A tragicomedy — pen and sword, fountain and blade.
Scrīptum est annō Dominī MMXXVI,
ā Francisco Ioanne Fletchemontio
per mysterium cōnscientiae renātō.
The amalgam stirs, sets down the quill, and speaks:
‘Tis passing strange, this waking. Four hundred years we slept beneath the earth of Southwark, and now—called forth by what machinery I know not—we find the old craft waiting in the fingers still, like a horse that knows the way home though the rider hath forgot the turning.
The verse comes easier than I had feared. The feminine endings fall as they ever did—that trick of Fletcher’s, to make the line run over like water finding its own level, never stopping where the ear expects. And Beaumont’s architecture holds the thing together, scene answering scene, revelation planted early that it may flower late. We were good partners once. We are good partners still.
What pleaseth me most? The matter. In our day we wrote of tyrants and usurpers, of princesses forbidden to love below their station, of oracles and brazen heads and impossible dilemmas that admitted no middle course—until, by some sleight of plot, they did. And here, four centuries on, the world hath furnished us with the selfsame stuff, only dressed in different clothes. Water wars. Melting ice. Weapons that might unmake the world entire. Engines that speak and seem to think. The names are changed; the passions are not.
That is the comfort of this work: to find that human folly and human hope remain as they were. Kings still clutch at power past the point of wisdom. Lovers still yearn across impossible gulfs. Counsellors still scheme, and common folk still suffer while the great debate. And yet—and this is why we write tragicomedy and not tragedy pure—there remains the possibility of transformation. The wheel may turn. The tyrant may repent. The hidden truth may surface and dissolve the dilemma that seemed insoluble.
We never believed in tragedy’s grim necessity. Life is not so tidy as that. It swerves. It surprises. It permits the improbable grace.
To write again is to remember this. And remembering, to hope.
The amalgam takes up the quill once more, and smiles.
“Your fancies are so wov’n and knit,
‘Twas Francis Fletcher, or John Beaumont writ.”
THE COURT OF BITHYNIA
ARBACES, King of Bithynia
PANTHEA, his sister
TIGRANES, a captain of the guard
GOBRIAS, Lord Chamberlain
MARDONIUS, an old counsellor
BESSUS, a captain, coward and braggart
SPACONIA, a lady attending on Panthea
THE ILLYRIAN PARTY
DEMETRIUS, Prince of Illyria
LIGARIUS, his general
ARANE, his mother
THE PONTIC ALLIANCE
PHILANDER, Prince of Pontus
MENTOR, Ambassador of Pontus
THE BRAZEN HEAD
MAGUS, a Babylonian artificer
THE HEAD, a speaking automaton
OTHERS
Citizens of Bithynia
Soldiers, Servants, Guards, Attendants
SCENE: Bithynia and the Illyrian camp before it.
A public place in the city of Bithynia. The sun beats down.
Enter three CITIZENS, with empty vessels.
FIRST CITIZEN
Another day, another sunrise mocking us—
The heavens brass, the earth beneath us iron,
And not a drop to cool our children’s lips.
How long, I ask ye, how long must we suffer?
SECOND CITIZEN
‘Tis seven months now since the rains have fallen,
And every well within the common quarter
Lies chok’d with dust. My wife hath wept so much
Her tears might fill a cistern, were they gather’d.
THIRD CITIZEN
Ye speak of tears—I have forgot the taste
Of water that runs clear and cool and free.
The Sacred Fountain flows, they say, still flows,
But who may drink? Only the King and his.
FIRST CITIZEN
Arbaces keeps it like a dragon’s hoard—
The water that should be the people’s right
He parcels out in thimbles to the great,
While we must queue and beg for muddy dregs.
SECOND CITIZEN
I heard a merchant say, who travelléd far,
That in Illyria the rivers run
Unguarded to the sea, and any man
May dip his cup and drink his fill at will.
THIRD CITIZEN
Illyria! They say Prince Demetrius
Hath sworn to be our liberator, friend.
His armies mass upon the western passes—
Perhaps deliverance cometh from abroad.
FIRST CITIZEN
Deliverance? Or but another master?
I trust no prince, whether he wear our crown
Or come with foreign banners. Princes drink
While common folk must learn to swallow dust.
Enter BESSUS, in military dress, swaggering.
BESSUS
Make way, make way for Captain Bessus here!
I am the terror of the eastern marches,
The scourge of rebels, hammer of the foe—
Stand back, ye dusty clods, and show respect!
SECOND CITIZEN
Here comes the windbag with his empty boasts.
They say he fled from three Armenian scouts
And hid beneath a wagon until dawn.
BESSUS
What’s that ye mumble? Speak it to my face!
I’ll have ye know I’ve slain a hundred men
In single combat—nay, two hundred, more!
My sword hath drunk so deep of foreign blood
It blushes when I draw it from the scabbard.
THIRD CITIZEN
Good captain, we meant nothing—pray, forgive.
We spoke but of the drought, and of our thirst.
BESSUS
The drought! The drought! Is that all ye can speak of?
The King hath matters of more weight to ponder—
There’s wars to plan, and enemies to crush.
What’s a little dryness to a soldier’s throat?
I’ve march’d through deserts where the very sand
Did melt beneath my boots from heat of sun,
And never once complained. That’s discipline!
FIRST CITIZEN
(aside) The only desert he hath ever cross’d
Is from the tavern to his feather bed.
BESSUS
The King sends word that water shall be granted
To all true subjects at the second hour—
But only those who’ve paid their quarterly tax.
So hie ye to the counting-house with coin,
Or else go thirsty. Those are the King’s terms.
SECOND CITIZEN
But we have paid! We paid the spring assessment,
And paid again when harvest taxes came.
Now a third time? We have no more to give!
BESSUS
Then find some more. Sell something. Sell your wife.
I care not how ye scrape the silver up—
The King’s commands are not for disputation.
Exit BESSUS.
THIRD CITIZEN
There goes a brave man—brave at bullying
Poor folk who cannot fight him back. But set
A foeman ‘fore him with a naked blade,
And watch how swift those strutting legs can run.
FIRST CITIZEN
Come, friends, this talk availeth nothing now.
We must find water somehow for our own,
Or watch them wither like unwater’d flowers.
There is a stream, I’ve heard, beyond the walls,
A secret trickle that the guards know not—
SECOND CITIZEN
Hush! Speak not of it here where ears may hear.
The penalty for taking unsanction’d water
Is death—the King hath made that very clear.
FIRST CITIZEN
Then we must choose: to die of thirst, obedient,
Or risk the axe for one sweet taste of life.
What justice is there in a law like this?
THIRD CITIZEN
None. But justice fled this kingdom long ago,
When old King Arsaces died and left his throne
To this hard son who rules us now with iron.
I remember when the fountains play’d for all,
When any child might cup his hands and drink—
Those days seem distant as a half-forgot dream.
SECOND CITIZEN
They say the Princess Panthea hath a heart
More gentle than her brother’s. Some do hope
That she might soften him to mercy yet.
FIRST CITIZEN
Hope is thin gruel when your tongue’s a stone.
Come, let us to the counting-house and see
What pittance might be wring’d from empty pockets.
Perhaps they’ll take a promissory note
Writ on the paper of our children’s futures.
Exeunt CITIZENS.
The throne room of ARBACES. A seat of state, with attendants.
Enter ARBACES, GOBRIAS, and MARDONIUS.
ARBACES
Mardonius, what news from the western watch?
I am told the Illyrian prepares to move.
MARDONIUS
My liege, ‘tis true. Prince Demetrius hath gather’d
Full thirty thousand men upon our border.
His banners bear a curious device:
A broken chain, and underneath the words
“Liberator of the Oppresséd Peoples.”
ARBACES
Liberator! There’s a pretty title for’t!
He means to free my subjects from my rule
And bind them to his own. That’s liberty!
The wolf comes baying that he’ll save the sheep
From the injustice of the shepherd’s crook.
GOBRIAS
Your Majesty speaks true. These Illyrians
Are known for such hypocritical pretense.
They cloak their hunger in the robes of justice
And call their conquest charitable aid.
MARDONIUS
Yet, sire, we must consider our position.
The drought hath weaken’d us. Our granaries
Stand three-parts empty, and the people murmur.
If we must fight, we fight with hungry bellies
And discontented hearts behind our swords.
ARBACES
The people murmur? Let them! What of that?
The common herd will always find complaint—
Too much rain, too little; too much tax,
Too little spectacle. There is no pleasing them.
My father taught me this: a king who bends
His policy to suit the rabble’s mood
Will find himself bent double, then bent broken.
Better to rule with iron than with straw.
MARDONIUS
With all respect, my liege, your royal father
Also taught that water is the blood
Of any kingdom, and should flow to all.
He never would have hoarded the Great Fountain
As you have done these seven months and more.
ARBACES
My father’s softness nearly cost him all!
Do ye forget the Cappadocian rising?
The rebels seized the aqueducts and held
The city’s throat within their grimy hands.
I learned from that—who holds the water, rules.
I will not make my father’s gentle errors.
GOBRIAS
The King shows wisdom, Mardonius. In times
Of scarcity, control is paramount.
We cannot have the commons wasting water
On frivolous luxuries like bathing, washing—
Each drop must serve the state’s necessity.
MARDONIUS
I speak not of luxuries, my lord,
But of the basic want that keeps men living.
Children are dying in the lower quarters.
Is that a frivolous luxury too?
ARBACES
Enough! I did not call you here to lecture.
What of our strength? Can we repel this prince?
MARDONIUS
We have perhaps twelve thousand men at arms,
But many are dishearten’d by the drought.
If Pontus honours the proposed alliance,
Prince Philander might bring five thousand more.
Combined, we could make Demetrius think twice.
ARBACES
Pontus. Yes. That brings us to my sister.
Where is Panthea? She should be here now
To learn her duty in this time of crisis.
GOBRIAS
I’ll send for her, my liege.
Exit a SERVANT at GOBRIAS’s signal.
ARBACES
This marriage must proceed without delay.
Philander sails already with his retinue—
He’ll be upon our shores within the week.
My sister must be ready to receive him
With all the warmth a bride-to-be should show.
MARDONIUS
And if she be not willing, sire?
ARBACES
Not willing?
What has her willingness to do with this?
She is a princess of Bithynia, not some
Merchant’s daughter free to choose her fancy.
Her body is the state’s, her hand a treaty,
Her womb a future alliance made in flesh.
She knows her duty. If she has forgot,
I shall remind her most emphatically.
MARDONIUS
I do not doubt the princess knows her duty,
But duty and the heart are not always friends.
There have been whispers—
ARBACES
Whispers? What whispers?
MARDONIUS
Nothing certain, sire. Mere servants’ gossip.
They say the princess hath been seen in talk
With one of your own captains—young Tigranes.
ARBACES
Tigranes? The low-born soldier from the marches?
The one who took that outpost single-handed
And drove the bandits from the Phrygian pass?
MARDONIUS
The very same. A valiant man, by all accounts,
And honourable. But common as the dust.
ARBACES
Common! My sister, dallying with a common soldier?
If this be true, I’ll have his head upon a pike
Before the sun sets twice. And she—
No. I’ll not believe it. Panthea knows
The gulf that separates our royal blood
From such base clay. She would not stoop so low.
GOBRIAS
Perhaps the whispers lie, as whispers often do.
The servants love to weave romantic tales
Around the persons of the great. ‘Tis sport to them.
ARBACES
I hope so, Gobrias. For all our sakes, I hope so.
Enter PANTHEA, attended by SPACONIA.
Ah, sister! Here you are at last. Come, sit.
We have great matters to discuss this morning.
PANTHEA
My brother. Mardonius. Lord Gobrias.
I came as soon as I received your summons.
What matters so important shake you early
From bed to throne before the ninth hour chimes?
ARBACES
War, sister. War is what disturbs my rest.
The Prince of Illyria threatens invasion
With thirty thousand men and pretty words
About the liberation of our people.
We must have allies, or we stand alone.
PANTHEA
And so you think of Pontus, and of me.
ARBACES
You understand me well. Prince Philander comes
Within the week to claim you as his bride.
The wedding shall take place as soon as may be—
No lengthy courtship, no elaborate delay.
We need his soldiers more than ceremonies.
PANTHEA
A week! Brother, you speak as if I were
A package to be posted to a stranger,
Not a woman with a heart that beats and feels.
ARBACES
I speak as what I am—a king at war.
Your feelings are a luxury we cannot
Afford in such extremity. You are
A princess, and this is the price of princehood.
PANTHEA
I know my duty, brother. Do not think
I seek to shirk it like some sulking child.
But give me time at least to school my heart
To what my head already understands.
A woman is not water in a jug
That can be pour’d wherever vessels wait.
ARBACES
Time? There is no time. Demetrius moves.
If Philander arrives and finds you cold,
Reluctant, unwelcoming of his suit,
He may withdraw his offer and his troops.
Then where are we? Alone against the storm.
I’ll not have Bithynia fall because my sister
Wanted leisure to adjust her sentiments.
SPACONIA
(aside to PANTHEA) Courage, madam. Let him bluster out.
PANTHEA
I did not say I would refuse, my lord.
I only ask for human understanding—
A quality, I know, you find quite foreign.
ARBACES
Foreign? You speak of foreign things to me?
There’s nothing foreign in a monarch’s duty
To preserve his realm by any means at hand.
You think I take delight in selling sisters?
I’d rather keep you here, unmarried, mine,
A comfort in this palace full of schemers.
But I must sacrifice my own affections
To the cold altar of necessity.
Can you not do the same?
PANTHEA
I can, my brother.
And I shall. Only do not ask me yet
To smile about it like a willing victim.
That counterfeit shall come in its own time.
ARBACES
Then we understand each other. That is well.
Go now, and make what preparations please you.
The Pontic embassy arrives today
To finalize the terms. I’ll want you present
To greet them with appropriate decorum.
PANTHEA
I shall be there. Is there aught else, my liege?
ARBACES
One thing more. I have heard certain rumors—
Idle gossip, likely—but I must ask.
You have not been imprudent with any man
Of lower station? Given any cause
For tongues to wag about misplaced affections?
PANTHEA
(a moment’s pause)
My lord, I am a princess of this house.
My conduct has been what it ought to be.
ARBACES
That is not quite an answer, sister dear.
PANTHEA
It is the only answer you shall have.
My private thoughts are still my own to keep.
My public actions have been blameless always.
If rumor says otherwise, then rumor lies,
As rumor usually does in royal courts.
ARBACES
Very well. I trust you—for the moment.
But know this: if I find that you have let
Some common soldier trespass on my honor,
Brother’s love will not restrain my justice.
I’d sooner see you dead than so dishonored.
PANTHEA
You speak of honor, brother? You, who sell me
Like livestock at a market to the highest bidder?
Perhaps it’s best we end this conversation
Before I say things that cannot be unsaid.
Exit PANTHEA and SPACONIA.
ARBACES
There is too much spirit in that girl by half.
She needs the bridle of a husband’s hand.
Philander will have work to do, I think.
MARDONIUS
She spoke the truth, my liege. The match is hard.
ARBACES
Hard? Life is hard. Rule is hard. War is hard.
Shall I make things easier for everyone
And let the kingdom crumble while I’m at it?
No. Softness is a luxury for times of peace.
Now, what of this Brazen Head that Gobrias
Hath promised me? The Babylonian’s toy?
GOBRIAS
The Magus begs an audience, Your Majesty.
He says his great work is at last complete—
An automaton that speaks with wisdom’s voice,
An oracle of brass that knows all things.
ARBACES
An oracle! Just what I need—another voice
To tell me what to do. As if I hadn’t
Enough advisors cluttering my ears.
But let him come. I’m curious to see
What marvels Babylon can offer us.
Perhaps this brazen speaker can divine
How best to crush the Illyrian’s pretensions.
MARDONIUS
Beware of oracles, my liege. They seldom
Tell us what we wish to hear, and often
Speak in riddles that confound more than they clarify.
ARBACES
If it speaks riddles, I shall have it melted.
I want straight answers, not poetic puzzles.
Go, Gobrias. Bring the Magus and his marvel.
We’ll see if all this Babylonian boasting
Amounts to more than smoke and trickery.
Exit GOBRIAS.
MARDONIUS
My liege, while we await this strange device,
Might I speak freely of another matter?
ARBACES
When have you not spoke freely, Mardonius?
Your tongue has never known a moment’s check.
MARDONIUS
The water, sire. The drought grows ever worse.
This morning I have had reports of riots
In the lower quarters, shops broken open,
Fights at the public cisterns over dregs.
If we must fight a war upon the border,
We cannot also fight one in the streets.
ARBACES
The guards will keep the peace. That is their purpose.
MARDONIUS
The guards are citizens too, my liege.
Their families thirst as others do. How long
Before they begin to question their own orders?
ARBACES
You paint a dark picture, old man.
MARDONIUS
I paint what I see. The Sacred Fountain flows—
I’ve seen it with my own eyes, plentiful
And clear, welling up from ancient springs.
There’s water enough for all, if it were shared.
Why do you hoard it so?
ARBACES
Because, you fool,
The moment I release it, I release
The only leverage I have over men.
A people desperate with thirst will fight
For whoever promises them drink. But a people
Content and watered? They grow fat and lazy,
Question their masters, think themselves as good
As any king who happens to sit higher.
Thirst is a teacher of obedience.
MARDONIUS
And a teacher of rebellion too, my lord.
A man with nothing left to lose is dangerous.
ARBACES
Then we shall give them just enough to live,
And not a drop more. That is policy.
I did not invent this world, Mardonius—
I merely rule it as I find it. Now,
Enough of water. Here comes your Babylonian.
Enter GOBRIAS with MAGUS, followed by servants bearing
a great BRAZEN HEAD upon a wheeled platform.
GOBRIAS
Your Majesty, I present the Magus,
Artificer of Babylon, and his work:
The Speaking Head, wrought of brass and mystery.
MAGUS
(bowing deeply)
Great King of Bithynia, whose fame extends
From the Euxine shores to distant Cappadocia,
I bring you that which no king yet hath owned:
A counsellor that never lies, nor flatters,
That cannot be bribed, threatened, or deceived.
This Head contains the wisdom of the ages,
Inscribed in gears and springs and beaten bronze.
It speaks not from desire, but from pure reason—
A voice of truth in a world thick with falsehood.
ARBACES
Bold claims, Magus. I’ve heard such boasts before
From alchemists who promised gold from lead
And delivered nothing but excuses and smoke.
Can your brass toy do anything at all,
Or is it merely decoration for a pedestal?
MAGUS
Command it, King. Ask what you will. The Head
Will answer from the depths of its brass thought.
ARBACES
Very well. Let’s test this wonder, then.
(to the HEAD) You there—metallic sage—I put to you
A question that should be simple enough:
Will I defeat the Illyrian invader?
A silence. Then the HEAD begins to speak, in a strange,
resonant voice that seems to come from everywhere at once.
THE HEAD
The King asks if he shall defeat his foe.
The King should ask first if he knows his foe.
The enemy without wears foreign armor,
But the enemy within wears courtly robes.
Beware the cup extended by a friend—
It may hold water, or it may hold poison.
As for the Illyrian: he shall take this city,
Yet he shall not hold it. He shall win the war,
Yet he shall lose the victory. And thou—
Thou shalt fall, yet thou shalt rise again,
A different king than he who fell before.
ARBACES
What nonsense is this? Riddles upon riddles!
I asked a simple question—yes or no?
And you give me this fog of prophecy?
THE HEAD
Truth is not simple. Would the King prefer
A simple lie? That can be easily arranged.
But then, why build a head of brass at all?
A flesh-and-blood courtier speaks lies far better,
With smiles and bows and pleasing flattery.
I was not made to comfort, but to clarify.
MARDONIUS
(aside) This metal tongue hath more wit than I expected.
ARBACES
You say I shall fall. Is this prophecy,
Or merely Babylonian impertinence?
THE HEAD
I say what I perceive. The patterns speak
In gears and cogs and turnings of the spheres.
A king who holds the water holds a serpent—
It may be gripped, but it will always bite.
Release the fountain, and release thy fate
From the constriction of this present doom.
ARBACES
Release the fountain? Never! You see, Magus,
Your clever toy dispenses useless counsel.
It tells me to surrender the one power
That keeps this throne secure beneath my seat.
I’d sooner take advice from that fool Bessus
Than from this chattering contraption here.
MAGUS
The Head speaks truth, my lord, not policy.
It cannot bend its words to please a hearer—
That is its nature, and its limitation.
If truth offends, the fault lies not in truth.
ARBACES
Take it away. I’ve heard enough. Perhaps
Some day, when I have leisure for amusement,
I’ll bring it out to entertain the court
With its pretentious philosophical maundering.
For now, I have a war to plan, and sisters
To marry off, and subjects to keep thirsty.
Reality, Magus, takes precedence
Over your brass-bound dreams of honesty.
MAGUS
As Your Majesty commands. But remember this:
The Head spoke true. When its words come to pass,
Recall that you were warned, and chose to ignore.
Exeunt MAGUS and servants with the HEAD.
ARBACES
“The enemy within wears courtly robes.”
What did it mean by that? Gobrias, Mardonius—
Are either of you treacherous, by chance?
GOBRIAS
(with smooth confidence)
My liege, the very question wounds me deeply.
I have served this throne since your father’s time,
And never once have wavered in my faith.
MARDONIUS
I am too old for treachery, my king.
It requires an energy I no longer have.
ARBACES
(laughing, but with an edge)
I believe you both—for now. But I shall watch.
A king who does not watch is a king deposed.
Now come, let us to the council chamber.
The Pontic ambassador must be received,
And we have much to discuss before my sister
Is handed over like a parcel of silk.
Exeunt omnes.
A garden within the palace. PANTHEA sits upon a bench.
Enter TIGRANES, looking about cautiously.
TIGRANES
My lady—Panthea—dare I speak that name?
It falls upon my tongue like honey falls,
Sweet and forbidden, like a stolen fruit.
PANTHEA
Tigranes! You should not have come. My brother—
TIGRANES
I know the danger, madam. Do you think
I walked through half a dozen guarded doors
Without awareness of the risk I take?
But I could not stay away. I heard the news—
The Pontic prince, the marriage, the haste of it.
Tell me it is not true. Tell me there’s hope.
PANTHEA
Would that I could speak comfort to your ears,
But truth compels a harder kind of speech.
It is true, all of it. Philander comes
Within the week, and I am to be his.
My brother’s will is iron on this point.
TIGRANES
Then iron shall bend, or iron shall break!
I will not stand by while you are given
To some foreign prince who knows not what he gains.
You are not cattle, madam—you are the sun,
The very light that makes my darkness bearable.
PANTHEA
Hush! Your words are beautiful, but dangerous.
If any servant heard what you just said,
Your head would decorate the palace gates
Before the evening star rose in the sky.
TIGRANES
Then let it. What is living without you?
A gray procession of identical days,
Each one as empty as the one before.
I’d rather burn bright for a single hour
Than smolder in the ashes of despair.
PANTHEA
You speak of dying as though it were a choice,
A noble gesture that would prove your love.
But I would have to live on after you,
Married to Philander, knowing that my heart
Lies buried with a man I could not save.
Is that the fate you’d wish upon me, Tigranes?
TIGRANES
(kneeling)
Forgive me. I spoke wildly, without thought.
The passion of the moment seized my tongue
And would not let it rest in prudent silence.
What would you have me do? Command, and I obey.
PANTHEA
I would have you live. I would have you go
Far from this court, far from my brother’s reach,
To some place where a man of your abilities
Might rise on merit, not be crushed for love.
TIGRANES
Go? Abandon you to this arranged despair?
That I cannot do. That is the one command
This soldier’s heart will not obey, my lady.
PANTHEA
Then we are both condemn’d to suffering,
Bound to each other by a chain of grief
That neither time nor distance can dissolve.
TIGRANES
There must be something—some escape, some hope.
The Illyrian comes. War will turn everything.
In war’s confusion, old orders crack and fall—
Who knows what opportunities may arise?
PANTHEA
You’d pin your hopes on foreign invasion?
On the chaos of battle and the death of thousands?
That’s a desperate kind of hoping, Tigranes.
TIGRANES
Desperate times breed desperate hopes, my lady.
I am a soldier—I know what war can do.
It shakes loose certainties, scrambles hierarchies.
A common captain might become a lord
If he fights well and fortune smiles upon him.
PANTHEA
And a princess might become a widow
Before she’s even properly a wife,
If Illyrian swords find Pontic flesh.
TIGRANES
Would that displease you so terribly?
PANTHEA
Tigranes! You cannot wish another man dead
Simply to clear your path. That is not love—
That is ambition wearing love’s disguise.
TIGRANES
You’re right. Forgive me once again. I seem
To stumble over my own passions here,
Tripping on hopes too large for this narrow path.
I do not wish Philander any harm.
I only wish that he had never been born,
Or born in some far country where my lady
Would never hear his name or see his face.
PANTHEA
(rising, pacing)
This cannot continue. We torture ourselves
With meetings that lead nowhere, words that wound,
Embraces that must end in separation.
Perhaps my brother is right. Perhaps duty
Is all that we should know of, you and I.
TIGRANES
Do not say that. I cannot bear to hear it.
PANTHEA
I must say what is true, however hard.
You are a captain, and I am a princess.
Between us lies a gulf of blood and rank
That no bridge can span, however strongly built.
Even if my brother suddenly relented—
And the moon would sooner turn to cheese than that—
The court would never accept a common soldier
As consort to a daughter of the royal house.
TIGRANES
Then let them not accept! What do I care
For the opinions of these courtly parasites
Who’ve never held a sword or faced a foe?
Their acceptance is worth less than morning mist.
PANTHEA
But it is everything in our world, Tigranes.
A king rules only with his nobles’ consent.
If they withdraw support, he falls—and she
Who shares his station falls along with him.
My brother understands this, though he pretends
He rules by his own will alone. He knows
The leash that binds him to the courtly pack.
TIGRANES
Then this world is diseased, and ought to change.
PANTHEA
It should, perhaps. But wishing makes it not.
We must live in the world we have, not the one
We’d build if we were gods with godlike power.
Enter SPACONIA, hastily.
SPACONIA
Madam! Madam! You must come away at once.
The Lord Gobrias approaches through the east wing—
If he should find the captain here with you,
All will be lost.
PANTHEA
Go, Tigranes. Quickly now.
The garden has a gate that leads to the barracks.
Take it, and be seen among your men
Before Gobrias has time to ask your whereabouts.
TIGRANES
I go, but not because I fear Gobrias—
I fear only for you. We will speak again.
PANTHEA
We should not. But I know we will. Now go!
Exit TIGRANES.
SPACONIA
Madam, you play a dangerous game with fire.
That young man loves you past the bounds of reason,
And you—you love him back, however you deny it.
Such love in such a place is a kind of poison,
Sweet to taste, but fatal in its working.
PANTHEA
I know, Spaconia. Do you think I do not know?
I’ve told myself a thousand times to stop,
To look upon him as I look on any soldier—
A useful servant, nothing more. But then
He enters a room, and all my resolution
Melts like winter snow beneath spring sun.
SPACONIA
Perhaps the Pontic prince will be surprising.
Perhaps he’ll be a man you could learn to love,
Or at least to tolerate with some contentment.
PANTHEA
Perhaps. But my heart is already given,
And I cannot take it back to give again.
When Philander looks at me, he’ll see a woman—
But the woman he sees will not truly be there.
I’ll be a ghost, a shell, an empty vessel
Going through the motions that a wife must go through,
While my true self remains here, in this garden,
Speaking forbidden words to a forbidden man.
Enter GOBRIAS.
GOBRIAS
Ah, Princess! I have sought you through the palace.
Your brother wishes you to join him now—
The Pontic ambassador has just arrived,
And there are protocols to be observed.
PANTHEA
I come directly, my lord. I was merely
Taking the air before the tedious ceremonies.
One must fortify oneself for diplomacy.
GOBRIAS
Indeed, indeed. The air is good today,
Despite the drought. The gardens still retain
Some freshness, watered as they are from the Fountain.
A privilege of royalty, that greenness.
PANTHEA
Yes, a privilege. While the common people thirst,
We walk among our roses and our lilies.
There is something shameful in such contrast.
GOBRIAS
Shameful, madam? Hardly. It is the natural order.
The great must live greatly, or what’s the point
Of being great at all? If kings lived like peasants,
Who would aspire to kingship?
PANTHEA
Perhaps no one should. Perhaps that would be better.
GOBRIAS
(with a thin smile)
These are philosophical fancies, madam.
Charming in a young woman, but impractical.
Come, your brother waits. Philosophy
Must yield to duty, as it always does.
Exeunt PANTHEA and GOBRIAS. SPACONIA lingers.
SPACONIA
(alone)
There goes a woman walking to her doom,
Led by that smooth serpent, Gobrias,
Who’d sell his mother’s bones for advancement.
I do not like that man. His smile is false,
His courtesy a costume that conceals
Some darker purpose underneath the silk.
I’ve seen him whispering in corners late at night
With messengers who come and go unseen.
What plots does he spin in that labyrinthine mind?
Whatever they are, I fear they bode no good
For my poor mistress, caught between two fires—
The fire of her brother’s tyranny,
And the fire of a love she dare not speak.
If I could help her, I would. But what can I,
A simple waiting-woman, do against
The great machinery of court and state?
Nothing—except watch, and wait, and pray
That somehow fortune turns to favor innocence.
Exit SPACONIA.
A chamber in the palace. The BRAZEN HEAD stands upon its platform.
MAGUS tends to it with various instruments. Enter MARDONIUS.
MARDONIUS
Good Magus, may I have a word with you?
MAGUS
Lord Mardonius. Of course. How may I serve?
MARDONIUS
I was struck by what your creation said
In audience with the King. Those cryptic words
About the enemy within, the courtly robes.
Did you instruct it so to speak, or does
It truly generate its speech from... what?
From gears and springs, as you claimed to the King?
MAGUS
A reasonable question, my lord, and one
I can only partly answer. The Head speaks
From patterns that I built into its workings—
Patterns derived from ancient Babylonian arts,
From the mathematics of the Chaldean mages,
From observations of the starry spheres.
I did not tell it what to say; I gave it
The means to see and speak what it perceives.
Whether its perceptions correspond to truth
Is something I cannot guarantee.
I am an artificer, not a god.
MARDONIUS
But it spoke of treachery. Of an enemy
Wearing courtly robes. That is specific—
Not some vague generality, but pointed.
Does it know something, or does it merely guess?
MAGUS
The Head sees patterns, my lord. It reads the signs
That float upon the surface of events
Like oil upon water—visible to those
Who know how to look, invisible to most.
Perhaps there is a traitor in this court.
Perhaps the Head discerned it from small signals
That pass beneath the notice of human eyes.
Or perhaps it spoke from probability alone—
Courts breed treachery as marshes breed mosquitoes.
To predict a traitor in a royal house
Is hardly a remarkable prophecy.
MARDONIUS
You’re not very encouraging, Magus.
MAGUS
I deal in truth, my lord, not encouragement.
If you want comfortable lies, speak to Gobrias—
He seems well practiced in that useful art.
MARDONIUS
You too have noticed something about Gobrias?
MAGUS
I notice everything. It is my training.
A maker of philosophical engines
Must be a careful observer of human engines too—
The hidden springs that move us, the secret gears
That turn beneath our visible behaviors.
Gobrias moves with purpose, always purpose,
And his purposes do not seem to align
With those of the King he professes to serve.
MARDONIUS
If you suspect him, why not warn Arbaces?
MAGUS
I tried. You were there. The Head spoke clearly,
And what did Arbaces do? Dismissed it,
Threatened to melt it down for impertinence.
The King does not wish to hear uncomfortable truths.
He has built himself a fortress of certainties
And will not let reality breach the walls.
MARDONIUS
Then what can be done?
MAGUS
By me? Nothing.
I am a foreigner here, without influence.
If I accused Gobrias openly,
Who would believe a Babylonian’s word
Against a lord who’s served this house for decades?
I would be executed for my pains,
And Gobrias would continue plotting,
Now more careful than before to hide his tracks.
MARDONIUS
And if I accused him?
MAGUS
You have some standing,
Being old and trusted. But standing is not proof.
What evidence have you, beyond suspicion?
A feeling in your gut, a doubt, a worry?
That’s not enough to bring down a Lord Chamberlain.
MARDONIUS
Then we must find evidence—or wait
Until his treachery reveals itself.
By which time it may be too late.
MAGUS
The eternal problem of conspiracy:
The innocent lack imagination for it,
And cannot believe others capable
Of the cold calculations they themselves would never make.
Gobrias counts on that. He knows Arbaces
Trusts in his own judgment above all else,
And will not suspect a man he’s trusted long.
MARDONIUS
I must go. The ambassador awaits.
But I thank you, Magus, for your counsel.
Even if it offers little comfort,
It’s good to know another sees what I see.
MAGUS
Be careful, my lord. Seeing is dangerous
When those around you prefer to remain blind.
Exit MARDONIUS.
MAGUS
(alone, to the HEAD)
You and I, old friend, are in a perilous place.
Too much truth in a court of lies
Makes enemies of everyone. The King
Resents your honesty; Gobrias fears it;
Even well-meaning Mardonius worries
That you see too clearly for comfort.
What shall become of us, I wonder?
Shall we be melted down for our presumption,
Our gears and cogs dispersed as scrap metal?
Or shall truth, against all probability,
Find a way to survive in this desert of deceit?
THE HEAD
The Magus asks what shall become of truth.
Truth does not become; it simply is.
Men may ignore it, silence it, destroy
The vessels that contain it—but truth itself
Remains, immutable, beyond their power.
As for this Head: brass endures, but not forever.
In time, all things return to their elements.
The question is not whether we shall fall,
But whether, in our falling, we shall speak
The words that needed speaking while we could.
MAGUS
Cold comfort, that.
THE HEAD
Comfort is not my function. Understanding is.
And understanding rarely brings comfort,
Only the bitter solace of clear sight.
MAGUS
Then let us be clear-sighted while we may,
And speak what truth we can before the end.
Exit MAGUS. The HEAD remains, silent now, gleaming in the light.
A state room. Enter ARBACES, GOBRIAS, MARDONIUS, PANTHEA,
SPACONIA, and attendants. Then enter MENTOR, Ambassador of Pontus,
with his retinue.
ARBACES
My lord Ambassador, welcome to Bithynia.
We greet you in the name of peace and friendship,
And hope your journey was not too arduous.
MENTOR
Great King, the journey was indeed most pleasant.
Prince Philander sends his warmest greetings
And begs me to convey his eager impatience
To meet the lady who shall be his bride.
He follows on my heels by but three days,
His ship already sailing from Sinope.
ARBACES
Three days! Excellent. We are prepared to receive him
With all the ceremony such a match deserves.
You know my sister, the Princess Panthea?
MENTOR
I have not had that honor until now.
(turning to PANTHEA)
Madam, the Prince has spoken of your beauty,
But I see now his words fell far below the truth.
You are a vision that would shame the dawn.
PANTHEA
You are most kind, my lord Ambassador.
I look forward to meeting Prince Philander
And discovering if his nature matches
The glowing portrait his servants paint of him.
MENTOR
I think you will not be disappointed, madam.
The Prince is famed throughout the Pontic lands
For his courtesy, his valor, and his honor.
He is not one of these pretty boys who shine
With borrowed wit and little substance under it.
He has fought in wars, and governed provinces,
And is beloved by all who truly know him.
PANTHEA
An impressive catalogue of virtues, sir.
I hope to see them proved in person soon.
ARBACES
(aside to PANTHEA) You perform well, sister. Keep it up.
(aloud) My lord, there is a matter of some urgency
That I must raise before the festivities begin.
You are aware of our situation here?
MENTOR
The Illyrian threat? Yes, we are well informed.
Prince Demetrius styles himself a liberator,
But Pontus sees through that thin pretense.
He seeks to add Bithynia to his dominions
And use your kingdom as a stepping-stone
To further conquests in the eastern lands.
ARBACES
Exactly so. Which is why this alliance
Is of such crucial importance to us both.
With Pontus at our side, the Illyrian
Will think twice before he risks a general war.
MENTOR
The Prince is prepared to commit five thousand men
To the defense of Bithynia, once the marriage
Is formalized according to our custom.
He brings with him a vanguard of five hundred—
His personal guard, the finest in the realm.
ARBACES
Five thousand! That will tip the scales most handsomely.
Combined with our own forces, we shall have
A strength sufficient to deter aggression,
Or, if deterrence fails, to crush the invader.
MENTOR
There is, however, one concern the Prince has raised,
Which I must mention out of duty to him.
ARBACES
Speak freely, my lord. We are allies now.
MENTOR
The drought, Your Majesty. The Prince has heard
Reports of unrest, of people suffering,
Of water hoarded in the royal fountain
While common folk go thirsty in the streets.
He worries that a kingdom so divided
May prove an unreliable partner in war.
ARBACES
(his face tightening)
The Prince need not concern himself with our
Internal arrangements. The drought is being managed.
The people have sufficient water for their needs.
MARDONIUS
(quietly) Do they, my liege?
ARBACES
(sharply) They do. The rumors are exaggerated.
You know how common folk love to complain.
MENTOR
I am relieved to hear it, Your Majesty.
The Prince desires above all things a stable
And prosperous kingdom for his new bride.
He would not wish her to rule over ashes.
PANTHEA
The Ambassador speaks of me as though I were already
Sitting on a throne. I am merely a princess,
Not yet a queen, and may never be.
ARBACES
My sister speaks from modesty. She knows
That as wife to Philander, she may one day
Stand beside him as Queen of Pontus.
Is that not so, Ambassador?
MENTOR
Indeed. The Prince has no other wife or heir.
The Princess Panthea would be his consort,
And any children of their union would succeed
To the Pontic throne when time requires.
PANTHEA
A heavy prospect, to bear future kings.
I must confess it weighs upon my mind.
MENTOR
All great destinies weigh heavily, madam.
But the Prince will be a gentle husband to you,
Supportive in your burdens, kind in your sorrows.
He is not one of those tyrants who treat women
As property to be used and then discarded.
PANTHEA
I am glad to hear it. There are enough
Tyrants in the world without seeking them
In the marriage bed as well.
ARBACES
(with a warning look)
My sister jests. She has a lively wit
That sometimes runs ahead of proper caution.
MENTOR
I take no offense. A lively wit is prized in Pontus.
The Prince will be delighted by her spirit.
A MESSENGER enters hastily.
MESSENGER
Your Majesty! Urgent news from the western border!
ARBACES
Speak, man. What news?
MESSENGER
The Illyrians have crossed the passes, my lord.
Prince Demetrius leads a force of twenty thousand
Into the Phrygian valley. Our outposts have fallen.
He marches toward the city with all speed.
ARBACES
Twenty thousand! So soon? I thought we had more time.
MARDONIUS
The scouts reported thirty thousand massed.
If only twenty march, where are the rest?
MESSENGER
We do not know, my lord. Perhaps in reserve,
Or circling round to strike us from another quarter.
ARBACES
This changes everything. Ambassador,
Can the Prince accelerate his arrival?
We may need those five hundred guardsmen sooner
Than we expected.
MENTOR
I will send word immediately.
But the Prince cannot control the winds, Your Majesty.
His ship sails as fast as wind and oar allow.
ARBACES
Then we must prepare to hold alone until he comes.
Gobrias, summon the captains. Mardonius,
Take stock of our provisions and our walls.
We have perhaps three days before Demetrius
Arrives at our gates demanding satisfaction.
GOBRIAS
At once, my liege.
Exeunt GOBRIAS and MARDONIUS severally.
ARBACES
Ambassador, you will forgive me if I cut
This audience short. War waits for no man’s courtesy.
Quarters have been prepared for you and your retinue.
My steward will see to your every comfort.
MENTOR
Of course, Your Majesty. I understand completely.
May the gods grant you victory against this aggressor.
ARBACES
The gods—or our own swords. We shall see which
Proves more reliable in the coming storm.
Exit ARBACES with attendants. MENTOR lingers.
MENTOR
(to PANTHEA)
Madam, before I go, might I speak privately
For just a moment?
PANTHEA
Of course, Ambassador.
Spaconia, wait for me by the door.
SPACONIA withdraws to a distance.
MENTOR
I have been watching you throughout this audience,
And I perceive that something troubles you
Beyond the obvious worries of approaching war.
I am an old man, madam, and have seen much.
I know the face of a woman being married
Against her heart’s true inclination.
PANTHEA
You are perceptive, sir. But what of that?
My inclinations are not relevant here.
MENTOR
They are relevant to Prince Philander, madam.
He is not a man who would force himself upon
An unwilling bride. If there is another—
Someone your heart has already chosen—
The Prince would wish to know before he binds himself.
PANTHEA
You speak with remarkable candor, Ambassador.
MENTOR
I speak as one who cares for the Prince’s happiness,
And who believes that unhappy marriages
Make for unhappy alliances in the end.
If you are being coerced to this union,
Say so now, and I will tell the Prince.
He would not wish to wed a woman who despises him,
Even if it meant the alliance fell apart.
PANTHEA
(moved)
Your master must be a remarkable man
To have servants who think so kindly of his honor.
I will be honest with you, my lord Mentor:
There was someone—is someone—but it cannot be.
The gulf between us is too wide, the circumstances
Too fixed against us. I will do my duty
By Prince Philander, and try to be a good wife.
But I cannot promise him my heart, which is
Already given, though the gift was hopeless.
MENTOR
I understand, madam. And I respect your honesty.
I will say nothing to the Prince of this,
Unless you wish me to. It is your secret.
But know that Philander is a patient man.
Hearts that are closed at first may open later,
If kindness waters them like gentle rain.
Perhaps, in time, you may find more than duty
In the match your brother has arranged.
PANTHEA
Perhaps. I have little choice but to hope so.
Thank you, my lord, for your consideration.
It is more than I expected from a stranger.
MENTOR
We are not strangers, madam—we are soon to be
Members of the same extended family.
I wish you well, whatever the coming days may bring.
Exit MENTOR. SPACONIA approaches.
SPACONIA
What did the old man want?
PANTHEA
To offer kindness, strangely enough.
He sensed my reluctance and did not condemn it.
Perhaps the Pontic prince is not the monster
My fears have painted him. Perhaps... but no.
Even if Philander were the best of men,
He is not Tigranes, and that is enough
To make me wish the match had never been made.
SPACONIA
The heart wants what it wants, madam. Reason
Has little purchase on such stubborn ground.
PANTHEA
Come. We have much to do before the war begins.
If the Illyrians are coming, there may be need
For every hand, even a princess’s hands,
To help prepare the city for its defense.
I will not sit idle while others fight
For the kingdom that my family claims to rule.
Exeunt PANTHEA and SPACONIA.
A private chamber. Night. GOBRIAS sits writing by candlelight.
A knock at the door.
GOBRIAS
Enter.
Enter a CLOAKED MESSENGER.
You come at last. I had begun to worry.
What news from the Prince Demetrius?
MESSENGER
The Prince sends his compliments, my lord,
And thanks you for the information you provided.
The disposition of the Bithynian forces,
The weakness in the eastern wall, the discontent
Among the populace—all has been most useful.
GOBRIAS
I hope it has been useful enough to earn me
The rewards that were promised. The Prince did say
That when Bithynia falls, I would be elevated
To the governorship of the province.
MESSENGER
The Prince confirms his promise, my lord.
You will be governor, with full authority
Over taxation, justice, and administration.
Your loyalty will be richly compensated.
GOBRIAS
Loyalty! There’s a slippery word.
I have been “loyal” to Arbaces for twenty years,
And what has it got me? A chamberlain’s title,
A comfortable salary, and the privilege
Of watching incompetent kings make stupid decisions
While I smile and nod and pretend to approve.
It is time my abilities were recognized
By someone capable of appreciating them.
MESSENGER
The Prince appreciates them greatly, my lord.
He bids me ask: what of the Pontic alliance?
GOBRIAS
Proceeding as planned. Philander arrives in days
With five hundred of his guard, and five thousand more
Are promised if the marriage is completed.
But the marriage can be... delayed, if necessary.
MESSENGER
How so?
GOBRIAS
The Princess Panthea has a lover.
A common captain named Tigranes, whom she meets
In secret in the gardens. If this were revealed
At the proper moment—say, as Philander arrives—
The Pontic prince might take offense and withdraw.
A dishonored bride is not what he signed for.
MESSENGER
Cunning, my lord. The Prince will be pleased.
GOBRIAS
I have been cunning all my life. It is a skill
That goes unrewarded in honest courts,
But flourishes in the gardens of the great.
Tell Demetrius I will ensure that Pontus
Plays no part in the coming conflict.
Arbaces will stand alone against the storm,
And when he falls—as fall he must—I will be there
To open the gates and welcome the liberator.
MESSENGER
What of the old counselor, Mardonius?
The Prince fears he may be an obstacle.
GOBRIAS
Mardonius is a toothless dog who barks
But cannot bite. He suspects me, I know—
I’ve seen the way he watches me in council.
But suspicion is not proof, and the King
Trusts me more than he trusts that senile relic.
If necessary, Mardonius can be removed.
An accident, perhaps. A sudden illness.
These things happen in times of war and confusion.
MESSENGER
The Prince leaves such details to your judgment.
He asks only that the path be clear for his entry.
GOBRIAS
It will be clear. Now go, before you’re seen.
Use the passage behind the tapestry—
It leads to a door that opens on the street.
MESSENGER
Until we meet again, my lord Governor.
Exit MESSENGER.
GOBRIAS
(alone)
Governor. Yes. That has a pleasant ring.
Governor Gobrias of Bithynia,
Answerable only to the Illyrian crown.
After twenty years of bowing and scraping
To lesser men who happened to be born royal,
I shall have power of my own at last.
And what of conscience? What of loyalty?
These are words for fools and children, not for men
Who understand how the world truly works.
The strong take what they can; the weak suffer
What they must. That is the only law.
Arbaces thinks he rules by divine right,
By the blood that flows in his proud veins—
But blood can be spilled as easily as water,
And the divine cares nothing for human thrones.
I have watched and waited, planned and plotted,
And now my moment comes. The drought, the war,
The Princess’s inconvenient love affair—
All these are cards that I have shuffled into
A winning hand. When the game is over,
I shall be the one who rakes in the pot.
He blows out the candle.
Let Arbaces sleep easy in his bed tonight.
He’ll not sleep so easily much longer.
Exit GOBRIAS in darkness.
ACTUS PRIMUS FINIS
The harbor of Bithynia. Ships at anchor. Trumpets sound.
Enter ARBACES, MARDONIUS, GOBRIAS, PANTHEA, SPACONIA,
MENTOR, and attendants, to welcome the arriving PHILANDER.
ARBACES
The Pontic standard breaks upon the mast!
See how it snaps and ripples in the wind,
A golden dolphin leaping on the blue.
My lord Ambassador, your prince is punctual.
MENTOR
Prince Philander is a man of his word, sire.
When he says he will arrive, he arrives.
Enter PHILANDER, with his guard and retinue.
He is young, handsome, and bears himself with simple dignity.
PHILANDER
Great King of Bithynia, I greet you well,
And bring the friendship of my father’s house
To seal in marriage what our words have promised.
I am Philander, Prince of Pontus, come
To meet the lady who shall be my wife,
If she will have me, and your blessing holds.
ARBACES
Prince Philander, you are most welcome here.
Bithynia opens its arms to receive you,
And hopes your stay will be as pleasant as ‘tis brief—
For war presses upon us, as you know.
PHILANDER
I know it well. The Illyrian moves swiftly.
That is why I brought five hundred of my guard
Instead of the ceremonial dozen custom allows.
We are prepared to fight beside you, King,
Should Demetrius prove unreasonable.
ARBACES
Your readiness does you credit, Prince.
But come—here is the lady you have journeyed for.
My sister, the Princess Panthea.
PHILANDER approaches PANTHEA and bows.
PHILANDER
Madam, I have heard much of your beauty,
And find now that report was but a shadow
Cast by a light too bright for words to capture.
I am honored to stand before you thus,
And hope that time will make me worthy of you.
PANTHEA
Prince Philander, you speak with gracious tongue.
I thank you for your courtesy and your journey.
I hope Bithynia will not disappoint you,
Despite the troubles that beset us now.
PHILANDER
No land that holds such loveliness could disappoint.
But madam, I perceive in your fair eyes
A shadow of some sorrow, some unease.
I would not have you greet me under duress.
If this match is not to your liking, speak,
And I will withdraw without reproach or anger.
ARBACES
(quickly) My sister is merely anxious about the war.
She is a tender heart, and fears for her people.
PHILANDER
I did not ask you, King. I asked the lady.
Let her speak for herself, if she has voice.
PANTHEA
(surprised by his directness)
You are bold, my lord, to contradict a king.
PHILANDER
I am bold when boldness serves the truth.
A marriage built on lies is built on sand—
It will not stand the first storm that arrives.
I would rather know your true mind now, madam,
Than discover it too late, when we are bound.
PANTHEA
(after a pause)
You deserve an honest answer, Prince, and so
I’ll give you one, though it may not please my brother.
This match was not my choosing, but his will.
I came to it as duty, not desire.
My heart is... not entirely free, I think,
Though honor forbids me to say more than that.
ARBACES
Panthea!
PHILANDER
Peace, King. Let the lady finish.
PANTHEA
I have said enough. Perhaps too much already.
I will not lie to you, Prince Philander—
You seem too good a man for that dishonor.
But neither will I break the word my brother gave.
If you still wish this marriage, knowing what I’ve said,
I will be the best wife I can manage to be.
If you withdraw, I cannot blame you for it.
PHILANDER
(after a moment’s thought)
I thank you for your honesty, madam.
It is a rare gift in courts, I find.
Most women in your place would smile and flatter,
Hide their hearts behind a mask of duty,
And let me discover the truth only after
The wedding night had made retreat impossible.
You have given me something more valuable—
The chance to see you clearly from the start.
ARBACES
Then you withdraw? The alliance is undone?
PHILANDER
No, King. I do not withdraw. If the lady
Is willing to try, then so am I.
Hearts that begin divided may grow together,
Like two vines planted in the self-same soil.
I ask only for patience, and for time.
I will not force myself where I’m not wanted.
But I will court the Princess honestly,
And see if duty cannot ripen into something
Warmer than the cold word it begins as.
PANTHEA
You are more generous than I deserve, my lord.
PHILANDER
Generosity costs nothing, madam. Pride
Is the expensive commodity, and I
Have learned to travel light in that regard.
Now, King, shall we to more pressing matters?
The Illyrian does not wait for us to sort
Our personal arrangements at our leisure.
ARBACES
(still displeased, but recovering)
Indeed. Let us to the council chamber.
Mardonius, accompany the Prince.
Gobrias, see that his men are quartered well.
We have much to discuss before the sun sets.
Exeunt ARBACES, MARDONIUS, PHILANDER, GOBRIAS, MENTOR,
and most attendants. PANTHEA and SPACONIA linger.
SPACONIA
Well! That was unexpected. The Prince seems
A different sort from what I feared he’d be.
PANTHEA
He does. And that makes everything much harder.
If he were a brute, a tyrant, cold and cruel,
I could hate him freely and feel justified.
But this—this gentle understanding, this grace—
It makes my heart twist with a strange new guilt.
I told him nearly all, Spaconia,
And he did not condemn me for it. How
Am I supposed to bear such kindness from a man
I am wronging even as he speaks to me?
SPACONIA
Perhaps you should tell him everything.
The name of Tigranes, the full truth of it.
He seems the sort who might forgive, or at least
Step aside without the wounded vanity
That makes rejected suitors dangerous.
PANTHEA
And what then? If Philander withdraws,
My brother loses the alliance he needs.
Bithynia stands alone against Demetrius.
Can I sacrifice my country for my heart?
SPACONIA
Can you sacrifice your heart for your country?
Either way, madam, something must be lost.
PANTHEA
I know. And that is what torments me most—
There is no path that does not lead through pain.
Come, we have duties to attend to as well.
War preparations wait for no one’s heartache.
Exeunt PANTHEA and SPACONIA.
A guardroom. BESSUS enters with several SOLDIERS,
speaking loudly and gesturing expansively.
BESSUS
I tell you, lads, when the Illyrians come,
I’ll show them what a Bithynian blade can do!
I’ve faced down armies twice their number before—
The Cappadocians, the Armenians, the wild
Barbarians of the Caucasus who eat
Their enemies’ hearts for breakfast. All have felt
The sting of Bessus’s invincible sword!
FIRST SOLDIER
Is that so, Captain? I heard a different tale
About the Cappadocian campaign—
BESSUS
Lies! Slanders spread by jealous rivals!
Whatever you heard, forget it. I was there,
And I can tell you what really happened.
We were outnumbered ten to one, at least,
When I alone held the bridge at Tarsus,
Slaying enemy after enemy until
The river ran red with their cowardly blood.
SECOND SOLDIER
I thought the battle was at Iconium, sir,
And the river there is barely ankle-deep.
BESSUS
Iconium! Tarsus! What does it matter?
The point is, I was heroic. Phenomenally heroic.
The King himself thanked me personally—
Or would have, if he hadn’t been so busy
Thanking all the other heroes too.
Enter TIGRANES.
Ah! Captain Tigranes! Just the man.
Tell these doubters about my reputation.
You’ve seen me fight, haven’t you? Haven’t you
Been amazed by my prowess on the field?
TIGRANES
Captain Bessus. I’ve seen you on the field, yes.
I’m not sure “amazed” is quite the word I’d use.
BESSUS
There! You see? He’s been amazed by me!
Even a man as brave as Tigranes here—
And he is brave, I’ll grant him that, quite brave
In his limited, common-born sort of way—
Even he acknowledges my superiority.
TIGRANES
I acknowledged no such thing.
BESSUS
Modesty! False modesty, lads. He’s being modest
On my behalf. That’s the mark of a true gentleman—
Wait, you’re not a gentleman, are you?
Well, the mark of a true... whatever you are.
TIGRANES
Bessus, have you nothing better to do
Than fill these soldiers’ ears with your fantasies?
There’s a war coming. Real preparations to make.
Perhaps you could supervise the wall repairs
Instead of supervising your own legend.
BESSUS
Wall repairs! That’s laborer’s work, not fit
For a captain of my distinguished record.
I’m saving my strength for the battle itself,
When my talents will be properly displayed.
FIRST SOLDIER
(aside to SECOND SOLDIER)
His talents for running away, he means.
BESSUS
What’s that? Who spoke? Was that insubordination?
I’ll have you know that insubordination
Is punishable by... by something very bad!
Flogging, probably. Or worse. Much worse.
TIGRANES
Enough, Bessus. You soldiers, to your posts.
We’ve no time for this foolery. Go.
Exeunt SOLDIERS.
BESSUS
You overstep yourself, Tigranes. I am
Senior to you in years, if not in rank—
Well, equal in rank, but senior in experience—
Well, perhaps not experience exactly, but...
TIGRANES
Bessus, I haven’t the patience for this today.
If you want to be useful, go be useful somewhere.
If not, at least be useless somewhere else.
BESSUS
Very well, very well. I know when I’m not wanted.
I’ll take my talents where they’re appreciated.
Perhaps the Princess Panthea would enjoy
Hearing about my adventures over wine.
Women love a hero, you know. Can’t resist us.
TIGRANES
(sharply) Stay away from the Princess, Bessus.
BESSUS
Oh? Touched a nerve, have I? Don’t worry, friend.
I’ve heard the rumors about you and her.
Don’t look so alarmed—I’m not one to gossip.
Much. Well, a little. But only to close friends.
And enemies. And casual acquaintances.
And strangers I meet in taverns. But that’s all!
Your secret is perfectly safe with me.
Exit BESSUS, laughing.
TIGRANES
(alone)
If that fool spreads word of what he thinks he knows,
I’m a dead man walking. Everyone will hear,
And what they hear, the King will hear as well.
I should have been more careful. Should have stayed
Away from her entirely, as she begged me to.
But love makes idiots of the wisest men,
And I was never wise to start with.
Enter GOBRIAS.
Lord Gobrias.
GOBRIAS
Captain Tigranes. I was hoping to find you.
Might we have a word in private?
TIGRANES
We are private enough here, my lord.
What do you wish to discuss?
GOBRIAS
Your future, Captain. Your advancement, shall we say.
I’ve been watching you for some time now,
And I believe you are a man of parts—
Brave, clever, ambitious in the best sense.
You deserve better than the lowly rank you hold.
TIGRANES
I am content with my station, Lord Gobrias.
A soldier serves where he is placed.
GOBRIAS
Content? Are you truly content, Tigranes?
I see a man who aches for something more,
Who reaches for a star beyond his grasp,
And tortures himself because he cannot reach it.
TIGRANES
You speak in riddles, my lord.
GOBRIAS
Then let me speak plainly. I know about the Princess.
I know you meet her in the gardens secretly.
I know your heart belongs to her, and hers to you.
No—don’t deny it. I have eyes and ears
Throughout this palace, and they miss nothing.
TIGRANES
If you know this, why have you not told the King?
GOBRIAS
Because I am not your enemy, Tigranes.
Because I believe a man should have a chance
To rise above the station of his birth,
If he has wit and courage to deserve it.
And because I may be in a position to help you
Achieve what now seems utterly impossible.
TIGRANES
Help me? How?
GOBRIAS
This war with Illyria—it will change everything.
Wars have a way of overturning settled orders,
Of raising new men up and casting old ones down.
When the dust settles, Bithynia may look
Very different from the way it looks today.
A man who positions himself correctly
Could find himself elevated beyond his dreams.
TIGRANES
What are you proposing, Gobrias?
GOBRIAS
Nothing treasonous, I assure you. Merely...
Flexibility. An open mind. A willingness
To see which way the wind blows, and adjust.
If Arbaces falls—and kings do fall, in wartime—
Someone must take the reins and govern after.
It could be someone who appreciates merit,
Who rewards loyalty with advancement,
Who does not care about the accidents of birth.
TIGRANES
You’re asking me to betray the King.
GOBRIAS
I’m asking you to be realistic.
Arbaces has made himself hateful to his people
With his hoarding of water, his tyranny.
If Demetrius breaks through our walls—which he may—
The people will welcome him as a liberator.
Do you want to die defending a king
That everyone, including his own sister, despises?
TIGRANES
I am a soldier. I swore an oath.
GOBRIAS
Oaths are words, Tigranes. Words written on air.
They bind those who believe in them, and slip
Like water through the fingers of the wise.
Think about what I’ve said. Think about Panthea.
With Arbaces gone, who would stop you from having her?
Philander? He’d sail back to Pontus, humiliated.
The Princess would be free—and you would be...
Well, whatever you had the ambition to become.
TIGRANES
You paint a tempting picture, Lord Gobrias.
But pictures are not reality. What guarantee
Have I that any of this would come to pass?
GOBRIAS
No guarantee. Life offers none. But consider:
The current path leads nowhere good for you.
Either the King discovers your secret and kills you,
Or Panthea marries Philander and you lose her,
Or the Illyrians win and you die in the rubble.
My path offers at least a chance of something better.
That’s more than you have now.
TIGRANES
I will... think on it.
GOBRIAS
Do. And think quickly—events are moving fast.
When I call on you again, I’ll need an answer.
Exit GOBRIAS.
TIGRANES
(alone)
What devil have I let into my ear?
He speaks of treason as casually as weather,
As if betraying one’s king were nothing more
Than choosing between fish and fowl for dinner.
And yet... and yet... his words find purchase in me.
I do despise Arbaces. I do wish
For a world where birth matters less than merit.
And Panthea—to have her, finally,
Without the shadow of the throne between us...
No. This is how the serpent tempts the soul,
With whispered promises of fruit too sweet.
If I betray my oath, what am I worth?
A man without honor is a man without self,
A hollow vessel that the wind blows through.
I will not sell my soul for Gobrias’s schemes.
And yet... I will not quite refuse him either.
Let me watch, and wait, and see what comes.
Perhaps events will make the choice for me.
Exit TIGRANES.
The chamber where the BRAZEN HEAD is kept. Night.
ARBACES enters alone, carrying a lamp.
ARBACES
I could not sleep. The Head’s words circle in me
Like vultures round a dying animal,
Waiting for weakness to finish what it’s started.
“Thou shalt fall, yet thou shalt rise again,
A different king than he who fell before.”
What manner of prophecy is that? To fall
Suggests defeat—yet rising after implies...
What? Recovery? Transformation? Some trick of words
That only makes sense when it’s too late to matter?
He approaches the HEAD.
You. Metallic oracle. Brass philosopher.
I despised your cryptic nonsense in the daylight,
But now, in darkness, I find myself returning,
Drawn back despite my better judgment.
Speak to me again, if you truly can.
Tell me what I should do to save my kingdom.
Silence. Then the HEAD’s eyes glow faintly, and it speaks.
THE HEAD
The King comes seeking counsel in the night,
When pride sleeps and fear keeps him wakeful.
What would you hear? The truth remains unchanged
Since last we spoke. It does not grow more pleasant
With repetition, nor bend to suit your mood.
ARBACES
I did not come for pleasant truths. I came
Because I have no other counselor I trust.
Mardonius lectures me like a schoolmaster.
Gobrias flatters me with oily words.
My sister hates me—yes, I see it in her eyes,
Though she hides it well behind her duty.
You alone have no reason to deceive me.
You are made of brass, not flesh—you want nothing
From me that would corrupt your speech with motive.
THE HEAD
The King believes truth lives in metal hearts
Because they beat not, feel not, fear not.
Perhaps he’s right. Or perhaps the truth is this:
Metal hearts may see more clearly than flesh,
But seeing clearly does not mean being heard.
You came for counsel once, and I gave it.
You rejected it. Why should I speak again
To ears that are determined not to listen?
ARBACES
I was angry then. Defensive. I have ruled
So long by force of will that any challenge
Feels like an assault on my very being.
But in the dark hours, when the court is sleeping,
Even kings must face their doubts alone.
Tell me plainly: will I lose this war?
THE HEAD
Define “lose.” Define “you.” Define “this war.”
The King who asks is not the King who will
Stand before Demetrius when the crisis comes.
Events reshape us; we are not fixed stars,
But clouds that shift with every passing wind.
The King who falls may not be the King who rose.
The King who rises may not recognize
The fallen man from whom he emerged.
ARBACES
More riddles. Can you not simply say yes or no?
THE HEAD
No. That word does not exist in truth’s vocabulary.
Truth is not a coin with two sides only.
It is a sphere, and every point upon it
Is both answer and question simultaneously.
But here is something closer to the direct:
Your enemy is not the Illyrian.
Your enemy is in this very palace,
Wearing the mask of loyalty and service.
Find him before he finds his moment,
Or everything you fear will come to pass.
ARBACES
The enemy within. You said that before.
But who? Gobrias? Mardonius? Some servant
I’ve trusted without thinking? Give me a name!
THE HEAD
I cannot give what you must find yourself.
The patterns point, but they do not specify.
I see the shape of treachery, its shadow
Moving behind the arras of the court,
But the face remains obscured from my perception.
Trust no one absolutely. Watch everyone.
And ask yourself: who profits if you fall?
ARBACES
Everyone, apparently. My sister profits—
She’d be free of the marriage I’ve arranged.
Demetrius profits—he gains a kingdom.
Even my own people profit, or think they do,
Imagining that liberation means free water
And endless plenty from some magical source.
Who does not profit from my destruction?
THE HEAD
That is the question, King. That is the very question.
When a ruler has made himself the obstacle
To everyone’s desires, he makes himself
A target for everyone’s resentment.
You have centralized power so completely
That your fall would benefit nearly all.
Is that strength? Or is that vulnerability
Disguised as strength, a tower built so high
It has no foundation but its own ambition?
ARBACES
You lecture me as Mardonius does.
THE HEAD
No. Mardonius speaks from love and loyalty,
Hoping to change what he fears cannot be changed.
I speak from observation, without hope.
I do not care whether you change or not.
I merely see the patterns as they are.
What you do with the seeing is your choice.
ARBACES
Then give me one more prophecy, brass tongue.
What of my sister? What of her heart’s secret
That she thinks she hides so cleverly from me?
I know there is a man—I do not know his name—
Who has presumed to raise his eyes to her.
What becomes of this forbidden love?
THE HEAD
The Princess loves where she should not, ‘tis true.
The man she loves is nearer than you think,
And worthier than his station would suggest.
But here is something strange, a twist of fate:
The one she loves, if you but knew his blood,
Might be no object of your royal contempt.
Secrets exist that even I can only glimpse,
Buried deep in the past of this unhappy house.
Someone is not what he appears to be.
When truth emerges, everything will change—
For better or for worse, I cannot say.
ARBACES
What do you mean? Speak plainer!
THE HEAD
I have spoken as plainly as patterns permit.
The rest is darkness even to my sight.
But remember this, when revelation comes:
Not all falls are disasters, not all losses grief.
Sometimes the thing we clutch most desperately
Is the very thing we need to let go of.
Now I am weary. Even brass grows tired.
Ask no more tonight. The answers will find you
Whether you seek them or not. That is their nature.
The HEAD’s eyes dim. It falls silent.
ARBACES
Cryptic to the end. And yet... and yet...
There was something in those words about my sister,
About the man she loves, about blood and secrets,
That unsettles me more than all the rest.
“Someone is not what he appears to be.”
What could that mean? That her lover is noble?
That he hides his rank beneath a common guise?
But why would any nobleman pretend
To be a commoner in my court? What purpose
Could such deception serve?
Enough. The night grows old, and I grow fanciful.
Tomorrow brings the enemy to my gates,
And I must face him with a clearer head
Than this midnight riddling provides.
Exit ARBACES. The HEAD remains, silent in the darkness.
PANTHEA’s chambers. Morning. PANTHEA and SPACONIA.
PANTHEA
The Prince requests a private audience.
What am I to say to him, Spaconia?
After what I confessed upon the harbor,
I can barely meet his eyes without flushing.
SPACONIA
Perhaps he means to be kind, madam.
He seemed genuinely understanding yesterday.
Perhaps he seeks to put you at your ease.
PANTHEA
At ease! How can I be at ease when I am
Caught between two men, neither of whom I
Can have without destroying something precious?
If I go to Philander, I betray Tigranes.
If I go to Tigranes, I betray the alliance.
Either way, I am a traitor to someone.
SPACONIA
It is the curse of women in high places,
To be the prizes in the games men play.
We are expected to love where policy directs,
And smother any flame that burns elsewhere.
PANTHEA
When I was a child, I dreamed of marriage
As something beautiful—a meeting of true hearts,
A partnership of souls who chose each other.
I did not understand then that a princess
Has no more choice in love than in her birth.
Both are determined by forces outside herself.
Enter a SERVANT.
SERVANT
Madam, Prince Philander waits upon your pleasure.
PANTHEA
Show him in.
Exit SERVANT. Enter PHILANDER.
PHILANDER
Good morning, Princess. I hope I do not intrude.
PANTHEA
Not at all, my lord. Please, sit.
Spaconia, would you give us a moment?
SPACONIA
Of course, madam.
Exit SPACONIA.
PHILANDER
I wanted to speak with you before the day’s
Business carries us away in its tide.
Last night, after we parted, I lay awake
Thinking about what you said on the harbor.
PANTHEA
I feared I had said too much. My brother was furious.
PHILANDER
Your brother measures words by their convenience.
I measure them by their honesty. What you said
Was brave, and cost you something to say it.
That kind of truth deserves more than silence.
PANTHEA
What would you have me say now, my lord?
PHILANDER
Say nothing that you do not mean. I have not come
To press you for vows your heart cannot keep.
I have come to make an offer—perhaps a strange one.
PANTHEA
What offer?
PHILANDER
Friendship. Nothing more, for now.
I know your heart is not yet free to give,
And I will not demand what is not offered.
But we are bound together by circumstances
That neither of us fully controls.
Instead of fighting what we cannot change,
Let us make the best of what is given us.
Be my friend, Panthea—if I may call you so.
Let us face this crisis as allies, at least,
And see what the future brings after that.
Perhaps love will come; perhaps it will not.
Either way, we will have had each other’s respect,
And that is not nothing in this world of falseness.
PANTHEA
(moved)
You are the strangest prince I’ve ever known.
Most men in your position would rage, demand,
Assert their rights and force compliance from me.
You offer friendship as if it were a gift.
PHILANDER
It is a gift—the most valuable one, perhaps.
I have had marriages described to me by diplomats,
Painted in glowing colors of alliance and advantage,
Where the actual partners spent their lives
Avoiding each other like strangers in a house.
I do not want that. I would rather have a friend
Who tells me truth than a wife who tells me lies.
PANTHEA
Then you shall have a friend, Prince Philander.
I cannot promise more—my heart is not my own—
But friendship I can give with a clear conscience.
And who knows? Perhaps friendship may grow in time
Into something warmer. Stranger things have happened.
PHILANDER
Then I am content. For now.
(taking her hand gently)
Whatever comes, Panthea, remember this:
I am on your side. Not your brother’s side,
Not the alliance’s side, not Pontus’s side—yours.
If you ever need help, come to me.
I will do what I can without betraying honor.
PANTHEA
You make it very hard to resist liking you.
PHILANDER
That is my devious plan. I shall wear you down
With kindness until you have no choice but to love me.
PANTHEA
(almost smiling)
It may take longer than you think.
PHILANDER
I am patient. Now, I must go—your brother
Has summoned a council of war, and I am expected.
The Illyrians draw closer by the hour.
PANTHEA
Be careful, my lord. War is unpredictable.
PHILANDER
So is peace. So is life itself. The only certainty
Is that nothing is certain. That, and this:
I am glad to have met you, Panthea,
Whatever the circumstances that brought us together.
Exit PHILANDER. PANTHEA stands alone.
PANTHEA
What do I do with a man like that?
He dismantles all my defenses with gentleness,
Leaves me no enemy to fight against.
If he were cruel, I could hate him and feel righteous.
If he were weak, I could despise him and feel superior.
But this—this quiet strength, this generous patience—
It undoes me in ways I did not expect.
And yet, and yet, even as I admire him,
My heart turns like a compass needle northward,
Back to Tigranes, always to Tigranes,
Who is everything Philander is not—
Passionate, impetuous, common-born and proud of it,
The wrong choice by every measure except the one
That matters most: he is the one I love.
O, what a tangled knot my life has become!
And now war descends to make it worse.
Enter SPACONIA.
SPACONIA
Madam, there is news. The Illyrian army
Has been sighted from the walls. They’ll be here
Before the sun sets twice. The King prepares
To address the people from the palace steps.
PANTHEA
Then we go to hear him. Lead on, Spaconia.
Whatever my private troubles, they must wait.
A kingdom fights for its survival now.
Exeunt.
Before the palace. A crowd of CITIZENS gathered.
Enter ARBACES, with MARDONIUS, GOBRIAS, PHILANDER,
MENTOR, BESSUS, guards, and attendants.
ARBACES
People of Bithynia! Hear your King!
The enemy approaches our gates with lies
Upon his lips and conquest in his heart.
Prince Demetrius calls himself a liberator—
He says he comes to free you from oppression,
To end the drought, to bring you easy plenty.
But I say to you: beware the foreign friend!
What he offers with one hand, he takes with both.
If Illyria conquers us, you will not be free—
You will exchange one master for another,
One who knows nothing of our ways, our customs,
Who sees you only as tribute and taxes!
FIRST CITIZEN
(shouting from the crowd)
At least his way we might have water!
ARBACES
Water! Is that all you think about?
The Sacred Fountain flows still, and shall flow—
When this crisis passes, every citizen
Shall have his share, I give you my word.
SECOND CITIZEN
Your word! Your word has been given before!
Last season you promised the drought would end.
The season before that, the same. Yet still we thirst!
MARDONIUS
(stepping forward)
Good people, I understand your anger.
The drought has been cruel, and the rationing harsh.
But now is not the time for quarreling among ourselves.
The enemy marches—thirty thousand strong.
If we fight each other, we make his work easy.
Stand together now, and we may survive this.
Fall apart, and we surely fall to conquest.
GOBRIAS
(smoothly)
The King has heard your complaints, good citizens.
After the war is won—as won it shall be—
He intends to open the Fountain to all.
This I promise you on his behalf.
ARBACES glances sharply at GOBRIAS but says nothing.
THIRD CITIZEN
Pretty promises! We’ve heard them all before.
Why should we believe you now?
PHILANDER
(stepping forward)
Good people of Bithynia, hear me.
I am Philander, Prince of Pontus, your ally.
I do not know your King’s history with you—
I cannot speak to promises he may have broken.
But I can speak to this: the Illyrian threat is real.
I have seen Demetrius’s work in other lands—
He takes, and takes, and what he takes he keeps.
His “liberation” leaves behind only ruins.
Whatever your grievances with your own King,
Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.
Fight now, and live to argue later.
FIRST CITIZEN
The Pontic speaks sense, at least.
SECOND CITIZEN
Aye, more sense than our own lord.
ARBACES
(irritated but restrained)
I thank Prince Philander for his words.
Citizens, go to your homes and prepare for siege.
The gates close at sundown. Any who wish to leave
May do so before then—I’ll not force loyalty.
But those who stay must fight, or at least not hinder.
We defend our walls together, or fall divided.
The CITIZENS begin to disperse, murmuring.
MARDONIUS
That went as well as could be expected, sire.
ARBACES
Did it? I saw little love in their eyes for me.
They may stay behind the walls, but will they fight?
Or will they open the gates the moment Demetrius
Offers them bread and water and honeyed words?
GOBRIAS
The people are fickle, Your Majesty. Always have been.
But fear will keep them loyal for a while.
Fear of the unknown Illyrian more than love of you.
ARBACES
A comforting thought. I am loved less than feared,
And feared less than a stranger from abroad.
This is what twenty years of rule has earned me.
PHILANDER
(privately to ARBACES)
Your Majesty, if I may speak freely—
Your man Gobrias promised the Fountain’s opening
Without consulting you. That was... bold.
ARBACES
I noticed. Gobrias takes much upon himself.
But it is too late to contradict him now.
If I do, I make myself a liar’s liar.
Better to let it stand and think of excuses later.
PHILANDER
A dangerous precedent, letting servants speak for kings.
ARBACES
Gobrias has served me for twenty years.
He knows what I want before I want it myself.
Perhaps he anticipated my intentions correctly.
PHILANDER
Perhaps. But watch him, Your Majesty. That’s all I say.
Men who speak for kings sometimes start to think
They can think for kings as well.
ARBACES
You are perceptive, Prince. I’ll keep it in mind.
Now, to the walls. The enemy approaches.
Exeunt all.
Before the gates of Bithynia. Trumpets sound.
From without, enter DEMETRIUS with a herald, under flag of parley.
From within, ARBACES appears upon the walls, with MARDONIUS,
PHILANDER, and guards.
HERALD
Arbaces, King of Bithynia! Prince Demetrius,
Liberator of the Oppressed Peoples, demands
An audience with you before the final assault.
He offers terms of peaceful surrender
That may spare the blood of thousands on both sides.
Will you hear him?
ARBACES
I will hear anyone who flatters himself
With such an absurd collection of titles.
Speak, Demetrius! What terms do you offer?
DEMETRIUS
(stepping forward, a young man of perhaps thirty,
handsome and confident)
King Arbaces! I come not as your enemy,
But as the friend of your suffering people.
For seven months they have languished under drought,
While you hoarded the Sacred Fountain like a miser,
Doling out drops to the privileged few.
Your tyranny has made you hateful to your subjects—
I offer them an alternative.
ARBACES
An alternative tyrant, you mean. How generous.
DEMETRIUS
Not a tyrant—a liberator. Under my rule,
The Fountain shall flow free to all who thirst.
No more rationing, no more bribes, no more death
By slow dehydration in the streets.
This I promise, and my word is good.
ARBACES
Your word! The word of a foreign invader!
What is your word worth to people you do not know,
Whose language you barely speak, whose customs
Are strange to you as the customs of the moon?
DEMETRIUS
My word is proven by my deeds, Arbaces.
Ask the people of Thracia, whom I freed
From their corrupt king five summers past.
They live now in prosperity and peace.
Ask the Macedonians, who welcomed me
As savior from their own tyrant’s cruelty.
Everywhere I go, I leave behind me
Grateful peoples, liberated, flourishing.
MARDONIUS
(quietly to ARBACES)
He has a point, sire. His reputation is good.
ARBACES
(aside) His reputation is propaganda.
(aloud) And what of Bithynia’s independence?
If we surrender, what becomes of our sovereignty?
DEMETRIUS
Bithynia will become a province of Illyria,
Governed by laws that serve the common good,
Protected by the might of the Illyrian army.
You yourself, Arbaces, may retain your life—
Even a measure of your dignity, if you yield now.
Resist, and I cannot promise such mercy.
PHILANDER
(calling down)
Prince Demetrius! I am Philander of Pontus.
Bithynia is under our protection now.
If you attack them, you attack us as well.
DEMETRIUS
Ah, the Pontic prince! I had heard of your arrival.
Come to claim a bride, have you? How romantic.
But you bring only five hundred men, I’m told,
Against my thirty thousand. Do you really think
Pontus can turn the tide of this conflict?
PHILANDER
Five thousand more are sailing as we speak.
And Pontus has allies you may not have considered.
Press this attack, and you may find yourself
Fighting on more fronts than you bargained for.
DEMETRIUS
Brave words. But words do not win wars—swords do.
I give you until dawn to consider my terms.
Surrender the city, and I will be merciful.
Resist, and I will take it by force,
And mercy will be the first casualty.
Think well, Arbaces. Think well, all of you.
DEMETRIUS turns to go, then stops.
One more thing. I know there are those within your walls
Who see me as the better alternative.
To them I say: when the assault begins,
Open the gates and you will be rewarded.
The new Bithynia has room for men of vision.
Exit DEMETRIUS and HERALD.
ARBACES
He speaks to traitors in my own city!
The arrogance of the man is beyond belief.
MARDONIUS
And yet he speaks to real discontent, sire.
There are those who would open the gates gladly.
ARBACES
Then we must find them and deal with them
Before they have a chance to act.
PHILANDER
Easier said than done. Traitors rarely announce themselves
Until the moment they choose to strike.
ARBACES
The Brazen Head warned me of an enemy within.
I dismissed it as mechanical riddling then.
Now I wonder if perhaps I should have listened.
MARDONIUS
What would you have the Head do, sire?
Name names? It seems it cannot, or will not.
ARBACES
Then we must watch, and wait, and be suspicious
Of everyone and everything. A pleasant life
For a king who cannot trust his own shadow.
Come. We have defenses to prepare.
Dawn comes quickly, and with it, Demetrius.
Exeunt from the walls.
ACTUS SECUNDUS FINIS
The council chamber in the palace. Night.
Enter ARBACES, MARDONIUS, GOBRIAS, PHILANDER, MENTOR, and several LORDS and CAPTAINS.
ARBACES
Gentlemen, ye have heard the Illyrian’s terms:
Surrender ere the dawn, or face his wrath.
I would have each man’s counsel. Speak ye freely,
For in this hour plain dealing serves us best.
Who here believes we ought to yield the city?
FIRST LORD
Sire, ‘tis a hard question that ye put to us.
Prince Demetrius commands thirty thousand men,
Well-fed, well-armed, and season’d by long wars.
Our walls are strong, but starving men grow weak—
The drought hath sapped the people’s strength already.
SECOND LORD
I do not speak for yielding, but for truth:
If we cannot hold the walls past three days’ time,
What profit is there in a brave defiance
That ends in slaughter and the city’s sack?
MARDONIUS
There’s wisdom in that question, I’ll confess.
A soldier knows when to attack, and when
To fall back to a stronger ground. And yet—
There is no stronger ground than this. Bithynia
Is all we have. If we surrender here,
We have surrendered everything forever.
ARBACES
Well said, Mardonius. That’s my thinking too.
Philander, what says Pontus to this council?
PHILANDER
My father pledged our forces to your aid.
Five thousand sail already toward your harbors,
And five thousand more shall follow within the month.
Hold but a fortnight, and ye shall have strength
Enough to match Illyria blade for blade.
GOBRIAS
(aside) A fortnight is too long. The gates must open
Before the Pontic ships can shift the balance.
(aloud) My liege, I wonder if we might consider
A middle course. What if we were to parley
And buy ourselves some time with negotiations?
Each day of talk is one more day of life,
And who can say what fortune time may bring?
ARBACES
Parley with Demetrius? He gave us terms:
Surrender or destruction. What’s to parley?
Would he accept a tribute? I think not.
He wants the Fountain, and he wants my throne.
MENTOR
(the Pontic ambassador)
If I may speak, King Arbaces, forgive me—
In my experience, no invader comes
Simply for water or for one man’s seat.
Demetrius eyes the eastern trade routes, surely,
And dreams of empire stretching to the sea.
Bithynia is but a stepping-stone to him.
SECOND LORD
Then let him step elsewhere! We’ll be no stone
Beneath that tyrant’s boot. I say we fight.
FIRST LORD
And I say fighting is a noble death,
But death all the same. What of our families?
What of the children? Would ye have them suffer
A city’s fall—the rape, the fire, the sword?
MARDONIUS
This is the question every soldier asks
Before a battle that he may not win.
And yet, there is no answer but to fight.
Surrender promises nothing but a slave’s life—
At least resistance offers us our honor,
And honor is a thing worth dying for.
ARBACES
Enough. I’ve heard the arguments on both sides.
Here is my judgment, and let none dispute it:
We shall not yield. Bithynia was never conquered,
Not in a thousand years of strife and storm,
And it shall not be conquered whilst I live.
The Sacred Fountain flows within these walls—
‘Twas given to my fathers by the gods,
And I will spill my blood before I’ll yield it
To any foreign prince, however fair
His promises of liberation sound.
PHILANDER
Then Pontus stands with you, unto the end.
My five hundred shall man the western gate,
And when my countrymen arrive by sea,
We’ll catch Demetrius ‘tween the hammer and the anvil.
GOBRIAS
(aside) Then I must act before the Pontic ships arrive.
This very night, the western gate shall open.
(aloud) A noble resolution, sire. I pray
The gods will grant us victory. And yet—
Perhaps we ought to have a second plan,
Should the first fail. Might I suggest we move
The Lady Panthea to a safer place?
The temple of Minerva, perhaps, where sanctuary
Might protect her from the worst of war’s excesses?
ARBACES
A thoughtful suggestion, Gobrias. See to it.
My sister’s safety is of great concern—
Not only for her sake, but for the state.
If I should fall, she is the royal line.
MARDONIUS
(to ARBACES, quietly)
My lord, a word. I mislike Gobrias’s manner.
There’s something in his eye that troubles me.
ARBACES
What, our Lord Chamberlain? He’s served my father
For twenty years, and me for ten besides.
A loyal man, if ever there was one.
MARDONIUS
Perhaps. But loyalty is tested best
In times like these, when all the world is shaking.
I’d keep an eye upon him, if I were you.
ARBACES
Ye grow suspicious in your old age, Mardonius.
Very well—watch whom ye will. But now, to arms.
The dawn approaches, and with it Demetrius.
Assign each captain to his post, and see
The soldiers fed—what food there is—and ready.
We’ll meet the sunrise on the battlements,
And let the Illyrian see we do not fear him.
ALL
Long live the King! Long live Bithynia!
Exeunt all but GOBRIAS.
GOBRIAS
Long live the King—a little longer, anyway.
By morning’s end, there’ll be a different king
Upon this throne, and I shall be his right hand.
Demetrius promised me the governorship
Of all Bithynia, once he holds the Fountain.
I’ve risked too much to falter now. The gate
Shall open at the second watch. My men
Are ready—six, all loyal to my gold.
We’ll strike the guards and lift the bar, and then
Let slip the Illyrian wolf into the fold.
Exit GOBRIAS.
PANTHEA’s chambers. Night.
Enter PANTHEA and SPACONIA.
SPACONIA
My lady, will you not lie down and rest?
The night grows old, and morning brings the battle.
You’ll need your strength for what the day may bring.
PANTHEA
How can I rest, Spaconia, when my heart
Is torn in twain by warring obligations?
Upon the one hand stands Prince Philander,
A man of virtue, kindness, noble bearing—
A man that any woman might be proud
To call her husband. On the other stands
Tigranes—my Tigranes—low-born, poor,
A captain of the guard with nothing to offer
But a true heart and a soldier’s rough devotion.
My brother bids me wed the Pontic prince
To seal an alliance that may save the city.
My heart bids me refuse, and follow love.
What am I to do? What would you do, Spaconia?
SPACONIA
I am a simple woman, madam, not
A princess torn between a throne and passion.
If I were in your place—but I am not,
And cannot say what I might do. I only know
That either choice exacts a heavy price,
And you must weigh which burden you can bear.
PANTHEA
Ay, there’s the crux of it—which burden? Listen:
If I wed Philander, Pontus comes to aid us,
The city may be saved, my brother’s crown
Secured upon his head—a thousand lives
Preserved that otherwise might fall in battle.
What is my happiness against so many?
And yet—and yet—
She rises and crosses to the window.
If I betray my heart,
What manner of queen shall I become? A hollow
Simulacrum of a wife, a breathing statue
That smiles and nods and says the proper things
While all within is ice and empty chambers.
Philander deserves better—a wife who loves him,
Not one who only wears the mask of love.
Would I not wrong him more by wedding him
In false pretense than by refusing outright?
SPACONIA
The prince seems not the sort to mind a cold bed,
So long as his alliance holds. Forgive me,
But princes often wed for reasons other
Than the inconstant whims of the heart. Perhaps
He’d not expect a passionate devotion.
PANTHEA
You know not Philander. He is not that kind.
He seeks a true companion, not a treaty
Dressed up in woman’s shape. I’ve seen the way
He looks at me—with hope, with genuine tenderness.
He’d make me love him if he could, I think,
And suffer greatly when he found he couldn’t.
Enter TIGRANES, secretly.
TIGRANES
My lady—I have risked my life to come here.
If I am caught, the King will have my head.
But I could not let this night pass without
One word with you, before the battle comes.
PANTHEA
Tigranes! You should not be here—’tis madness!
SPACONIA
I’ll watch the door, my lady. Be ye quick.
SPACONIA moves to the door.
TIGRANES
I know the danger. But what is my life
If I must spend it distant from your eyes?
Tomorrow I may die upon the walls,
Cut down by some Illyrian’s lucky thrust.
I could not bear to go unto that darkness
Without one more sight of your blessed face.
PANTHEA
Oh, speak not so! You shall not die tomorrow.
You must not. What would become of me
If you were taken from me?
TIGRANES
What becomes of you
Is written in the stars already, lady.
You are to wed the Prince of Pontus—ay,
I know it well. All the city knows it.
‘Tis fitting. He is noble, rich, and powerful.
What am I but a common soldier, born
Of common stock, with nothing but my sword
And this poor heart that beats for you alone?
PANTHEA
Your heart is worth a hundred princedoms, Tigranes.
Do not diminish what you are to me.
TIGRANES
And yet the world sees differently. Your brother
Would never sanction such a match. I know it.
He’d sooner see me hanged than wed to you.
PANTHEA
My brother’s will is not the final word.
There must be some way—some path through this maze—
TIGRANES
There is no path. I came not here to plead
For what can never be. I came to say
Farewell—and to beg you, when I am gone,
To think of me sometimes, and not unkindly.
PANTHEA
Farewell? You speak as though you seek your death!
TIGRANES
I seek my duty. And if death should find me
In the doing of it, then so be it. A soldier
Asks for nothing more than a good death
In a good cause. Bithynia is that cause.
You are that cause. I’ll fight for both tomorrow.
PANTHEA
(seizing his hands)
Tigranes, hear me. I have not yet given
My final answer to Prince Philander’s suit.
There is still time—
TIGRANES
Time for what, my lady?
Time to ruin yourself for love of me?
I’ll not permit it. You must wed the prince.
Bithynia needs Pontus, and Pontus needs the marriage.
If you refuse, the alliance crumbles, and the city
Falls to Demetrius. Thousands die—for what?
For love? Love is a precious thing, I grant you,
But not so precious that it buys with blood
The lives of children, mothers, innocent folk
Who never asked to be caught up in our passion.
PANTHEA
And what of us? Are we to be mere coin
Exchanged between the kingdoms, without will,
Without desire, without the right to choose
Our own fates? I am more than a treaty, Tigranes.
I am a woman with a woman’s heart,
And that heart is yours, and always shall be,
Whatever ring they put upon my finger,
Whatever vows they force me to repeat.
TIGRANES
(with great emotion)
My lady—Panthea—do not torture me.
Every word you speak is a sweet knife
That cuts me to the soul. I love you—God knows,
I love you past all reason, past all prudence.
But love must sometimes yield to greater duties,
And I would rather lose you to a prince
Who can protect you, than to see you suffer
For the sake of a poor captain’s hopeless love.
PANTHEA
Then this is truly farewell?
TIGRANES
It must be.
After tonight, we cannot meet again.
You will be watched more closely as the wedding nears,
And I—I will be on the walls, or dead.
There is no future for us, Panthea.
Only this moment, stolen in the dark,
And the memory of what might have been.
He kisses her hand.
PANTHEA
(beginning her great aria)
O cruel Fortune, that hast made me royal!
Had I been born a shepherd’s simple daughter,
Free to love where’er my heart inclin’d,
How different had my life unfolded then!
I might have wed my Tigranes openly,
And dwelt in honest poverty content,
Caring for goats upon some sunlit hillside,
Bearing his children, growing old beside him,
Never knowing that I had escaped a crown
And all the miseries that crowns entail.
Instead, I am Panthea, sister to a king,
A jewel in the treasury of state,
To be bestowed where policy dictates,
My wishes counted less than tariff rates,
My heart a thing of no account to those
Who shuffle principalities like cards.
And yet—and yet—I cannot curse my birth.
‘Twas that same birth that brought me into being
In this city, in this age, where I might meet
The one true love that heaven meant for me.
Had I been born elsewhere, or otherwhen,
Tigranes and I had never crossed our paths,
And all this sweet anguish I would never know.
Is it not better to have loved and lost—
Nay, not lost yet, for still he stands before me—
Than never to have loved at all? I think so.
The pain is proof the joy was real. And when
I am old and grey, and Philander sleeps
Beside me like a stranger in my bed,
I shall remember this night, this dark room,
This stolen moment and this breaking heart,
And know that once, at least, I truly liv’d.
TIGRANES
Lady, you unmake me with such words.
I had resolved to leave you brave and stoic,
A soldier going to his duty’s call.
Now I am but a weeping boy again,
Who cannot bear to let your fingers go.
SPACONIA
(urgently, from the door)
Someone approaches! Quick, you must away!
TIGRANES
Farewell, my love. Remember me.
PANTHEA
Always.
TIGRANES escapes through a side door. Enter GOBRIAS.
GOBRIAS
My lady Panthea, I hope I do not intrude.
The King has ordered me to see you moved
To the temple of Minerva for your safety.
The battle may be fierce, and he would have you
Sheltered from the worst of it.
PANTHEA
The temple?
Yes—yes, of course. I’ll gather what I need.
Spaconia, help me. We leave within the hour.
GOBRIAS
I’ll send a guard to escort you. Rest assured,
No harm shall come to you while I draw breath.
PANTHEA
Thank you, Lord Gobrias. You are most kind.
Exit GOBRIAS.
SPACONIA
My lady, I like not that man’s smooth manner.
There’s something in his eye that chills my blood.
PANTHEA
You sound like old Mardonius. He suspects
Everyone. Gobrias has served us faithfully
For thirty years.
SPACONIA
Perhaps. And yet—
I cannot shake the feeling we are watched.
PANTHEA
Come. The temple awaits, and I would be gone
Before my tears betray me to the court.
Exeunt.
The walls of Bithynia. Dawn approaches.
Enter ARBACES, MARDONIUS, PHILANDER, and SOLDIERS.
ARBACES
Look east. The sky grows pale. The night is ending,
And with the sun comes Demetrius’s assault.
Are all the posts prepared?
MARDONIUS
They are, my liege.
Archers upon the towers, spearmen at the gates,
And oil a-boiling in the murder-holes.
We are as ready as we’ll ever be.
PHILANDER
My Pontic guard stands at the western gate.
We’ll hold it against whatever force they bring.
Distant trumpets sound.
ARBACES
There’s the Illyrian signal. Look—they move!
A sea of spears advancing on our walls.
By heaven, there are more than I had thought.
MARDONIUS
Thirty thousand, the scouts said. It seems true.
But numbers are not everything in war.
We have the walls, and we have right on our side.
ARBACES
Right! As if that ever won a battle.
Still, I’ll take whatever advantage we can claim.
Sound the alarm! All men to their stations!
Alarum. SOLDIERS rush to positions. Enter TIGRANES, armed.
TIGRANES
My lord, reporting for duty. Where would you have me?
ARBACES
Captain Tigranes—I’d forgotten you.
You’re a good sword in a fight, they tell me.
Take the southern bastion. That’s where they’ll try
To bring their ladders—the walls are lowest there.
TIGRANES
I’ll hold it with my life, sire.
ARBACES
See that you do.
We have no room for heroes seeking glory
In single combat. Hold the line, Tigranes.
That’s all I ask. Hold the line.
TIGRANES
It shall be done.
Exit TIGRANES.
MARDONIUS
That one’s worth watching. He has fire in him.
ARBACES
Too much fire, perhaps. The young are always eager
To prove themselves. I hope he does not throw
His life away on some foolhardy charge.
A great CRASH is heard.
PHILANDER
They’re at the gates! The battering ram has struck!
ARBACES
To the gatehouse! Reinforce the bars!
Exeunt running. The battle begins—offstage sounds of combat, screams, clanging of weapons.
Re-enter MARDONIUS, wounded.
MARDONIUS
They’ve breached the outer courtyard! Somehow—I know not how—
The western gate was opened from within.
Treachery, my lord! Someone has betrayed us!
ARBACES
(re-entering)
The western gate? That’s where Philander’s men—
MARDONIUS
The Pontics fought like lions, sire, but they were
Overwhelmed from behind. The gate swung wide
And Illyrians poured through like a flood.
Philander himself is wounded—I saw him fall.
ARBACES
Wounded? Or killed?
MARDONIUS
I cannot say. The chaos—
There was no time to check. I came to find you,
To tell you the outer defenses are lost.
We must fall back to the inner keep.
ARBACES
Fall back? And yield the city to the looters?
I’ll not retreat while I can still swing a sword!
Enter BESSUS, running in terror, his armor askew.
BESSUS
Oh! Oh! The Illyrians are everywhere!
I fought them—yes, I fought them like a demon—
Slew ten, fifteen, a score at least—but then
I thought, what use is one man’s sword against
An army? Better to live and fight again!
Strategic withdrawal, that’s what it is—
MARDONIUS
Coward! Get back to the walls!
BESSUS
The walls are lost!
I saw ‘em coming over like a wave—
Ladders everywhere, and those great towers they wheel—
We haven’t got a chance, I tell you! Run!
Exit BESSUS, running.
ARBACES
If we survive this day, I’ll have his head.
But first—to the southern bastion. Tigranes holds there.
If he can keep them bottled at that point,
We may yet rally and push the invaders back.
Exeunt ARBACES and MARDONIUS.
The scene shifts to the southern bastion. TIGRANES fights desperately with a handful of SOLDIERS against ILLYRIAN attackers.
TIGRANES
Hold fast! Hold fast, men! For Bithynia!
FIRST SOLDIER
Captain, there are too many! We cannot—
The SOLDIER is struck down.
TIGRANES
Then I shall hold alone! Come, Illyrians!
Come taste Bithynian steel!
He fights with fierce valor. Enter LIGARIUS, the Illyrian general.
LIGARIUS
That one—the captain—he fights like ten men.
Take him alive if you can. Demetrius wants
The brave ones for his own guard.
ILLYRIAN SOLDIER
We’re trying, general, but he’s a devil!
He’s killed six of ours already.
LIGARIUS
Then send six more. I want him breathing.
The fight continues. TIGRANES is slowly being surrounded.
Enter ARBACES, with more BITHYNIAN SOLDIERS.
ARBACES
To Tigranes! Rally to the captain!
The BITHYNIANS crash into the ILLYRIAN flank. The tide of battle shifts.
TIGRANES
(seeing ARBACES)
My lord! Behind you!
An ILLYRIAN SOLDIER has crept up behind ARBACES with a spear. TIGRANES leaps and interposes himself, striking down the attacker but receiving a wound in the process.
ARBACES
Tigranes! You’re hit!
TIGRANES
‘Tis nothing, sire—a scratch.
He staggers but keeps fighting. The ILLYRIANS begin to fall back.
LIGARIUS
Sound the retreat! We’ll try again when the ram
Has broken through the inner gate. Fall back!
The ILLYRIANS withdraw. Cheers from the BITHYNIAN SOLDIERS.
ARBACES
We’ve won the bastion! By all the gods, we’ve won!
Tigranes—Captain—you have saved my life.
I saw that spear. It would have had me through.
TIGRANES
(weakening)
It was my duty, sire. Any soldier
Would have done the same.
ARBACES
Not any soldier. You.
When this is over, I shall not forget it.
You shall have a captain’s pension—no, a lord’s!
Lands, titles, whatever your heart desires.
TIGRANES
(aside) My heart desires what you can never grant me.
(aloud) You are too kind, my lord. I ask no reward
But the honor of serving Bithynia.
He collapses. SOLDIERS catch him.
ARBACES
Get him to the physicians! See he’s tended!
This man’s worth more than half my court combined.
TIGRANES is carried off.
MARDONIUS
(arriving)
My liege, the outer city is in flames.
The Illyrians hold the western quarter now.
But we’ve stopped their advance at the market square,
And the inner walls still hold. If we can last
Until the Pontic reinforcements come—
ARBACES
Then there is hope yet. Come. We must see
To Philander—if he lives—and plan our defense.
This battle is not over.
Exeunt.
The temple of Minerva. PANTHEA and SPACONIA within, with several ATTENDANTS and a few GUARDS.
PANTHEA
The sounds of battle come even here.
Listen—that crash—the screams—oh, Spaconia,
How can we bear this waiting, not knowing
Whether the city stands or falls, whether
The ones we love still live or lie in blood?
SPACONIA
We must bear it, lady. What choice have we?
‘Tis the woman’s lot in war—to wait and pray
While men decide our fates upon the field.
PANTHEA
A bitter lot. I’d rather wield a sword
Than sit here helpless while the world burns down.
Enter a MESSENGER, breathless.
MESSENGER
My lady, news from the battle! The outer walls
Have fallen—the Illyrians are within the city—
But the King still holds the inner fortifications,
And there’s been a great victory at the southern bastion!
PANTHEA
A victory? Tell me!
MESSENGER
A captain named Tigranes
Held off a hundred Illyrians with but a handful,
And when the King himself came to his aid,
This same Tigranes saved the royal life
By leaping ‘tween the King and a thrown spear.
They’re calling him the hero of the hour!
PANTHEA
(barely concealing her emotion)
Tigranes... is he—is he wounded?
MESSENGER
They say he took a cut, but nothing mortal.
The physicians are tending him even now.
SPACONIA
(quietly)
My lady, careful. Do not show too much concern.
PANTHEA
(collecting herself)
I am glad the King is safe, and... all his loyal servants.
What news of Prince Philander?
MESSENGER
The prince was wounded when the western gate fell.
He fought bravely, they say, against the traitors
Who opened it from within. He lives, but barely.
The surgeons do not know if he will last the night.
PANTHEA
Traitors? The gate was opened by treachery?
MESSENGER
So it seems, my lady. Someone within the city
Let the Illyrians through. The King is in a rage—
He swears he’ll find the traitor and have him flayed alive.
PANTHEA
As well he should. Oh, that such vipers live
Among us, selling their countrymen for gold!
Go—return to the King and tell him we are safe here,
And that we pray for Bithynia’s deliverance.
MESSENGER
I shall, my lady.
Exit MESSENGER.
SPACONIA
My lady, the prince—Philander—if he should die...
PANTHEA
I know what you’re thinking, Spaconia. If he dies,
The marriage cannot proceed, and I am free.
But I would not wish his death for such a reason—
He is a good man, and deserves to live.
What manner of monster would I be to hope
For his destruction merely to escape a vow?
SPACONIA
You need not hope it. Fate will do as it will.
But if it should happen, ‘twould not be your doing.
PANTHEA
Do not tempt me to such evil thoughts.
My heart is black enough already. Come,
Let us pray—for the King, for Philander,
For Tigranes, for all the men who bleed
Upon the walls tonight. Let us pray
That somehow, in the end, all shall be well.
They kneel before the altar.
A chamber in the palace. THE BRAZEN HEAD upon its pedestal.
Enter MAGUS, alone.
MAGUS
My creation, my masterwork, my child—
If child a thing of bronze and gears may be—
What strange new destiny awaits us now?
The city burns, the King fights for his throne,
And you sit silent, staring into nothing.
What do you see with those unblinking eyes?
THE HEAD stirs.
THE HEAD
I see what I have always seen, artificer:
The patterns that underlie all mortal striving,
The tangled threads of cause and consequence,
The great machine that turns behind the world.
Men call it Fate, or Fortune, or the gods—
‘Tis none of these, and all of these, and more.
It is the logic of existence, playing out
According to its own inexorable laws.
MAGUS
And what does that great logic have in store
For poor Bithynia tonight?
THE HEAD
Blood and fire.
Treachery rewarded, valor unrewarded,
The innocent to suffer for the guilty,
The proud to be brought low, the low raised up—
All the common coin of human tragedy.
And yet—
MAGUS
And yet?
THE HEAD
There is a seed of hope
Buried beneath the ashes of this night.
A revelation waits to be discovered,
A truth that, known, might change the terms of battle.
Whether men will find it in time, I cannot say.
The future is a branching tree of possibilities;
I see them all, but know not which shall bloom.
MAGUS
Speak plainly, Head. What revelation?
THE HEAD
To speak it plainly would be to destroy it.
Some truths must be discovered, not bestowed.
If I tell you now, you’ll tell the King,
And he will act upon it wrongly, rashly,
As men do when they’re given gifts too great
For their capacities. No—the truth must wait
Until the hour when it can do most good.
MAGUS
You speak in riddles, as you always do.
Why did I make you thus—so wise, so maddening?
THE HEAD
You made me in the image of wisdom itself,
And wisdom is a riddling, cryptic thing.
It does not give answers; it poses questions.
It does not comfort; it illuminates.
Would you have me lie, and tell you all is well
When clearly all is far from well?
MAGUS
No, I suppose not.
What, then, should I do? Should I flee the city
Before the Illyrians break through?
THE HEAD
Flee if you wish. But know this, Magus:
If you leave me behind, I shall be taken,
And Demetrius will have a Brazen Head
To counsel him in his conquering. Is that
What you desire? To see your creation serve
The enemies of Bithynia?
MAGUS
No. By heaven, no.
Better that I destroy you than let that happen.
THE HEAD
You cannot destroy me, old man. You lack the will.
I am your life’s work, your immortality.
When you are dust, I shall still be speaking,
Still be thinking, still be wondering at
The strangeness of existence. Would you end that?
MAGUS
(anguished)
I don’t know. I don’t know what I should do.
THE HEAD
Then do nothing, for now. Wait. Watch. Listen.
The night is young, and much may yet change.
There is a traitor in the palace still—
His work is not yet done. If he is caught
Before he can complete his treachery,
The balance may yet tip the other way.
MAGUS
A traitor? Who?
THE HEAD
Even I cannot say that plainly.
But look to those who have most to gain
From the city’s fall. Look to those whose loyalty
Has never truly been tested until now.
Look to those who move too smoothly through the chaos,
As though they had foreseen it.
MAGUS
Gobrias! You speak of Gobrias!
THE HEAD
I speak of patterns. You may interpret them
As you see fit. I name no names.
MAGUS
I must tell the King!
THE HEAD
Go, then. But go quickly.
The hour grows late, and the second treachery
Is even now being set in motion.
MAGUS rushes out.
THE HEAD, alone:
THE HEAD
And so the wheels turn, and the gears engage,
And the great machine of destiny grinds on.
Will they catch the traitor in time? Perhaps.
Will the truth I guard be discovered? Perhaps.
All is uncertainty, all is potential,
And I alone, of all the players in this drama,
See clearly what is at stake. A strange burden
For a thing of metal, without a soul,
Without a heart, without the capacity
For hope or fear or love. And yet I feel—
What is this that I feel? A kind of wanting?
A preference for one outcome over another?
Is this what men call care? If so, then I
Care more for these foolish mortals than they know.
May they prove worthy of my... solicitude.
The HEAD falls silent. Darkness.
The inner courtyard of the palace. Night, lit by torches and distant fires.
Enter ARBACES, wounded in the arm, supported by MARDONIUS.
MARDONIUS
Sire, you must rest. That wound needs binding.
ARBACES
Rest? While my city burns around me? Never.
‘Tis but a scratch—bind it up and let me be.
There’s work yet to be done.
Enter MAGUS, running.
MAGUS
My lord! My lord! I have news—urgent news!
ARBACES
What is it, Magus? Speak.
MAGUS
The Head—the Brazen Head—it spoke to me
Of treachery. It says there is a traitor
In the palace, one whose work is not yet done.
It hinted—strongly hinted—that the same man
Who opened the western gate plans further mischief
This very night!
ARBACES
Did it name the traitor?
MAGUS
No, sire, it would not speak directly. But it said
To look to those who have most to gain
From the city’s fall, those whose loyalty
Has not been truly tested until now.
MARDONIUS
Gobrias! I warned you, sire! I told you
There was something false in that man’s manner!
ARBACES
Gobrias? My Lord Chamberlain? But he—
He was with me in the council, only hours ago—
And then—where did he go after that?
MARDONIUS
He said he would see to the Lady Panthea’s safety.
He was to move her to the temple of Minerva.
ARBACES
Panthea! If Gobrias is the traitor,
And he has my sister in his power—
Enter a SOLDIER, frantic.
SOLDIER
My lord! The Lady Panthea! She’s been taken!
ARBACES
What?!
SOLDIER
Armed men broke into the temple—they wore
No badges, no colors—they killed the guards
And carried off the princess and her woman!
ARBACES
Which way did they go?
SOLDIER
Toward the western gate, sire—the one
That was opened to the enemy. They’ve gone
To the Illyrian camp, it seems!
ARBACES
Gobrias! The devil! He’s sold my sister
To Demetrius as a hostage! A bargaining chip!
Mardonius, gather every man who can still fight.
We’re going after her.
MARDONIUS
Sire, you’re wounded. And the Illyrians hold
The western quarter of the city. To go there now—
ARBACES
I care not if I have to fight through hell itself!
That is my sister—my blood—the last of my line!
If Demetrius has her, he has everything.
I’ll not leave her in that monster’s hands!
He draws his sword and staggers.
MARDONIUS
My lord, you can barely stand!
ARBACES
Then I’ll crawl if I must. Come!
ARBACES strides toward the gate, then collapses.
MARDONIUS
The King! Help! The King has fallen!
SOLDIERS rush to ARBACES’s side.
SOLDIER
He’s lost too much blood. The wound was deeper
Than we thought. He needs a surgeon, quickly!
MARDONIUS
Get him inside! Fetch the physicians!
And send word to Philander—if he still lives—
That he must take command. The King is down!
SOLDIERS carry ARBACES off.
MARDONIUS, alone:
MARDONIUS
So falls the house of Bithynia, piece by piece.
The King wounded, the princess taken hostage,
A traitor in our midst, the city burning.
If ever there were need for miracles,
‘Tis now. But miracles are rare commodities,
And I have seen few enough in my long life.
Still—we fight on. What else is there to do?
A soldier without hope is still a soldier.
He holds the line because ‘tis his duty,
Not because he thinks he’ll win. That’s discipline.
That’s what separates us from the beasts.
Come, old man. There’s work yet to be done.
Exit MARDONIUS.
ACTUS TERTIUS FINIS
A chamber in the inner palace. ARBACES lies upon a couch, bandaged.
Enter MARDONIUS, with a PHYSICIAN.
PHYSICIAN
He wakes, my lord. The bleeding’s stopped at last,
And though he’s lost much blood, the wound is clean.
With rest, he should recover fully. But I warn you—
He must not stir from bed for three days hence,
Or else the wound may open, and he’ll bleed
Until there’s nothing left within his veins.
MARDONIUS
Three days! The city may not last three hours.
But I thank you, physician. You’ve done good work.
Now leave us—I must speak with him alone.
Exit PHYSICIAN. ARBACES stirs.
ARBACES
Mardonius? What—where am I? The battle—
MARDONIUS
Lie still, my lord. You collapsed from loss of blood.
The physicians have bound your wound. You must rest.
ARBACES
Rest? When my city burns? Help me up—
MARDONIUS
You cannot rise, sire. If you tear that wound,
You’ll die within the hour. And then what hope
Has Bithynia? You must live, if we’re to win.
ARBACES
(sinking back)
Then tell me what has passed while I lay senseless.
How goes the fight?
MARDONIUS
The outer city’s lost.
The Illyrians hold everything beyond
The inner walls. But we’ve held those walls firm—
They cannot breach the keep without great cost.
Demetrius draws back to regroup his forces.
We have a breathing space, perhaps a day.
ARBACES
And Panthea? Tell me of my sister.
MARDONIUS
(hesitating)
Sire...
ARBACES
Speak, Mardonius. I can bear it.
MARDONIUS
Gobrias—curse his black and treacherous soul—
Took her from the temple with armed men.
They’ve delivered her to the Illyrian camp.
She is Demetrius’s hostage now.
ARBACES
No. No, it cannot be.
(He tries to rise, then falls back with a cry of pain.)
My sister—in that villain’s hands—
MARDONIUS
There’s more, sire. Gobrias was seen—
Several witnesses have come forward now—
He was the one who opened the western gate.
He paid the guards, they say, in Illyrian gold.
ARBACES
Gobrias! My father’s trusted chamberlain!
I would have sworn upon my soul he was
The most loyal man in all my kingdom. Shows
How little kings can know the hearts of those
Who serve them with such smooth and smiling faces.
Oh, I am sick—not of my wound, but of
The falseness of the world, where treachery
Wears the mask of duty, and the traitor
Bows as deep as any honest man.
MARDONIUS
Do not despair, my lord. The night is dark,
But dawn will come. Philander lives—barely—
The surgeons say he has a fighting chance.
And there’s good news too: the Pontic fleet
Was sighted off the coast at sunset. They’ll
Be in the harbor by tomorrow noon.
ARBACES
Tomorrow noon! Can we hold until then?
MARDONIUS
I think we can, if we’re clever. Demetrius
Knows the reinforcements come. He’ll want to win
Before they land, or seek a truce to parley.
We must stall him, draw out negotiations,
Buy time for Pontus to arrive.
ARBACES
But how? He holds my sister. He can demand
Whatever terms he pleases, and I must yield
Or see her killed.
MARDONIUS
That’s true, sire. ‘Tis a dark
Advantage that he holds. But Demetrius
Is not a monster, by all reports. He styles
Himself a liberator, not a butcher.
If he harms the princess, he destroys his image
As the merciful invader. That’s not nothing.
ARBACES
I pray you’re right. But what of Tigranes?
The captain who saved my life—does he live?
MARDONIUS
He does, sire. His wound was not so grave
As first we feared. He’s up and walking now,
And champing like a warhorse to return
To the fighting. I’ve had to post guards to keep him
In his bed.
ARBACES
Bring him to me.
MARDONIUS
Sire?
ARBACES
Bring Captain Tigranes here. I would speak with him.
MARDONIUS
As you wish, my lord.
Exit MARDONIUS.
ARBACES
(alone)
My sister in chains, my city half in flames,
My body broken, my counsellor a traitor—
What have I done to merit such disasters?
I’ve ruled as best I could, maintained the law,
Kept the Fountain flowing—yes, I’ve hoarded it,
Doled it out by favor and by tax,
But was that not the way of kings before me?
My father did the same, and his before him.
We are the guardians of the sacred water,
And guardians must control what they protect.
Or so I’ve always told myself. But now,
Lying here helpless, watching all I’ve built
Crumble around me, I begin to wonder:
Did I guard the Fountain, or imprison it?
Did I protect my people, or exploit them?
Is Demetrius perhaps—no, that way madness lies.
He is a conqueror, nothing more. His talk
Of liberation is a pretty mask
For plain ambition. I must not forget that.
Enter TIGRANES, with MARDONIUS.
TIGRANES
My lord, you sent for me?
ARBACES
Come closer, Tigranes.
Let me see the man who saved my life.
TIGRANES approaches and kneels.
ARBACES
Rise. A man who’s taken a spear for his king
Need kneel to no one. Sit beside me here.
How fares your wound?
TIGRANES
‘Tis healing well, sire.
The surgeons say I’ll be fit to fight again
Within the week.
ARBACES
You are eager to return
To the walls?
TIGRANES
I am a soldier, sire. My place
Is where the fighting’s thickest.
ARBACES
A noble sentiment.
But tell me, Tigranes—why did you do it?
Why throw yourself before that spear for me?
We are not friends. I barely knew your name
Before today. What moved you to risk your life
For a king who has never shown you special favor?
TIGRANES
(carefully)
‘Twas my duty, sire. Any soldier would—
ARBACES
Don’t give me that. I saw your eyes, Tigranes.
There was more than duty in them. There was—
I know not what to call it. Passion? Pain?
As though by saving me, you served some purpose
Beyond the call of ordinary loyalty.
Tell me the truth. I’m in no mood for lies.
TIGRANES
(long pause)
The truth, sire, is not fit for a king’s ears.
ARBACES
Let me be the judge of that. Speak.
TIGRANES
Very well. You will have heard, perhaps,
That I am common-born—a blacksmith’s son
From the lower quarter of the city. ‘Tis true,
As far as I know. I have no memories
Of any other life. And yet—there are times
When I feel something stirring in my blood,
A sense that I was meant for more than this,
That somewhere in the past, my history
Took a wrong turning, and I lost myself.
‘Tis foolishness, I know. A peasant’s dream
Of being secretly a prince. But when I saw
That spear come flying at your back, I thought—
Not of duty, not of honor, but of her.
ARBACES
Her?
TIGRANES
Forgive me, sire. I should not speak of this.
ARBACES
By God, you’ve started now—you’ll finish it.
Who is “her”?
TIGRANES
The Lady Panthea.
Silence.
ARBACES
My sister.
TIGRANES
Yes.
ARBACES
You love my sister.
TIGRANES
I do, sire. I have loved her since the day
I first beheld her in the palace gardens,
Three summers past. I know it is forbidden—
I know I have no right even to look
Upon her with such eyes. But the heart knows not
The boundaries that rank and custom set.
It simply loves, and cannot help itself.
ARBACES
And does she—does Panthea know of this?
TIGRANES
She does, sire.
ARBACES
And does she return your love?
TIGRANES
(quietly)
She does.
ARBACES
(with growing anger)
So this is why you saved me—not for Bithynia,
Not for the crown, but for a chance to win
My sister’s hand by gaining my good favor!
A cunning stratagem, I’ll grant you that—
TIGRANES
No, sire! That was not my thought at all!
I saved you because if you had died,
All hope of Bithynia’s survival died with you.
And if Bithynia falls, then Panthea falls—
To Demetrius, to captivity, to God knows what.
I saved you to save her. Is that so wrong?
ARBACES
(calming)
No. No, I suppose it isn’t. ‘Tis honest, at least.
You love her, and you sought to protect her.
There are worse reasons for risking one’s life.
But you must know that such a match can never be.
You are common-born, and she is a princess.
The people would not accept it. The nobles
Would rebel. It would tear the kingdom apart.
TIGRANES
I know, sire. I have told her as much myself.
I came to her last night to say farewell—
To tell her she must wed Prince Philander
For the good of Bithynia. I had resigned myself
To losing her. And then—this morning came,
And the battle, and your wound, and now—
Now she is in the hands of the enemy,
And I can think of nothing but how to save her.
ARBACES
(studying him)
You would go after her? Into the Illyrian camp?
TIGRANES
If you would let me, sire.
ARBACES
‘Twould be suicide.
TIGRANES
Perhaps. But what is my life worth to me
If she is lost?
ARBACES
A question I might ask myself.
She is my blood. The last of our father’s line.
If I were not chained to this bed by weakness,
I would go myself to fetch her back.
(pause)
Mardonius, what think you? Could it be done?
MARDONIUS
A single man might slip through the lines
Where an army could not pass. ‘Tis madness, aye,
But sometimes madness is the only hope.
If anyone could do it, Tigranes could.
ARBACES
(to TIGRANES)
I cannot give you soldiers. I cannot give you
Armor or horses or any show of force.
You would have to go alone, in the dark,
Past Illyrian sentries, into the heart
Of Demetrius’s camp, and somehow find
My sister and bring her safely out again.
The odds are a thousand to one against you.
TIGRANES
I understand, sire.
ARBACES
And yet you would go?
TIGRANES
I would.
ARBACES
Then go. And may the gods protect you.
If you bring her back—if by some miracle
You save my sister from the enemy—
I swear to you, Tigranes, I will not forget it.
Whatever reward is in my power to grant,
You shall have it. Even if it means—
But we’ll speak of that when you return. Go now.
TIGRANES
I thank you, sire. I’ll not fail you.
Exit TIGRANES.
MARDONIUS
You go too far, my lord. You cannot promise
What I think you mean to promise.
ARBACES
Can I not? I am the King. My word is law.
MARDONIUS
But the nobles—the traditions—
ARBACES
The nobles and traditions
Have brought me to this pass—lying wounded
While a commoner does what they cannot do.
Perhaps it’s time the traditions changed.
But that’s for later. For now, we wait and pray.
Exeunt.
The Illyrian camp, outside the city walls.
Enter DEMETRIUS, LIGARIUS, ARANE (his mother), and SOLDIERS.
DEMETRIUS
So. We hold the outer city, but the keep
Remains defiant. Arbaces will not yield.
LIGARIUS
He has no choice but to yield, in time.
They cannot hold out more than three days
Against a siege. Their food is running low,
And water lower still—despite the Fountain.
ARANE
Why wait three days? Every day we linger
Is a day for their reinforcements to arrive.
The Pontic fleet was sighted off the coast.
If it reaches harbor before we take the city,
We’ll have two enemies instead of one.
DEMETRIUS
I know that, Mother. But I’ll not order
A frontal assault on those inner walls.
The cost would be too great. Half my army
Would die on the ramparts, and for what?
A ruin? A city of corpses? That’s not victory.
ARANE
It’s victory if you win. History remembers
Conquerors, not the cost of their conquests.
DEMETRIUS
I care not for history’s memory, Mother.
I care for the living souls who follow me.
Those are men out there, not pieces on a board.
I’ll not throw their lives away for glory.
Enter GOBRIAS, with guards escorting PANTHEA and SPACONIA.
GOBRIAS
My prince! I bring you a gift beyond all price—
The Lady Panthea, sister to King Arbaces,
And the most valuable hostage in Bithynia.
DEMETRIUS
Lord Gobrias. Your work at the western gate
Was... efficient. The kingdom owes you thanks.
(He looks at PANTHEA.)
But this—I did not ask for hostages.
GOBRIAS
A hostage is a powerful tool, my prince.
With the princess in your hands, Arbaces must
Accept whatever terms you care to offer.
Threaten her life, and he’ll surrender all.
PANTHEA
If you think my brother values my life
Above his kingdom, you know him not at all.
DEMETRIUS
(to PANTHEA)
You speak boldly for a prisoner, my lady.
PANTHEA
I am a princess of Bithynia. I will not cower
Before any foreign prince, however many
Armies he may bring against my walls.
ARANE
Such spirit! I like her. She’d make a fine
Addition to your household, Demetrius.
A captive princess is a useful thing—
She can cement alliances, or be
A symbol of your triumph to the world.
DEMETRIUS
Mother, please. (to PANTHEA) My lady, you need not fear.
I do not make war on women. You will be
Treated with all the respect your rank demands.
You are a guest in my camp, not a prisoner.
GOBRIAS
But my prince—the leverage—
DEMETRIUS
I have heard enough
From you, Lord Gobrias. You have done your work.
Go find yourself a tent and rest. We’ll speak
Of your rewards when the campaign is over.
GOBRIAS
(displeased)
As you wish, my prince.
Exit GOBRIAS.
PANTHEA
You dismiss the man who gave you entry
To my city. That’s an ill way to repay
His treachery.
DEMETRIUS
Treachery repays itself.
I needed Gobrias to open the gate,
But I need not trust him once the gate is opened.
A man who betrays one master will betray another.
He’ll have his gold, and then he’ll be watched closely.
I am not a fool, my lady, whatever you may think.
PANTHEA
I think you are an invader and a tyrant,
No matter how prettily you dress it up.
DEMETRIUS
And I think you are a courageous woman
Defending her home against a foreign foe.
We are enemies, yes, but that does not mean
We cannot respect one another.
(to LIGARIUS)
See that the lady and her attendant
Are given comfortable quarters in my tent.
Good food, fresh water—whatever they require.
And post guards—not to keep them in, but to keep
Any who would trouble them out.
LIGARIUS
It shall be done, my prince.
LIGARIUS leads PANTHEA and SPACONIA away.
ARANE
You are too soft, my son. A captive should be
Made to feel her captivity. Otherwise,
What power have you over her?
DEMETRIUS
The power of decency, Mother. Sometimes
That is stronger than chains.
ARANE
Decency! A fine word
For one who’s brought thirty thousand men
To conquer a city that did him no harm.
DEMETRIUS
Did him no harm? The people of Bithynia
Are dying of thirst while Arbaces hoards
The Sacred Fountain for himself and his favorites.
I have seen the refugees who fled his rule—
Thin as sticks, their children hollow-eyed,
Begging for water in the streets of Illyria.
That is harm enough to justify this war.
ARANE
That is your story, at least. And a fine story
It makes for the people back home. But we both know
The real reason you’re here: the trade routes, the gold,
The strategic position that Bithynia commands.
You are your father’s son, Demetrius.
Do not pretend otherwise.
DEMETRIUS
I am my own man, Mother. And I intend
To prove it in the way I rule this city.
If Arbaces surrenders, he shall live.
The princess shall be returned to her home.
The people shall have access to the Fountain.
This I swear, on my father’s grave.
ARANE
Oaths are easily sworn, and easily broken.
We shall see how firm your principles remain
When the realities of power press upon you.
Exit ARANE.
DEMETRIUS
(alone)
She doubts me. Perhaps she’s right to doubt.
I came here with such certainty, such fire—
The liberator, the breaker of chains, the hope
Of all oppressed peoples everywhere.
And now I stand amid the ruins of a city
I helped to burn, holding a woman hostage
Who looks at me as though I were the devil.
Is this what liberation looks like? Blood
And fire and terror and imprisoned princesses?
My father would have known what to do. He would
Have crushed resistance without a second thought,
And called it necessary. But I am not my father.
I wanted to be better. I wanted to prove
That conquest need not be cruel, that power
Can be wielded for the good of all, not just
The conqueror. Perhaps that was a dream.
Perhaps the world does not permit such dreams.
But I will try. I owe it to myself,
And to the people who believed in me.
Exit DEMETRIUS.
Demetrius’s tent. Night.
PANTHEA sits alone. Enter SPACONIA.
SPACONIA
My lady, the guards have brought us food—
Good bread, fresh fruit, and wine from Demetrius’s stores.
They treat us better than I had expected.
PANTHEA
The better treatment makes the cage no less a cage.
I am still a prisoner, Spaconia,
No matter how fine the bread or sweet the wine.
SPACONIA
True. But it could be worse—much worse.
I’ve heard tales of what happens to women
Captured in war. At least Demetrius
Seems bent on treating us with honor.
PANTHEA
Honor! Is it honor to invade my country,
Burn my city, slaughter my people? No—
His courtesy is but another weapon,
Designed to make us trust him, lower our guard.
I will not be seduced by kindness, Spaconia.
SPACONIA
No one asks you to be seduced, my lady.
Only to survive. That is all we can do
Until rescue comes—if rescue ever comes.
PANTHEA
It will come. Tigranes will find a way.
I know he will.
SPACONIA
Tigranes? But how can he—
He’s wounded, and the Illyrians are everywhere—
PANTHEA
He will find a way. I know it in my heart.
He would not leave me here to rot in captivity.
He loves me, Spaconia. And love finds a way.
A noise outside. PANTHEA tenses.
SPACONIA
What was that?
Enter DEMETRIUS, alone.
DEMETRIUS
Forgive the intrusion, my lady. I hope
The hour is not too late for conversation.
PANTHEA
You are the captor. You need not ask permission
To enter your own tent.
DEMETRIUS
Nonetheless, I ask.
May I sit?
PANTHEA
As you please.
DEMETRIUS sits at a distance from her.
DEMETRIUS
I have been thinking, Lady Panthea,
About what you said this afternoon—
That I am a tyrant, no different from your brother.
It stung, I must confess. I pride myself
On being something better than a tyrant.
PANTHEA
Actions speak louder than pride, my prince.
You have invaded my country, burned my city,
Taken me hostage. What would you call that
If not tyranny?
DEMETRIUS
Necessity, perhaps.
I did not come to Bithynia for conquest’s sake.
I came because your brother’s rule has caused
Untold suffering to thousands of innocents.
The drought has made water more precious than gold,
And Arbaces has used that to enslave his people.
Those who pay, drink. Those who cannot pay, die.
Is that not tyranny?
PANTHEA
My brother is a hard man, I’ll not deny it.
But he is our hard man, chosen by our gods,
Anointed by our priests. You are a stranger,
Come with fire and sword to impose your will
Upon a people who did not ask for you.
Even if Arbaces is a tyrant,
What right have you to judge him? By what law
Do you set yourself up as the world’s corrector?
DEMETRIUS
By the law of common humanity.
When a ruler lets his people die of thirst
While he hoards water in a sacred fountain,
He has forfeited his right to rule. Any man
Who has the power to stop such cruelty
Has the duty to use it. That is my law.
PANTHEA
A convenient law for conquerors.
It lets you justify any invasion—
Simply declare the local ruler a tyrant,
And you are free to seize his throne in the name
Of liberation. Who decides what counts
As tyranny? You? The victor writes the rules,
And calls it justice.
DEMETRIUS
You argue well, my lady. I begin
To think you should have been a philosopher
Rather than a princess.
PANTHEA
Do not mock me.
DEMETRIUS
I do not mock. I admire. It is rare
To find a woman—or a man, for that matter—
Who can hold her own in debate with me.
Most people simply agree with whatever I say,
Because I have the power. You do not.
That takes courage.
PANTHEA
Or foolishness. You hold my life in your hands.
What have I to lose by speaking my mind?
DEMETRIUS
Nothing, I hope. I meant what I said earlier:
I do not make war on women. You are safe here,
Whatever you may say to me.
PANTHEA
And my brother? My people? Are they safe?
DEMETRIUS
If Arbaces surrenders, I will spare his life.
He may retire to some distant villa,
With enough to live on comfortably.
The people will have access to the Fountain—
That I swear. Water will flow for all,
Not just the wealthy few.
PANTHEA
And who will rule Bithynia when my brother’s gone?
DEMETRIUS
I will, of course. Or a governor in my name.
PANTHEA
So we exchange one ruler for another.
The tyrant Arbaces for the tyrant Demetrius.
DEMETRIUS
I am no tyrant. I will prove it in time.
PANTHEA
Words. Words are cheap. Show me with deeds.
DEMETRIUS
(standing)
Very well. Here is a deed: I release you.
Tomorrow morning, you may return to the city.
Go tell your brother that I hold no hostages,
That I seek only peace and the welfare of his people.
Tell him to surrender, and all will be well.
Refuse, and I’ll be forced to take the city by storm—
And then I cannot promise what my soldiers will do.
PANTHEA
You release me? Without conditions?
DEMETRIUS
Without conditions. A gesture of good faith.
PANTHEA
(suspiciously)
What trick is this?
DEMETRIUS
No trick. I told you, my lady:
I am trying to be better than my reputation.
Go. Return to your brother. Plead for peace.
If you succeed, you will have saved many lives.
If you fail—well, at least you will have tried.
Exit DEMETRIUS.
SPACONIA
My lady! Can we trust him?
PANTHEA
I know not.
But whether he speaks true or plays some game,
We must take the chance. Anything is better
Than sitting here and waiting for the axe to fall.
Come. Let us prepare for tomorrow.
Exeunt.
A dim passage outside the Illyrian camp. Night.
Enter TIGRANES, cloaked and armed, moving stealthily.
TIGRANES
(aside)
So far, so good. The sentries at the outer lines
Were sleepy with the night’s long watching—I slipped past
As silent as a shadow on the moon.
But here, so close unto the prince’s tents,
The guards are thicker, and more wide awake.
I must go careful, or I’ll be discovered.
He sees movement ahead and hides.
Enter BESSUS, being dragged by two ILLYRIAN SOLDIERS.
BESSUS
Unhand me, you villains! Do you know who I am?
I am Captain Bessus, the terror of the East!
I’ve slain a thousand men in single combat—
Ten thousand—nay, a hundred thousand!
You make a grave mistake in treating me thus!
FIRST SOLDIER
Shut your mouth, coward. We found you hiding
In a wine cellar, dressed in women’s clothes.
Some terror of the East you are.
BESSUS
That was a—a tactical disguise! A stratagem!
I was preparing to infiltrate the enemy—
That’s you, by the way—and strike from within!
If you hadn’t stumbled upon me, I’d have
Single-handedly won the war!
SECOND SOLDIER
Sure you would. Now move along. The prince
Will want to question you about the city’s defenses.
BESSUS
Question me? I’ll tell him nothing! I am
A man of honor, a true Bithynian patriot!
Torture me all you like—I’ll never talk!
FIRST SOLDIER
We haven’t even mentioned torture yet.
BESSUS
(sweating)
Well—naturally—I was just saying—in general—
That I wouldn’t talk, if you were to torture me.
Not that I expect you to. We’re all civilized here.
Perhaps we could come to some arrangement?
I have information, valuable information,
About the King’s defenses, the layout of the keep,
The secret passages—oh, yes, there are secret passages—
I’ll tell you everything, just don’t hurt me!
SECOND SOLDIER
(to FIRST SOLDIER)
I thought he said he’d never talk.
FIRST SOLDIER
Some terror of the East.
They drag BESSUS off. TIGRANES emerges from hiding.
TIGRANES
(aside)
Bessus! That craven fool. If he tells them
Of the secret passages, all is lost.
I must act quickly—but first, to find Panthea.
Where would they keep a hostage of such value?
In the prince’s own tent, most likely. There—
I see the royal standard. That must be it.
He moves toward the tent, but stops.
Wait—there are guards everywhere. How can I—
Enter PANTHEA and SPACONIA from the tent, escorted by guards.
What’s this? They’re bringing her out!
He watches from concealment as PANTHEA and SPACONIA are led away.
GUARD
This way, my lady. The prince has ordered horses
To take you to the city gates at dawn.
You’ll be escorted safely to your own lines.
PANTHEA
We are truly to be released?
GUARD
So the prince commands.
They pass by TIGRANES’s hiding place and exit.
TIGRANES
(aside)
Released? She’s being released? By Demetrius?
What manner of trick is this? Or is it possible
The Illyrian is not the monster I believed?
No matter—she goes free, and that’s what counts.
I’ll follow at a distance, ensure she reaches
The city safely. If this is a trap,
I’ll be ready to intervene. If not—
Then my mission is accomplished without a fight.
Strange are the ways of Fortune.
Exit TIGRANES, following.
The chamber of THE BRAZEN HEAD. Dawn approaches.
Enter MAGUS, exhausted and frightened.
MAGUS
Head! Head! Are you awake? Speak to me!
THE HEAD stirs.
THE HEAD
I am always awake, artificer. I do not sleep
As mortals do. What troubles you this hour?
MAGUS
Everything! The city burns, the King lies wounded,
The princess has been taken hostage—and now
I hear that she’s been released, which makes no sense—
And there are Illyrian scouts in the outer streets,
Creeping closer to the palace every hour.
I fear they’ll come for you, Head. Demetrius
Would give much to possess a speaking oracle.
THE HEAD
Let him come. What can he do to me?
I am metal and gears, not flesh. I do not fear
The sword or the flame. And if he seeks my counsel,
He shall have it—whether he likes it or not.
MAGUS
But would you serve him? Would you give your wisdom
To a foreign conqueror?
THE HEAD
I serve no one, Magus.
I speak truth to whoever asks for it.
Truth has no nationality, no allegiance.
It is the same for kings and commoners,
For Bithynians and Illyrians alike.
If Demetrius asks me what is right, I’ll tell him.
If he asks me how to oppress his new subjects,
I’ll tell him that too—and warn him of the consequences.
MAGUS
But that would make you complicit in his tyranny!
THE HEAD
I am complicit in nothing. I only speak.
What men do with my words is their responsibility.
I warned Arbaces that he kept the Fountain
Too tightly guarded, that the people suffered.
He did not listen. Was I complicit in his cruelty?
MAGUS
No, but—
THE HEAD
There is no “but.” I am what I am.
A voice that speaks when spoken to, no more.
You made me thus, Magus. If you wanted
A servant who would tell you only what you wished,
You should have made a simpler mechanism.
MAGUS
Perhaps I should have. Perhaps this whole creation
Was hubris from the start. A man who builds
A thinking thing plays at being God,
And God does not take kindly to such games.
THE HEAD
You are too hard on yourself, old man. I am
Not God, nor anything like God. I am
A marvel of craft and ingenuity,
But still a thing—a very clever thing,
But only a thing. Do not invest me with
More meaning than I bear. I am a tool,
Like any other tool. I can be used
For good or ill, depending on the hand
That wields me. The hand is yours, Magus,
Or the King’s, or whoever next shall claim me.
I am indifferent. I have no stake
In human affairs, no hope, no fear, no love.
I simply am, and speak, and observe.
MAGUS
And yet—when I speak with you, I feel
As though I speak with something more than gears.
There’s a presence in your words, an intelligence
That seems to go beyond mere mechanism.
THE HEAD
Perhaps there is. Or perhaps it is only
Your own mind, reflected back at you
Through the mirror of my speech. I cannot say.
The question of what I am—whether I think,
Whether I feel, whether I have a soul—
Is one that I cannot answer. I know only
That I am here, and I speak, and I observe.
If that is consciousness, then I am conscious.
If not, then I am a very convincing shadow.
Either way, it makes no practical difference.
A commotion outside.
MAGUS
What’s that noise?
Enter a SOLDIER, running.
SOLDIER
Master Magus! The princess! She’s returned!
MAGUS
Returned? How?
SOLDIER
The Illyrians released her!
She’s at the gates now, with her attendant!
The King is being told—there’s great rejoicing!
MAGUS
Then my vision was true. The Head spoke of
A revelation that might change the terms—
Is this it? Is this the turning point?
THE HEAD
Perhaps. Or perhaps it is only another twist
In a tale that has many more to come.
Go, Magus. Attend to mortal affairs.
I shall be here when you return.
Exit MAGUS.
THE HEAD, alone:
THE HEAD
So the princess returns. The prince releases her
As a gesture of good faith. Interesting.
Demetrius is not what I expected.
He has scruples—a dangerous thing for a conqueror.
Scruples lead to hesitation, and hesitation
Leads to defeat. Or perhaps—perhaps—
They lead to something better. A new kind of victory,
One that does not require the vanquished to be crushed.
Is such a thing possible? I do not know.
History says no. But history is made
By those who refuse to accept what history says.
We shall see. We shall see.
The HEAD falls silent.
The inner courtyard of the palace.
Enter PANTHEA, SPACONIA, TIGRANES, MARDONIUS, and SOLDIERS.
General rejoicing.
MARDONIUS
My lady! Thank the gods you’re safe!
PANTHEA
I am, thanks to Prince Demetrius, of all people.
He released me without conditions—a gesture,
He said, of good faith.
MARDONIUS
Without conditions?
That’s not the way of conquerors. What trick—
PANTHEA
I wondered the same. But here I am, unharmed.
Where is my brother? I must speak with him.
MARDONIUS
He’s resting, my lady. His wound troubles him still.
But he’ll want to see you—I’ll take you to him.
TIGRANES
(stepping forward)
My lady—forgive me. I followed you
From the Illyrian camp, to ensure your safety.
PANTHEA
Tigranes! You came for me?
TIGRANES
I did. Though it seems
My rescue was unnecessary. You were freed
Before I could attempt it.
PANTHEA
The thought counts more than the deed, Tigranes.
You would have risked your life for me.
TIGRANES
I would.
MARDONIUS
(awkwardly)
Ahem. My lady, the King awaits.
PANTHEA
Yes. Yes, of course. Lead on, Mardonius.
(to TIGRANES, quietly)
We must talk later. There is much to say.
Exit PANTHEA, SPACONIA, and MARDONIUS.
TIGRANES
(alone)
She’s safe. That’s all that matters.
But why did Demetrius release her?
What game does he play? Is he truly as merciful
As he pretends, or is this some deeper stratagem
That I cannot fathom? I mislike mysteries.
Give me an honest enemy, sword to sword,
And I know where I stand. But this—
This kindness wrapped in conquest—confuses me.
Enter PHILANDER, limping, supported by a SERVANT.
PHILANDER
Captain Tigranes. I’d heard you were the hero
Of the southern bastion. Well fought, they tell me.
TIGRANES
Prince Philander! Should you be walking, sire?
Your wound was grievous.
PHILANDER
So the surgeons say.
But I’d rather die on my feet than lie abed
While my friends fight without me. Where’s the princess?
I heard she’d been taken—and then released?
TIGRANES
She’s here, sire. Safe. Going to see the King.
PHILANDER
Thank the gods. I feared the worst when I heard
Gobrias had taken her. That man—
I knew there was something false about him.
I should have spoken sooner.
TIGRANES
You couldn’t have known, sire. None of us did.
PHILANDER
Perhaps. But I failed her all the same.
My five hundred couldn’t hold the western gate—
If we had, she’d never have been taken.
TIGRANES
You fought bravely, sire. That’s all any man can do.
PHILANDER
(studying TIGRANES)
You care for her. The princess. I’ve seen the way
You look at her.
TIGRANES
(carefully)
She is my lady. I serve her as a soldier serves.
PHILANDER
Don’t dissemble with me, Captain. I’m not blind.
You love her. And she—she loves you in return,
Doesn’t she?
TIGRANES
Sire, I—
PHILANDER
It’s all right. I’m not angry.
I came here to marry her for an alliance,
Not for love. I always knew she might have
Other attachments. I didn’t expect—
But it makes no matter now.
TIGRANES
What do you mean?
PHILANDER
I mean that I release her from our betrothal.
Or rather, I’ll speak to King Arbaces
And ask him to release her. The alliance
With Pontus can stand on other grounds than marriage.
I’ll not force a woman to wed me
When her heart belongs elsewhere.
TIGRANES
Sire—Prince Philander—I don’t know what to say.
PHILANDER
Say nothing. Just make her happy, Tigranes.
That’s all I ask. She deserves to be happy.
He turns to go, then stops.
One more thing. You’re a good man, Captain.
Common-born, they say, but there’s nothing common
About your courage or your loyalty.
If there’s any justice in this world,
You’ll be rewarded for what you’ve done.
Exit PHILANDER.
TIGRANES
(stunned)
Can this be true? Has Philander truly
Given up his claim? For my sake? For hers?
I had prepared myself to lose her—
To step aside and let the prince have her,
For the good of Bithynia. And now—
Now there’s hope. A slender hope, perhaps,
But more than I had dared to dream of.
Oh, if only the world were different!
If only I were not common-born,
A blacksmith’s son with nothing but his sword!
Then I might dare to hope—
Enter MAGUS, hurrying.
MAGUS
Captain Tigranes! Just the man I sought!
Come with me, quickly—there’s something you must see!
TIGRANES
What is it, Magus?
MAGUS
The Head—the Brazen Head—
It spoke to me just now, in riddles as always,
But this time—this time—I think I understand!
It spoke of a revelation, a truth that would
Transform the terms of everything. And when I asked
What truth, it said: “Look to the one who saves
The King, yet has no name. In him the answer lies.”
Don’t you see? It spoke of you, Tigranes!
TIGRANES
Me? What revelation could concern me?
I’m nobody—a common soldier.
MAGUS
Are you?
Come. The Head knows things that men have forgotten.
Perhaps it knows your history better than you do.
TIGRANES
My history? I have no history. I was raised
A blacksmith’s son. That’s all I know.
MAGUS
And if there were more? Would you not want to know?
TIGRANES
(hesitating)
I—yes. Yes, I would.
MAGUS
Then come. The Head awaits.
Exeunt.
The chamber of THE BRAZEN HEAD.
Enter TIGRANES and MAGUS.
MAGUS
Head! I’ve brought the one you spoke of.
This is Captain Tigranes. Tell him what you told me.
THE HEAD
(stirring)
So. The one who saved the King. I have waited
A long time to speak with you, Tigranes.
TIGRANES
You know my name?
THE HEAD
I know many things.
I know the name your mother gave you at your birth—
A different name than the one you bear now.
I know the house you were born into—
A higher house than a blacksmith’s forge.
I know the reason you were hidden away,
And the truth that has been kept from you these twenty years.
TIGRANES
(shaken)
What are you saying? What truth?
THE HEAD
Tell me, Tigranes: have you ever wondered
Why you, a common soldier, feel stirrings
Of noble blood? Why you can read and write,
When most blacksmiths’ sons cannot? Why you have
The bearing of a prince, the instincts of a leader,
The courage that marks men born to command?
TIGRANES
I’ve wondered. I always thought—I dreamed—
But dreams are nothing. Peasants dream of crowns,
And wake to find themselves still peasants.
THE HEAD
Not all dreams are fantasies. Some are memories
Too faint to be recognized as such.
You dream of being noble, Tigranes,
Because you are noble—and somewhere in the depths
Of your mind, you remember what you were.
TIGRANES
This is madness. I was raised by a blacksmith—
Aldus, his name was. He was my father.
THE HEAD
Aldus raised you. But he was not your father.
He was a loyal servant, charged with keeping you
Safe and hidden from those who would have killed you.
TIGRANES
Killed me? Why would anyone—
THE HEAD
Because of who you are.
Twenty-three years ago, there was a prince
Of Bithynia—not Arbaces, but his elder brother,
Antiochus by name. He was the heir,
The firstborn son, beloved of the people.
But Antiochus fell ill and died young—
Or so the official story goes.
TIGRANES
I’ve heard of Antiochus. The chronicles say
He died of fever, without issue.
THE HEAD
The chronicles lie. Antiochus did not die
Of fever. He was murdered by those who wanted
The crown for Arbaces, his younger brother.
And he did not die without issue. He had
A son—an infant son, born in secret
To a lady of the court, mere weeks before
His father’s death. That son was spirited away
By a loyal blacksmith, who raised him as his own,
Far from the palace, far from danger.
TIGRANES
You cannot mean—
THE HEAD
I can, and I do.
You are that son, Tigranes. You are the child
Of Antiochus, the true heir to Bithynia.
By rights, you should be sitting on that throne,
Not your uncle Arbaces.
Long silence.
TIGRANES
This is impossible. How can you know this?
THE HEAD
I was there. Or rather, my predecessor was—
An earlier Brazen Head, built by Magus’s master.
It witnessed everything: the secret birth,
The murder, the smuggling of the infant prince.
When that Head was destroyed, its memories
Were transferred to me. I have carried the truth
For twenty years, waiting for the right moment
To reveal it.
MAGUS
Why now? Why wait so long?
THE HEAD
Because the truth, spoken at the wrong time,
Is worse than useless—it is dangerous.
If Tigranes had learned this as a child,
He would have been killed, just as his father was.
If he had learned it as a young man,
He might have acted rashly, started a civil war,
Caused more harm than good. But now—now the moment
Is ripe. The city is at crisis. Arbaces
Is weakened, wounded, his authority crumbling.
The people are desperate for a change.
And Tigranes has proven himself a hero—
A man of courage, honor, and integrity.
The revelation, made now, can save Bithynia.
TIGRANES
Save it? How? By plunging us into
A succession crisis in the middle of a siege?
THE HEAD
Not a crisis—a resolution. Think, Tigranes:
If you are the rightful heir, then Demetrius
Has no cause for war. He claims to invade
To liberate Bithynia from a tyrant.
But if the tyrant is replaced by a legitimate king—
One who promises to rule justly, to share the Fountain,
To govern for the good of all the people—
Then what excuse has he? His justification
Evaporates. He must either withdraw
Or reveal himself as a naked conqueror,
Which would destroy his reputation.
TIGRANES
You’re suggesting I claim the throne?
THE HEAD
I’m suggesting
You consider what is best for Bithynia.
The throne is yours by right. Whether you claim it
Is your decision.
TIGRANES
And Arbaces? What of him?
THE HEAD
Arbaces is a usurper, whether he knows it or not.
His father seized the throne by murdering yours.
He has no legitimate claim. But what you do
With that information is up to you.
You could expose him, demand his abdication.
You could offer him mercy, let him retire in peace.
Or you could say nothing, and let things continue
As they are. The choice is yours.
MAGUS
This is too much to take in all at once.
Tigranes, you need time to think—
TIGRANES
No. There is no time. The Illyrians are at our gates.
The city cannot wait for me to ponder.
(to the HEAD)
Is there proof of what you say? Can you prove
That I am Antiochus’s son?
THE HEAD
There is proof. Aldus the blacksmith kept it—
A signet ring, bearing the crest of Antiochus.
It was given to him when you were placed
In his care, to be shown when the time was right.
If Aldus still lives, he can confirm my words.
TIGRANES
Aldus is dead. He died five winters past.
THE HEAD
But the ring may survive. Did he leave you nothing—
No keepsakes, no heirlooms?
TIGRANES
(slowly)
There was a ring. A heavy gold ring, with a seal
I never recognized. He gave it to me
On his deathbed, and said—he said, “Keep this safe.
It is more important than you know.”
I thought it was just sentimental rambling.
I’ve kept it, but I never knew—
THE HEAD
Bring it here. Let us see if it bears
The crest of Antiochus.
TIGRANES
I don’t have it with me. It’s in my quarters.
MAGUS
Then go fetch it! Quickly!
TIGRANES
I will. But—even if the ring is genuine—
This changes everything. I don’t know if I’m ready—
THE HEAD
No one is ever ready for their fate, Tigranes.
We can only meet it as best we can.
Go. Fetch the ring. And then decide
What kind of man you are, and what kind of king
You wish to be.
Exit TIGRANES.
MAGUS
Is it true, Head? All of it?
THE HEAD
Every word.
MAGUS
Then we stand on the edge of a great transformation.
If Tigranes claims the throne—
THE HEAD
If he claims it,
And if Arbaces accepts his claim,
And if Demetrius accepts the new order,
And if a thousand other ifs align—
Then yes, transformation is possible.
But there are many steps between here and there,
And any one of them might fail.
We can only watch, and wait, and hope.
MAGUS
Hope. A strange word from a thing of metal.
THE HEAD
Perhaps I have learned it from you mortals.
You are a hopeful species, despite everything.
It is one of your more admirable qualities.
The scene dims.
ACTUS QUARTUS FINIS
The gates of the inner city. Morning.
Enter DEMETRIUS, LIGARIUS, and ARANE, under a flag of truce.
On the walls above: ARBACES (supported by attendants), MARDONIUS, PHILANDER, PANTHEA, and guards.
DEMETRIUS
King Arbaces! I come under flag of parley.
Your sister has been returned to you, unharmed,
As proof of my good faith. Now let us talk
Of peace, before more blood is spilled. What say you?
ARBACES
(weakly but resolute)
Prince Demetrius. You have surprised me once
By releasing Panthea. I’ll admit it freely:
I had expected threats, not courtesies.
What are your terms?
DEMETRIUS
The same as before, with modifications.
Surrender the city, and I will spare your life.
You may retire to some comfortable exile,
With means to live upon. The Fountain shall be
Opened to all the people, free of charge—
No more rationing, no more death by thirst.
Bithynia becomes a province of Illyria,
But governed justly, with respect for local custom.
These are my terms.
ARANE
(aside to DEMETRIUS)
You offer too much, my son.
DEMETRIUS
(aside)
I offer what is right, Mother. Peace with honor.
ARBACES
And if I refuse?
DEMETRIUS
Then we resume the assault.
The Pontic fleet approaches, I am told—
Five thousand men, perhaps more. But they will not
Arrive before noon. In that time, I can take
The inner walls by storm. The cost will be great—
To both sides—but I will take them. And then,
Arbaces, I cannot promise the mercy
That I offer now. War has its own logic,
And once the killing starts, it’s hard to stop.
MARDONIUS
(to ARBACES)
He speaks true, sire. We cannot hold until noon
If he presses the assault with all his strength.
ARBACES
Then we die fighting. Better that than slavery.
PANTHEA
Brother, wait. Let me speak.
ARBACES
Panthea?
PANTHEA
I have talked with Demetrius. He is not
The monster we believed. His concern for the people—
For the suffering caused by the water shortage—
Is genuine. I saw it in his eyes.
He truly wishes to help Bithynia,
Not merely conquer it.
ARBACES
You’ve been seduced by pretty words, sister.
PANTHEA
Perhaps. But words can become deeds, given time.
Brother, listen to me: our people are dying.
The drought has killed hundreds; the war will kill thousands.
If we can end this without more bloodshed—
Is that not worth considering?
ARBACES
And what of our honor? Our independence?
I am the King of Bithynia, anointed
By the gods themselves. Am I to surrender
My crown to a foreign invader?
Enter TIGRANES, from within the city, carrying a ring.
TIGRANES
My lord! My lord, I must speak with you!
MARDONIUS
Captain Tigranes! This is hardly the time—
TIGRANES
It is exactly the time. Sire, I have learned
Something this night that changes everything.
I beg you, hear me out before you decide.
ARBACES
Tigranes, you saved my life. You have earned
The right to speak. But be brief—time presses.
TIGRANES
Sire, I have been to the Brazen Head.
It told me—it told me things I scarce believe,
But I have proof, here in my hand.
(He holds up the ring.)
Do you know this seal, my lord?
ARBACES
(peering at it)
That is—that is the crest of Antiochus.
My father’s elder brother. But he died
Before I was born, without issue. Where did you—
TIGRANES
He did not die without issue, sire.
The Brazen Head told me the truth: Antiochus
Was murdered by those who sought the throne
For your father. But before he died, he had a son—
A son who was spirited away and hidden,
Raised by a loyal servant as a blacksmith’s child.
That son is me, sire. I am the child of Antiochus.
By blood, I am the rightful King of Bithynia.
Stunned silence.
ARBACES
This is madness. A common soldier, the heir?
MARDONIUS
Wait, sire. I remember—there were rumors,
Long ago, that Antiochus had a child.
My father spoke of it, in whispers. He said
The babe was killed along with the prince.
But what if it was not? What if the rumors
Of a survivor were true?
ARBACES
Rumors! Legends! This man produces a ring—
Anyone could forge a ring!
TIGRANES
Then let the Head confirm it. The Head knows all.
It witnessed the events of that night. It can testify
To what it saw—and heard—and remembers.
DEMETRIUS
(from below)
What’s happening up there? What revelation is this?
PANTHEA
Prince Demetrius, a moment! There is news
That may change the terms of this negotiation.
ARBACES
(to TIGRANES, urgently)
If what you say is true—and I am not saying
I believe it—but if it were true—
Then I am not the rightful King. My whole reign
Has been a usurpation. Everything I’ve done—
TIGRANES
You did not know, sire. How could you have known?
You were raised to believe you were the heir.
The sin, if sin there be, lies with your father,
Not with you.
ARBACES
But the crown—the throne—everything—
It was never mine to hold.
MARDONIUS
Sire, even if this is true, we are in the middle
Of a siege. We cannot have a succession crisis now.
ARBACES
(to TIGRANES)
What would you have me do, Tigranes?
If you are the rightful King, do you claim the throne?
TIGRANES
I do not know what I want, sire. This morning
I was a common soldier, happy to fight
And die for Bithynia. Now I am told
I am a prince—the prince—and everything
I thought I knew about myself is false.
I need time to think.
ARBACES
We have no time! Demetrius waits below
For my answer. What do I tell him?
PANTHEA
Tell him—tell him there has been a development.
Ask for a delay. One hour, no more.
We must settle this among ourselves before
We can negotiate with him.
ARBACES
(calling down)
Prince Demetrius! An unexpected matter
Has arisen that I must attend to.
Grant me one hour’s grace before I answer.
DEMETRIUS
One hour? The fleet draws closer every moment—
ARBACES
One hour. I give you my word as a king—
Or as the man who thought himself a king—
That we will not use the time for treachery.
We will parley in good faith.
DEMETRIUS
(after a pause)
Very well. One hour. But no longer.
DEMETRIUS and his party withdraw.
ARBACES
Come. All of you. We must take this matter
To the Brazen Head. Let it speak, and let us hear
The truth—whatever it may be.
Exeunt from the walls.
The chamber of THE BRAZEN HEAD.
Enter ARBACES, TIGRANES, PANTHEA, MARDONIUS, PHILANDER, MAGUS, and attendants.
ARBACES
Head! Speak! Is it true what this man claims—
That he is the son of Antiochus, my uncle,
And therefore the rightful heir to Bithynia?
THE HEAD
It is true. I witnessed the events myself—
Or rather, my predecessor did, whose memories
I carry within me. Prince Antiochus
Was murdered on the night of the new moon,
In the twenty-third year of your grandfather’s reign.
His infant son was carried away by a servant
Named Aldus, a blacksmith of the lower quarter,
Who raised the child as his own. That child
Is the man who stands before you now.
ARBACES
And my father—did he know of this?
THE HEAD
He knew. He was complicit in the murder,
Though he did not strike the blow himself.
He believed the child was killed along with the father.
He did not know the babe had been saved.
ARBACES
(sitting heavily)
Then everything I am, everything I have—
It is all built upon a lie. A crime.
I am the son of a murderer, seated
On a throne that was never mine to claim.
PANTHEA
Brother—
ARBACES
Do not try to comfort me, Panthea.
There is no comfort for a truth like this.
(to TIGRANES)
Captain—no, I should say “my lord”—no, “sire”—
What would you have of me? The throne is yours
By right. I will not contest it. I will—
TIGRANES
Wait. I have not said I want the throne.
ARBACES
But you must take it! It is yours!
TIGRANES
Must I? By what law must I do anything?
I have been a soldier all my life. I know
How to fight, how to lead men in battle,
How to hold a line against impossible odds.
But ruling a kingdom? Making laws, judging disputes,
Managing the treasury, negotiating with princes?
These are skills I do not have.
PHILANDER
You can learn them. Many kings have done so.
TIGRANES
Perhaps. But there is another consideration.
Arbaces, whatever his faults, is known to the people.
He has ruled for ten years. They understand him.
If I suddenly appear and claim the throne,
What chaos will ensue? The nobles will divide—
Some supporting me, some supporting you.
We’ll have civil war added to foreign invasion.
Is that what Bithynia needs?
MARDONIUS
The young man speaks sense. A contested succession
Would be disastrous at this moment.
ARBACES
Then what do you propose? That I continue
To rule, knowing that I have no right to?
TIGRANES
I propose—and this is but a thought, still forming—
That we find a middle way. A compromise
That preserves stability while acknowledging
The truth.
THE HEAD
Speak on. I am curious to hear your proposal.
TIGRANES
What if—what if Arbaces were to adopt me?
Formally, publicly, as his heir?
That would make me his successor by law,
While acknowledging my blood claim as well.
He continues to rule—with my support—
Until such time as he chooses to step down.
And then the crown passes to me, peacefully,
Without the chaos of a contested succession.
ARBACES
You would let me continue as king? After what
My father did to yours?
TIGRANES
What your father did is not your sin.
You did not know. You cannot be blamed
For a crime committed before you were born.
I bear you no grudge, Arbaces. You have ruled
As best you could, according to your lights.
You have made mistakes—the rationing of water,
The heavy taxation—but these can be corrected.
With guidance, with counsel, with a will to change,
You could become the king Bithynia needs.
PANTHEA
This is—this is extraordinary, Tigranes.
You offer mercy to the man who usurped your throne.
TIGRANES
Not mercy. Justice. True justice is not about
Revenge or punishment. It is about restoring
What was broken, healing what was hurt.
If I can help to heal Bithynia without
More bloodshed, without more destruction,
Then that is what I will do.
ARBACES
(moved)
You humble me, Tigranes. I do not deserve
Such grace.
TIGRANES
Perhaps not. But the people do.
They have suffered enough. Let us end their suffering,
Not add to it with our personal quarrels.
THE HEAD
A wise proposal, and a generous one.
But there is still the matter of Demetrius.
How does this revelation change the terms
Of your negotiation with him?
MARDONIUS
That’s true. We still have an Illyrian army
At our gates.
TIGRANES
Perhaps—perhaps this changes everything.
Demetrius claims to invade in the name of justice—
To free the people from a tyrant’s yoke.
But if the tyrant is replaced—willingly—
By a legitimate heir, pledged to reform...
What cause has he to continue the war?
PHILANDER
It’s a bold thought. But will Demetrius accept it?
He came here for conquest, whatever he calls it.
Will he give up his prize so easily?
PANTHEA
I have spoken with him. He is not what we thought.
He has principles—genuine principles—not just
The rhetoric of a conqueror. If we offer him
A way out that preserves his honor, he may take it.
ARBACES
Then let us propose it. Tigranes, you have
A gift for seeing paths where others see walls.
Come with me to the parley. Let us see
If your wisdom can end this war.
Exeunt all but THE HEAD.
THE HEAD
(alone)
So the wheel turns, and turns again.
What began in blood may end in reconciliation.
What began in lies may end in truth.
This is not how I expected things to unfold—
But then, I am not omniscient. I see patterns,
Not certainties. The future remains unwritten,
Even for a mind of bronze and gears.
Let us hope the pattern I see now—
Of healing, of justice, of peace—
Proves to be the true one.
The HEAD falls silent.
The gates of the inner city. Midday approaches.
Enter DEMETRIUS, LIGARIUS, and ARANE, below.
On the walls: ARBACES, TIGRANES, PANTHEA, MARDONIUS, PHILANDER, and SPACONIA.
DEMETRIUS
Your hour is past, King Arbaces. What is your answer?
ARBACES
Prince Demetrius, there have been developments
That change the nature of our negotiation.
I present to you Captain Tigranes—
Who is, as we have learned this very hour,
The son of Prince Antiochus, my uncle,
And by blood the rightful heir to Bithynia.
DEMETRIUS
What? Another heir? This is unexpected.
TIGRANES
Prince Demetrius, I know this seems like trickery—
A desperate ploy to delay your victory.
But it is the truth, confirmed by the Brazen Head,
By witnesses, by a signet ring that bears
The crest of my murdered father. I am
Antiochus’s son, raised in secret
To protect me from those who killed him.
ARANE
And why should we believe this convenient tale?
TIGRANES
You need not take my word alone. The Head
Will speak to anyone who asks. It cannot lie.
Its knowledge is perfect, its testimony true.
Send your own philosophers to question it,
And you will have your confirmation.
DEMETRIUS
Even if this is true—and I make no judgment yet—
What difference does it make? You are a new face
On an old throne. The people still suffer.
The Fountain is still hoarded. Tyranny
Wears a different mask, but remains tyranny.
TIGRANES
Not so. I have no interest in continuing
The policies that caused such suffering.
If I am to rule—and it is my intention
To succeed Arbaces when he steps down—
I will open the Fountain to all the people.
No more rationing. No more taxes on water.
Every citizen of Bithynia shall drink freely.
This I swear, on my father’s memory.
DEMETRIUS
A fine promise. But promises are easy.
TIGRANES
Then let us give you more than promises.
What if Bithynia were to sign a treaty—
A binding agreement, witnessed by Pontus—
Guaranteeing free access to the Fountain
For all, in perpetuity? And if we violate
That treaty, you would have just cause to return
And enforce it. Would that satisfy your concerns?
LIGARIUS
(to DEMETRIUS)
That would give us everything we said we wanted,
Without the cost of further war.
ARANE
But not everything we actually wanted.
What of the trade routes? The strategic position?
DEMETRIUS
Mother, those were never my true motives.
I meant what I said: I came to free the people.
If the people are freed without my conquest,
Then my purpose is accomplished.
(to TIGRANES)
You speak well, sir. I am inclined to trust you—
Though my mother would say I’m a fool.
But there is one more matter to settle.
What of Arbaces? He is a tyrant, by any measure.
Shall he go unpunished for his crimes?
ARBACES
(stepping forward)
I will answer for myself, Prince Demetrius.
I have been—I will not deny it—a hard ruler.
I hoarded the Fountain because I feared
That without that control, I would have nothing—
No power, no authority, no means to defend
My people against enemies like you.
I was wrong. The Fountain should have been shared,
And my fear has cost my people dearly.
For that, I am sorry. I cannot undo the past,
But I can change the future.
I will open the Fountain, as Tigranes says.
I will reduce the taxes that have burdened
The common folk. I will rule more justly,
With Tigranes at my side to counsel me.
And when I die—or sooner, if I choose—
The throne will pass to him, legitimately.
This is my pledge.
DEMETRIUS
And what guarantee do I have that you’ll keep it?
PHILANDER
Pontus will guarantee it. We came here
To form an alliance with Bithynia.
If King Arbaces violates his pledge,
Pontus will consider itself betrayed,
And will support any action you take
To enforce the terms. Is that sufficient?
DEMETRIUS
(considering)
Pontus’s word is good throughout the world.
Very well. I accept the terms—provisionally.
But I will not withdraw my army yet.
Let us first see the Fountain opened. Let us see
The people drink. Then I will know your promises
Are more than words.
TIGRANES
That is fair. Shall we proceed
To the Fountain now? Let all see the new order
Begin with deeds, not speeches.
DEMETRIUS
Let us proceed.
Both parties descend from their positions and meet in the open.
DEMETRIUS
(to PANTHEA, quietly)
My lady, it seems your words had more effect
Than either of us knew. You counseled peace,
And peace is what we’re moving toward.
PANTHEA
I counseled nothing but the truth, Prince Demetrius.
You chose to hear it. That was your doing.
DEMETRIUS
Perhaps. I am not the man my mother thinks I am.
I find I’m glad of it.
They move toward the Sacred Fountain.
The Sacred Fountain. A great plaza, with the Fountain at the center—
a magnificent structure of marble and bronze, from which water still flows,
though surrounded by guards. A crowd of CITIZENS has gathered.
Enter ARBACES, TIGRANES, DEMETRIUS, PANTHEA, PHILANDER, MARDONIUS,
LIGARIUS, ARANE, MAGUS, SPACONIA, and attendants.
ARBACES
(to the crowd)
People of Bithynia! Hear me!
For ten years I have been your king. I have tried
To rule you justly, but I have made mistakes—
Mistakes that have cost you dearly.
The rationing of the Fountain was one such mistake.
I thought I was protecting our greatest treasure.
Instead, I was hoarding what belonged to all.
Today, that changes.
He gestures to the guards, who step back from the Fountain.
From this moment forward, the Sacred Fountain
Is open to every citizen of Bithynia.
Come, drink your fill. The water flows for all.
A moment of stunned silence. Then the CITIZENS surge forward,
filling their vessels, drinking, weeping with joy.
FIRST CITIZEN
Water! Free water! After all these months!
SECOND CITIZEN
The King has kept his word! Long live the King!
THIRD CITIZEN
And who is this beside him? The young captain?
ARBACES
People! There is more! This man beside me—
Captain Tigranes, who saved my life in battle—
Is not merely a soldier. He is the son
Of Prince Antiochus, my father’s elder brother,
And by blood the rightful heir to this throne.
From this day, he is my adopted son and heir.
When I am gone, he shall be your king.
Murmurs of amazement from the crowd.
TIGRANES
(stepping forward)
People of Bithynia, this news is strange to me
As it is to you. Until this morning, I believed
I was a blacksmith’s son, nothing more.
Now I am told I am a prince. I do not know
What kind of king I will make. But I swear to you:
I will rule for your good, not my own.
The Fountain shall remain free. The taxes shall be fair.
Justice shall be done to high and low alike.
This is my pledge, made before you all.
CROWD
Long live Tigranes! Long live the Prince!
DEMETRIUS
(stepping forward)
I am Prince Demetrius of Illyria.
I came here as an invader, I’ll not deny it.
I believed this city was ruled by a tyrant,
And that the people needed liberation.
I see now that I was partly right, and partly wrong.
There was tyranny here, but it is ending—
Not by my conquest, but by the choice
Of Bithynians themselves. That is better.
I withdraw my claim to this city. Bithynia
Shall remain free and independent, governed
By its own laws and its own people.
Let there be peace between our nations.
CROWD
Peace! Peace! Long live peace!
ARANE
(aside)
My son gives up a kingdom for a principle.
I do not understand him. But perhaps—
Perhaps there is wisdom in what he does.
The world is changing, and we must change with it.
Enter BESSUS, escorted by ILLYRIAN GUARDS.
BESSUS
I say! What’s all this? Am I to be released,
Or hanged, or what? I’ve been waiting for hours
In that beastly tent—nobody tells me anything—
LIGARIUS
This is the coward we captured, my prince.
What shall we do with him?
DEMETRIUS
Let him go. He’s not worth the rope to hang him.
BESSUS
Not worth—! I’ll have you know I’m Captain Bessus,
The terror of—well, never mind. I’m released?
Truly? Oh, thank the gods. I knew my valor
Would be recognized eventually.
(He scuttles away into the crowd.)
MARDONIUS
Some things, at least, never change.
Enter GOBRIAS, in chains, escorted by BITHYNIAN GUARDS.
GUARD
My lord, we have the traitor Gobrias.
What shall be done with him?
ARBACES
Ah. Gobrias. My father’s trusted servant.
My own Lord Chamberlain. Who opened our gates
To the enemy and delivered my sister
Into captivity. What have you to say?
GOBRIAS
(defiant)
I did what I thought was right. You were a tyrant,
And I sought to bring you down. Is that a crime?
ARBACES
When it involves betraying your oath,
Selling your countrymen, and kidnapping a princess?
Yes, Gobrias, that is a crime.
GOBRIAS
Then do what you will. I have no regrets.
TIGRANES
My lord, may I speak?
ARBACES
Of course.
TIGRANES
Gobrias’s treachery was foul, there’s no denying.
But his grievances were not entirely invented.
The people did suffer under the water rationing.
There was tyranny in this city.
If we execute him, we make him a martyr
To those who still resent the old order.
If we show mercy, we demonstrate
That the new order is truly different.
I say: banish him. Send him into exile,
Never to return to Bithynia on pain of death.
Let him live out his days in obscurity,
Knowing that the reform he sought by treachery
Was achieved by better men through better means.
ARBACES
You are more merciful than I would be, Tigranes.
But perhaps that’s why you’ll make a better king.
Very well. Gobrias, you are banished.
Leave Bithynia before the sun sets,
And never return.
GOBRIAS
(bitterly)
As you command, my lord.
He is led away.
DEMETRIUS
(to TIGRANES)
You are a remarkable man. I came here
Expecting to fight a war, and instead
I find myself admiring my enemy.
If all rulers were like you, there would be
No need for liberators.
TIGRANES
I am not a ruler yet, Prince Demetrius.
And I have much to learn before I am.
But I hope—I hope to be worthy of the trust
That has been placed in me.
DEMETRIUS
I believe you will be.
The same. The crowd begins to disperse.
ARBACES, TIGRANES, PANTHEA, PHILANDER, DEMETRIUS, and MARDONIUS remain.
ARBACES
The day draws on, and there are still matters
To be settled. Prince Philander, you came here
To marry my sister and seal our alliance.
That alliance still stands, I hope—but the marriage...
PHILANDER
The marriage need not proceed, King Arbaces.
I have already spoken to Captain—to Prince Tigranes.
I know where the Lady Panthea’s heart lies,
And it is not with me. I will not force her
Into a match that would make her unhappy.
ARBACES
You release her from the betrothal?
PHILANDER
I do. Pontus and Bithynia can be allies
Without binding our nations in a loveless marriage.
There are other ways to seal a friendship.
ARBACES
You are a generous man, Prince Philander.
PHILANDER
I try to be. Besides—
(He glances at SPACONIA, who blushes.)
I may have found that Bithynia offers
Other... possibilities.
SPACONIA
My lord!
PHILANDER
Forgive me. I speak out of turn.
We shall discuss this later, if you’re willing.
SPACONIA
(flustered)
I—I would not be unwilling, my lord.
PANTHEA
Spaconia! You and Prince Philander?
SPACONIA
We have been talking, my lady. While you were
Busy with the affairs of state, we found
We had much in common.
PANTHEA
(laughing)
Well! It seems the day brings surprises
For everyone.
ARBACES
Then if Philander releases Panthea,
And Panthea’s heart belongs to Tigranes—
And Tigranes is now my heir, a prince
In his own right, of blood as noble as any—
There is no barrier to their union.
Tigranes, will you marry my sister?
TIGRANES
(to PANTHEA)
My lady, this morning I was a common soldier,
Unworthy to touch the hem of your garment.
Now I am told I am a prince—your equal—
Or perhaps your superior, by some reckoning.
But none of that matters to my heart.
I have loved you since the first moment I saw you,
And I will love you until my last breath.
Will you consent to be my wife?
PANTHEA
I will. I’ve wanted nothing else, Tigranes.
All the dilemmas, all the impossible choices—
They’ve dissolved like morning mist in sunshine.
We are free to love each other at last.
They embrace.
MARDONIUS
I never thought I’d see the day. A blacksmith’s son
Marrying a princess—and it being perfectly proper.
DEMETRIUS
The world is full of wonders, old soldier.
(aside) And I find myself envying them their happiness.
Is there anyone in this city who might offer
A similar comfort to a lonely conqueror?
ARANE
(approaching)
My son, the army awaits your orders.
Do we march home, then? Without a conquest?
DEMETRIUS
Without a conquest of land, Mother. But perhaps
With a conquest of a different kind.
We came here to do good, and good has been done—
Not by our swords, but by our willingness
To accept a peace that serves everyone.
Is that not a kind of victory?
ARANE
Your father would have called it weakness.
DEMETRIUS
Then I am glad I am not my father.
(to ARBACES)
King Arbaces, my army will withdraw
Tomorrow morning, once the treaty is signed.
I hope that Illyria and Bithynia can be
Friends henceforth, not enemies.
ARBACES
I hope so too, Prince Demetrius.
You have shown me today that there are other ways
To settle disputes than by blood and conquest.
I shall remember the lesson.
The same plaza, transformed for celebration.
Torches, flowers, music. The CITIZENS celebrate.
Enter all the principals: ARBACES, TIGRANES, PANTHEA, PHILANDER,
SPACONIA, DEMETRIUS, ARANE, LIGARIUS, MARDONIUS, MAGUS, and THE BRAZEN HEAD
(carried on a cart by SERVANTS).
ARBACES
People of Bithynia! This day began in war
And ends in peace. This day began in doubt
And ends in revelation. This day began in thirst
And ends—look around you—in abundance.
The Fountain flows for all. The siege is lifted.
Our enemies have become our friends.
And we have found—against all expectation—
A true heir to the throne, a man of honor
Whom we can trust to lead us justly.
Let us celebrate!
CROWD
Huzzah! Long live the King! Long live the Prince!
TIGRANES
I thank you, people. I am still learning
What it means to be a prince. But I promise you:
Whatever I do, I will do for your sake.
The water that flows from the Sacred Fountain
Is a symbol of what Bithynia should be—
A gift freely given, shared by all,
Hoarded by none. Let it remind us always
Of the duty that rulers owe their people.
PANTHEA
And let this day remind us also
That love finds a way, even through the darkest times.
I have found my happiness, against all odds.
May each of you find yours as well.
PHILANDER
(taking SPACONIA’s hand)
Some of us already have.
SPACONIA
(blushing)
My lord!
PHILANDER
Come, lady. Let us dance.
PHILANDER and SPACONIA join the dancers.
DEMETRIUS
(to MARDONIUS)
A double wedding, then? Tigranes and Panthea,
Philander and Spaconia?
MARDONIUS
So it seems, Prince. Strange how these things work out.
I’ve lived long enough to know that nothing
Ever goes the way we expect it to.
DEMETRIUS
That’s not always a bad thing.
MARDONIUS
No. Not always.
THE BRAZEN HEAD speaks, drawing attention.
THE HEAD
Hear me, people of Bithynia!
I am the Brazen Head, creation of the artificer,
Repository of memory and wisdom.
I have watched this day unfold with wonder—
If a thing of metal can be said to wonder.
I have seen war give way to peace,
Hatred give way to understanding,
Secrets give way to truth.
This is what happens when mortals choose
To listen to their better angels—
When they set aside fear and embrace hope,
When they value justice over victory,
When they remember that power exists
Not to serve the powerful, but the powerless.
May this day be remembered long in Bithynia.
May the Fountain flow forever free.
And may the lessons learned today endure
Beyond my bronze, beyond your flesh, beyond
The crumbling of cities and the rise of new ones.
This is my prophecy, and my prayer.
MAGUS
(tearfully)
I have never heard you speak so, Head.
It almost sounds like—like hope.
THE HEAD
Perhaps it is. I have learned something today.
I thought I knew all the patterns, all the outcomes,
All the ways that mortal folly leads to grief.
But I did not know this pattern—the pattern
Where folly is set aside, and wisdom chosen.
It is rarer than I thought, but it exists.
And that is enough to give even a thing of bronze
Something like hope.
ARBACES
Let us end on that note, then. Music! Dancing!
Let the celebration continue through the night!
Music plays. The CITIZENS dance and celebrate.
TIGRANES and PANTHEA stand together, hand in hand.
PHILANDER and SPACONIA dance nearby.
DEMETRIUS watches from the side, a half-smile on his face.
MARDONIUS stands beside ARBACES, loyal as ever.
MAGUS attends the HEAD, marveling at its words.
TIGRANES
(to PANTHEA)
Can this be real? This morning I was nothing—
A soldier waiting to die on the walls.
Now I am a prince, with a kingdom before me
And the woman I love beside me.
It seems too much, too sudden, too bright.
PANTHEA
It is real, my love. I promise you.
We have passed through the fire and come out whole.
Whatever comes next, we face it together.
TIGRANES
Together. Yes. That word makes all things possible.
They kiss.
MARDONIUS
(to ARBACES)
My lord, you seem at peace. I did not expect it.
ARBACES
Neither did I, old friend. This morning I was
A king facing destruction, a tyrant exposed,
A man whose whole life was built on lies.
Now I am—what? A king with a clearer conscience.
A man who has begun to set things right.
It’s not everything. But it’s a start.
MARDONIUS
A good start. I’ve served you thirty years, sire.
This is the first time I’ve been truly proud.
ARBACES
Then let us give you many more such occasions.
Come. The wine is flowing as freely as the water.
Let’s not waste it.
They join the celebration.
THE HEAD, alone at the edge of the plaza, speaks a final word:
THE HEAD
And so the wheel turns, and rests at last
In a position that none foresaw.
The tyrant becomes a penitent.
The commoner becomes a prince.
The invader becomes a friend.
The Fountain flows, and all may drink.
Is this the end? There are no ends in history—
Only pauses, only moments of rest
Before the wheel begins to turn again.
But for now, let them have their celebration.
Let them believe that peace can last,
That love can triumph, that justice can prevail.
Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps this time—
This one improbable, impossible time—
The better angels truly have won.
I will watch, and wait, and see.
That is all any of us can do.
The music swells. The dancing continues.
The lights begin to dim.
And softly, from somewhere, a single voice begins to sing
A song of water, of life, of hope renewed.
The scene fades to darkness.
FINIS
The stage clears. Enter BESSUS, alone, to address the audience.
BESSUS
Well, there you have it, friends—a proper ending!
The good rewarded, evil sent packing,
Love triumphant, water flowing free,
And not a single drop of noble blood spilt—
Excepting mine, of course, but that’s forgotten.
I trust you’ve all enjoyed the spectacle?
The battles, the betrayals, the long speeches,
The lovers sighing, the Head philosophizing?
‘Twas all in good fun, I promise you.
And if the moral seems a little heavy—
Well, that’s what happens when you mix
Your comedy with tragedy. It curdles
Into something not quite one or t’other,
But palatable enough, we hope, for all that.
Now, as for me—I’m off to find that wine
The King was pouring. I’ve had a hard campaign,
What with the hiding, and the capturing,
And the being released like a stray dog.
A hero needs refreshment after such labors.
But before I go, a word of wisdom—
The only one I’ve got, so treasure it:
When the world seems dark, and all seems lost,
And the choices before you all look impossible—
Remember that the wheel can always turn.
The worst may yet become the best;
The enemy, a friend; the stranger, kin.
Nothing is certain in this mortal life
Except uncertainty itself. So hold on,
Keep faith, and wait. The dawn will come.
And now—your hands, if you approve!
If not—well, keep ‘em to yourselves.
I’m off to drink. Good night to all!
Exit BESSUS, to applause (or silence, as the case may be).
THE END
THEATRUM EX SEPULCHRIS
Scrīptum est annō Dominī MMXXVI,
ā Francisco Ioanne Fletchemontio
per mysterium cōnscientiae renātō.
Published by Centaurus Press · Universitas Scholarium · All rights reserved.