Steven Saylor - Wrath of the Furies

“You seem to take this very lightly,” I said. “You might wish to adopt a more respectful tone.”

“Respectful?”

“Of the goddess.” I glanced up at the statue and lowered my voice. “She’s standing right here!”

“I am a Jew, Gordianus. I don’t worship Artemis.”

This struck me as a foolhardy thing to say, standing as we were in the heart of the goddess’s sanctuary, in plain sight of the most revered image of Artemis in the world. “Do you think this statue is only a piece of wood, and no such goddess exists?”

“I didn’t say that. But whether Artemis exists or not, my god does not allow me to worship her. Nor would I wish to.”

I shook my head. “What a peculiar religion, that instructs its adherent to not worship a goddess.”

“You don’t know much about the Jews, do you, Gordianus?”

“There aren’t very many of them in Rome.”

“But you’ve been living in Alexandria. There are an awful lot of us there.”

“Perhaps so, but for whatever reason, I’ve had few dealings with your people. Your ways are mysterious to me.”

“But isn’t that slave of yours Jewish?”

“Now how could you know that? ”

“I make it my business to know things that aren’t my business.”

“Yes, Bethesda’s mother was a Jew, but she died young. Bethesda was born a slave, and not in a Jewish household. She does remember some of the stories her mother told her when she was little.”

“Like the one about Samson the strongman?”

I frowned. “But what are you doing here, Samson?”

“Doesn’t every visitor to Ephesus come to the Temple of Artemis?”

“I suspect that very few visitors find their way to this chamber.”

“True. I happened to know it was here from a previous visit, and also what it’s used for-this rigmarole of seeking a dream-cure at the foot of the statue. I’m a bit of a snoop.”

“How is it that you found your way here today?”

“I didn’t come here intending to see you, Gordianus. I arrived only an hour ago, on other business. But I was told about this morning’s sacrifice, and when I saw you wandering about with the young priest, I figured you’d end up in this room come nightfall. So I snuck up here ahead of you and waited in the shadows.”

“But why?”

“Partly from curiosity. I’ve heard of this dream-cure and the sleeping potion used to bring it about, but I’ve never actually seen it done. I wondered if my informants were correct. And so they were. Now you’re free to do whatever you wish until daybreak.”

“Zeuxidemus will sleep that long?”

“If my informants are correct.”

“And where would I go?”

“Didn’t you come to Ephesus for a specific purpose? If Mithridates plans on holding you in the palace, under careful watch of the chamberlains, this may be your best chance-perhaps your only chance-to go look for that old tutor of yours. Shall we pay a visit to the house of Eutropius?”

My heart leaped. “But the city gates will have been closed at nightfall. How would we get in?”

“There are ways. But before we go, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Here in the temple?”

“Yes. But once we leave this room, you’re Agathon of Alexandria again, and mute. It’s very likely there are spies planted among the refugees, so keep your mouth shut. Now follow me. I think this torch may last us just long enough to get down the stairs.”

I took a close look at Zeuxidemus, to make sure he slept. He no longer whimpered, but instead was smiling blissfully.

As Samson had predicted, the torch lasted just long enough to see us down the stairs, then burned to nothing. We emerged from the shadows of the hidden doorway into the grand interior, which was now dimly lit by a multitude of lamps hung from ornamental stands or set into the wall. The temple was even more crowded than before, for many of the sanctuary-seekers had come inside to sleep. Picking his way between the slumbering bodies on the floor, Samson led me across the temple to the Roman statue of Diana.

A man stood up as we approached. He was not young, to judge by the groans he made at unbending his limbs. He wore a filthy toga too big for his slender frame.

Without speaking, Samson led us to the narrow, secluded space between the statue’s pedestal and the wall behind. “This is the young man I was telling you about,” said Samson, introducing me to the old man.

“And this,” he said, lowering his voice, “is Chaeremon of Nysa.”

So this was the father of the two brothers who were houseguests of Posidonius on Rhodes, the man who had stayed loyal to the Romans and as a result had been outlawed and hunted by Mithridates, with a bounty of forty talents for his capture. I wondered for a moment why he wore a toga, since he wasn’t a Roman, then realized it must be a sort of disguise, making him indistinguishable from all the Romans around him. Even in this crowd there might be some who would turn him in for the reward. What an irony, I thought-that anyone in Ephesus should put on a toga to save himself.

“Here, both of you, step into the light, so that you can see each other’s faces,” said Samson. “I’ll do what I can to help you, Chaeremon, but if you shouldn’t see me again, Agathon can be trusted.”

“Who did you say he was?” Chaeremon sounded weak and exhausted, and more than a little confused. Seeing his face more clearly, I realized that he was not so very old-perhaps no older than my father-but his graying hair and beard were unkempt and his face was lined with worry.

“He’s called Agathon of Alexandria,” said Samson. “A mute who’s come to the temple-”

“What good will a mute be to me?”

“This is ridiculous!” I whispered. Samson looked about uneasily, but seeing no one within earshot, he let me go on. “I’m not mute. My name is Gordianus. I’m Roman. And yes, if Samson isn’t able to help, I’ll do what I can for you,” I said, though I couldn’t imagine what that would be.

“My sons, Pythion and Pythodorus-you saw them on Rhodes? They’re well?”

“Yes. But they worry for you.”

“I think Agathon has said enough.” Samson gave me a sharp look. “I only wanted the two of you to meet and take a good look at each other. Now that’s done, Agathon and I should be off.”

Samson took my arm and led me quickly away from the statue of Diana. “You have a great deal to learn, Agathon, about this business of spycraft. No, don’t say a word!” he added, seeing the exasperation on my face.

I never wished to be a spy, I wanted to say. I only wanted to see Antipater again. I kept my mouth shut and allowed him to lead me out of the temple and down the broad steps, threading our way between huddled bodies.

“We’ll stay off the Sacred Way for as long as we can,” he said, and proceeded to cut a path across the open temple grounds. Here, too, there were many people about, standing or lying down, some in crudely made shelters and tents. The ground was mostly flat, but in some places uneven, so that we had to go slowly to avoid tripping.

Passing by one tent, I heard a commotion from inside.

“What’s this? You have some bread! Where have you been hiding this?”

“Shut up! Do you want everyone-”

“He has bread! Do you hear? This good-for-nothing has been holding out on the rest of us!”

We hurried on. Eventually, the crowd grew thinner. At one point I almost stepped into a trench, but Samson caught my arm. I looked down at the long, black gash in the earth. At first I thought this must be the trench I had seen from the altar, then realized that it couldn’t be, since that trench lay in the opposite direction. There seemed to have been a great deal of digging going on in the open fields surrounding the temple grounds.