and his slave, and only if the master plays the conqueror, and only if no one ever talks about it. My father frowns on such relations.”
“Why is that?”
“He says it’s unseemly to subject any slave, male or female, to unwanted advances.”
“What if the desire is mutual?”
“I asked him that. Between master and slave, he says, there inevitably exists some element of coercion.”
“I think your father is a bit of a philosopher, Gordianus.”
“I suppose he is.”
“Clearly, you’ve given some thought to these questions of human behavior. I’m sure things will work out between you and Vindovix, one way or another. Tell me, was your rejection of his advances predicated on your reaction to his primary or secondary substance?”
I recognized this as philosopher talk, but had no idea what he meant.
Posidonius pursed his lips. “Let me put it this way: is it that you find this particular man unattractive, or do you have no attraction to men at all?”
I considered this. “He’s awfully big.”
“Big? Oh, I see. You find the prospect daunting?”
“Well, yes.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that. I believe Vindovix prefers that his partners ‘play the conqueror,’ as you call it.”
“Are you sure about that?” I pictured Vindovix, looming over me in the passage.
Posidonius gave me a knowing look. “Did you not embark on this journey with Antipater to have new experiences? We have a long, gloomy winter ahead of us. A bit of companionship might make the time pass much more pleasantly.”
From a small table nearby, a flash of light caught my eye. It was the knife of Gatamandix, its blade reflecting the light of a lamp hung above it. Lying next to it was a parchment with drawings on it.
Posidonius followed my gaze. “How Gatamandix loves that knife of his! It’s a sign of his authority, you see. Among the Gauls, the Druids are not just seers, but the guardians of moral conduct; they judge those accused of crimes and mete out punishments, including executions. A Druid’s knife is his ultimate tool of enforcement. Gatamandix cursed himself for leaving his knife behind when he went to Lindos; that’s why he was so disgruntled to see me holding it when he returned. Even so, I’ve persuaded him to lend it to me for a few days, so that I can make a thorough study of the decorations on the hilt. The iconography of the Gauls is amazingly complex, quite fascinating, really—”
I tried to suppress a yawn.
“Off to bed with you, then,” said Posidonius.
“No, please continue—”
“Off, I said.”
Before I knew it, I was back in the darkened passage, and Posidonius had shut the library door behind me. I headed to my room.
* * *
The ship from Lindos did not arrive the next morning. Apparently, there had been a windstorm off the coast— exactly the sort of weather that stopped ships from sailing at this time of year, even to make short journeys like that from Lindos to Rhodes. Probably the ship was merely delayed, said Posidonius; but I could see that he was nervous, no doubt imagining the precious plaster model lost forever at the bottom of the sea, or, just as bad, reduced to dust if the crate had come loose from the ropes securing it and been thrown this way and that on a storm-tossed ship. As darkness fell, the ship still had not arrived.
When we all gathered with our host for dinner—the Gauls, Cleobulus, Antipater, and myself—I noticed, with a bit of a start, that Vindovix had shaved his moustache. He looked almost civilized, I thought, and the change definitely heightened his resemblance to the Colossus. I tried not to stare, fearing he would misinterpret my interest, but he seemed to avoid my gaze altogether.
We were still eating when Zenas came rushing in to inform his master that the ship and its cargo had just arrived in the harbor, apparently safe and sound.
“Shall I have the crate unloaded and carted here at once, Master?” said Zenas.
Posidonius’s eyes lit up at the prospect, but he shook his head. “No, the hazards of transporting such a fragile object across the city by night are too great. We’ll leave that until morning. In the meantime, Zenas, I want you to spend the night on the ship and to keep watch over the crate. I can’t trust the crew to do so; after sailing through a storm, they’re likely to drink themselves into a stupor. Can you stay awake until dawn?”
“Certainly, Master,” said Zenas. “You can rely on me. I’ll guard the crate with my very life!”
Posidonius laughed. “And how would you do that—wielding your stylus and wax tablet like a sword and shield? Just see that the crate is securely tied down and that nothing falls on it or bumps into it. At first light, hire some carters to bring it here and make sure they avoid any potholes or sudden jolts.”
“The statue will come to no harm while it’s in my care, Master. Just let me fetch a heavy cloak to keep myself warm.” Zenas took his leave.
Smiling broadly, Posidonius clapped his hands and called for more wine. “Tomorrow, we shall see the face of the Colossus as it was rendered by the hand of Chares himself.”
* * *
