The Ionia Sanction (15 page)

The fire flared high. I screamed, “Fire! Fire!” and ran away, waving my arms. Anyone among the piles of goods would see only the bright flame, and smell the acrid, black smoke that began to fill the air. The conclusion was obvious: the high piles of flammable oil had caught alight. Other men took up the call of fire and ran for the exits in panic. They pushed me aside, knocking things over as they ran and adding to the confusion.

Diotima had the covers off by the time I returned to the corner.

She said, as she threw the sheet to the side, “He ran. Please tell me this is your trick.”

“It’s safe. Someone will soon put it out.”

Beneath the sheet was pottery. In the same style as the pieces I’d seen in Thorion’s office. Fired in browns and pastel reds and fauns, it looked nothing like the red and black of Athenian work.

Diotima said, “Brion set a guard over pottery?”

“Maybe it’s expensive.”

“Doesn’t look it to me. It looks old, and weird. Look, there are barely any figures in the decoration. It’s all patterns.”

The pieces ranged from small hydriai for storing water to large kraters. I bent to pick up a hydria, and stopped in surprise. “Zeus, this is heavy.” I yanked it up, but it was even heavier than I’d realized. The hydria slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor. The stopper fell out and small coins tinkled across the floorboards in a stream. The jar was full of them. Diotima and I looked at each other in surprise. She snatched a handful of coins off the floor and put them in her pouch while I restoppered the rest.

“Are they all like this?”

We tried a few more.

“No, most of them are empty.”

“Nico.” Diotima took a step back from the largest piece, a krater with a lid, sitting in the very corner. She removed the lid and looked in. I joined her.

At the bottom of the krater was a jumble of human bones, and a skull staring up at us.

*   *   *

I said, “Do you think that was Brion?”

“No. The bones were too old.”

I nodded. In fact they were brown with age and jumbled together.

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.”