Wrath of the Furies (21 page)

“That would be most irregular,” said the chamberlain.

“My master is quite—
insistent!
” she said with a small gasp, for an instant later I was inside the litter, pulling her after me. The compartment was well padded with cushions, so that she tumbled next to me without mishap.

“Most irregular!” the chamberlain repeated, but too late, for the bearers, falling behind the other litters and eager to catch up, were already off at a trot.

Downhill we went, with a troop of spear-bearers leading the way, through the neighborhood of fine houses and gardens that clung to the hillside below the palace of Mithridates. The fresh morning air and the sensation of movement made me fully awake. On a sudden impulse I set about closing the curtains around us.

“But Master, we can't see out,” said Bethesda, who was clearly enjoying the novelty of being carried aloft in a litter.

“Nor can anyone see in,” I said, and covered her mouth with a kiss.

How I had longed to be alone with her, ever since the moment we arrived in Ephesus. At last I was able to hold her and to touch her. I ran my fingers through her black hair, so straight and fine it had no need of a comb. When I buried my face in it, all I could see through barely open eyelids were bright spangles of crimson and purple and many other colors, captured by her lustrous hair where bits of filtered sunlight shone through the curtains.

I was ready and eager to couple with her, and I moved to do so.

“But your yellow tunic,” she whispered. “We mustn't—”

I pulled it up to my shoulders, well out of the way, while she released me from the confining loincloth.

Our lovemaking was slow and sensual, not acrobatic. Constrained as it was, the telltale to-and-fro motion of two people joining as one must nonetheless have been sensed by the litter-bearers. I thought I heard snatches of laughter from outside, sounding distant and faint beyond the rush of Bethesda's quickened breath in my ear and the pounding of my own heart. The laughter was without malice, light and carefree. The litter-bearers were also exhilarated by the fresh morning air.

The moment of bliss arrived. In the same instant, Bethesda stiffened in my arms. With one hand I held her tight. With the other I covered her mouth. I cried out myself, and felt her hand on my mouth. Then it was all I could do to keep from laughing and crying out at the same time, at the exquisite absurdity of two mortals attempting to stifle the sounds of their mutual ecstasy.

There followed a long moment when I seemed to be cut adrift from the world around me. Slanting sunlight shone vaguely through the curtains, illuminating motes of dust suspended in midair. The air itself seemed heavy, like a blanket pressing me down. My breathing slowed. My arms dropped away from Bethesda, and hers from me. It might have been the cherubs of Venus who set about rearranging my clothing and smoothing my hair, so strange to me were the motions of my own hands.

The sensation of forward movement abruptly ended. The litter hovered for a moment, then settled. From outside I heard the sighs of the bearers as they were relieved of their burden. Another moment passed, and then someone outside the compartment drew the curtains back. It was the Great Megabyzus, silhouetted by the rising sun but easily recognized by the shape of his headdress.

“By Artemis, did you fall asleep, young man? I should think you would be wide awake with excitement. You have an appointment with the goddess! Stir yourself, and step out of the litter. We shall walk the rest of the way.”

With shaky arms and wobbly legs I managed to lift myself and descend the short flight of steps. I helped Bethesda descend. Though her hair was a mess, her breathing was steady and her expression was composed, almost sphinxlike. I did my best to emulate her. Standing there like wooden statues, what a contrast we must have made to the grinning litter-bearers around us.

If the Great Megabyzus noticed anything improper, he did not show it. “Your slave shall walk at the end of the procession, behind the spear-bearers. You will walk at the head, between the Grand Magus and myself, with the spear-bearers following. Come, let's get organized.”

We were on a very wide street just inside the high city wall, next to a massive gate, the doors of which were closed. I recognized the location, having passed this way on my previous visit to Ephesus, when Antipater and I took part in a holiday procession. The street was the Sacred Way, one of the grandest in Ephesus, lined with many fine buildings and shops of every sort. We had arrived at the very moment when the gates were to be opened, and as I watched, a group of soldiers set about unbarring the tall bronze doors and pushing them open. All around us, shops began to open and vendors set up their goods.

Suddenly, from the gate, I heard the sound of raised voices, and turned to see a scuffle. A man from outside pushed his way past the guards and ran directly before us, heading for the nearest shop, where the vendor started back at the sight of him. The man's face was gaunt and haggard, his eyes haunted. The shopkeeper yelled and waved his arms, shooing the man away from the vegetables and fruits on display.

So powerful was the impression made on me by the man's desperate face that it took me a moment to realize that he was wearing a toga—a filthy, ragged garment, but a toga nonetheless.

“But I have money!” he shouted, clutching a small bag in his fist.

“Your Roman coins are no good here,” said the shopkeeper. “Ephesus mints its own coins now.”

“Silver is silver,” said the man in the toga. “Take what I have left and give me some food!”

“Buy your goods from the shops outside the gates, like the rest of your lot,” said the shopkeeper.

“But those shops have nothing left,” pleaded the Roman. “I have a wife and child. They're hungry. They must have food. I beg you!”

A small crowd began to gather. Most were women with baskets, out to do their early shopping.

“Get along with you, filthy Roman!” shouted a woman. “Can't you see you're not wanted here?”

A man stepped forward. “Go back outside the gate! We don't want Roman scum inside the city!”

Others began to jeer and shake their fists. Something hurtled through the air and struck the Roman's shoulder. He cried out and gripped the place where he had been struck. The object, a large onion, tumbled across the paving stones.

“You want food, do you?” shouted someone. “We'll give you more of that, if you like!”

The crowd grew. Some of the onlookers had baskets already full of food. Others ran to nearby shops in search of projectiles. They began pelting the Roman with radishes and turnips. A plum was thrown so hard it exploded, spattering his toga with juice. Another plum struck his forehead and sent him staggering backward. He tried to wipe the pulp from his face, but only smeared it. It looked like gore from some terrible wound.

All of this took place in front of the spear-bearers from the palace, who did nothing to stop it. Nor did the guards at the gate take action. They stood outside the guard post, smirking and laughing.

How I longed to have a voice at that moment, but what could I have said? I trembled with anger, humiliated that I could do nothing to help the man.

“Stop this! Stop this at once!”

The deep, commanding voice was that of a man used to being obeyed. I realized it was the Great Megabyzus, who strode past the spear-bearers and confronted the crowd. They fell back before him.

A man armed with a fistful of radishes dared to step forward. “But Your Eminence, this man is a Roman. A dirty, toga-wearing Roman! He has no business—”

“Be silent!” shouted the priest.

Shamefaced, the man with the radishes stepped back into the crowd.

The Great Megabyzus strode into the crowd and began to pluck items from food baskets. When he could carry no more, he moved toward the Roman, walking slowly and rigidly erect, so as not to disturb his towering headdress.

“Take this,” he said to the Roman, who looked dazed for a moment, then made a basket with the folds of his toga and eagerly accepted the jumble of food from the Great Megabyzus.

“Now go back to the place you came from, and don't enter the city again,” said the Great Megabyzus. “The Temple of Artemis is your only sanctuary now.”

“But there's no food left,” pleaded the Roman. “How are we to—”

“Go!”

The Roman lowered his head. Clutching the food, he turned and scurried past the guards at the gate. They stepped back to let him pass, but one of them spat in his face, then laughed when the Roman uttered a last, plaintive whimper before disappearing.

The Great Megabyzus rejoined the retinue. “The interruption is over,” he said, addressing the spear-bearers. “You will pay attention to me now. We are about to step through the gate. We will proceed at a normal pace along the Sacred Way to the Temple of Artemis. There, at the great altar in front of the temple steps, a group of Megabyzoi will be awaiting us, with the sacrifice. After the lamb is slaughtered, and a portion has been consecrated to the goddess, the meat will be roasted on the fire, and a piece will be given to every man here. But before that happens, every man here will join in a prayer to the goddess on behalf of this suppliant.” He gestured to me. “He is Agathon of Alexandria, and he comes to Artemis seeking to have restored to him the voice he was born with, but which he possesses no longer. We may anticipate…”

He paused, looking past the spear-bearers to the place where he had confronted the mob. Most of the angry Ephesians had dispersed. Only a few still lingered, going about their normal business.

“We may anticipate a certain amount of … disturbance … from those who have sought refuge at the temple. The authority of the Megabyzoi should be enough to discourage any serious hindrance. But if anything untoward should occur, you are armed and authorized, at my command only, to use your weapons. Does every man here understand?”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” said the men behind me.

A few moments later, with the Great Megabyzus on one side of me and the Grand Magus on the other, and with the spear-bearers behind us, and Bethesda somewhere behind them, we set out for the temple.

Beyond the gate, there were few buildings and few people. The land tilted gently downward, so that walking was easy. Ahead of us, looming majestically, was the temple. From such a distance, the people swarming around the temple looked very small. Ahead of us on the road I could see the Roman, walking quickly with a crooked gait as he tried not to spill any of the precious food wrapped in the folds of his toga.

The Grand Magus and the Great Megabyzus began to converse in low voices, speaking just behind my head, as if I weren't there.

“Why in Hades did you help the Roman?” asked the Grand Magus.

“Hades has nothing to do with it. I am a priest of Artemis, and the Romans have sought sanctuary in her temple.”

“That Roman was not in the temple. He dared to stray into the city, where his kind are not wanted. The people had every right to show their displeasure.”

“Displeasure? They'd have been pelting him with stones next. There would have been bloodshed.”

“Bloodshed? The Romans have caused enough of that over the years! People want to see if a Roman can bleed like the rest of us.”

“They bleed,” the Great Megabyzus assured him.

“They also need to eat, it seems,” said the Grand Magus. “Stopping the violence was one thing, but you actually gave the man food.”

“He has a wife and child.”

“Feeding them only postpones the inevitable. It's a waste of food.”

“Hunger makes people desperate.”

“Hunger makes them weak,” said the Grand Magus. “And the weaker they are, the easier…”

As his voice trailed off, I felt his gaze on me. He seemed suddenly to remember that while I might be mute I was not deaf. He looked straight ahead, and neither of them said another word as we drew nearer to the temple and the crowded sacred precinct around it.

The sheer magnificence of the structure contrasted sharply with the squalid encampment of makeshift shelters and tents, populated by a throng of miserable-looking people. Seeing them from a distance, I had thought they numbered in the hundreds. Now I realized their number must be much greater than that.

In the shallow valley beyond the city, surrounding the Temple of Artemis, there were thousands of men, women, and children desperate for food and shelter. And we were about to eat a lamb while they watched.

 

XVIII

First, a great deal of incense was burned.

Incense is said to be pleasing to the gods. It summons their attention, just as a whiff of a perfume piques the attention of mortals.

Incense can also mask other smells, and for my mortal nostrils it gave much-needed distraction from the powerful odors that inevitably follow on the gathering of a large number of people, especially if they vastly outstrip the facilities for washing themselves or disposing of their bodily wastes. While we were still a considerable distance from the temple, I got my first whiff of the smell emanating from the restless, wretched crowd surrounding the Temple of Artemis—a combination of urine, excrement, and unwashed humanity. The closer we came to the temple, the more powerful the smell grew, until I thought it might gag me.

But, once immersed in such a smell, little by little one becomes used to it. I remembered something my father had said: “However horrible, no odor ever killed a man.” It also helped that I found myself standing before a broad stone altar, with massive braziers to either side of me belching clouds of smoking incense. The altar was on a raised platform, several steps above the crowd.

When I had last attended a sacrifice in this spot, it had been a day of celebration, and a huge crowd of visitors from all over the world had paraded out of the city to the sound of music and laughter. Cattle, sheep, goats, and oxen too numerous to count had been consecrated to the goddess and slaughtered, after which the entire crowd was treated to the roasted remains, along with a great deal of wine.