The Ionia Sanction

by Gary Corby

  We’d replaced all the lids and stoppers, thrown the sail sheet over everything, and got out through the back door just as the fire was extinguished. Now we walked uphill to the Artemision.

  I said, “The bones are old, but that stuff hasn’t been there long.”

  “How do you know?”

  “There was very little dust on the cover sheet, but lots of dust in the air of the warehouse. I saw things covered in it.”

  Diotima nodded and said, “There’s still a chance Brion’s alive. I like to think he is, I hope so.”

  “Then who’s the guy in the krater?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Did Brion ever talk to you about this pottery business?”

  “No, but why would he? It was merely another trade.”

  “A rather odd one.” I hesitated, then, “What did you talk about?”

  “With Brion? Oh, philosophy mostly. He’s talked with many famous thinkers, even Anaxagoras. Brion’s nice, he’s courteous. He shaves every day. His fingernails are always trimmed and clean.”

  “Easy enough for him,” I said, putting my hands behind my back. “He’s rich.”

  So Brion had been charming, handsome, wealthy, and fascinating about philosophy. I’d never met the man, but already I loathed him.

  I said, “Anyway, that’s nothing. Just the other day back in Athens I discussed philosophy with Anaxagoras myself.”

  “You talked philosophy?” Diotima choked back laughter.

  “It’s true!”

  “Oh sure.”

  “We discussed theories of matter.” I repeated what little I could remember about tiny particles all mixed together.

  Diotima looked at me with surprised respect. “That’s actually very good. You know, I almost believe you.”

  We passed through the agora, stopping to drink our fill from the public fountain, before she went on, “Did you recognize the coins?”

  “No. We could take them to a money changer of course, but—”

  “That would be insane. Word would spread and we’d have half the city on us before the day was out.”

  “The coins … another body … I don’t know if any of this will lead me to Araxes.”

  “Pericles is being harsh on you, Nico, you did everything humanly possible. It’s not your fault Araxes got away.”

  “No, Diotima, Pericles was right. It was my responsibility and I failed. I would have sacked me, if I were him. The only chance to redeem myself is to find the information Thorion died trying to reveal, return Asia to her home, and find out what Themistocles is up to, if anything. Araxes is my own personal mission, like your Brion.”

  “Your slave’s story puts Araxes in Magnesia, right before he traveled to commit murder.”

  “Correct, but Araxes is merely an agent, acting for someone else.”

  “Like you.”

  “Like me.”

  “Could Araxes’ client be Themistocles?” Diotima said.

  “Let’s think about that. Araxes works for Themistocles. Themistocles orders Araxes to kill Thorion. So, right before he leaves, Araxes kidnaps Themistocles’ daughter, because he likes having a really angry boss. Umm … no.”

  “When you put it like that…”

  We had reached the Artemision, the largest building I had ever seen. It sat between two streams, both of which were called the Selinus although they approached the temple from different directions and came together farther downstream. The red-painted wooden columns holding up the roof were vast, I could not have put my arms around one, and they towered into the sky. The style was old and elegant. People were coming and going, young, old, male, female, different races too, not only Hellenes but those who were obviously from far away.

  The building was immaculately clean, which was easily explained by the small army of men scampering about. Several of them greeted Diotima in a friendly manner, but I shrank from all of them. Diotima noticed. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Are they what I think they are?”

  “They’re the Megabyzoi; they’re the property of the temple, and they’re as bad as the women.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Diotima answered my unspoken question. “The Megabyzoi are eunuchs who serve at the temple. And before you ask, no, we don’t have them in Athens. The Megabyzoi are a specialty of Ephesus. It’s considered a high honor to be selected.”

  I nodded, and decided I would forgo that honor. “They make my skin crawl,” I muttered.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t be asked to join them. You’ll be free to continue your sordid adventures in the brothels.” She gave me a calculating look. “Though come to think of it, a few slashes might fix certain undesirable traits…”

  “Please, Diotima,” I pleaded, wincing. “Must you go on about it?”

  She smiled and brushed back the dark curly locks that fell across her face, then took me by the hand and led me through the entrance of the Artemision. “This temple is deeply sacred. Not as sacred as where the Goddess was born on Delos, but except for Delos, you couldn’t find anywhere more holy. People from all over the world come to see it. In the months I’ve been here I’ve met people from Carthage and Massilia. Did you know there’s a city called Massilia? It’s Hellene, but I’d never heard of it. Then there are people from the far side of the Empire. They don’t look remotely like us. I’ve met Medes and Babylonians and people you could never hope to see in Athens. The barbarians call her Cybele rather than Artemis, but they seem to think it’s the same goddess.”

  Diotima’s eyes shone as she spoke, and her speech was fast and excited. I said, surprised, “You like meeting the barbarians?”

  “It’s exciting, Nico. All over the world, people are living in different ways, speaking different prayers, in strange cities, and we don’t even know about it. Don’t you wonder what might be happening in other parts of the world?”

  “I have enough trouble with my own piece of it.”

  We stopped at an immense red curtain, hung from the ceiling but drawn up, with great folds of material spilling over the ends, to reveal the statue of the Goddess. Artemis stood high and proud, her arms outstretched like a supplicant, or a mother welcoming her children. Her chest was covered with breasts, not merely the standard two, but more than I could count at a glance, all hard and full of milk.

  I admired the Goddess for some time while Diotima waited patiently beside me. I cleared my throat. “I take it we are not viewing Artemis here in her guise as the Huntress?”

  “Hardly,” Diotima murmured.

  In Athens, Diotima had been a priestess at the temple of Artemis of the Hunt. There the Goddess is depicted as a fit young maiden armed with a bow, accompanied by a deer as she runs through the forest.

  “The Artemis of Ephesus is a Mother Goddess, and a Goddess of Fertility,” Diotima lectured.

  “You don’t say,” I muttered, counting the breasts. “Twenty-one, twenty-two…”

  Diotima glared. “Keep it pious, Nicolaos. Just because the Goddess appears to these people as the Mother is no reason she can’t transform for your benefit to something more likely to put an arrow through you. She’s still the same person, you know. The Gods appear to us in many forms but they’re each a single deity within.”

  I commented, “The cult statue looks a little old.” The stone and wood was stained and cracked and aged, despite their efforts to keep it pristine. The style was stiff and, well, wooden; noticeably of a period long, long ago.

  “This statue of the Goddess was dedicated by the Amazons.”

  “What, as in Troy?”

  “Oh yes. The Amazons worshiped Artemis. They came here to the Artemision several times, the first during their war against King Theseus of Athens, and that was a generation before the war against the Trojans.”

  I studied the Goddess in new appreciation. “This place is that old?”

  “Older. The Artemision was built by the demigod Ephesos, who founded the city under the protection of the Goddess. Since that day, it
’s been the greatest ill deed to lay a hand against anyone who claims protection of the temple. The whole civilized world knows of the sanctuary of the Artemision.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I said ‘civilized.’”

  She led me through into a courtyard at the back, where there was a smaller building which looked like another temple.

  “This is where we keep the Book.”

  I heard the significance in her words before, but had no idea what she meant.

  “The Book of Heraclitus.”

  Where had I heard that name before? Then I remembered. “The funeral stele in the agora?”

  “Yes, that’s where they buried the author.”

  “Tough critics they have around here.”

  One of the Megabyzoi guarded the entrance. He inclined his shaven head to Diotima and said, “Priestess,” in a voice so high and effeminate it could have been a woman’s, though he was taller and wider than me, and had a massive chest. I imagined he must be very strong. I doubted there was even a single trace of fat in him.

  Diotima said, “Kalimera, Geros.”

  He bowed and replied, “Kalimera, Priestess.”

  Diotima passed within. I followed, but I couldn’t help staring at him as I went by. He looked back at me with the bland expression of contempt one sometimes sees from a slave. I’m sure he knew my thoughts, the poor wretch.

  The building was indeed a temple of sorts, a miniature one, built upon the same kind of stepped platform, with the same external pillars in rows about all four sides, holding up the same peaked roof, and with the same rectangular room shielded by the roof. But within the temple, in place of where the cult statue should have been, was a scroll upon an altar.

  “So this is the Book. What did Heraclitus say that’s so interesting?”

  “It’s a book of philosophy. They say Heraclitus was a great sage. He died, oh, fifteen years ago, and left this book he wrote to the Artemision. The priests built this small temple purely to keep the Book, for anyone to come and read it, though the original has to remain here. Sometimes a rich man in another city will pay a scribe to make a fresh copy. The scribe has to work there,” Diotima pointed to the table at the side of the room, “and when it’s done the copy is sent away to the client. It’s the Keeper’s job to see the original remains inside the temple and in good condition, and you saw the guard outside.”

  I put my hand on the scroll to open it, and hesitated. “Can I look?”

  “That’s why it’s here.”

  I opened the scroll and rolled the words past me.

  On those who step in the same river, different and different waters flow.

  I looked back to Diotima. “This is gibberish.”

  “They say Heraclitus wrote in puzzles because he believed his wisdom should only be learned by people smart enough to understand it. What you read means, ‘You can’t step in the same river twice.’”

  “Then he’s obviously wrong. I can step in to any river, get out, and step back in again.”

  “He doesn’t mean it like that. What he’s saying is, the river flows all the time, water moves, leaves and twigs floating in the river are carried along. When you step back in, the river has changed. You can’t step out of the river and step back in to exactly the same river.”

  “Obvious.”

  “He’s using the river as a metaphor for the whole world. Everything changes, all the time. We all age, the trees sway, the wind blows, rocks crumble. It’s quite profound when you think about it.”

  “You’re not going to tell me the stars change.”

  “He’s obviously wrong about them, but they’re not part of the world, are they? Not like the sun and moon are.”

  A man’s voice began calling in a singsong. Diotima said at once, “A sacrifice is about to begin. I must attend. You can come if you want.”

  “I’d rather stay and look at more of this book, if it’s permitted.”

  “It is, on one condition.” She walked across the room to the entrance, opened the door, and spoke to the eunuch outside. The eunuch stepped in and shut the door behind him.

  Diotima said, “While I’m away, it’s the rule another must be here.”

  “Fine with me.”

  Diotima departed for her ritual, and I was left alone with the eunuch. The room felt distinctly warmer, and I shifted about in an uncomfortable way. Without paying any attention to the eunuch, without looking at him, I rolled to the beginning of the scroll and read. I scrolled forward and read at random, “They do not understand that what differs agrees with itself; it is a back-stretched connection such as the bow or the lyre.”

  I’d always thought it, and this book was the proof: philosophy was a waste of time. I hoped Socrates would get over his obsession before he grew to adulthood.

  I’d thought there must be a clue in here, if Brion had read so much of it, but I was wrong. I was done with this twaddle, but I was entirely unwilling to turn and make small talk with a eunuch. I shifted back and forth on my feet, very much aware that Geros watched me. What was he thinking? Was he staring at me? I felt an itch, on my behind. I ignored it, turned the scroll, and read random words to keep my mind off the irritation. The itch became worse, until it screamed at me to scratch, but I’d be cursed before I let him see me scratch my backside.

  “It’s not infectious,” a voice behind me said. A high-pitched boy’s voice.

  I turned around, startled (and rubbed my backside against the altar bench). He stood with his arms folded across his massive chest, leaning back against the wall.

  “What isn’t?”

  “Eunuchy.”

  “I’m not concerned.”

  “Yes, you are. We see your kind all the time. Men afraid to come near us, who won’t look into our eyes. I’ve learned to smell it. You’re scared.”

  “Have it your way, slave,” I said, forcing myself to look straight into his eyes, and not liking it for a moment. He might read my thoughts. “Look, your unfortunate condition is nothing to do with me—”

  “Unfortunate. Is that how you think of it?”

  “A man who can’t be with a woman? Yes.”

  Geros laughed. “Merely because our balls are missing, it doesn’t mean we cannot pleasure a woman.”

  I blanched. “You mean there are women who will … will…”

  “Some women prefer us, especially the married ones, because there’s no risk they’ll fall pregnant.”

  A horrible thought assailed me. “You didn’t … with Diotima, did you?”

  Geros said nothing, but smiled.

  My hand went to the hilt of my dagger.

  “What’s wrong, don’t you like my choice of lover?” Diotima said from the doorway.

  “You mean you … you…” I went red. How much had she overheard?

  “Anyone who takes slave girls into brothels is in no position to complain about what I do.”

  “But, Diotima, a eunuch?”

  “Eunuchs are people too, you know.”

  “They’re not men.”

  Diotima laughed, and so did Geros. “Nico, you moron, Geros is winding you up, and so am I. There’s absolutely nothing between him and me, not that it’s any of your business.”

  But I noticed the way Geros looked at her as she spoke and I said, “Are you sure you’re not having an affair?”

  “I think I would have noticed.”

  I took my hand off the hilt of my dagger.

  “The priestess speaks truth,” said Geros. “Indeed she spent more time with the merchant than she did me.”

  “Oh, is that so?” I looked hard as Diotima.

  “Come with me,” she said. “I have an idea.”

  Diotima led me around the side of the main complex, to a place where marble steps began at ground level and descended, ending at bronze doors set underneath the temple. Geros had been the sole guardian of the Book, here there were two guards, more Megabyzoi, and they looked like they meant business, with spears and shields but ba
re chests.

  Diotima said, “I have the permission of the High Priest.” She handed over a piece of parchment, which one of the guards read before hitting the door with the butt of his spear. A resonating bang on the other side told me someone had lifted a bar, and the doors swung to reveal two more guards within.

  “What is this place?” I asked.

  “The Treasury of the Artemision,” Diotima said. “Welcome to the building fund.”

  We stood among piles of coins, gold decorations, silver masks, you name it, and all unbelievable wealth. The guards never took their eyes off us.

  “Why are we here?”

  “They never stop building this place,” Diotima said. “There’s always something more to do. Like the small temple of the Book, for example, it was built only fifteen years ago using funds from the treasury. When visitors bring gifts for the Goddess they are stored here. Some of it goes to running the place, but most is saved against the next project.”

  I picked up a child’s mask, made of gold. “People donate this?”

  “Dedications are stored, gifts are used, and the priests keep records. The point is, this has been happening for decades, maybe hundreds of years. What are the chances someone in the past gifted coins the same as the old ones we found in the warehouse? We can find out where they came from.”

  “That’s almost brilliant.”

  We sifted through jars of coins by upending each in turn and keeping an eye out as we reloaded. Much of what I handled was gold. If there hadn’t been two silent eunuchs standing over me with spears I would have been tempted to pocket some of the coins.

  “Got it,” Diotima said in triumph from her end of the floor.

  “Where?”

  She held out a handful of coins from the jar before her. I took one and compared it to our sample. Both were heavy in the hand and bore the image of a lion’s head face-on.

  Diotima already had the temple records open. She ran her finger down the lists. She had to read back a long way. “It’s very old. This jar contains electrum staters—that’s gold and silver—from”—she looked up at me—“from the island of Samos?” She finished as if it were a question.

  “That doesn’t make sense. Samos is a free state in the Aegean. My ship passed it on the way here.”