The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

by Ashley, Mike;

  “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, made 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, performed by many different virgins at many different 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 towards 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 demeanour, 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 not a word would come 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 very sanctuary of Artemis?”

  Eutropius was flummoxed. He clenched his fists and 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.”

  “Thi
s 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 grove of Ortygia, which is full of wonders and manifestations of divine will. One of the most sacred spots is 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 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 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 towards 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 the Greek 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. Mithridates was the King of Pontus, which bordered Rome’s territories in the East. For years he had been positioning himself as the rival of Rome, offering his rule to the Greek-speaking peoples of Asia Minor as an alternative to the Romans. Everyone in Rome said that an all-out war with Mithridates was inevitable. It was clear which side Eutropius and his friends would take. Perhaps they were even agents for 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. “I 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 harbour. Go a little further, 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, and 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 there be some way to descend from the balcony outside my bedroom? By the bright moonlight, I saw a good spot to land, should I jump. 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 theatre, where I had no trouble locating the Sacred Way. The torches that had lit the street so brightly earlier had gone out. According to Amestris, my goal lay in the direction opposite to the one we had taken to the temple, so I turned about and headed south. Bathed by moonlight, the unfamiliar precinct seemed at once beautiful and eerie. I passed the elegant façades 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 had worried 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 harbour. 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 on the very place where Artemis and Apollo had been born.

  I came at last to an opening in the woods. Across a meadow bright with moonlight, in the centre of a rocky outcrop, I saw the door of the cave. The polished iron glinted in the light.

  I circled the meadow, keeping in shadow, until I reached the door. From my tunic I took out a small bag my father had given me before
I left on my travels. In it were some tools he had taught me to use; some were quite old, veritable antiques, while others he had invented himself. While other fathers were teaching their sons to barter in the market, or build a wall, or speak in the Forum, my father had taught me everything he knew about picking locks.

  I was happily surprised to discover that no guard of any sort had been set on the door; the whole meadow and the grove all around appeared to be deserted. Perhaps the place was considered too sacred for any mortal to inhabit except on ritual occasions.

  Still, I dared not strike a flame, and so I had to work by moonlight. The lock was of a sort I had never encountered before. I tried one tool, then another. At last I found an implement that seemed to fit the keyhole, and yet I could not make the lock yield, no matter how I twisted or turned the tool – until suddenly I heard a bolt drop, and the door gave way.

  The fact that I might be committing a crime against the goddess gave me pause. I was poised to enter the cave – but would I ever step foot outside it? I took heart from something my father had told me: The threat of divine punishment is often invoked by mortals for the sake of their own self-interest. You should always evaluate such claims using your own judgement. I myself have made a lifelong habit of violating so-called divine laws, and yet here I stand before you, alive and well, and at peace with the gods.

  I stepped inside the cave, leaving the door open behind me as my eyes adjusted to the greater darkness. The cave was not completely black; here and there, from narrow fissures above my head, shafts of moonlight pierced the darkness. I began to perceive the general shape of the chamber around me, and saw that it opened on to a larger one beyond. That chamber was illuminated by even brighter shafts of moonlight. Dangling from a rocky roof three or four times the height of a man, suspended from a silver chain, I saw the Pan pipes. They were in the very centre of the chamber and I could see no way to reach them.

  A third chamber lay beyond. It was the smallest and the darkest. Only by feeling my way around the walls did I discover a small door, hardly big enough to admit a stooping man. I attempted to pick the lock, but I dropped my tools, and in the darkness despaired of retrieving them. As I was searched about, my hands chanced upon several objects, including a knife and an axe of the sort the Megabyzoi used to sacrifice animals, and a sack of some strong material, large enough to accommodate a small body.