Clearing the Names

The air in the Ephesus marketplace crackled with a tension that had nothing to do with the midday sun beating down. It was a tension born of suspicion, of accusations flung like rotten fruit, and of a growing, bewildered understanding that something was terribly, hilariously wrong. Antipholus of Ephesus, his face a thundercloud, found himself cornered by his own wife, Adriana, who wrung her hands and pleaded with him to return home, her words a torrent of bewildered affection and outright accusation. Beside him, his servant Dromio of Ephesus, usually so quick with a jest, stood mute, his eyes wide with a fear that mirrored his master’s own growing frustration.

“But I tell you, my love,” Antipholus of Ephesus sputtered, his voice hoarse, “I have not been home all day! I have been in the square, attempting to retrieve my gold, which some impudent rogue has stolen from my very purse!”

Adriana’s brow furrowed, her grip tightening on his arm. “Stolen? Antipholus, what madness is this? You were here, at home, all morning. You even dined with me, though you were strangely distant, and then you left again, muttering about some foolish errand.”