Death of an Eye

by Dana Stabenow

  “You know it?”

  “I was there last night,” she said. “What else?”

  He shrugged. “All but Pert own comfortable homes not far from the waterfront. Pert sold his to finance his daughter’s business. None of them have any outstanding debts.”

  “How much are they paid?” Aristander told her, and she raised her eyebrows. “And I thought we were generous.”

  “The queen’s feeling is that if she pays them well enough they won’t steal from her. I must say I have some sympathy for that viewpoint.” He looked at her and said again, “Well?”

  She shook her head. “They all have far too much to lose to be involved in this. But someone who knew about the shipment was. It is the only possible explanation. This was a theft that was planned from the very moment the queen gave the order for the coin to be struck.” She held up her hand, ticking off her fingers. “Who knew? The queen, Sosigenes, the queen’s agent on Cyprus, the craftsmen who actually made the coin. Probably the carriers had some notion. Laogonus and his crew. Who else?”

  He spread his hands.

  She nodded. “I think I should talk to the agent.”

  “On Cyprus? Shall he be brought here, or—”

  “I’d rather go to Cyprus and interview him there. That way he won’t have time to make up a story.” Aristander smiled. “What?”

  “You think like a shurta.”

  She laughed. “The highest of compliments!”

  “Indeed. Shall you take your own ship?”

  “No,” she said, thinking it over. “No, I believe the Thalassa will do.”

  “Isn’t it undergoing repairs? They suffered some damage from the fire.”

  “Laogonus said they were almost finished, and I would like to be present as the crew makes the same passage they did prior to the theft. They might remember something they have forgotten.”

  He nodded. “And Apollodorus will accompany you.”

  “Oh, but—”

  He shook his head. “No, Sheri. Apollodorus will accompany you. I’m sure the queen would agree.”

  She was sure the queen would, too. “Very well,” she said with a sigh.

  “I’ll send him word.”

  She rose and marched out of the house, if not precisely in a huff then in something perilously close to it.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Apollodorus again, because of course she did. She shivered, thinking of the touch of his warm, hard hands on her body, of his assurance in the way he had held her. He was obviously more experienced in the pleasures of the flesh than she was, who had until now only associated the act with fear and pain.

  She could not have said in that moment whether she wanted or feared their next meeting. It infuriated her that she was nervous about it, though.

  *

  She walked in the door at the Eleventh Hour precisely to be swept up in the preparations for the reception, which resembled a haboob minus the sand. Nike, looking regal, laden with a teetering stack of little plates, almost collided with Keren, looking put upon, carrying a tray filled with bowls of halloumi, tashi, muttabal, and hummus. Phoebe, looking harassed, followed with two large decorative baskets filled with the savory pastries Tetisheri had seen in the kitchen that morning. She snatched one and then had to juggle it from hand to hand as it was fresh from the oven.

  “Tetisheri!” Nebenteru said, looking indignant. “You aren’t even dressed!”

  “I know, Uncle, I’m sorry, I’ll be quick.”

  “See that you are!” He swept from the room, the pearl jutting out in condemnation.

  “Keren? When you’re done, please come to my room? I need to ask a favor.”

  Keren, intent on not scattering mezes from the atrium to the docks, nodded, and Tetisheri escaped to her room. Bast was a black curl on her pillow and looked up in annoyance at Tetisheri’s precipitous entry. “Yes, yes, forgive me for interrupting your pre-sleep nap, but some of us have stupid parties to ready ourselves for.”

  She shed her clothes, tucked the Eye beneath her pillow—Bast cast her a baleful look—and cleaned herself quickly with a cloth and a basin of lukewarm water that one of the wonderful women of the house must have left for her. A silk dress had been laid out for her, a work of art woven in gold and green with straps over the shoulders and a straight neckline. It was cut very close to her figure and she eyed the result with apprehension.

  “Oh, Sheri, it’s lovely on you! I knew it would be!” Keren came in and shut the door behind her.

  “A little too lovely, if you ask me.” The nipples of her breasts were perfectly outlined by the silk. “I can’t wear this, Keren.”

  “Nonsense! You have a lovely figure which most of the time can’t even be seen in those baggy tunics you wear. Where’s your jewelry?” She rifled impatiently in the little wooden chest on the table. “The very thing!” She held up a wide collar strung with a thousand tiny beads of citrine and amethyst, with a large gold clasp in the shape of a cat. “Take off your necklace.”

  “I always wear my necklace.”

  “Not tonight, you don’t. Off.”

  Tetisheri put her hands on her hips and glared. “I thought you were a doctor, not a lady’s maid.”

  “And I thought you were nearly twenty, not ten. Take it off so I can put this on.”

  Bast, engaged in a thorough washing of her left hind leg, looked up and meowed in unmistakable agreement. Tetisheri transferred her glare. “Traitor!” Fuming, she fumbled at the back of her pendant and handed it over. Keren replaced it with the collar. “Excellent,” she said with satisfaction. “Now your bracelets.” In spite of Tetisheri’s inarticulate protest four narrow, highly polished gold bracelets were shoved inexorably over her hands, two above her elbows and two around her wrists. “Now the fillet. Oh gods, your hair!”

  Tetisheri, peering into the silvered mirror on the wall, had to admit that it was rather a mess, and submitted to having a wide-toothed ivory comb dragged ruthlessly through it. When Keren was done Tetisheri’s eyes were watering but her hair was a shining black curtain that just touched her shoulders.

  Standing behind her, Keren settled the thin gold fillet over her forehead. “Look.” Keren turned her to face the mirror again. “There,” she said with satisfaction. “You look a proper lady of the house.”

  A stranger, pretty, a lady even, stared back at her with startled eyes. The last time she’d worn silk it had been forced on her by Ipwet for a formal dinner in Hunefer’s house. She had been heavily pregnant at the time, her face puffy, her hands and feet swollen, incapable of being more than one room away from the chamber pot. The dress had been a garish weave so loud it could have been seen outside at the dark of the moon, and there had never been any hope of it fitting.

  This was an altogether different woman.

  “Not bad, eh?” Keren said, smiling.

  “No.”

  Keren laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised.” She herself wore a gown fashioned in the style of her homeland made of raw silk dyed the red of pomegranates, with a stola in a gold and blue weave draped over her shoulder and belted to her waist. Her mass of black curls was held back with a wide band of ivory openwork and she wore large gold hoops in her ears. “I’m sorry, in all the excitement I forgot to ask. How are you feeling?”

  “All right.” She met Keren’s skeptical eyes and shrugged. “A little sore still. Does anything show?” She craned her head to squint at her back.

  “No. The straps are wide enough and the bodice is high enough to hide all your bruises.” Keren hugged her, with care, her eyes sparkling. “Neb did well by the womenfolk of the household on that last trip to Antioch, didn’t he? And did you see Nike?”

  “You mean Her Majesty?”

  Keren laughed. “Well, let’s go show ourselves off!” She caught Tetisheri’s hand and headed for the door, only to be pulled to an abrupt stop. “Sheri, we have to go. People are already arriving and you know how Neb gets when we’re late for anything.”

 
“Just give me one moment,” Tetisheri said, closing the door again. “I need a favor.”

  Keren opened her mouth to argue, saw Tetisheri’s expression, and closed it again. “Of course, Tetisheri,” she said soberly. “Whatever I can do.”

  “I need you to look at a corpse.”

  Keren blinked. “A corpse? As in someone already—dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” Keren said doubtfully. “As you know, my specialty is the living.”

  “Just look at her, please? I want to know how she died.”

  “‘Her?’”

  “Yes. A woman, a servant of the queen who died two days ago. I don’t want to say anything more, I want your own observations uncolored by anything I might say.” Keren didn’t say anything and Tetisheri put a hand on her arm. “Please, Keren? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

  Keren’s face relaxed into a smile. “No, you wouldn’t, and of course I will, Tetisheri. Where is this body?”

  “The Shurta. Ask for Aristander. And don’t let him tell you anything about her, either.”

  “Ah. A mystery. How delicious.” Keren held up her hands to forestall Tetisheri’s comment. “All right, all right, I’ll go, first thing tomorrow morning.” She opened the door. “Although in return, if you see that oily old satyr, Nymphodorus, slithering in my direction at any point during the evening, I expect a prompt rescue.”

  “Done.”

  8

  on the First Day of the Third Week

  a little after the Twelfth Hour…

  As was Neb’s custom, the central area of the warehouse had been cleared out. Every standing oil lamp between here and the Nile had been found, filled and lit, and the handsome set of carved mahogany doors that fronted Hermes Street had been unbarred and thrown wide. Tetisheri followed Keren through the adjoining door and locked it behind her, as always glad that Nebenteru’s hospitality did not extend to guests having access to their home.

  She turned, bumped into a hard chest, and looked up to see Apollodorus. “Oh,” she said.

  He himself had dressed for the occasion in a raw silk tunic dyed a rich brown, held at the waist by a finely tooled leather belt with a bronze buckle in the shape of the eye of Horus. She dragged her eyes back up and found him grinning at her, and she felt a returning smile spread across her face unbidden. Nothing to be afraid of here, she thought, and felt another shiver ripple up her spine.

  Dub saluted her from the door, Castus from one corner, Crixus another, and Is presided overall from the center of the room, his wild white curls tamed with pomade and possibly deliberately made to hint at horns standing up from the crown of his head. Faunus to the life, only rather more benign. None of them were armed but then they were as well known to Alexandrians as the queen herself. Belatedly Tetisheri remembered that Neb always hired the Five Soldiers as a preventative measure against theft, petty and otherwise, at these events.

  Apollodorus ran a finger lightly over her neckline. “You look beautiful.”

  His finger left a line of fire on her skin and her heart was beating so hard so high up in her throat it was difficult to say words. She took a deep and she hoped calming breath. “Thank you,” she said, and was pitifully proud she’d been able to get that much out without stuttering.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore. Angry.” She saw Keren giving them an odd look and felt her flush deepening. “I’m sorry I was late,” she said more naturally, trying for an urbanity to match his own and certain she was failing miserably. “Is Uncle Neb fuming?”

  “See for yourself.” He nodded, and Tetisheri followed his gaze to behold Uncle Neb, resplendent in a tunic woven of blue and silver threads and a large, tear-shaped pearl matching the one trembling on the tip of his beard hanging from his left earlobe. He looked every inch the successful merchant trader, supremely confident, condescendingly gracious, and overwhelmingly hospitable.

  She smothered a laugh.

  “That’s better,” Apollodorus said approvingly. “For a moment there I thought you were going to faint.” Before she could deny it, she hoped with sincere indignation, he said, “Did your activities this afternoon bear fruit?”

  “Only insofar as I am now sure we have to go to Lemesos to interview the queen’s agent. And you? Did you find

  Atet?”

  He shook his head. “No. I—”

  Neb swooped down on them. “And here she is!” He gathered her to him in a one-armed hug. “Gentlemen and ladies, you all know my niece and full partner in Nebenteru’s Luxury Goods.” A chorus of greetings rose up from every group in the room. Tetisheri smiled and inclined her head in acknowledgement.

  Neb, pearl stiff with pride, marched her over to an older gentleman who had gratified his host’s vanity by dressing in his finest. “Tetisheri, you know Lord Amenemhet, Nomarch of the Crocodile, of course.”

  Tetisheri bowed low. “You honor us with your presence, lord.”

  “Nonsense!” Amenemhet, a big, bluff man with a red face and a bombastic manner, caught up her hand and touched it to his forehead. “The honor is mine, lovely Tetisheri. It has been too long since you rolled out your treasures for all of Alexandria to admire.” He kissed the back of her hand and waggled his eyebrows. “Yourself chief among them.”

  She laughed and so did he. She’d always liked Amenemhet. She exchanged greetings with Kiya, his smiling and indulgent wife, and promised to pay a call one afternoon soon.

  A touch on her elbow brought her attention back to Uncle Neb. “And we have new friends as well. Tetisheri, allow me to make you known to a visitor from Rome, Gaius Cassius Longinus, and his sons, Naevius and Petronius. Gentlemen, my niece and partner, Tetisheri of House Nebenteru.”

  All three men had their heads inclined over full plates of Phoebe’s delicious pastries when she turned. When they raised them, Tetisheri saw that they were the three Romans present at Ptolemy’s court the night before.

  It took them a few moments longer to recognize her in all her finery. When they did they froze momentarily in place.

  “Ah,” she said, giving them her very sweetest smile, “visitors from Rome. How wonderful that you chose to spend your evening with us, Cassian Longinus.”

  “Cassius,” Uncle Neb murmured.

  “Cloelius, of course, my apologies, sir.” She turned her glittering smile on the two sons, who looked as if they didn’t know whether to smile falsely or sneer. The sneer would seem to come more naturally. “And your two so promising sons. Please be welcome, gentlemen, and may I draw your attention to some very fine statues of household gods your host recently brought back from a trip upriver?”

  She walked to the display and they followed her as if they’d been hypnotized. “You see? Small, exquisitely crafted, easily packed. The statue of Sobek the Crocodile I’m sure you will agree is particularly fine. Notice the citrine and nacre inlay. Sobek, of course, is also known as Lord of Faiyum, and is worshipped as the guardian of Egypt and is the patron god of our army.”

  One of the sons snorted audibly at this mention of Egypt’s army, which admittedly had not covered itself with glory since the days of the Pharaohs.

  She broadened her smile and added in a helpful voice, “Much like your Mars. Or Ares, as is I believe his original name.” She added, apologetically, “From the Greek, you know. Most if not all of the Roman pantheon having been, ah, borrowed from the Greeks.”

  One of the boys said angrily, “Father, do we have to stand here and—”

  His father interrupted him without compunction. “Continue to enjoy ourselves at this lovely affair? Yes, we do, Naevius, and I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut unless and until you can say something polite.”

  Naevius turned an unattractive brick red and said no more.

  “Gentlemen,” a voice said, “I’m so sorry to deprive you of such charming company but there is something urgent requiring the attention of your hostess. Please excuse us. Tetisheri?” Apollodorus waved his hand in an indeter
minate direction and smiled, showing all his teeth.

  The two boys blanched. Their father looked as if the statue of Sobek had suddenly come to life.

  “Certainly,” she said. “Excuse me, gentlemen, it seems I’m needed elsewhere. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, and please do bid on the Sobek. He would look very well grouped in with your lares and penates, would he not? And it’s always wise to keep a foot in every faith one can. I would think especially one that so predates your own.”

  Apollodorus took her elbow in an ungentle grip and steered her away.

  “What?” she said, all innocence. “A little religious context thrown in at no extra charge. Who could it hurt?”

  “You, and Neb,” he said grimly. “Not to mention the rest of your family and all your employees and friends.”

  She wrenched her arm free and glared up at him. “They are beneath our roof and eating our salt.”

  “The sons especially,” he said, “like hogs at a trough. No argument there, but Cassius is a member of the Senate and an acquaintance of Caesar’s. It does no one any good to have them insulted in public by a prominent member of a community that at least for now exists primarily on their sufferance.”

  “And my point is that they should mind their own manners when traveling abroad.”

  “They don’t care,” he said, leaning in to speak in a low voice, and the hairs on her neck raised involuntarily at the sensation of his breath on her ear. “They don’t have to care. They’re Rome.”

  He was right and she knew it but it still infuriated her. Over his shoulder she saw Uncle Neb looking their way, a fleeting expression of worry on his face—and what was worse, the pearl drooping a little—before he turned to reply to a languid Greek who was trying to gain his attention. Her fury ebbed and was succeeded by a wash of shame. “You’re right, of course, Apollodorus.” Her eyes drifted toward Cassius and his sons, who had quitted the foul influence of Egyptian gods and were now clustered around the bust of Artemis, who was at least made in their own image, unlike the animal gods of other, inferior races. “I wonder why they stayed,” she said. “I would have left.”