Текст книги "The Seven Wonders: A Novel of the Ancient World (Novels of Ancient Rome)"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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The dancers put their bows over their shoulders, pulled the little javelins from their belts, and began a new dance, forming a circle and rhythmically tapping their javelins against the ground inside the circle and then outside. Even among so many young and lovely girls, Anthea stood out. From others in the crowd I overheard many comments about her beauty, and more than one observer echoed Antipater’s observation that she appeared to personify the goddess herself.

The wagon bearing Artemis rolled out of sight around a corner. The musicians and dancing girls followed. Close behind the girls came a large contingent of boys and youths wearing colorful finery; these were athletes who would be taking part in various competitions in the days to come. Cattle, sheep, goats, and oxen destined for sacrifice were herded into the procession by the representatives of various trade guilds and other organizations who carried aloft their symbols and implements. Antipater explained to me how all these diverse groups figured into the long and fabled history of the city, but most of what he said went in one ear and out the other. I was distracted by the presence of Amestris, who followed our party, keeping a discreet distance. Every so often our eyes met. Invariably, it was I who looked away first.

At the very end of the official procession came the Megabyzoi, a great many of them, all wearing bright yellow robes and headdresses. Some carried sacred objects, including knives and axes for sacrifice, while others waved burning bundles of incense. The smoke wafted over the vast crowd of Ephesians and pilgrims that moved forward to follow the procession.

“Aren’t the Megabyzoi eunuchs?” I said, recalling something I’d once heard and trying to get a better look at the priests over the heads of the crowd.

Eutropius and Mnason both laughed, and Antipater gave me an indulgent smile. “Once upon a time, that was indeed the case,” he said. “But your information is a few centuries out of date, Gordianus. The ritual castration of the priests of Artemis ended many generations ago. Even so, the goddess still demands that those in her service, both male and female, be sexually pure. Though his manhood remains intact, each Megabyzus takes a vow to remain unmarried and celibate for as long as he serves in the priesthood of Artemis.”

“That seems practical,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“With all the wealth that flows into the temple coffers, it’s probably a good thing that the priests aren’t married men. Otherwise, they might be tempted to put the interests of their children ahead of their sacred service.”

“Gordianus is wise for his years,” said Eutropius. “What father doesn’t do all he can for his child? The chastity of the Megabyzoi should, in theory, make them less greedy. But sometimes I think it only makes them grumpier. And it certainly doesn’t keep them from meddling in politics.”

Mnason raised an eyebrow, glanced at me, then gestured to his friend to be quiet. Did he feel the need to be discreet because I was Roman?

Antipater ignored them. “How can I explain this to you, Gordianus? Think of the Roman goddess Vesta, and how vital it is for the well-being of Rome that the Vestals maintain their virginity. So it is with Ephesian Artemis. Chastity is absolutely essential for those who serve her, and not just her priests, or the women who work in the temple, called hierodules. All the girls who dance in the procession today must be virgins. Indeed, no freeborn female who is not a virgin may so much as step foot inside the Temple of Artemis, upon pain of death.”

We followed the procession out of the square and down a broad, paved street called the Sacred Way, lit all along its length with torches. After we passed though a broad gate in the city’s northern wall, these torches were set farther apart and in the intervening patches of deep shadow I could see the starry sky above our heads.

The Sacred Way took us gradually downhill. In the valley ahead, at the end of the winding line of torches, I saw our destination—the great Temple of Artemis. A huge crowd of pilgrims, many carrying torches, had already gathered at the temple to welcome the procession. The structure had the unearthly appearance of a vast, rectangular forest of glowing columns afloat in a pool of light. Though it was still almost a mile away, the temple already looked enormous. Antipater had told me it was the largest temple ever built by the Greeks, four times the size of the famous Parthenon atop the Acropolis in Athens.

The temple loomed larger with each step I took. I was astonished by the perfect beauty of the place. Gleaming marble steps led up to the broad porch. The massive walls of the sanctuary were surrounded by a double row of columns at least sixty feet high. White marble predominated, but many of the sculptural details had been highlighted with red, blue, or yellow paint, as well as touches of gleaming gold.

Even to my untrained and untraveled eye, the elegance of the columns was breathtaking. The bases were decorated with elaborate carvings, and each of the capitals ended in a graceful spiral curve to either side.

“It was here that the order of columns called Ionic originated,” said Antipater, following my gaze. “The architects deliberately imbued the columns with feminine attributes. Thus you see that the stacked marble drums ascend not to a plain, unadorned capital, but to those elegant whorls on either side, which mimic a woman’s curls. The whole length of each column is fluted with shallow channels, in imitation of the pleats of a woman’s gown. The proportion of the height to the circumference and the way each column gently tapers is also meant to give them a feminine delicacy.”

My eyes followed the columns to the pediment high above the porch, where I saw something I was not used to seeing in a temple—a tall, open window with an elaborate frame around it. I assumed it was there to admit light in the daytime, but as I was about to discover, this window had a far more important purpose.

In front of the temple, some distance from the steps, a low wall enclosed an elegantly carved altar for sacrificing animals. As the procession arrived before the temple, some of the yellow-robed Megabyzoi broke away from the larger contingent and took up places at this altar, producing ceremonial daggers, ropes for holding down the animals, butchering knives and axes, and other implements for the sacrifices. Other Megabyzoi stoked the pyres upon which the carved and spitted meat would be roasted. Others unloaded the statue of Artemis from the cart, carried her up the steps and into the temple. Yet another group of priests unyoked the garlanded bulls that had pulled the cart and led them toward the altar. A great many other animals, including sheep, goats, and oxen, were already being held in pens in the enclosure. They were to be sacrificed and roasted in the course of the evening, to satiate the appetite of the vast crowd.

The first of the bulls was led up a short ramp onto the altar, pushed to its side, and securely trussed. Megabyzoi intoned prayers to Artemis and walked among the crowd, carrying bowls of smoking incense. One of the priests, apparently the foremost among them to judge by the special embroidery on his robe and the height of his headdress, mounted a platform beside the altar where everyone in the crowd could see him. He raised his arms aloft.

“That’s Theotimus,” whispered Eutropius to Antipater, “head priest of the Megabyzoi.” There was an edge in his voice, and he scowled as he gazed at the priest. So did Mnason.

The musicians ceased their playing. The girls stopped dancing. The crowd fell silent.

“People of Ephesus,” cried Theotimus, “welcomed visitors, all who have gathered here for the love and adoration of the goddess—the sacrifices are ready to begin. If our rituals in your honor are pleasing to you, great Artemis—protector of virgins, supreme huntress, patron of wild places, benefactor since its beginning of the grateful city of Ephesus—we beg you, Artemis, to step forth and witness our propitiations to you.”

The expectant crowd turned its gaze from the priest to the window set high in the temple. From within came a flicker of light, and then the goddess appeared at the window, her outstretched hands open in a gesture of acceptance. The apparition was so uncanny that it took me a moment to realize that I was seeing the statue that had been paraded in the cart. Unless Artemis had propelled herself, the priests had somehow managed to get the image all the way up to the window. Her veil had been removed and her gilded face shone brightly, reflecting the light of the torches and the roasting pyres around the altar.

As the crowd erupted in cheers, Theotimus strode to the altar, raised a dagger, and slashed the bull’s throat. The bound creature kicked and thrashed, then fell limp. With a single, deft movement, the Megabyzus sliced off the bull’s testicles and held them aloft. The crowd again erupted in cheers.

“For Artemis!” shouted Theotimus, and others took up the cry: “For Artemis!”

Eutropius saw the dumbfounded expression on my face. I was used to seeing animal sacrifices, but I had never witnessed a postmortem castration. “The sacred testes are reserved for the virgin goddess; the rest will be for us,” said my host matter-of-factly. “I’m rather partial to the meat of the flank, especially if it’s nicely grilled.”

One beast after another was slain, with Artemis looking on from her high window, and the process of carving and cooking the meat began. The crowd gradually broke into groups, moving forward to receive their portion according to rules of rank and seniority determined by the Megabyzoi, who moved among the crowd to keep order, especially among those who had imbibed a great deal of wine. Clouds of smoke enveloped the crowd, and the smell of roasting meat mingled with the sweet fragrance of incense.

“Unless the two of you are terribly hungry, Teacher, this would be a good time for your young Roman friend to have a look inside the temple,” suggested Eutropius. “Anthea and Chloe and the other virgins will be performing more dances.”

Antipater declared this a splendid idea, and together we followed our host and Mnason up the broad marble steps and onto the porch.

Amestris came with us. Did that mean she was a virgin? Then I recalled Antipater’s precise words—that no freebornfemale could enter the temple unless she was a virgin. If this rule did not extend to slaves …

I shook my head and put aside this train of thought. What business was it of mine whether Amestris was a virgin or not?

Striding between the towering columns, we entered the grandest space I had ever seen. The sanctuary was lit by many lamps and decorated with many statues, but was so vast that no part of it seemed cluttered. The floor was of shimmering marble in a dizzying array of patterns and colors. High above our heads was a ceiling of massive cedar beams, alternately painted red, yellow, and blue, outlined with gold and decorated with gold ornaments. Adorning the marble walls were paintings of breathtaking beauty. Surely every tale ever told of Artemis was illustrated somewhere upon these vast walls, along with the images of many other gods and heroes.

Antipater drew my attention to the most famous painting in the temple, the gigantic portrait of Alexander the Great by Apelles. By some trick of coloring and perspective, the conqueror’s hand and the thunderbolt he held appeared to come out of the wall and hover in space above our heads. The effect was astounding.

The acoustics of the space were also extraordinary, amplifying and somehow enhancing the tune being played by the musicians who had taken part in the procession. They stood to one side. In the center of the vast space, with a crowd looking on, the virgins performed another dance.

“They’re enacting the story of Actaeon,” whispered Eutropius, leading us closer. I saw that one of the girls had put on a Phrygian cap and wrapped a cloak around herself to play the part of the young hunter; from her red hair, I realized it was Chloe. Other girls, with dog pelts over their heads and shoulders, played the part of Actaeon’s hounds. Others, holding bits of foliage, acted as trees. Actaeon, thirsty and eager to reach a pool hidden by the trees, pushed aside the leafy branches—at his touch the dancers yielded and twirled away—until, suddenly, the goddess Artemis was revealed, bathing in the imaginary pool.

Beside me, Antipater drew a sharp breath. I stifled a gasp and glanced at Eutropius, who smiled proudly. It was Anthea who played the startled goddess, and there was nothing imaginary about her nakedness. The milky white perfection of her small breasts and pale nipples seemed to glow in the soft light, radiating an almost supernatural beauty.

The music rose to a shrill crescendo. The hunter looked startled. So did the goddess. Artemis reached for her tunic to cover herself, and Actaeon moved to avert his eyes, but too late. Anthea threw her tunic into the air and raised her arms; the garment seemed to float down and cover her nakedness of its own volition. She whirled about, waving her arms wildly and mimicking a furious expression. Suddenly her whirling stopped and she froze in an attitude of accusation, pointing at Actaeon, who drew back in terror.

As Chloe darted this way and that, the forest closed around her, concealing her. The music abruptly stopped, then resumed with a new, menacing theme. The dancers playing trees drew back, revealing Actaeon transformed into a stag. Chloe now wore a deerskin. Completely covering her head was a mask of a young stag with small antlers.

The dancers playing the forest dispersed. The dancers playing hounds converged. To a cacophony of yelping pipes and agitated rattles, the hounds pursued the leaping stag until they surrounded it. Around and around they whirled, tormenting the stag who had once been their master. Chloe was completely hidden from sight, except for the stag’s-head mask with antlers, which whirled around and around with the hounds.

The frenzied music changed. The hounds drew back. The stag’s head fell to the floor, not far from where I stood, trailing bloodred streamers. Of Actaeon—torn to pieces in the story—nothing more remained to be seen.

Amid the whirling crush of the dancing hounds, Chloe must have removed the stag’s head, pulled a dog’s hide over her costume, and disappeared among the hounds. It was a simple trick, but the effect was uncanny. It seemed as if the hounds had literally devoured their prey.

Nearby, Anthea looked on with a suitably stern expression. Artemis had exacted a terrible vengeance on the mortal who had dared, however inadvertently, to gaze upon her nakedness.

Suddenly, one of the dancers screamed. Other girls cried out. The company began to scatter.

The music trailed off and fell silent. In the middle of the temple, one of the dancers lay crumpled on the floor. By her red hair, I knew it was Chloe.

Mnason rushed to his daughter. Eutropius hurried after him. I began to follow, but Antipater held me back.

“Let’s not get in the way, Gordianus. Probably the poor girl merely fainted—from excitement, perhaps.…” His words lacked conviction. Antipater could see as clearly as could I that there was something unnatural in the way Chloe was lying, with her limbs twisted and her head thrown back. Mnason reached her and crouched over the motionless body for a moment, then threw back his head and let out a cry of anguish.

“She’s dead!” someone shouted. “Chloe is dead!”

There were cries of dismay, followed by murmurs and whispers.

“Dead, did someone say?”

“Surely not!”

“But see how her father weeps?”

“What happened? Did anyone see anything?”

“Look—someone must have alerted the Megabyzoi, for here comes Theotimus.”

Striding into the sanctuary, the head Megabyzus passed directly by me. He reeked of the smell of burning flesh and his yellow robes were spattered with blood.

“What’s going on here?” His booming voice reverberated through the temple, silencing the crowd, which parted before him. Even Mnason drew back. The Megabyzus strode to the girl’s body and knelt beside it.

Amid the hubbub and confusion, I noticed that the stag’s-head mask was still lying on the floor. Chloe was the focus of all attention; no one seemed interested in the mask. I walked over to it, knelt down, and picked it up. What instinct led me to do so? Antipater would later say it was the hand of Artemis that guided me, but I think I was acting on something my father had taught me: When everyone else is looking at a certain thing, turn your attention to the thing at which they arenot looking. You may see what no one else sees.

The mask was a thing of beauty, superbly crafted from the pelt of a deer and real antlers. The eyes were of some flashing green stone; the shiny black nose was made of obsidian. The mask showed signs of wear; probably it had been handed down and used year after year in the same dance, worn by many virgins at many festivals. I examined it inside and out—and noticed a curious thing.…

“Put that down!” shouted the Megabyzus.

I dropped the mask at once.

Theotimus turned from his examination of Chloe, rose to his feet, and strode toward me. The look on his face sent a shiver up my spine. There is a reason men like Theotimus rise to become the head of whatever calling they follow. Everything about the man was intimidating—his tall stature and commanding demeanor, his broad shoulders and his booming voice, and most of all his flashing eyes, which seemed to bore directly into mine.

“Who are you, to touch an object sacred to the worship of Artemis?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Latin and Greek alike deserted me.

Antipater came to my rescue. “The boy is a visitor, Megabyzus. He made an innocent mistake.”

“A visitor?”

“From Rome,” I managed to blurt out.

“Rome?” Theotimus raised an eyebrow.

Antipater groaned—had he not warned me to be discreet about my origins?—but after giving me a last, hard look, the Megabyzus snatched up the stag mask and seemed to lose interest in me. He turned to the crowd that had gathered around the corpse.

“The girl is dead,” he announced. There were cries and groans from the spectators.

“But Megabyzus, what happened to her?” shouted someone.

“There are no marks upon the girl’s body. She seems to have died suddenly and without warning. Because her death occurred here in the temple, we must assume that Artemis herself played a role in it.”

“No!” cried Mnason. “Chloe was as devoted to Artemis as all the other virgins.”

“I am not accusing your daughter of impurity, Mnason. But if Artemis struck her down, we must conclude that the goddess was sorely displeased with some aspect of the sacred ritual.” He glanced at the mask in his hands. “I take it the dance of Actaeon was being performed. Who was dancing the part of Artemis?”

The dancers had drawn to one side, where they huddled together, clutching and comforting each other. From their midst, Anthea stepped forward.

The Megabyzus approached her. Eutropius moved to join his daughter, but the priest raised a hand to order him back.

Theotimus towered over the girl, staring down at her. Anthea quailed under his gaze, trembled, and bit her lip. She began to weep.

The Megabyzus turned to address the spectators. “The girl is impure,” he announced.

“No!” shouted Eutropius. “That’s a lie!”

There were gasps from the crowd.

“You dare to accuse the head of the Megabyzoi of lying?” said Theotimus. “Here in the sanctuary of Artemis?”

Eutropius was flummoxed. He clenched his fists. His face turned bright red. “No, Megabyzus, of course not,” he finally muttered. “But my daughter is innocent, I tell you. She is a virgin. There must be a test—”

“Of course there will be a test,” said Theotimus, “just as Artemis decrees in such a terrible circumstance as this. My fellow Megabyzoi, remove this girl from the temple at once, before her presence can pollute it further.”

Priests moved forward to seize Anthea, who shivered and cried out for her father. Eutropius followed after them, ashen-faced. More Megabyzoi picked up the body of Chloe and bore it away, followed by her distraught father. The dancers dispersed, looking for their families. The musicians stared at one another, dumbfounded.

I turned to Antipater, and saw tears in his eyes. He shook his head. “How I looked forward to this day, when I might stand once again in the Temple of Artemis. And how I looked forward to showing it to you, Gordianus. But not like this. What a terrible day! What a disaster!”

I felt someone’s eyes on me, and turned to see, some distance away, amid the dwindling, dazed crowd that remained in the sanctuary, the slave girl, Amestris. Her gaze was so intense, it seemed to me that she must have something she wanted to tell me, or to ask. But for the first time that day, it was she who looked away first, as she turned and hurriedly left the temple.

*   *   *

The atmosphere was gloomy in the house of Eutropius that night. I imagine the mood was little better in all the other households of Ephesus, for the death in the temple and the accusation against Anthea had put an end to the feasting and celebration. The Megabyzoi had instructed the people to return to their homes and to pray for the guidance of Artemis.

In the garden, Amestris served a frugal meal to Eutropius, Mnason, Antipater, and me—though I was the only one who seemed to have any appetite.

“A youth of your age will eat, no matter what the circumstances,” said Antipater with a sigh. He passed his untouched bowl of millet and lentils to me.

“No one will ever convince me that it was the will of Artemis that Chloe should die,” muttered Mnason, staring into space with a blank expression. “Our enemies are behind this, Eutropius. You know whom I mean.”

Eutropius looked not at his friend, but at me. I felt like an intruder.

“If the rest of you don’t mind, I’ll finish this in my room,” I said, picking up my bowl.

“I’ll go with you,” said Antipater.

“No, Teacher—stay. We could use your advice,” said Eutropius. He issued no such request to me, and avoided meeting my eyes. I took my leave.

Alone in my room, once the bowl was empty, I found it impossible to simply sit on the bed. I paced for a while, then took off my shoes and walked quietly down the hallway to the top of the stairs. The conversation from the garden carried quite well to that spot. I stood and listened.

“Everyone knows that Theotimus is completely in the grip of the Roman governor,” Mnason was saying. “He’s determined to bring down all who oppose him—those of us who believe that Ephesus should be free of the Romans.”

“But surely you’re not saying the Megabyzus had something to do with Chloe’s death,” said Antipater.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” cried Mnason with a sob in his voice.

After a long silence, Eutropius spoke. “It does seem to me that his accusation against Anthea was too well-timed to have been spontaneous. As unthinkable as it sounds, I have to wonder if Theotimus played some part in your daughter’s death, and then used it as an excuse to make his foul accusation against Anthea—an accusation that will destroy me as well, if the test goes against her.”

“This test—I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never witnessed it,” said Antipater.

“It’s seldom used, Teacher. I can count on the fingers of one hand the occasions it’s been performed in my lifetime.”

“I seem to recall it involves a cave in the sacred grove of Ortygia,” said Antipater.

“Yes. Until the test takes place, the accused girl is kept by the hierodules, the female acolytes who serve under the Megabyzoi. On the day of the test, they escort the girl to the ancient grove, which is full of sacred sites, including a cave near the stream where Leto gave birth to Artemis and her twin brother, Apollo. In that cave, hanging by a chain from the ceiling, are some Pan pipes; there’s a story that explains how they came to be there, but I won’t recount it now. Long ago, an iron door was put in place across the opening of the cave, and only the Megabyzoi have the key. This is the test: if a maiden is accused of having lost her virginity, the truth of the matter can be determined by shutting her up in the cave, alone. If she is truly a virgin, the Pan pipes play a melody—whether Pan himself performs on the pipes, or a divine wind blows through them, no one knows—and the door opens of its own accord, allowing the virgin to emerge with her reputation for purity intact.”

“And if the girl is not a virgin?”

“Then the pipes are silent—and the girl is never seen again.”

“She dies in the cave?” said Antipater with a gasp.

“The door is opened the next day, and the Megabyzoi enter, but no body is ever found. As I said, the girl is simply … never seen again.” Eutropius spoke with a quaver in his voice.

“So the sacred cave is exclusively in the keeping of the Megabyzoi?” said Antipater.

“Of course, as are all the sacred places of Artemis.”

“But if you suspect Theotimus to be capable of murder—indeed, of profaning the very Temple of Artemis with such a crime—then might he not contrive to somehow falsify the virgin test, as well? You must protest, Eutropius. You must come forward with your suspicions.”

“Without proof? With no evidence at all, except for Theotimus’s animus toward Mnason and myself, because we hate the Romans? The Roman governor certainly won’t help us, and if we dare to impugn the validity of the virgin test, the people will turn against us as well. We’ll be accused of sacrilege and put on trial ourselves.”

“And subjected to some other supernatural test equally under the control of Theotimus, no doubt.” Antipater sighed. “You find yourselves in a terrible situation.”

“It’s the Romans who’ve turned the priests against their own people,” muttered Mnason. “The Megabyzoi should be the champions of the people, not their enemy.”

“To be fair,” said Eutropius, “there are divisions within the Megabyzoi. Most are as loyal to Ephesus and to our way of life as you and I, Mnason. Theotimus is the exception, but he also happens to be the head priest. He always takes the side of the Romans, and he does all he can to silence those of us who oppose them. That sorry state of affairs will all change when Mithridates comes.”

Mithridates! No wonder they dared not speak openly in front of me, a Roman. For years, the King of Pontus had been positioning himself as the rival of Rome. Everyone in Rome said that an all-out war with Mithridates was inevitable. It was clear which side Eutropius and Mnason would take. From the way they talked, perhaps they were even agents of the king.

“Mithridates may indeed drive the Romans out of Ephesus someday,” said Antipater quietly, “but that is of no use to us here and now. What can we do to save Anthea?”

“We must pray that Artemis is more powerful than the corrupt priest who speaks in her name,” said Eutropius quietly. “We must pray that the virgin test will give a true answer, and that Anthea will be vindicated.”

There followed a long silence from the garden. I suddenly felt that I was being watched, and turned to see Amestris behind me.

“Did you need something, Roman?” she said.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“About as long as you have.” She flashed a crooked smile.

I swallowed hard. “Then you heard everything that I heard.”

“Yes.”

“This grove called Ortygia—where is it?”

“Not far from the city. You take the Sacred Way, but you go in the opposite direction from the Temple of Artemis, to the south. Outside the city walls, the road turns west and goes up a steep hill, where a cliff overlooks the harbor. Go a little farther, and you arrive at the sacred grove.”

“And this cave they spoke of?”

“The Sacred Way leads directly to it.”

“I see.”

“Why do you ask, Roman?”

I shrugged. “Antipater says I should learn the geography of all the places we visit.”

“You’ll see where the cave is, soon enough. The whole city will march out there tomorrow, to see the test performed.” There was a catch in her voice. She lowered her eyes. “Poor Anthea!”

“Do you not believe that she’s a virgin?”

“I know she is. My mistress and I have no secrets from each other. But I fear the test, even so.”

“Yes, so do I,” I said quietly. There was more talk from the garden, too low to make out, and the rustle of men rising from their chairs. “I should go back to my room now.”

“And I should see if my master requires anything else.”

I watched her walk down the stairs, then returned to my room. A little later I heard Antipater enter the room next to mine. The old fellow must have been completely exhausted, for only moments later I heard the sound of his snoring through the wall.

I rose from my bed, slipped into my shoes, and pulled a light cloak over my tunic. The front door would be barred, with a slave sleeping beside it. Might it be possible to jump from the balcony off my bedroom? By the bright moonlight, I saw a good spot to land. I had no idea if I could climb back up again, but I decided not to worry about that.

The jump and the landing were easier than I had hoped. I found my way to the front of the house, and from there retraced the route we had taken to the theater, where I had no trouble locating the Sacred Way. The torches that had lit the street earlier had all gone out. According to Amestris, my goal lay in the direction away from temple, so I turned and headed south.

Bathed by moonlight, the unfamiliar precinct seemed at once beautiful and eerie. I passed the elegant facades of grand houses, gymnasia, temples, and shopping porticoes, but saw not a single person. The goddess had been gravely offended on her feast day, and the people of Ephesus were keeping to their houses.

I feared that I might encounter a locked gate in the city wall, but the high doors stood wide open, and a group of officials, including some Megabyzoi—the first people I had seen—were conversing in a huddle to one side of the Sacred Way, discussing preparations for the trial that would take place the next day, when thousands of people would pass through this gate.