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

by Steven Saylor

  Some gasped. Other cried out with joy. By the flickering light of the lamps, we saw the power of Salmacis made manifest. The naked boy who entered the pool had emerged from it as a girl.

  “Impossible!” I whispered, but beside me Bitto joined the others in singing what I took to be a traditional song performed every year at the ritual, praising the awesome power of the gods to change the unchangeable.

  I looked over my shoulder at the crowd. Lamplight flickered across their joyous faces. For a moment, I thought I saw the young widow from Commagene, but the light was uncertain, and the ritual had left me afraid to trust my own eyes.

  The priests announced that any who wished to drink from the spring or enter the pool should remain, but that all others must leave. I was not sorry to leave that dark, dank, mysterious place.

  * * *

  “Twins!” I said to Antipater, as we sat on the balcony the next day. “They do it using twins!”

  Antipater frowned. “Are you still going on about the ritual? What we witnessed was a divine transformation, Gordianus, not a mime show. It’s a wonder to be marveled at, not a puzzle to be figured out.”

  I rose from my chair and began to pace. “The grotto has all sorts of recesses and fissures; there must be a chamber under the water, large enough to contain the girl, with enough air for her to breath. One twin enters the pool, takes the place of his sister in the underwater cave, and the other twin emerges.”

  “Gordianus, do you really imagine there’s such an abundance of twins that the priests can come up with a new pair every year, never before seen by the worshippers? Besides, boy and girl twins are never identical.”

  I frowned. “I suppose they don’t have to be twins. They merely have to look alike—the same size, the same hair. It’s awfully dim in that cave, and the firelight plays tricks with your eyes, and the far side of the pool isn’t that close—”

  “Do be quiet, Gordianus. I’m trying to compose a poem.” Antipater closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun.

  “What makes the females of Halicarnassus so possessive?

  To drink a husband’s ashes is surely obsessive.

  To emasculate a god, as did Salmacis,

  Joining her sex with his … joining her sex … with his…”

  Antipater’s voice trailed off. He mumbled for a bit, then began to snore.

  “How my cousin loves his naps,” said Bitto, joining me on the balcony. “It’s so warm today—such a lazy afternoon. Perhaps we should take a nap, too.”

  “In the middle of the day? I’m not sleepy.”

  “You will be.”

  “I will?”

  “After I’ve tired you out.” She raised an eyebrow, then turned and headed toward her room.

  I followed.

  * * *

  An hour or so later, I woke in a cold sweat, though the room was stifling hot.

  I had been dreaming. In my nightmare, armed men broke down the doors of the house next door—the house where the widow Tryphosa and her daughter-in-law lived. Their slaves were rounded up and dragged screaming into the street, then loaded into a wagon that was to take them to a place of torture. Tryphosa, resisting arrest, ran to her balcony and threatened to jump. Corinna was driven into a corner, where the mocking soldiers cruelly laughed and tore away her black veil, then ripped the black garments from her body.…

  I got out of bed without waking Bitto and quickly dressed. Out on the balcony, Antipater was still snoring, with his head thrown back and his mouth wide open.

  I slipped out the front door and headed down the winding street to the residence of the two widows. I knocked on the door.

  I explained to the gruff doorkeeper that I was a houseguest next door, and that I needed to see his mistress. He told me, in surprisingly crude language, to move on. I insisted that I had something of the utmost importance to discuss with Tryphosa. He slammed the door in my face.

  I returned to Bitto’s house and stepped onto the balcony. Antipater continued to sleep soundly, though his snoring had ceased. I paced for a while, then leaned over the balustrade and looked down at the neighbors’ empty balcony. It occurred to me that, by traversing a couple of narrow ledges and taking a short leap at the end, it might be possible for a surefooted young man to climb from Bitto’s balcony to that of the neighbors—or else fall and break his neck.

  There are things a man will do at the age of eighteen that he will balk at doing later in life, when he has more sense. This was one of those things.

  More than once, poised on my toes, slowly shifting sideways and clinging to small declivities in the wall with my fingertips, I came very near to losing my balance and tumbling backward into empty space. At last I took the final leap and landed safely on the neighbors’ balcony.

  The brush with danger only served to exhilarate me, so that I felt emboldened to take the next and potentially more dangerous step, to enter a house where I had no right to be. So far as I knew, Halicarnassian law would permit the occupants to kill a trespasser on the spot. But I was learning to follow my nature—to willingly take small risks when greater consequences were at stake. If what I suspected was true, the widows might be guilty of fraud, but not of murder, and I had no intention of allowing the hothead at Bitto’s party to destroy the lives of two women simply to impress a third.

  Insofar as I had a plan, it was to encounter one or both of the widows, very quickly reassure them of my peaceful intentions (so as to forestall them from having me bludgeoned or hurled from the balcony), then inform them of the danger facing them, and only then to let them know that I suspected the truth. But I was learning that plans, however carefully or carelessly made, have a way of playing out in unexpected ways. Thus it was that the thing I thought would happen last happened first.

  From the balcony I passed through a small but beautifully appointed dining room. Finding that room empty, I moved on to a short hallway, where I stepped into the first room I came to, which happened to be the dressing chamber of young Corinna. Because she happened to be naked when I entered—about to step into her undergarments, assisted by her mother—I knew at once that my suspicions were correct. Corinna was no one’s widow and no one’s daughter-in-law.

  * * *

  I never said a word to Antipater about what I had done, but I saw no way to avoid telling Bitto everything, since it was upon Bitto that I staked my hopes, and the hopes of her neighbors, to stop the hothead from taking action.

  After dinner that night, Antipater retired to the library. Bitto could see I was bursting to share something with her. First I made her vow, before the statue of Aphrodite in her garden, to reveal to no one what I was about to tell her, then we withdrew to the balcony and sat under the stars.

  First I told her what I had surmised—she raised her eyebrows but did not say a word—and then I explained how I had confirmed it, by trespassing.

  “But how is it that you’re still alive?” said Bitto, when I told her of my encounter in Corinna’s dressing room. “The punishment Actaeon received when he saw Artemis naked is nothing compared to what I should do if a stranger suddenly appeared in my room while I was undressed!”

  “The two of them were not pleased to see me,” I said, vastly understating the uproar of their initial reaction. “So I had to talk very fast—while dodging vases and other things they threw at me—to convince them that I was there to help them. It was actually a good thing that I came upon Corinna naked. If I had encountered her in her black mourning garb, and stated what I believed about her, she and her mother would almost certainly have denied it, and might have continued to deny it, no matter what I said. But since I had seen the truth with my own eyes, there was no use trying to convince me I was wrong. And when I made them see the threat posed by your hotheaded friend, and told them I wanted to stop him, they realized that I was their friend, not their enemy. They’ve built such a wall of secrecy around themselves, they’re not used to trusting anyone other than their slaves and each other. When Tryphosa fina
lly decided to tell me everything, she wept with relief. I think she’s wanted desperately to share the truth with someone for a long time. So—can you do it, Bitto?”

  “Do what?”

  “What I promised them: throw your hotheaded friend off the scent, make him back off his pledge to lodge an accusation against them.”

  Bitto dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. “It will be no problem. I’ll tell Straton that we’ve all been mistaken about the two widows, that I had a long talk with them to clear the air, and I now see that all those rumors of murder are completely unfounded.”

  “And will Straton simply take your word for that?”

  Bitto narrowed her eyes. “Do you doubt my powers of persuasion, Gordianus?”

  I nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of such people—born in the image of the god Hermaphroditus, having parts of both sexes—but I’ve never encountered such a person before.”

  “I have,” said Bitto, “but only in certain temples on certain sacred occasions. Many believe that such individuals possess magical powers, and their peculiarity is a mark of divine favor that especially suits them to serve in certain sacred capacities—as the mouthpiece for an oracle, for example. When Tryphosa gave birth and saw the child’s dual sex, she might have proclaimed the truth instead of hiding it.”

  I shook my head. “I suggested something like that to her myself. ‘And have my child be raised as a holy freak?’—those were her exact words. Apparently, when the child was born, there was some indication of dual gender, but the male aspect appeared to predominate, and the midwife told them that the female cavity might eventually close up altogether, so Tryphosa and her husband decided to name the child Timon and raise it as a boy. Then her husband died, and Tryphosa had sole responsibility for the boy’s upbringing. But beginning with puberty, the ‘boy’ increasingly took on feminine characteristics—not just physically, as when her breasts began to bud, but in her personality, as well. The child began to think of herself as a girl, and wanted to dress and behave as one. Mother and child experienced a great deal of confusion and indecision, but ultimately, together, they concocted a scheme to go off on a journey and return with a bride—the bride being Timon himself, or herself, now renamed Corinna.”

  “So bride and groom were one and the same!” said Bitto. “Did no one ever see the two of them together at the same time?”

  “From what Tryphosa told me, there were a handful of occasions, as when they first returned to Halicarnassus, when the bride and groom were seen in public together—but the bride was played by one of their slaves, who wore a veil so that no one could see her face.”

  “And the ‘death’ of Timon—how was that managed?”

  “They waited until they could acquire a recently deceased body, reasonably similar in age and appearance to Timon, then hastily held a private funeral ceremony and burned the corpse. I suspect they had to pay a few bribes along the way, but ‘Timon’ was dead and his body reduced to ashes before any outsiders had a chance to pose awkward questions. From that time on, the child lived exclusively as Corinna, the widow of her former self.”

  “But how can Corinna hope to maintain this pretense? If she ever tries to marry—or ‘remarry,’ I suppose—her husband will see her for what she is on their wedding night.”

  I shrugged. I was learning that the world was not a simple place, and the people in it were full of surprises. “However Corinna plans to deal with her future, she’s determined to do so as a woman. That is her choice, and her mother has done everything possible to help her realize her transition from boy to girl. That’s why they attended the ritual at the spring of Salmacis the other night.”

  “I didn’t see Corinna there.”

  “I thought I did, but I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t mention it at the time. After everyone else left, a few people, under priestly supervision, were allowed to enter the pool. Corinna drank from the pool and stayed in the water a long time, hoping to eradicate the vestiges of her masculinity. Alas! Having seen her naked, I must conclude that the gods did not see fit to grant her wish.”

  “Poor girl!”

  I nodded. “So you can see, Bitto, why it would be such an injustice for those two to be persecuted by Straton or by anyone else. In a way, they did ‘murder’ Timon, but his disappearance harmed no one. I believe mother and child should be left alone, each free to pursue her destiny as she chooses, don’t you? You might even consider befriending them, Bitto. They are your neighbors, after all.”

  She pursed her lips. “I suppose I could invite them over to dinner sometime.”

  “Corinna is shy, but she’s a lovely girl. As for her mother—what is it about Halicarnassus that breeds such strong widows? Tryphosa struck me as a very forceful woman, intelligent and resourceful and fiercely independent. She reminded me of you, in fact.”

  Bitto smiled at this compliment. There on her balcony, beneath a sky full of stars, she rewarded me with a tender kiss.

  * * *

  Spring turned to summer. The month of Sextilis arrived, and if Antipater and I were to attend the Games at Olympia—and see the Temple of Zeus with its colossal statue of the god—it was time to board a ship and set sail.

  Bitto had warned me that no man could possess her, including myself. When she saw us off at the wharf, she waved until she dwindled from sight, but I saw no tears in her eyes. It was I who felt a pang of loss at our parting. I blinked and bowed my head.

  “What’s the matter, Gordianus?” asked Antipater.

  “Just a bit of sea spray. It stings a little,” I said, wiping my eyes.

  The last I saw of Halicarnassus was the Mausoleum, its massive tiers rising to a templelike facade of huge columns and gigantic statues, and the step-pyramid roof with its quadriga of glittering gold surmounting all—the widow Artemisia’s everlasting mark on the landscape. But it was another widow of Halicarnassus who left an everlasting mark upon my life.

  IV

  O TEMPORA! O MORES! OLYMPIAD!

  (The Statue of Zeus at Olympia)

  “Have you ever seen anything like it?” said Antipater. “Have you ever imagined such a spectacle?”

  I had not. Romans love a festival; a play or two put on in a makeshift theater, an open-air feast, chariot races in the Circus Maximus—all these things I had seen many times in my eighteen years. But no celebration in Rome could compare with the free-spirited chaos, or the sheer magnitude, of the Olympiad.

  Greeks love an athletic competition. One could almost say they live for these events, where naked young men show off their manly prowess in fierce competitions. Several cities in Greece host such contests, but the Games at Olympia, held every four years, are the grandest and most well attended. They are also the oldest. Antipater and I had arrived for the 172nd Olympiad. Multiplying that number by four, I realized that the Games at Olympia had been going on for nearly seven hundred years. When the first Olympiad was held, Romulus and Remus were mere infants suckling at the she-wolf’s teats, and Rome did not yet exist.

  This would be the third Olympiad Antipater had attended in the span of his long life. It was to be my first.

  Simply to reach Olympia proved to be an ordeal. From Ellis, the city that administered the Games, the journey took two days. The road was jammed with wagons and pedestrians. Antipater and I rode in a hired mule-cart along with several other travelers, proceeding on the crowded road at a pace that bored even the lazy mules. Food and wine, sold at roadside stands or from moving carts, were plentiful but expensive. Water was harder to come by. After a long, hot summer, the river that ran alongside the road was nearly dry. Local landowners with access to a spring charged exorbitant fees for drinking water. Bathing was out of the question.

  On the first night out we slept on the ground, for the rooms at every inn were already taken, with some guests sleeping on the rooftops. Many travelers brought their own tents. Some of the richer visitors, accompanied by entourages and slaves, brought entire pavilions. Competition for flat, smo
oth patches of ground amid the rocky terrain was fierce.

  “Where will we sleep when we reach Olympia?” I asked.

  “About that, Gordianus, you need not worry,” said Antipater, and I did not ask again. On our journey to see the Seven Wonders, I was learning to trust my old tutor about our travel arrangements and not to question him too closely.

  On the second day, as we drew near Olympia, the road became so congested that the cart came to a standstill.

  “Let’s walk the rest of the way,” said Antipater, climbing cautiously from the cart. He stepped behind a boulder and I followed him, thinking he meant to relieve himself and ready to do so myself. But as soon as we were out of sight, Antipater produced an eye patch and affixed a putty nose to his face.

  I laughed. “What’s this, Teacher? Do you intend to put on mime shows when we finally reach Olympia?” The query was half in earnest. Antipater loved to entertain an audience.

  “I am disguising myself because I do not wish to be recognized in Olympia,” he whispered.

  “But that hasn’t been a problem in our travels so far.”

  “True, Gordianus, but as you can see, the whole of the Greek world is arriving in Olympia. There’s no telling whom we might encounter. So while we are here, I shall sport a false nose as well as a false name.”

  “You’re likely to run into something, wearing that eye patch.”

  “I’ll take the risk.”

  I laughed. “How peculiar you sound! It must be the putty, pinching your nose.”

  “Good. My voice shall be disguised as well.”

  Instead of returning to the crowded road, Antipater insisted that we follow a winding footpath up a hillside, saying it would be worth our while to see the lay of the land. When we reached the crest of the hill, I saw below us the valley of the river Alpheus, with Olympia laid out like a city in miniature.