We had gone our separate ways, and I had whispered a prayer that I might never encounter the witch of Corinth again. By some strange twist of fate, our paths had converged in the Egyptian Delta.
“That was you I saw when I first arrived-the woman who stood behind the crowd,” I said, keeping my voice low.
She nodded.
“You must have seen me too-and more clearly than I saw you, for it seems that you recognized me. How else could you have given my name to Artemon?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure I would have known you, Roman, after all this time. But the arrival of the Roman named Gordianus was not entirely unexpected.”
“You foresaw my arrival? How? By sorcery?”
“That’s what Artemon thinks. He’s quite impressed that I was able to tell him your true name.”
I nodded, finally glimpsing the truth. “But in fact, you know who I am, and you expected me to come, because of…” I caught my breath, sudden unable to speak her name.
“Yes, because of her. Yes, Gordianus, Bethesda is here.”
I felt such a flood of emotion that I couldn’t speak. Ismene pulled the hood back from her face. She extended both hands, indicating that I should help her stand. She was a short, unremarkable-looking woman, no longer young but not yet old, neither ugly nor pretty, but her features were burned in my memory by the extraordinary events that surrounded our first encounter. Her manner was gruff, and her powers frightening-if they truly existed-but as far as I knew, she had never deceived me or done me any harm.
“On the day Bethesda arrived, Artemon put her under my care. He called her by another name: Axiothea. He told me that she was his prisoner, but that she was very precious, very valuable. He asked me to look after her, and to see that no harm came to her.”
“And have you done so? Is she unharmed? Untouched?”
Ismene raised an eyebrow. “What do you think, Roman? The men in this place are all scared to death of me and my curses. Not one of them would dare to come into this hut uninvited. No one has so much as touched a hair on the girl’s head. From the hour she arrived, your slave has been treated like a princess.”
I felt another surge of emotion, this time of relief. “Bethesda!” I whispered.
“You must never call her by that name, not if others might overhear. The men who brought her here thought she was a woman called Axiothea, and that’s who Artemon believes her to be. That is the name she called herself when she arrived, and she maintained her pretense even with me, until she saw there was no point in trying to hide anything from Metrodora the Soothsayer, and told me the truth. Eventually, she also confided to me that she was a slave, and her master was a man named Gordianus. The name was familiar. I questioned her further, and soon enough it was evident that the young Roman who purchased her in an Alexandrian slave market was the very same young Roman who passed through the Peloponnesus a few years ago, the traveler named Gordianus whom I last saw in the ruins of Corinth. Bethesda was certain that you would eventually come for her-and so you have. When I saw you step out of the boat and walk up the pier today, I thought I recognized you. When Artemon confirmed that the man who had joined us was a young Roman, I knew it must be you.”
“And just now, you told him my true name as a sort of trick, to dazzle him with your skills as a soothsayer?”
She smiled. “Does it matter how a soothsayer comes by her knowledge, as long as she speaks the truth?”
I considered all she had told me. “You know that Axiothea is really Bethesda, but does she know that Metrodora is really Ismene?”
She laughed. “Of all the people in Egypt, only you know that I was ever called Ismene. And what makes you think that’s my true name? What do you actually know about me, Gordianus? Do you think I was always a serving woman at a tavern near Corinth?”
“But what are you doing here? What strange path brought the witch of Corinth to such a place?”
“Has my path been any stranger than yours, Gordianus? We have arrived at the same spot, in the same moment.”
“Artemon says that once upon a time you trained to become the Pythia at the Temple of Apollo in Delphi.”
“Do you find that hard to believe?”
“A bit.”
Her face lost all trace of humor. “Where I came from, and how I came to be here, is none of your business. You know nothing for certain about me, Roman, and I suggest that you say nothing about me, if you know what’s good for you. Here I am not Ismene, but Metrodora. Remember that.”
I nodded. “Bethesda,” I said. “Is she truly beyond that curtain? Why can I not see her?”
“Oh, you can see her, Roman. But you mustn’t speak to her, not yet.”
“Why not?”
“That will become evident when you see her.”
Again I stepped toward the curtain, but Ismene gripped my arm to stop me.
“There is a price to pay.”
“What do you want from me, witch?”
“Lower your voice!” she hissed. “Surely no price would be too great, to lay eyes on Bethesda again. Give me the most valuable thing you possess.”
I looked at her blankly, then understood. I reached into the pouch at my waist and pulled out the ruby necklace.
“If I give this to you, what can I use to pay Artemon as a ransom?”
“I hear the jingling of coins in that pouch.”
“They won’t be enough.”
“Nonetheless, if you want to see Bethesda, you must give me the ruby. Now!” She held out her hand.
I looked from Ismene’s stern face to the curtained doorway and back again. I felt an impulse to return the ruby to the pouch, push her aside, open the curtain, and step through. But I remembered the deadly magic Ismene had wielded at Corinth, and also that she had never used it, thus far, to harm me. I would be a fool to make an enemy of her now. And was the sight of Bethesda, after all this time, not worth the cost?
I pressed the ruby necklace into Ismene’s open palm. She held the jewel up to the hanging lamp. Red spangles of light played across her face.
“There’s a curse on this jewel, just as Artemon suspected, but I’ll find a way to remove it. Your payment is sufficient, Roman. You may step through the curtain. Tread softly and say nothing. I’ll be right behind you.”
XXI
The curtain doorway did not open directly into the adjoining hut, but into a passageway between the two. The dark little hallway was cluttered with trunks, boxes, and piles of clothing stacked all the way to the ceiling-yet more of Ismene’s loot, I presumed. The clutter on either side created a passage within the passage, so that I had to turn this way and that to make my way forward. It also served to deaden the sound, so that a noise in one of the huts could hardly be heard in the other. The wind also covered any noise I made. It had begun to rise, whistling through the thatched roof above my head.
Even so, as I approached another curtained doorway-the twin of the one I had just passed through-I heard voices from the room beyond. First I heard a man’s voice, so quiet that I could discern nothing more than the gender of the speaker, and then-my heart skipped a beat-a voice I would have known anywhere, even though she, too, spoke so quietly that I couldn’t make out the words.
I reached for the curtain, intending to draw it aside, but Ismene drew beside me and stayed my hand. Keeping a finger pressed to her lips, she shook her head, then raised her palm, indicating that I should stay where I was and do nothing. Slowly and silently, she parted the curtain, but only to a finger’s width, and indicated that I should put one eye to the narrow opening and take a look.