Even with her back to me, I instantly recognized Bethesda by her long black hair, and also by the way she stood, with her shoulders back and her head tilted up, looking at the much taller man who stood before her. I had no trouble recognizing Artemon, whose face was clearly lit by the lamp that hung above them.
Whenever I had thought of Bethesda in the days since she went missing, I had pictured her as I had seen her last, wearing the green dress that I had given her for my birthday. I was a bit disconcerted to see that she was wearing something altogether different-a robe of many colors, made of some rich fabric that glistened in the warm glow of the lamp, cinched at the waist with a leather belt ornamented with jewels and silver medallions. I had seldom seen silk, especially in such a quantity, but surely that was what this garment was made of. According to Ismene, Bethesda had been treated like a princess in her captivity. She had been dressed like one, too.
Artemon spoke again. Pressed to the narrow opening, I was just able to make out his words.
“When, Axiothea?” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “When will you give up hope that the old man wants you back? If he intended to pay the ransom, he would have done so by now. He would at least have given some response to our messages.”
Bethesda bowed her head. “Not yet, Artemon. The time has not come yet.”
“But it will come-is that what you mean to say?”
Though I couldn’t hear it, from the rise and fall of her shoulders I knew that Bethesda sighed.
“Give me a sign, Axiothea-some token to show me that what I long for is not beyond my reach. Do you share my feelings, or not?” His tone became strident.
From the look on his face, from the words he spoke, from the way he stood before her, like a suppliant rather than a captor, there could be no doubt. Artemon was in love with Bethesda.
On his face I saw a look of mingled hope and despair. I might have been looking into a mirror. His suffering was the same as mine. I had been deprived of the thing dearest to me, separated by miles of wilderness and water. Artemon, too, was being denied the thing he wanted most-even though she stood before him.
“If you won’t give me a sign, then let me give you one,” he whispered. He reached into his tunic, pulled out the little sapphire ring he had taken from me earlier, and held it before him, like an offering. “For you, Axiothea.”
“Another?” Bethesda said. From the exasperation in her voice I gathered this was only the latest in a long line of gifts.
“Here, let me put it on your finger.” He stepped closer to her. His eyes lit up and his face flushed. He looked so young and helpless that I found it harder than ever to imagine him as the leader of a dangerous band of brigands. He looked like a mere boy, and more than that, like a boy in love, breathless at the mere prospect of touching his beloved’s hand.
“It fits your finger perfectly! That must be a sign, don’t you think? Go on, hold it up to the light. See how it sparkles.”
He raised her hand toward the lamp. The jewel caught the light and shone like a star in the space between them, but only for a moment. Bethesda pulled her hand from his.
“Perfect and beautiful, yes,” she admitted. “Like this dress, and my shoes, and the necklace I’m wearing. Like all the lovely things you’ve given me. Even so, Artemon, I can’t-”
“I don’t imagine such gifts impress you, after all that Tafhapy must have given you. He’s spoiled you, I suppose.”
“No, Artemon, it isn’t that-”
“A kiss!” he said. “That’s all I ask. Only a kiss. Only one.”
He drew closer still. Because he was taller than Bethesda, I was able to see his eyes until the moment he bowed his head, took her face in his hands, and turned it up to his. Bethesda dropped her hands to her sides. She clenched her fingers.
I gave a start. My body seemed to act on its own, without thought. In another instant I would have been through the curtain, but Ismene dug her fingernails into my arm, so hard that I gasped at the pain. Had it not been for the rising wind and the rain that suddenly pelted the roof, Artemon and Bethesda would surely have heard me.
Or would they? Suddenly they seemed to be in a world utterly removed from me, totally absorbed in each other. Was he kissing her? Almost certainly he was, but all I could see was the back of her head, and a bit of his forehead just beyond. Was she kissing him in return? It was impossible to tell. Her body seemed tense, her shoulders stiff, but only her eyes could have revealed what she felt. Was Artemon looking into her eyes at that moment? What did he see there?
Time seemed to stop. The kiss seemed endless, suspended in time, like every kiss between true lovers. I felt the ground drop away below me. I seemed to hang in empty space, surrounded by darkness, seeing only the two of them through the narrow slit.
With a sudden, resounding crack, the moment ended. The crack was the sound of Bethesda slapping him across the face.
I stiffened, fearing that Artemon would strike her in return. Instead he staggered back, touching his flaming cheek. He gave her a stricken look and simply stood there, staring at her, for a long time. All expression drained from his face. At last he turned his back on her, squared his shoulders, and appeared to draw several deep breaths, as if composing himself. He pushed aside the cloth that covered the entrance and left the hut.
I reached for the curtain, eager to step into the room and join Bethesda, but again Ismene held me back.
“No!” she whispered, pressing her mouth close to my ear to be heard above the rising wind. “You can’t go to her now. Artemon might yet come back. You’ve seen what you needed to see. Come back to my room. Come, Roman! Follow me!”
She clutched my arm, as a hawk clutches its prey, and pulled me back. Her strength was uncanny. Or was I weak, drained of my will by what I had seen? I allowed her to draw me through the cluttered passage and back into her room.
The lamp had burned low. The room was darker than before. The wind howled outside.
“Do you see now why I couldn’t take you to her?” said Ismene. “Do you understand why you can’t go to her, even now? If Artemon were to realize the truth-that you’ve come here to find Bethesda and take her back-there’s no telling what he might do.”
“Artemon is a boy!” I said. “A lovesick boy.”
Ismene nodded. “Yes, that’s true. But if you think that’s all he is-if you think that makes him ridiculous, and harmless-then you’re a greater fool than I imagined. There is much more to Artemon than you seem to think.”
“But once he realizes that Bethesda isn’t Axiothea, that she’s merely another man’s slave-”
“He’ll lose interest in her? Do you really know so little of love? No, Roman, as far as everyone here is concerned, you must be Pecunius, and she must be Axiothea, and the two of you must never have met before.”
“What about Bethesda? Does she know I’m here?”
“Not yet.”
“Will you tell her?”
“I suppose I must, if only so she won’t be startled and give you both away the first time she sees you.”
“When will that be? When can I see her?”
Ismene shook her head. “I don’t know. Not yet. For now, you must keep your distance.”
This was not the answer I wanted. I began to object, but a rapping at the door interrupted me.
Artemon called out. “Metrodora, are you done with the Roman? We need to get back to our huts.”
“Go,” Ismene said, pushing me out the doorway.
Suddenly I faced the prospect of standing face to face with Artemon. Would I be able to hide what I felt? I braced myself, but before our eyes could meet, he turned away and headed back the way we had come, walking very quickly. Menkhep, Djet, and I followed.
Above our heads, glowering clouds were faintly lit with the last gray glimmer of twilight. Scattered raindrops pelted my face. The vegetation all around us shivered and thrashed like frenzied Bacchantes performing some ecstatic dance. Even the waters of the Nile were churned into a frenzy. Foaming waves splashed against the muddy shore, and when we reached the huts, I gazed between them to see little whitecaps dancing on the surface of the lagoon.