Free Wrath of the Furies by Steven Saylor Page B

west was another sail, this one bright yellow. Aboard the Phoenix there was nowhere to go and very little to do, but with the sun shining and a steady breeze in our sail, what place on earth could be more beautiful? The detached languor of travel by sea settled over Bethesda, calming and soothing her. When I caught her chin and turned her face toward me so I could look in her eyes, I saw not trepidation but the placid, catlike contentment I had grown used to seeing there, and had come to love.
    â€œPerhaps,” she said, “this trip will not be so awful after all.”
    It was hard for me at that moment to remain mute, and merely nod. It was harder still not to kiss her, in full view of the sailors and the other passengers. Instead, remembering my roles as both mute and master, I allowed myself only to look into her eyes for a long, lingering moment before returning my gaze to the sea.
    *   *   *
    For the next four days the weather was mild and the sky mostly clear, with only occasional clouds affording welcome patches of shade. We quickly grew used to the tilting and rocking of the ship. At night we lay side by side on a blanket on the deck, letting the gentle motion rock us to sleep.
    Passing as a mute presented challenges. My days on board the Phoenix would give me a chance to practice my role, so to speak, before I arrived in Ephesus. I soon discovered that having Bethesda serve as my mouthpiece afforded an advantage I had not anticipated: as long as she did the talking, no one seemed to take much notice of me. All eyes were drawn to the beautiful Bethesda, and mute Agathon faded into the background.
    But having no way to speak my own mind, and having to rely on Bethesda to speak for me, did sometimes present problems.
    Many of the passengers passed the time by playing games of various sorts, often with small wagers attached. One of the most popular of these games was Pharaoh’s Beard, played with dice and a wooden board upon which pegs were moved forward or back. When I was invited to play, I declined with a shake of my head, and thought that would be the end of the matter. But when the others badgered me to join with some good-natured jibes, and still I declined, Bethesda spoke up.
    â€œMy master does not play Pharaoh’s Beard,” she said, stepping forward to take a closer look at the playing board. “Nor does he ever gamble.”
    â€œWhy not?” asked a big, brusque Jew. The man had been conspicuous among the other passengers from the first day because of his striking features; he had shoulders like a bricklayer, shoulder-length hair, and a long, plaited beard. I didn’t know his real name. Bethesda had teasingly nicknamed him Samson, after some legendary strongman in the stories her mother told her, and nobody on the Phoenix called him anything else.
    â€œBecause,” Bethesda began, circling around to get a better look at the board, “it was not long ago, while playing Pharaoh’s Beard, that he gambled away everything he possessed, and then—”
    â€œI think, young woman,” said Samson, “there must be some reason your master is scurrying this way, frantically shaking his head!” He grinned as I took hold of Bethesda’s arm and drew her aside. “Poor Agathon. Lost his voice, and apparently lost his fortune as well, by playing Pharaoh’s Beard. I wonder which he lost first.”
    â€œAnd which he’ll get back first!” joked another of the passengers.
    â€œJust as well he won’t play,” muttered another. “I don’t like to stand too close to a fellow who’s gotten on the wrong side of Fortuna.”
    â€œOh, really?” said Samson. “That’s just the sort of fellow I like to play against! Sure you won’t join us, Agathon?” he asked, raising his voice as I retreated to the far side of the deck. I shook my head and pulled Bethesda along with me.
    The others laughed and