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 gently placed the statue 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 honor at the play.
The wagon rolled forward. With Artemis leading the way, others took 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 gathered 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 colorful 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 into 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 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 the interests of their 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 grumpier. 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 along 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. I was astonished 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 untraveled 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 called 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
