The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fic - By Mike Ashley Page 0,21

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