He showed us a nearby hut. “You and the boy can sleep here.”
“It’s empty?” I said.
He nodded. “The men who used to sleep here are no longer with us. Sometimes, as today, our numbers increase. Sometimes, we suffer a loss.”
Any further explanation was interrupted by the appearance of Menkhep.
“You’re needed, Artemon.”
Artemon let out a sigh. He suddenly looked older than his years, a man with many demands for his attention. “What now? Another fight?”
“No. She’s calling for you.”
I drew a sharp breath. Artemon seemed not to notice. “What’s it about, do you think? The storm? The newcomer?”
“I don’t know. But she insists on seeing you.”
Artemon nodded. He seemed to forget about me as he followed Menkhep.
“Artemon!” I called.
He paused and looked over his shoulder. “Make yourself comfortable in the hut, Pecunius, or feel free to explore. There’s a bit of sunlight left.”
“Can I come with you?”
Artemon thought this over. Finally he nodded. “If you wish. You’ll have to meet her sooner or later.”
My heart pounding, I hurried after him, with Djet at my heels.
XX
I followed Menkhep and Artemon through the little village of huts and across the clearing with the roasting pit. A narrow, winding trail led down to the water’s edge and then through thick brush along the riverbank. At last, ahead of us, through the greenery I caught glimpses of a lone hut, situated far away from the others.
Menkhep had dropped a little ways behind Artemon. I touched his arm and spoke in his ear.
“This woman-who is she, Menkhep? What is she called?”
Despite the fact that I kept my voice low, Artemon overheard. He stopped and turned, allowing us to catch up with him.
“Her name is Metrodora,” he said.
My heart sank. I had been hoping to hear him speak the name Axiothea, or perhaps even Bethesda. I tried to hide my disappointment. “Metrodora? A Greek name.”
“Yes. She’s not Egyptian. She comes from Delphi. When she was a girl, she trained to become the Pythia. Do you know who the Pythia is, Pecunius?”
“Of course. The priestess of Delphi, who utters the prophecies inspired by Apollo. Even in Rome, everyone has heard of the Oracle of Delphi.”
“So I thought.”
“Are you telling me a priestess of Delphi is living here, in the Delta?” The idea was absurd.
He smiled. “Stranger things have happened. But in fact, Metrodora never became a priestess. The journey of her life took a different course. She’s lived in many places, done many things. But as with the men who come here, we don’t press her with too many questions.”
“I thought you allowed no women among you,” I said.
“Metrodora is different. She possesses special gifts. I don’t know what we’d do without her.”
“When you said you had a soothsayer among you, you were speaking of Metrodora?”
“Yes.”
“She sees the future?”
“Sometimes. And sometimes she sees far-off events, as they happen. She heals the sick. She casts spells for good luck, and puts curses on our enemies.”
“She’s a witch?”
He shook his head. “That’s too simple a word to describe Metrodora. When we reach her hut, you’ll wait outside. Enter only if I call for you.” Artemon turned and walked on.
The secluded structure sat in a small clearing beside the water. It was twice the size of the other huts I had seen, and appeared to be made of two huts built back to back and joined by a connecting room or passageway. Artemon stood before the cloth that covered the nearest doorway and called the soothsayer’s name.
When she called for him to come inside, I gave a start. The woman’s voice stirred a distant memory, tantalizing but too faint to grasp. One thing was certain: it was not the voice of Bethesda.
Artemon stepped inside the hut. The rest of us waited. Menkhep sat on the stump of a tree nearby and closed his eyes. Djet amused himself by studying a frog at the water’s edge. As the sun sank behind the trees, casting sidelong rays, the wind began to rise, carrying the scent of rain. The sky to the north grew darker. The dense greenery around us was suffused by a peculiar twilight.
At last Artemon emerged from the hut. He gave me a quizzical look. “She wants to speak to you, Gordianus.”
I nodded and stepped to the doorway. It was only as I let the cloth hanging drop behind me that I realized he had called me by my real name.
The circular room was dimly lit by a single lamp hung from the ceiling. A woman sat cross-legged on a small rug. A hood obscured her face.
I looked at the clutter around me. By the faint light I saw the gleam of gold, silver, and jewels. Precious objects crowded the room. Were these the offering left by the bandits for her services? I also saw various implements of sorcery-lamps and incense burners, vials of liquids and powders, bits of bone, lead tablets for scrawling curses. Behind the woman I saw a curtained doorway that I presumed must lead to the adjoining hut.
The woman spoke. “You look perplexed, young Roman.”
“How did Artemon know-”
“Your true name? Gordianus is your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” I saw no point in denying it. But how could she have known?
“Don’t worry. Artemon won’t hold it against you that you gave him a false name. Most of the men who come here do so. He’ll continue to call you Pecunius, if that is your wish.”
“And you?” I peered at her hooded face, but saw only shadows. “Is Metrodora your true name?”
She laughed. Like her voice, her laughter was naggingly familiar. “You’ve come through many dangers to arrive here, Gordianus.”
“Yes.”
“Did you think you were finally out of danger, now that you’ve reached the Cuckoo’s Nest? Your greatest peril is just beginning!”
Despite the dank warmth of the room, I felt a chill. “How do you know my name? How could you know anything about me?”
“I know you came here seeking the thing dearest to you in all the world.”
I gasped, for she seemed to have penetrated my deepest thoughts. Or had she? Might she simply be guessing, using the tricks known to every street-corner soothsayer in Alexandria? Didn’t every man arrive in this place seeking his heart’s desire, whether that desire was freedom, or adventure, or a new life?
“Will I find the thing I seek?”
“The thing you seek is very near.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Very near,” she said again.
“How near?”
The woman gestured to the doorway behind her. “Just beyond this curtain. Only a few steps away-and yet, still very far from you.”
What did she mean? Was Bethesda in the next room? My heart gave such a lurch that I thought my chest would burst. My head felt light. My breath grew short.
I stepped toward the curtain. The woman remained on the floor, but waved me back with a hiss.
“If you go to her now, Gordianus, you will surely die!”
I trembled with frustration. “Is Bethesda here or not?” I said through gritted teeth. “Why can’t I see her?”
She held a finger to her lips. “Lower your voice, or else they might hear you.”
“Who might hear?” I whispered. “Why are you tormenting me?”
She peered up at me, holding her head in such a way that for an instant the lamplight clearly illuminated her face.
“Ismene!”
There could be no doubt. The woman who sat before me was the witch of Corinth.
In my travels to see the Seven Wonders, I had taken several side trips. One of the most memorable had been a visit to the ruins of Corinth. When I first met Ismene, she seemed to be nothing more than a serving woman at a tavern, but subsequent events revealed her to be a practitioner of witchcraft. Many men died at that tavern during our stay, by the hand of a culprit other than Ismene; nonetheless, her sorcery seemed to have played a role in the murders, and when last I saw her, she was fleeing from Corinth, weighted down by a great deal of treasure scavenged from the ruins.