The Venus Throw by Steven Saylor

Author:Steven Saylor [Saylor, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: St Martin’s Paperbacks
Published: 1995-06-11T07:00:00+00:00

PART

THREE

NOX

chapter

Sixteen

Chrysis fretted all the way back to Clodia’s house. She insisted that I come along to explain what had happened. I think she was afraid to break the bad news to her mistress alone.

The litter bearers turned down the little cul-de-sac, with the bodyguards and Belbo following behind, and deposited us in front of the house. Belbo and I waited on the red and black tiled doorstep, looking up at the towering cypress trees on either side while Chrysis rapped on the door and then clutched my hand to draw me inside. Belbo followed.

“What do you mean, she’s not here?” I heard her say to the slave who opened the door.

“She’s gone off,” said the old man. “I don’t know where.”

“For what? For how long?”

He shrugged. “Nobody tells me anything. But—”

“Surely she didn’t decide to go down to the Senian baths herself,” mumbled Chrysis, nipping at a fingernail. “No, she would have seen me. Unless we passed each other on the way. Oh, Attis!” Chrysis made a little yelp of frustration. “Wait here,” she called to me as she disappeared down a hallway. “Or in the garden,” she added, waving vaguely toward the center of the house.

While Belbo stayed in the foyer, I walked through the atrium beyond, down a wide hallway, through a colonnaded archway and finally down a short flight of steps into the open air and sunlight. The garden was square, surrounded by a covered portico. There was a low platform at the opposite end, which appeared to be a stage, for behind it was a wall painted with a jumbled cityscape, like a theatrical backdrop. In front of the platform there was a small lawn with room for several rows of chairs. At each of the four corners of the garden were cypress trees, teller than the roof. In the center of the garden was a small fountain with a statue of a naked Adonis. Bronze fish beneath his feet emptied water into the pool from their gaping mouths. I walked closer to have a look at the mosaics that lined the bottom. Beneath the splashing water the images of dolphins and octopi quivered against a shimmering field of blue.

The Adonis was captured in the act of kneeling—knees bent, upraised palms extended, his face turned upward with a radiant expression. It was obvious to whom he was showing obeisance, for on the stairway which I had just descended, atop a high pedestal looking out over the whole garden, was an enormous bronze statue of Venus, even more magnificent and more opulently detailed than the one which decorated Clodia’s horti on the Tiber. The goddess was naked above the waist; the folds of cloth gathered about her hips seemed frozen in the act of fluttering to the ground. The curves of her body were sumptuous, and the painted bronze gave the illusion of pliant flesh, but the size of the statue was out of scale, disconcertingly large, more intimidating than beautiful. Her hands were captured in gestures

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