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 are not 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.
I stole through the opening and kept to the shadows, following the Sacred Way through a region of gravesites and then up a hill, where the road became more winding and narrow, and the paving more uneven. Now and again, beyond the rocks and trees to my right, I caught glimpses of the harbor. The woods became thicker; cypresses towered above me, and the smell of cedars scented the cool night air. I heard the splashing of a stream nearby, and gasped to think that I might be standing at the very place where Artemis and Apollo were born.
I came at last to an opening in the woods. Across a meadow bright with moonlight, in the center of a rocky outcrop, I saw the iron door of the cave, glinting in the moonlight.
The Seven Wonders: A Novel of the Ancient World Page 5