throne are covered with exquisite paintings and sculptures depicting tales of gods and heroes. Not even the smallest portion of the throne is without ornament; every surface is decorated with elaborately carved marble, or plated with precious metals, or encrusted with sparkling jewels. If Phidias had created nothing more than the Throne of Zeus, we would still say he was the greatest of all artists.
“But behold Zeus himself! The awesome serenity of his visage beneath the golden wreath upon his brow, the majesty of his broad chest and powerful arms, the elegance of the golden drapery that falls from one shoulder and covers his loins. In his left hand he holds a scepter surmounted by a golden eagle. In his right palm he displays to us winged Nike, goddess of victory. Some say that Phidias took his inspiration from the
“I can believe it!” I whispered.
“Now, if you will follow me back toward the antechamber, we shall ascend to the gallery, and you will be privileged to behold the statute at even closer quarters.”
As we made our way up a narrow spiral staircase in single file, my attention was briefly drawn from the statue. In a daze I took in the sumptuous architectural details of the temple interior. This was a smaller structure than the great Temple of Artemis in Ephesus, but impressive nonetheless. What amazing wealth these Greeks had accumulated in previous centuries, and what remarkable artists and engineers had lived among them!
When we reached the gallery I paused to lean over the parapet and look down at the long reflecting pool, which seen from above was utterly black. Another group of tourists had just entered and were gazing in awe at the statue.
Antipater hissed at me, and I hastened to join the rest of our group at the western end of the gallery. Our guide was silent, which seemed appropriate, for no words could adequately capture the sensation of standing so near the god. Pressed against the balustrade, I stood as close as any mortal could to the face of Zeus Almighty. Had the god turned his head, we would have been eye to eye. Even seen this close, the details of his golden beard, ivory flesh, and lapis eyes were uncanny. Had he blinked, or raised his mighty chest with a sigh, or shaken his head to unloose the golden curls upon his shoulders, I would not have been surprised, for in that moment I had no doubt that the vessel created by Phidias did in fact contain the god.
I flinched, for by the flickering light I perceived a tremor of intent. Zeus was about to turn his face to mine! I braced myself, for were the god to speak, his voice would surely be more deafening than a thunderclap.
Then I blinked, and realized the movement I perceived had been an illusion, for no one around me had reacted to it, and the statue remained just as it was.
Still, as the tour reached its end and the guide led us back to the entrance, I kept looking over my shoulder, feeling the gaze of Zeus upon me.
As we exited the temple and reemerged into daylight, I blinked and shook my head, as if awakening from a dream. The guide seemed unfazed. After all, he gave this tour many times each day, and was privileged to actually touch the statue to anoint the ivory. He handed each of us a small wooden disk. “Use it today, and this token will allow you to visit the workshop of Phidias for half the usual donation requested. The workshop still contains the actual tools and molds used by the master sculptor and his assistants.”
“Shall we press on to see the workshop, Gordianus?” said Antipater.
I sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. “I think I should lie down for a while. It must be the heat.” I felt a bit chagrined, because it was usually Antipater who grew tired first.
“Very well, let’s return to our host’s pavilion. The crowd will be up and milling about until long past sundown, but there’s no reason we shouldn’t go to bed early.”
“Should we buy a bit of food from one of the vendors, so as to have something to eat later?”
“Oh, I suspect there will be plenty to eat and drink in the pavilion, anytime we need it. Our host can afford to be generous.”
The sun was low on the horizon as we crossed the Altis. The statues all around cast long shadows. One of the longest was that of a warrior atop a horse. His Roman armor made him conspicuous among the naked bronze athletes. I paused to read the Greek inscription on the pedestal:
TO THE HONOR OF LUCIUS MUMMIUS
COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE ROMANS
THE CITY OF ELLIS ERECTS THIS STATUE
IN RECOGNITION OF HIS VIRTUE
AND THE KINDNESS HE HAS SHOWN
TO ELLIS AND TO THE REST OF THE GREEKS
I gazed up at the figure of Mummius. His bland face showed no emotion. One hand held the reins of his horse. The other was raised in a gesture of peace.
“So here it is, the statue the guide mentioned. What do you think of it, Teacher?” I turned my head, only to see that Antipater was striding quickly on. I hurried to catch up.
* * *
Back at our quarters, I fell onto my cot and was asleep at once.
In the middle of the night I woke, prompted by a need to pass water. I stumbled out the flap, still half-asleep, and made my way to a nearby trench that had been dug for the purpose. The moon was nearly full, filling the valley with a dull white light and casting stark black shadows. Not everyone was dozing; above the general quiet I heard echoes of drinking songs and bits of distant conversation, and here and there I saw the glow of a few campfires that were still burning.
I returned to the tent, lifted the flap to our quarters, and was about to duck back inside when I heard a voice coming from elsewhere within the pavilion.
