Steven Saylor - Wrath of the Furies

Antipater had written that he was being allowed to reside away from the royal court, in the house of Eutropius. Was he inside the house at that very moment, perhaps sitting down to dinner with his host and his host’s daughter? And was the lovely Anthea being waited upon by her equally lovely slave Amestris, she whose hair was the color of midnight?

Even as my thoughts took a certain turn, I again saw before me, peering into the litter, the face of … not Amestris, but Bethesda!

She gave me a blank stare, and then I quickly averted my face, feeling my cheeks grow hot. Simply by looking at me, Bethesda was often able to read my thoughts. This ability had proven useful to a master feigning muteness, but it could also be disconcerting. How did she do it? I suspected sorcery. It seemed to me that her ability had grown stronger since the time she spent as a captive in the Nile Delta, under the protection and possible tutelage of the Corinthian witch, Ismene.

The eunuch shooed Bethesda away, and the litter sped past the house of Eutropius and ascended even higher up the hill, beyond the theater, passing mansions even grander than that of Eutropius. At last we could go no higher, for the street ended.

The eunuch indicated that I should step out of the litter first. I looked for Bethesda and beckoned for her to join me. The eunuch ushered the two of us up the steps that led to the entrance. The massive bronze doors stood wide open, flanked by two of the brawniest guards I had ever seen. By their raven hair, dark skin, and exotic armor I took them to be Persians.

The house before me was one of the grandest I had ever seen, ornamented with fluted marble columns and rimmed with many terraces and balconies. At the top of the steps, I turned and swept my gaze across the city below. To the west, silhouetted by the sinking sun, I saw the wooded bluffs beyond the harbor. Below us were countless rooftops clustered around the concave mass of the theater. To the northeast, dominating the plain beyond the city, stood the Temple of Artemis.

This was my first sight of the temple since I had arrived, and the first time I had seen it from such a lofty vantage point. I drew a sharp breath, amazed that the temple appeared even larger than I remembered, and more beautiful. The temple did not stand in complete isolation, for a number of lesser buildings consecrated for sacred uses were scattered on the surrounding grounds. But these more modest structures only served to highlight the magnificence of the temple. Clad in marble and gold and brightly colored paint, it glittered like some monstrous jewel box-which in a way it was, for the temple was even more spectacular inside than out, a repository of fabulous treasures of every sort, from rubies and emeralds to antique weapons to the famous painting of Alexander the Great that seemed to lunge forward from the wall.

The temple had been the first World Wonder I visited, and none that I saw afterward, not even the Great Pyramid, had impressed me more. Antipater had spoken truly when he wrote his famous poem about it. I silently mouthed the words:

I have seen the walls of Babylon, so lofty and so wide,

And the Gardens of that city, which flower in the skies.

I have seen the ivory Zeus, great Olympia’s pride,

And the towering Mausoleum where Artemisia’s husband lies.

I have seen the huge Colossus, which lifts its head to heaven,

And taller still, the Pyramids, whose secrets none can tell.

But the house of Artemis at Ephesus, of all the Wonders Seven,

Must surely be the grandest, where a god may rightly dwell.

If Artemis truly dwelled in the temple, she was not alone. I had been told that a great many Romans were seeking sanctuary there, and indeed, I saw many people moving in and out of the temple and milling about, some sitting on the temple steps while others loitered around the great altar. A few of these people were the priests of Artemis, called Megabyzoi, recognizable even at such a great distance by their bright yellow robes and tall yellow headdresses. But many more were obviously Romans, equally recognizable by the white togas they wore. The women I took to be Roman wives and daughters. Others in the crowd were probably household servants and slaves who had accompanied their masters in search of a safe haven.

While I stood staring at the view, the eunuch obtained permission for us to enter. He ushered us onward, through the massive entry and into a large courtyard. Here he stopped to confer with another official, this one even more ostentatiously dressed. The gewgaws dangling from this man’s turban appeared to be made of silver and precious stones, rather than base metal and glass, as no doubt suited a chamberlain of the royal household.

“But you will make sure I get the credit for finding this one?” insisted the eunuch. The royal chamberlain gave him a curt, dismissive nod, then, with a simple movement of one eyebrow, indicated that I should follow him.

We left the courtyard and entered one wing of the house. Every space was filled with sumptuous decoration, from the frescoes on the walls and ceilings to the geometric mosaics underfoot. Beside me, I saw Bethesda staring at our surroundings in wonder.

We walked down a long hallway, passing busy slaves and bustling military officers. At last we arrived in a small but dazzling vestibule where every architectural detail and ornament appeared to be covered with gold foil. Mosaic peacocks spread their wings on the floor beneath us. Painted storks and egrets wheeled across the ceiling above us. I could only wonder what sort of fabulous room lay beyond.

The chamberlain at last spoke. “I understand that you are mute.”

I nodded.

“But you can hear, and have all your other senses?”

I nodded.

“Good. And this is your slave, who speaks for you?”

Bethesda opened her mouth to speak, but the man silenced her with a raised finger. He hummed and clicked his teeth.

“Ah, not the most ideal situation. Court protocol dictates that a slave may speak directly to Her Majesty only in certain rare circumstances. But … I suppose this might be one such circumstance. And yet.…” He appeared to weigh his options for a long moment, then nodded. “Yes, I have it! What is your name, slave?”

“Bethesda,” she said.

The man made a face. “What sort of name is that?” He grunted, but did not wait for an answer. “Well, then … slave,” he said, unable or unwilling to pronounce her exotic name, “when a question is asked by Her Majesty of your master, which you are capable of answering, you will whisper the answer to me, and I will convey the answer to Her Majesty. Do you understand, slave?”

Bethesda drew a deep breath. She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I understand.”

“Very good. Well, then, follow me.” The man signaled to a servant who stood beside the door, who obediently opened it for us.

We entered a room that seemed to be wrapped in layer upon layer of gauze.

Everywhere, hanging vertically, were translucent veils of soft, lovely colors-lilac and azure, mossy green and buttery yellow. Though they were hard to see, there were openings in these veils, for we passed through one shimmering layer after another. The soft touch of the veils as they slid against my cheeks and the backs of my hands was delightful.

Of what fantastic material were they made? I suddenly realized it had to be the famous silk of Cos, an example of which I had first seen in the home of Antipater’s cousin Bitto in Halicarnassus. She had worn a green garment made of the stuff, which clung to her flesh like a rippling sheet of water. No fabric was more costly than the silk of Cos. Had these been sheets of hammered gold they could hardly have been more valuable. I wondered how anyone, even Mithridates, could have got his hands on so much of the stuff. He must have plundered the island’s entire store of silk.