard? He will go to the Legions, you know, he will serve with those who are ten or twenty years his senior. He will vanish, swallowed up, consumed alive by fire or sorcery, disease..." The master nodded, his face graven with deep lines. Ahmet slumped into the bench, speechless.

  "I grieve for the boy, too. But with the trouble that he has caused, and the ramifications for the school, I think that this is the best way, perhaps even for him." The headmaster gripped Ahmet's broad shoulders with his hands, setting him upright.

  "You have taught him well, Ahmet. His spirit is strong, he is not untalented in the arts, his mind is quick. I pray he will flourish there, springing up anew in some foreign soil to blossom and prosper."

  "No," Ahmet said, his voice low, "he will die, body and mind consumed by some enemies' enchantment. He has barely the skills necessary to perceive the true world, much less manipulate it. In the Legion, he will be overtaxed and burned out like a reed taper. You are sending him to certain death."

  With this Ahmet rose, and walked quickly out of the refectory. Behind him, the headmaster bowed his head for a moment and then, squaring his shoulders, rose to return to his own duties.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Quirinal Hill, Rome

  Thyatis rubbed one tan finger idly along the partially healed scab that ran just under her hairline. The uneven jouncing of the litter made it difficult, but no more so than walking on the deck of a galley on the open sea. The thick muslin curtains of the litter rustled in the breeze and she nudged the near side open a crack. Beyond the muslin, a light cotton drape embroidered with fanciful octopi and dolphins provided a secondary screen to deny passersby view into her sanctuary. All around her, faint but unmistakable in the late spring air, were the sounds of the greatest city in the world preparing to take the afternoon off. Thyatis' thin nose twitched a little as the breeze caught the shoulder of the nearest Nubian bearer, bringing a musky odor of sweat and cinnamon to her.

  I should be walking, she snarled to herself in her mind. I am not some delicate Palatine daughter to be carted around like a hod of bricks.

  Despite an irrational urge to throw the curtains aside and leap out into the street, she remained in the litter. She smoothed the fine linen dress down over the sleek muscles of her thighs and concentrated on appearing demure and inoffensive.

  The litter paused and the lead slave rapped lightly on the recessed oaken door of the house with the bronze-shod head of his walking stick. Thyatis checked the slim knife that she had strapped to the inside of her right thigh. It was secure and invisible. The litter lurched forward again as the door swung wide. She breathed softly and evenly through her nose. No more time for thinking.

  This is my patron, she thought, not an enemy in the warren of the city or a shark in the green waters of Thira. I am in no danger. No danger.

  The architrave of the entrance hall vaulted high above them as the doormen helped her out of the litter. A little stunned by the size of the hallway, Thyatis did not resist as they led her forward, soundlessly, over a vast expanse of seamless sea-foam pale marble. The panels inset in the ceiling were painted with more dolphins, mermaids, eels, and sharks. Watery streams of light fell through blue and green glass panels high on the dome of the atrium. The air seemed to shimmer in the dim light. Pale cream walls rose up, unadorned, to reach the base of the dome. A light current of air brushed over her, stirring her hair. At the end of the entrance hall, lit by slanting beams of afternoon sunlight, a monumental reclining Poseidon took his ease in lightly painted marble. Sea nymphs and porpoises surrounded and supported him as he rested. At the base, waves of stone crashed upward from the massive plinth that supported the entire statue.

  Oh, my dear, Thyatis thought, this is surely not Pater's farm!

  Her eyes widened as the servants preceded her the length of the hall from the atrium to the seat of the sea king. Though the figure was fully three times life size, the artistry of the painters' work was unparalleled. The black curls of his hair seemed to fall so naturally, the pale pink of his skin throbbed with life. The lips of the sea nymphs blushed a pale rose, like the most delicate flowers.

  "Magnificent, isn't he?" came a husky voice, breaking the silence. Thyatis turned slowly, nerves taut, her peripheral vision catching the flutter of the servants as they bowed themselves away from her. To the right of the statue, a set of steps descended in broad arcs to an interior garden. A tall woman stood on the topmost step, her raven-dark hair spilling down her back in a glorious cascade of loose curls. Tiny golden pins glittered like stars against the firmament of her hair. A shimmering deep blue-black dress of silk clung eagerly to her figure. Thin necklaces of pearl and raw red gold plunged from her neck to vanish in the soft darkness between her breasts. Thyatis suppressed a momentary urge to gape in awe at the expense of such a garment. The raw silk alone would have done to purchase the province of Pannonia. The lush red lips quirked in amusement, and Thyatis struggled to keep her composure as she realized that her opinion was all too clear to the pair of deep-violet eyes that surveyed her from beneath the eyelids lightly dusted with gold.

  "Come, my dear, join me in the garden."

  The woman turned, showing an alarming expanse of supple white back in the scoop-backed gown. One long-fingered hand gestured idly to the nearest servant and the man disappeared back down the undersea gloom of the hallway. Thyatis followed the woman down the steps, marveling at her hostess's movement. She seemed to glide, not walk, and though Thyatis accounted herself sure on her feet, she felt clumsy and hesitant beside the monumental self-assurance of the other woman.

  Beyond tall glass-paned doors of bronze and silver a low garden lay, subtly lit in the afternoon sun. Tall rowan trees rose above the tile roofs of the building that surrounded it. An almost invisible canopy of thin filmy fabric covered the open sky, muting the light of the sun. A small brook trickled through an immaculately kept lawn, guided between carefully placed stones. A tiled walkway led across the stream and into a bower that covered the northern hal
f of the garden. Thyatis crossed the little wooden bridge and paused momentarily, as she suddenly became aware of the light sound of harp strings and the whisper of a lute. An air of peaceful repose lapped around her, languid and warm.

  The dark-haired woman settled on a couch that was placed in the bower and gestured for her guest to sit upon cushions laid at the foot of the divan. Thyatis found herself almost frozen in apprehension by the understated but absolutely unmistakable display of vast wealth that surrounded her.

  "Come, come, dear. Krista will bring us something light to eat and you and I will talk."

  The languid, almost hoarse voice stirred Thyatis from her panicked stillness. With a fierce effort of will, she forced herself to walk to the cushions and settle there, cross-legged, amid them.

  The hostess laughed, a cultivated sound, like summer rain on a tile roof. She leaned back on the divan, resting her round white arm on the cushions. "You are in no danger here, my dear, you are under my protection and in my service. I do not harm my servants, particularly ones who do me such good work." The woman smiled, her perfect cheeks dimpling. Against her will, Thyatis found the charm of the woman eating away at her battle tension.

  "Forgive me for prattling, but certain things must be clear between us," continued the mistress of the household. "I am the Duchess Anastasia de'Orelio, a lady of the Roman city of Parma. You are Thyatis Julia of the house of Clodia, a hitherto unremarkable clan of Roman landowners. You have been my ward and employee for five years, though we have never conversed before today. I must apologize for taking so long to see you—you are one of my children, under the letter of the law—but it seemed best."

  Thyatis bowed her head to cover a start of surprise. She had not realized that she had been adopted into her patron's household. An odd mixture of relief and sadness washed over her. She had a place in the world after all.

  Anastasia laughed again, genuinely. "And you are very polite for a young woman of your background and skills."

  The Duchess's eyes sharpened as Thyatis looked up with a calm expression. Silver chains composed of hundreds of tiny perfectly formed links rustled on her wrist as the older woman waved a finger around the courtyard and garden.

  "This did not come to a silly or stupid person," she said. "It came to me because I was—I am—quick of thought, light of wit, and have a very good memory." Thyatis looked up, her mouth twitching in amusement.

  "Ah," said the Duchess, "Krista is here at last."

  Thyatis turned and observed a young woman crossing the bridge. She wore a simple white shift, though it was of a good fabric and edged with a pale-orange trim. Like Thyatis she was a deep tan, with her dark red-brown hair done up in coiled braids. At first sight, there was something of the Duchess's look to her dark eyes and lips, but Thyatis saw that they were not blood relations. The girl was a slave, marked by a thin jeweled collar and a barely subservient attitude. In her hands, she bore a broad bronze platter filled with cheese, fruit, and bread. Bowing prettily, she placed the food before the Duchess and knelt on the grass. Unbidden, she opened two small ceramic crocks, one of jam and one of fresh butter. Thyatis realized that she was quite hungry. The summons to meet her unseen and unmentioned employer had come at dawn, and breakfast had been a forgotten detail in a busy morning.

  "Now, Krista, look at this young lady and tell me if she can be made more attractive than she is already."

  Krista did not speak for a moment, completing the preparation of the bread and butter, which she offered first on a porcelain dish to Anastasia, who gravely accepted a single piece, and then to Thyatis, who restrained herself mightily and took only two. The slave sat back on her haunches and appraised the visitor with sharp brown eyes.

  "Well, her breasts are large enough, I suppose," she began.

  —|—

  Thyatis was still smarting at the cool commentary of the slave hours later when she at last emerged from the baths that were sequestered under the villa. While she had waited in increasingly furious silence, the slave had detailed all of her obvious and not-so-obvious failings at the prompting and delight of her mistress. After two hours of discussion during which Thyatis felt ever more like an insensate lump, at last they concluded. Anastasia had bidden Krista take her guest to the baths and then make her presentable for evening company. It had taken every scrap of control not to clip the smug little girl behind the knees once they were out of sight of the garden and then ram her perfect little face into the nearest stucco column repeatedly until Thyatis felt better. But she had not, and had suffered the attentions of the bath servants in grim silence.

  Indeed, Krista had joined the attendants in preparing her hair and anointing her face, arms, and shoulders with subtle powders and dyes. The skilled fingers of the girl were a wonder, and Thyatis at last, grudgingly, felt the tension that had ridden with her all day seep away into the soapy warm water. At least I have breasts you can see, she grumbled to herself as the dressing attendants arrayed her in a simple-looking green gown and understated jewelry. One held up a mirror for her and she was amazed to see what looked back out at her. Maybe, maybe there is something to all this, she thought.

  For a moment, the servants and slaves left her sitting alone on a bench set into a casement window. Velvet pillows edged with seed pearls surrounded her, but the stones were still cold under her hands. Below her, the steep side of the house looked down on rooftops below and a scattering of firelights in the gathering evening gloom. The sky was still flushed with sunset.

  So much like Thira at dusk, she thought, thinking of the school she had labored in for four years. She felt very sad and empty for a moment, missing the clear blue waters of the sea around the island and the simple, almost pure life within its marble walls. Her fingers tested the weave of the gown, feeling the lushness of the fabric. Fingertips brushed against the necklace of gold and the jewels that were buried in it.

  This dress is the price of Pater's whole farmstead, she thought, and the bleak memory that rose in her mind's eye brought tears to her eyes. The bracelets and rings would buy and sell her brothers and sisters ten times over. Why did I escape! She wailed silently to herself.

  The moment was broken by a light touch on her shoulder and she looked up into Krista's brown eyes. "Don't cry, mistress," the girl whispered, concern in her voice, "you'll ruin the makeup." Thyatis nodded and stood up. The slave checked her hairpins, the drape of the gown, and anointed her with one last dust of facial powder. "Please follow me, the Duchess is waiting."

  —|—

  Thyatis eased back fractionally from the low table that still held a variety of dishes. Porcelain Chin plates and bowls gleamed under the shuttered lanterns, blue and gold etched designs crawling out from under the remains of roasted grouse, walnut-stuffed dormice, three kinds of grilled fish, two kinds of salad, and the shattered remains of an army of sliced fruits dusted with honey-sugar. For a moment she closed her eyes and savored the subtle taste of the spices in the cream custard she had just finished.

  Across the table, Anastasia delicately peeled a plum and sliced it into thin strips with the edge of a fingernail. The Duchess smiled fondly down at Krista, who knelt at her side. Her languid gaze on Thyatis, she idly fed the slices to the girl one by one. Thyatis shuddered as the violet eyes assessed her. She felt alone and close to some unknown danger. Yawning, she stretched and shifted amid the pillows, her right leg sliding out and flexing. Her right hand dropped down to rest on her thigh, only inches from the knife she had managed to keep with her through three changes of clothing and a bath.

  Anastasia finished with the plum and waited a moment while the slave washed and dried her hands with a soft towel. This done, the girl gathered up the plates and removed them in almost complete silence. When the last tinkle and clatter had died away, the Duchess stood up and moved to the low wall that separated the dining platform from the edge of the tower wall. Thyatis took the moment to shift again, bringing her feet under her. For a long time the older woman stood at the railing,
staring out over the roofs of her own townhouse, its garden, the stables behind it.

  Her house stood on the edge of the Quirinal hill, raised up both by nature and man. Below her the city spread away in darkness toward the Tiber. The blaze of lights of the Forum stood to her left beyond the bulk of the mausoleums and temples. The other hills of the city were a sprinkling of lantern lights, bonfires, and torchlight. At last she drew the drapes, closing in the little dining deck that rode atop the highest building in her town estate—no more than seven paces across, a rich wood-lined summer room with a tiled roof and sconces of black iron to hold the torches and lanterns. Despite the season, a cool breeze ruffled the cotton drapes. Anastasia knelt again at the table and poured new wine from the amphora into her cup, and then Thyatis'.

  "The city seems so empty now," she said, her voice even and unconcerned. "The plague took so many." She paused. "Of course, the poor suffered the most, and it was before you came to the city."

  The Duchess sipped her wine.

  "I was newly married then, to the Duke, and he brought me to the city from his estates in the north. He wanted to see the theater and speak with his friends and patrons at the Offices." She drank again.

  "He died, of course, when the coughing sickness came. No, that was later. It must have been the bad one that killed him, the one that made you drink and drink yet hold nothing. Yes, he was the one who died in the night, not the day." Thyatis sat very still, her eyes watching her hostess like a hunting bird. The Duchess was speaking dreamily, almost as if the words were spilling from her lips unbidden.

  "No matter, as I said, it was before your time in the city. Come, drink with me."

  Thyatis raised the cup to her lips, but only wetted them with the dusky red Falernian.

  "I remember the first day that you came to the city," Anastasia said, smiling quietly.

  Thyatis struggled to keep surprise from her face. She barely remembered that first day—only a confused memory of blinding sun, the crack of a whip, hoarse shouts, horrible fear, and the taste of blood in her mouth.