The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

by Ashley, Mike;

  The six of us set out. Amestris came along as well, apparently to make sure that all was perfect for Anthea and Chloe’s appearance in the procession. I deliberately kept my eyes off her, determined to take in the sights and sounds of the festive city.

  A short walk brought us to the main entrance of the theatre. There were a great many people in the square, and the crowd was still issuing out. Everyone looked quite cheerful, and, for those who needed more cheering up, vendors were selling wine. Some in the crowd had brought their own cups, but the vendors were also selling ornamental cups made of copper, or silver, or even gold set with stones; like the talismans for sale in the market, these precious objects were destined to be offered to Artemis at the end of the procession.

  As darkness fell, lamps were lit all around the square, casting a flickering orange glow across the sea of smiling faces. The crowd suddenly grew hushed. A way was cleared in front of the theatre entrance. I assumed some dignitary, perhaps the Roman governor, was about to make his exit. Instead, a statue of Artemis emerged, carried aloft by a small group of priests wearing bright yellow robes and tall yellow headdresses.

  Antipater spoke in my ear. “Those are the Megabyzoi, and that statue is the Artemis of Ephesus, the model for all the replicas we saw in the market-place.”

  The statue was made not of stone or bronze, but of wood, probably ebony to judge by the few areas that were not adorned with bright paint. Her face and hands were gilded. An elaborately embroidered robe with broad sleeves had been fitted over her body, and a veil covered her face. A wagon festooned with wreaths and strings of beads approached, drawn by bulls decorated with ribbons and garlands. The Megabyzoi carrying the statue gently placed it upright in the wagon.

  Suddenly I understood Eutropius’s pun about the wooden statue watching a wooden performance. Artemis herself, brought from her temple and specially dressed for the occasion, had been the guest of honour at the play.

  The wagon rolled forward. With Artemis leading the way, others began to take their place in the procession. Musicians with flutes, horns, lyres, and tambourines appeared. Eutropius gave his daughter a kiss on the forehead, and Mnason did likewise, then Anthea and Chloe ran to join a group of similarly dressed girls who took a place in the procession behind the musicians. The girls performed a curious dance, leaping in the air and then crouching down, looking this way and that, mimicking the movements of birds. Then the hunted became hunters, as in unison the girls raised their little bows, notched miniature arrows, and shot them in the air. Women in the crowd laughed and rushed forward, trying to catch the harmless arrows as they fell.

  “The arrows are tokens of childbirth,” Antipater explained. “The women who catch them hope to enjoy a quick conception and an easy delivery.”

  “But how is it that a virgin goddess is also a fertility goddess?” I asked.

  Antipater’s sigh made me feel quite the ignorant Roman. “So it has always been. Because she herself does not conceive, Artemis is able to act as helpmate to those who do.”

  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 colourful 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 in 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 scented 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 their own 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 more grumpy. 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 long 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, and the closer I drew to it, the more astonished I was 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 untravelled 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 c
alled 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 towards 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 on to 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.” A certain edge in his voice caused me to look at Eutropius, who 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 honour 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, lifted a dagger high above his head, and plunged the blade into the bull’s heart. The bound creature bellowed 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 sacrifice, but I had never witnessed a post-mortem 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 myself, 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 to the porch. Amestris came with us. Did that mean she was a virgin? Then I recalled Antipater’s precise words – that no freeborn female could enter the temple unless she was a virgin. Perhaps this stricture did not extend to slaves …

  I shook my head and put aside this train of thought. What business was it of mine, whether the slave 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 colours. 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 colouring and perspective, the conqueror’s hand and the thunderbolt it 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, while in the centre of the vast space, the virgins dressed as Artemis performed another dance with a crowd looking on.

  “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 interior light of the temple, radiating an almost supernatural beauty.

  The music rose to a shrill crescendo. The hunter looked as startled as 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, and completely covering her head was a mask of a young stag with small antlers.

  The dancers playing the forest dispersed; those playing the 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, trailing blood-red 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.