The Seven Wonders

III

The rugged coast of Asia is a jumble of promontories and inlets and scattered islands. Some of the islands are mere fingers of stone, barely rising above the waves; others are like mountains erupting from the sea. More mountains loom along the inland horizon, green and gold under the noonday sun, hazy and purple at twilight. In the month of Aprilis, the color of the water changes from moment to moment, depending on the sunlight, from a harsh lapis blue to the iridescent green of a butterfly’s wing. Sometimes, at dawn or dusk, the calm sea takes on a metallic luster, like a sheet of bronze beaten perfectly flat.

Amid this profusion of natural splendors, tucked away behind concealing islands and peninsulas, lies the city of Halicarnassus. The south-facing harbor is protected both from storms and from sight. Traveling aboard ship, one might never know the city was there, until the ship sails past a rocky cliff, and suddenly one sees in the distance, set in a semicircular bowl of land that tilts gently to the sea, a walled city with a harbor full of ships. Rising impossibly high above the skyline of Halicarnassus, so madly out of scale that it seems unreal, is the great Mausoleum.

I had never seen a building so tall. Until that moment, I had not imagined a building could be so tall. How could something made of stone rise so high into the air without crumbling under its own weight? How could mere mortals construct such a thing? The Mausoleum was universally acclaimed as one of the Seven Wonders of the World, and now I saw why.

Imagine a solid rectangular podium made of dazzling white marble, rising higher than the pediment of most temples and decorated all around its upper edge with huge statues, like a vast crowd of giants standing in a continuous row along all four sides. Atop that base, slightly stepped back, rises another podium of stone, topped by more statues, and then yet another layer, as tall as the other two combined, with a decorative frieze running around the top, vividly colored in shades of vermillion, yellow, and blue. Atop these three massive layers, envision a temple as wide as the Parthenon with a colonnade all around and colossal statues placed between the columns. Atop that templelike structure, for a roof, place a stepped pyramid of almost equal height, where gigantic lions appear to prowl back and forth-an illusion, since these lions are made of marble. And finally, atop the stepped pyramid, place a colossal four-horsed chariot covered in gold, so high in the air and so blazingly bright that one might mistake it for the chariot of Helios himself, shedding light on the world below instead of merely reflecting it.

Of course, at first sight, the mind takes in the immensity and the complexity of the Mausoleum far more quickly than the monument can be described. The impression is instantaneous: this is a building of the gods set in a city of men, a piece of Olympus come down to earth. As if conscious of its special nature, the building keeps its distance from the lesser structures of the city; surrounding it on all sides is a vast courtyard, a sacred precinct decorated with altars, fountains, and gardens. The monument completely dominates the city, yet at the same time seems alien to it and set apart, an intrusion from a divine realm. This was no doubt the intention of the grieving queen who built it as a tomb for her husband 260 years ago.

I glanced at the wrinkled face of Antipater and saw that my tutor and traveling companion was nearly as awestruck as I was.

“You have seen the Mausoleum before, Teacher, have you not?” I said.

My words seemed to shake Antipater from a trance. He snapped shut his gaping jaw. “Of course I have, Gordianus. As I told you, I have family here. We shall be staying with cousin Bitto. Why do you ask?”

I only smiled and fixed my eyes on the shoreline, watching in amazement as the Mausoleum loomed ever larger before us.

As the ship maneuvered around the breakwaters and drew into the harbor, Antipater pointed out other features of the city. Surrounding it were formidable walls set with watchtowers and patrolled by armed soldiers. While much of Asia had been gobbled up by Rome, Halicarnassus, though closely allied with Rome, remained independent. Much of what I could see, including the walls, had been built by the great King Mausolus, whose remains gave the Mausoleum its name. It was Mausolus who made Halicarnassus the capital of the kingdom of Caria and subsequently spared no expense to make it one of the world’s most opulent cities. Built into the hillside beyond the Mausoleum was a beautiful theater. Crowning the hill that was the city’s highest point was the Temple of Ares, which according to Antipater housed a colossal statue, the finest image of the god anywhere in the world. To our extreme right, spread across another hillside, was the rambling palace built by Mausolus. To our extreme left was another impressive temple, which Antipater explained was dedicated jointly to Aphrodite and Hermes.

“To both deities?” I said.

“Yes. Next to that temple, just inside the city wall, is the grotto and sacred spring of Salmacis. Do you know the story of the nymph Salmacis, and her love for the son of Aphrodite and Hermes?” When I gave a shrug, Antipater sighed and shook his head. “Ah, you Romans! Intent on conquering a world of which you know so little!”

“You know I’m eager to learn, Teacher.”

“Then we must be sure to visit the spring while we’re here, and I can tell you the story of Salmacis. You can even bathe in her pool-if you dare!” He laughed at some secret joke.

I might have asked for an explanation, but the captain, having spotted a berth, abruptly turned the ship about so that the Mausoleum again loomed directly before us, larger than ever. I could now make out the details of the painted frieze along the top of the upper podium, which depicted a fierce battle between Amazons and Greek warriors. Higher up, I could see the faces of the colossal statues situated between the soaring columns.

“Do you see those two statues in the center, of a bearded king and his queen?” said Antipater. “They depict King Mausolus and Queen Artemisia, forever side by side, forever gazing out to the sea, greeting every visitor who arrives in the harbor of Halicarnassus.”

“Extraordinary!” I whispered.

“When we have a chance to inspect the Mausoleum more closely, and circle the building at our leisure, you’ll see that the four sides are all slightly different. Artemisia hired the four greatest sculptors of her day and assigned each to design and sculpt the decorations for one of the four faces of the monument. She made it a contest. She also sponsored competitions between playwrights and poets and athletes, and awarded generous prizes, all to honor her dead husband.”

“She must have been very devoted to him,” I said.

“So devoted that in the end she could not stand to be parted from him. When the time came to inter his remains in the sepulcher of the Mausoleum, Artemisia insisted on keeping some of the ashes for herself. She mixed them with wine and drank them, hoping to quell the pain of her grief. But her grief only grew sharper. Artemisia died before the Mausoleum was completed.”

“Of a broken heart?” I said.

“So goes the legend. Her own ashes were placed beside those of Mausolus in the sepulcher, and then a huge stone was used to plug the entrance at the base of the Mausoleum, sealing their tomb forever.”

“To die for love!” I said. “But surely that’s madness.”

“Love is always a kind of madness, sometimes mild, sometimes severe. Even when not deadly, its consequences can be drastic. Consider the story we were just talking about, of Salmacis the nymph, and her passion for-”

But again, as if an impish spirit wished to prevent him from speaking of Salmacis, Antipater was interrupted by the captain, who shouted at us to get out of the way while his men attended to the ropes and sails.

* * *

“Bitto is the youngest daughter of my late cousin Theo,” Antipater explained as we traversed the city on the back of a mule-drawn cart he had hired on the waterfront to carry our baggage. Normally I would have preferred to walk, but the wide, well-paved streets of Halicarnassus allowed us to ride on the cart without being jostled. We passed through the public square and the markets and then through a succession of residential districts, each finer than the last, as we began to go uphill in the direction of the royal palace. Sitting on the back of the cart, I watched the Mausoleum steadily grow more distant, yet its vastness never ceased to dominate the view.

“I haven’t seen Bitto in years,” Antipater continued. “Her two daughters are grown and married now, and her husband died a couple of years ago. She must be forty now-a hard age to be a widow. ‘Too young to die and too old to marry,’ as the saying goes. Unless of course the widow inherits a fortune, but that was not the case with Bitto. Her husband was a successful merchant, but he had a run of bad luck toward the end. At least she’s managed to hold on to the house. When I wrote and asked if she could accommodate us, Bitto replied at once and said we’d be very welcome.” He craned his neck and looked ahead. “Ah, but there’s the house. At least I think that’s it. It’s a brighter yellow than I remember. Can it be freshly painted? And the front door, with all those bronze fittings and decorations-I don’t recall it being so ornate. Can it be new?”

While the carter unloaded our baggage, Antipater strode to the doorstep and reached for the bronze knocker beside the door-then drew back his hand when he realized that the knocker was in the shape of a phallus. He raised an eyebrow, then gingerly took hold of the knocker and let it drop. The heavy metal struck the wood with a resounding noise.

A few moments later, a handsome young slave opened the door. He was just about to speak when a hand adorned with many rings landed on his shoulder and pushed him aside. Taking the slave’s place was his mistress, a tall woman dressed in a long red gown belted in several places to accentuate the ample curves of her breasts and hips. Multiple necklaces matched the rings on her fingers, showing off stones of lapis and carnelian in settings of silver and gold. Her dark hair had a crimson luster, as if washed with henna; a complicated arrangement of curls and tresses was held in place by ebony combs and silver pins. Her features might have been those of a woman of middle age, but my first impression of Bitto was of sparkling green eyes, henna-red lips, and a dazzling smile.

“Cousin!” she cried, stepping forward with her arms wide open. Antipater seemed taken aback by her enthusiasm, but submitted to the hug and eventually reciprocated. “Notice, cousin,” she said quietly, “that I refrain from shouting your name for the whole street to hear. I read your letter, and I comply. But you’ll have to remind me of your new name. Something rather silly, as I recall-oh, yes, I remember.” She raised her voice. “Welcome to my house, Zoticus of Zeugma!”

Bitto stepped back and gave me an appraising look. “And this must be the young Roman. Well, Gordianus, what do you think of Halicarnassus so far?”

“I … it’s…”

“Tongue-tied?” She nodded knowingly and rested one hand atop her capacious bosom. “A bit overwhelming, isn’t it?” She laughed. “The Mausoleum, I mean. One sails into the harbor and there it is, right in your face, so to speak. One gets used to it, of course, rather like the sun coming up-a miracle every morning, but eventually one takes it for granted. Even so, every now and again I’ll be crossing the city and suddenly it’s as if I’m seeing the blessed thing for the first time, and truly, it takes my breath away-the way you sometimes notice a sunrise, and think, now that’s amazing! But listen to me prattle on. Come inside!”

She took us each by the arm and led us through the vestibule, across a beautifully appointed room with vivid images painted on the walls, and finally to the garden at the center of the house where a statue of Aphrodite presided over a splashing fountain. The half-nude Aphrodite stood in a classic pose with one hand resting on her bare breasts, and I suddenly imagined it was a statue of Bitto before me; the voluptuous proportions were the same. I think I must have blushed, for my hostess gave me a look of concern.

“Are you overheated from the journey, Gordianus? I’ll have a slave bring cool water and wine, and something to eat. For you, as well, cousin,” she added. I saw that Antipater, too, appeared flushed.

We sat in the garden and conversed. Antipater seemed uncharacteristically stiff and ill at ease. If Bitto noticed, she gave no sign. I said little, and tried not to stare at my hostess. I had never met a woman like her. She seemed at once sophisticated and down to earth, mature and yet vivacious.

At length Bitto excused herself, saying she would soon return.

The moment she was out of earshot, Antipater grunted with disapproval. “A hetaera!” he said.

I gave him a questioning look.

“A hetaera!” he repeated. “Cousin Bitto has made herself into a woman of pleasure, and turned this house into a-well, what else can I call it? A brothel!”

“Surely not,” I said. I had some knowledge, if not experience, of brothels in the Subura in Rome, and the women who worked in them were nothing like Bitto. They were poor, uneducated women struggling to survive, not the mistresses of their own homes in the better part of town. I frowned. “What exactly do you mean by ‘hetaera’?” I said, pronouncing the Greek word with some difficulty.

“There is no equivalent in Rome,” said Antipater, ever willing to play the pedagogue, “but hetaerae have existed in Greek society for centuries; Plato and Demosthenes speak of them. They are courtesans of a very high caliber, educated in poetry and art, often talented as singers and dancers. A hetaera may even be invited to a symposium of philosophers, and allowed to express her ideas, and some hetaerae entertain in their own homes, where even the most respectable men are not embarrassed to be seen coming and going. But in the end, of course, their work is to pleasure their clients, like any other prostitute. And cousin Bitto is a hetaera!”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” I said.

“Am I? Did you not see that knocker on the door? A clear indication of the kind of house this has become.”

“Perhaps it’s there to avert the Evil Eye. I see phallic talismans everywhere in Rome, and they don’t always mean-”

“And this statue of Aphrodite looming over us-the goddess of love!”

“Anyone might have such a statue. Who doesn’t worship Aphrodite?”

“And those paintings on the walls of the room we passed through-did you not observe the subject matter? Apollo and Daphne, Paris and Helen, Leda and the swan-all stories of lust and seduction.”

“I did notice that the paintings were rather … suggestive.”

“Suggestive? Prurient, I would say! And there’s the simple fact that Bitto obviously has money. When her husband died, he left her in dire straits; I know that for a fact, because she wrote to me asking for a loan, and I sent it to her. But look at this house-freshly refurbished and beautifully decorated. And the delicacies we were served, and the wine-that was no cheap vintage. How else could a woman possibly earn so much money? Not by weaving or making baskets or any other respectable occupation, I can assure you of that! And her appearance-it’s downright scandalous. She’s a widow and should be in black.”

“But you said it’s been a couple of years since her husband died-”

“In black, I say, until she either remarries or dies. Instead she’s wearing a red gown that looks as if she were poured into it, and her hair is all pinned and piled atop her head, when it should be in a snood!”

I considered the implications. “What if Bitto is a hetaera? Is that such a terrible thing? If her clients are respectable men, and if she’s able to make a good living-”

“But Gordianus-at her age? It’s outrageous.”

“Is she really that old? I think she’s rather…” I left the thought unspoken. It would hardly be proper for me to express to Antipater the thoughts I was having about his kinswoman.

“Thank you, Gordianus,” said Bitto, for suddenly she had rejoined us in the garden. “I’m not sure what you were about to say, but I’ll presume it was a compliment. As for your concerns, cousin Antipater-”

“How much did you hear?” he sputtered.

“Quite enough. I suppose it was improper of me to eavesdrop, but then, it’s not exactly proper to speak ill of a woman in her own house.”

“Cousin Bitto, I have only your best interests at heart.”

“Do you? Then I should think you would be glad to find me prospering. And by the way, before you leave Halicarnassus I intend to pay back to you every drachma of that loan you so generously provided in my time of need.”

“Bitto, the loan means nothing-”

“It meant a great deal to me. And the fact that I am now able to repay it also means a great deal to me. Whatever you may think of me, Antipater, I have my pride.”

“And yet-”

“And yet I see fit to become a hetaera? I’m proud of that, as well.”

“Bitto!”

“Perhaps you forget where you are, cousin. Halicarnassus has a somewhat different heritage from that of other Greek-speaking cities. This was the capital of Caria, and Caria has a long history of strong, independent women-like Queen Artemisia.”

“But when Artemisia became a widow, her chief concern was to honor the memory of her husband. If you were to follow her example-”

“I would die of grief, and follow my late husband to Hades! That aspect of Artemisia’s legacy I do not intend to emulate. I prefer to live, cousin, and to live I must have money, and to have money, a widow of limited means has only two options-and I have no interest in weaving. On the day I entered this profession, I broke my loom into pieces and burned it on Aphrodite’s altar. What I do, I do in her honor. I don’t take my profession lightly, cousin.”

“Even so…” Antipater averted his eyes and shook his head.

“Is it that you still think of me as cousin Theo’s little girl, and it makes you uncomfortable to imagine me as a woman, capable of pleasing men?”

Antipater frowned. “If anything, my objection is quite the opposite. It’s so unseemly, for a woman of forty-”

Bitto laughed. “Cousin Antipater, as long as Aphrodite gives me the strength, and as long as there are men who enjoy my company, what does it matter how old I am? What do you think, Gordianus?”

Unprepared for the sudden question, I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Bitto returned her gaze to Antipater. “Cousin, you are more than welcome to stay here, for as long as you like. But I do intend to go about my business. I host small gatherings a few times a month. Other women-some of them widows, like myself-join me in entertaining a very select group of invited guests. The women sing and dance. The men drink wine and talk politics and philosophy, and occasionally, when they say something really silly, I feel obliged to join in the conversation. Later in the evening, some of the guests retire to private quarters off the dining chamber, and in the morning, everyone returns to their workaday life, refreshed and rejuvenated. What could be more pleasing to Aphrodite?”

“And what am I to do during these parties?” said Antipater.

“Participate, of course. The food and wine are excellent. The girls are beautiful and talented. The conversation is seldom dull; some of the richest and most highly educated men in Halicarnassus regularly dine under this roof.”

“Rich, I’m sure,” said Antipater, “but educated?”

“Oh, what a snob you are, cousin! I daresay you’ll find the wealthy men of Halicarnassus to be as refined as those of Ephesus or Rhodes or even Athens. They know your poetry.”

“Do they?” Antipater pricked up his ears.

“Indeed, they do, and it’s a great disappointment to me that I won’t be able to introduce you as my dear cousin Antipater of Sidon, since you’re supposed to be dead. When word of your ‘death’ reached Halicarnassus, you were the talk of all my gatherings.”

“Was I?” Antipater could not suppress a smile of pleasure.

“Everyone agreed that the world had lost its greatest poet.”

“Well, perhaps not the greatest,” said Antipater, trying to sound humble.

“In your honor, the girls and I took turns quoting your epigrams about Myron’s cow, and we debated which was cleverest. Have you ever actually seen that statue in Athens? And can any statue really be so lifelike?” She quoted:

“Had Myron not fixed my hooves to this stone,

I would have gone to pasture and left you alone.”

Antipater tittered with delight and matched her with another of his epigrams:

“Calf, why nuzzle my flank and suckle my udder?

I am the cow of Myron, not your mother.”

I rolled my eyes and cleared my throat. Greeks and their epigrams! Given all the poems Antipater had written about that cow, such an exchange could go on indefinitely.

Bitto sighed. “Alas, I shall have to introduce you as Zoticus of Zeugma, and no one will be at all impressed. But you’re so good at making verses on the spot, I’m sure you’ll win them over. Well, I’m glad that’s all settled.”

Antipater blinked, suddenly realizing he had been outflanked. “Bitto, I never agreed that I would attend these parties of yours.”

She shrugged. “If you prefer, you can sequester yourself in the library while they’re going on. You’ll be glad to see that I managed to keep every scroll my husband collected. For a while I thought I’d have to sell them, before my parties proved successful. There’s a complete set of The Histories by Herodotus in there. He was born in Halicarnassus, you know.”

Antipater’s eyes lit up. “I suppose, on those evenings when you play hostess, Gordianus and I can use the time to better acquaint ourselves with Herodotus.”

Speak for yourself ! I wanted to say, but bit my tongue. Bitto saw the look on my face and laughed. “We shall see,” she said. “But look-we’ve lost the sunlight here in the garden. You can almost see Aphrodite shiver. Shall we move to the balcony?”

She led us to a terrace on the downhill, west-facing side of the house. The view was spectacular. To the left I could see the glittering harbor, to the right the hilltop crowned by the Temple of Ares, and looming directly before us, my mind still hardly able to accept its reality, was the vast Mausoleum. The lowering sun was directly behind the golden chariot atop the monument, framing it in silhouette like a flaming halo.

For a long moment we stood in silence at the balustrade and took in the view. Gradually, I realized I could hear someone talking. Some distance below us and to one side, I looked down on the balcony of a neighboring house, where two women dressed in black sat side by side, the older one reading quietly aloud to the younger. That the reader was older I could tell by flashes of silver amid her blond hair, most of which was contained in a netlike snood. The younger woman’s head was uncovered, and her unpinned hair seemed to float like a golden cloud about her face, catching the last rays of the sunlight. Her black gown covered her arms and legs, but she appeared to have a long, slender body. She listened to the older woman read with her head tilted back and her eyes closed, her expression as serene as if she slept. Her features were lovely. I judged her to be not much older than myself.

Bitto followed my gaze. “My neighbors,” she said, lowering her voice, “Tryphosa and her young daughter-in-law, Corinna.”

“Are they in mourning?” I asked.

“They wear black because of a death in the household, yes. Whether they mourn is another question. I’d advise you to keep your distance from those two.” She looked sidelong at Antipater. “And if you wish to fix your disapproval on a misbehaving widow, cousin, turn your attention from me and consider Corinna.”

“That harmless young creature?” said Antipater. “She’s lovely.”

“Quite,” agreed Bitto. “And possibly deadly.”

“What!”

Tryphosa must have heard his exclamation, for she stopped reading and looked up at us. Corinna opened her eyes at the interruption, glanced at her mother-in-law, then also looked in our direction. At once she reached for a black veil pinned to her gown and pulled it over the bottom half of her face. Her eyes, I saw, were a bright blue. Something in her gaze unsettled me-or was I only imagining it, because of what Bitto had just said about her?

“Greetings, Bitto,” the older woman called out.

“Greetings, Tryphosa.”

“Are you having a party?” Was there a note of sarcasm in the woman’s voice?

“These men are houseguests,” explained Bitto. “This young one is Gordianus, who’s come all the way from Rome, and this is his tutor and traveling companion, Zoticus of Zeugma. Zeugma-that’s in the part of the world you come from, isn’t it, Corinna?”

Above her veil, the younger woman’s blue eyes widened a bit. “Yes, Zeugma is in Commagene,” she said, in a voice almost too low to be heard. “But I’m sure your guest and I have never met.”

“I never suggested you had,” said Bitto, flashing a brittle smile that perhaps looked more genuine at a distance.

“We’ve lost the sunlight,” noted Tryphosa, and indeed, the sun had just vanished behind the Mausoleum. “Corinna and I shall go inside now. Come, daughter-in-law.”

Without another word the two women withdrew from their balcony and into their house.

* * *

That evening, while we reclined on plump couches and dined on delicacies from the sea, Bitto told us the story of the two women who lived next door.

“Tryphosa is about my age, but she was widowed long ago-not long after the birth of her son, in fact. Her husband left her very well provided for. By law, the baby boy was his heir, of course, but Tryphosa was able to take control of the estate. That’s seldom the case. Usually the husband’s male relatives take over and the widow is elbowed rather brusquely aside. But because of a dearth of adult male relatives on both sides of the family, Tryphosa was able to establish herself as head of her own household, in control of the inheritance and free to raise her little son as she saw fit-an unusual circumstance for a woman.”

“How is it that you control your own finances, Bitto?” I asked.

“Technically, I don’t. My affairs have to be overseen by my late husband’s younger brother. Fortunately, he’s very amenable.”

“You mean you have the fellow eating from the palm of your hand,” said Antipater wryly.

Bitto cleared her throat. “To continue the story: Tryphosa managed to become an independent woman, and from early on, there was talk about the way she raised little Timon-that was the boy’s name. I suppose he received an education from tutors who came to the house, but most boys of good family are also sent to the gymnasium, to meet one another and receive athletic training. Tryphosa kept him at home. He never made close friends among boys his own age, or took part in competitions.”

“Having lost her husband, perhaps the mother was overly protective of the boy,” said Antipater.

“Perhaps,” said Bitto, “but there was always something odd about that household. Was Tryphosa cautious, as you suggest, or uncaring and neglectful? One hardly ever saw little Timon; it was almost as if she kept him imprisoned in that house. And when he reached the age to marry, a few years ago, instead of meeting with local families who had an eligible daughter, Tryphosa took the young man off to Commagene to seek a bride there. Apparently that’s where her own family comes from, and she was able to marry Timon to a girl with a very handsome dowry-young Corinna, whom you saw on the balcony today.

“The three of them returned to Halicarnassus and settled down in that house. There was no party to introduce the new bride to the neighbors. Every now and again I’d see Timon and his mother out and about, but the bride from Commagene hardly ever stirred from the house. Of course, that’s not unusual; often a young bride is kept secluded until she’s given birth to her first child. I’m probably one of the few people ever to see her, because of my view overlooking their balcony. She likes to bask in the sun for bit in the afternoons. Occasionally I try to engage her in conversation, but it’s awkward, having to raise one’s voice, and the girl is about as talkative as a stone. It’s all I can do to pry a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ out of her before she scampers back into the house.”

“I imagine she’s just shy,” said Antipater charitably. “The poor girl comes from far away, and from what you say, she doesn’t know anyone outside her mother-in-law’s household. A big city like Halicarnassus must seem quite overwhelming to a girl from Commagene, and I imagine she’s rather intimidated by a woman of your … sophistication.”

Bitto smirked. “You mean Tryphosa has told her that I’m a wanton creature and warned her to avoid speaking to me. ‘Sophisticated’ I may be-but no one has ever whispered that I’m a murderer.”

“What are you saying, cousin?”

“Hardly a year after he brought his bride home to Halicarnassus, Timon died quite suddenly-supposedly of a fever, and not yet twenty years old. He had just come into his majority and gained control of his inheritance. Think about it. The boy’s father also died at a young age. Tryphosa became a widow shortly after becoming a mother. Corinna didn’t even have a child before she lost her young husband. The two of them are both widows now.”

“Two victims of tragedy!” declared Antipater. “Women of different generations sharing a house, each robbed of her husband, together maintaining a widow’s decorum, dressing in black. The older reading aloud to the younger on that balcony-what a touching scene! Do you know, I think there could be a rather good poem in all this.” Antipater drew a breath and extemporized:

“Two widows of Halicarnassus lived under the same roof,

One beautiful, young, and shy, the other stern and aloof-”

“You haven’t heard the whole story,” said Bitto, cutting him off. She was peeved, I think, by his comment about maintaining a widow’s decorum. “No one really knows how Timon died, you see. It happened quite suddenly, and the funeral ceremony took place with hardly any notice. By the time most people heard about his misfortune, the poor young man’s ashes were already interred in the family sepulcher beside those of his father. Everyone agreed the funeral was arranged with undue haste. Supposedly Timon died of a fever-”

“It happens,” said Antipater.

“But when people began asking questions, no one could find a physician who had been called to attend the young man. Nor could we find anyone who’d attended the funeral. It seems to have been strictly a family affair, with only his wife and mother and the household slaves in attendance. Once a body is burned, there’s no way of knowing the cause of death-any evidence of poison or injury is gone forever. And then people began to recall the death of Timon’s father, which in retrospect began to seem equally suspicious. He, too, died suddenly. And in both cases, due to a dearth of male relatives, it was the widows who came into the estate, despite all the provisions in the law that hamper a woman from owning property outright. And so, what we end up with are two men, both dead, and two women, very much alive, who have managed to inherit everything.”

Antipater was aghast. “Are you suggesting that the lovely young creature we saw on that balcony murdered her young husband to acquire his property-and did so with the connivance of the young man’s own mother? And now the two of them are happily living together, a pair of cold-blooded killers, enjoying the spoils of an unspeakable crime? Where is your evidence for such a terrible accusation? The whole idea seems absurdly far-fetched.”

“To you, perhaps,” said Bitto. “I think I may be a better judge of the lengths to which a woman might go to live the life she chooses.”

“But for a mother to participate in the murder of her own son, in preference to a daughter-in-law? That makes no sense.”

“Again, cousin, I think you underestimate the complexities of the emotions and desires that may drive a woman. You consider mother-love to be the beginning and end of female existence, but not every woman fits the mold of dutiful wife and doting mother. The ways of the world may be more complicated than you imagine.” Bitto lowered her voice. “People are even beginning to wonder if Tryphosa and her daughter-in-law might actually be lovers.”

“Enough, cousin! When you say ‘people,’ I presume you mean the men and women who frequent this house on the nights you play hostess.” Antipater scowled. “Well, if this is an example of the sort of wild gossip they propagate, I do believe I would prefer to spend those evenings in the far more rational company of Herodotus.”

“As you wish, cousin,” said Bitto evenly. Like a good hostess, seeing that the conversation had become overheated, she deftly changed the subject, and we talked of more pleasant matters.

* * *

The meal that night must have been too rich for Antipater’s constitution, for the next day he complained of indigestion and kept to his room. Bitto could see that I was eager to explore the city, and offered to be my guide.

“Just the two of us?” I said.

She smiled. “Of course not. I’ll bring along a slave to attend to our needs. Oh, and a bodyguard to carry my money; eventually we’ll want to hire a litter for two, when we tire of walking.”

“No, I mean-”

“I know what you mean. Is it really proper for a woman like myself to go about the city accompanied by a handsome fellow half her age, who is not a kinsman? Well, Gordianus, you’re a grown man and a citizen of Rome, and you must decide for yourself whether you’ll be seen with me in public.”

“Will you take me to see the Mausoleum?”

“You won’t find a more knowledgeable guide. I know the origin and significance of every piece of sculpture on the monument. If the right guards are on duty, I can even arrange for us to ascend to the uppermost tier. Not everyone is allowed to do that.”

“What are we waiting for?” I said.

She was indeed a splendid guide. We began by having a look at the nearby royal palace built by Mausolus. Its design and the methods used to build it, so Bitto informed me, were unique; the ornaments were made of marble, but the massive walls were made of brick covered by a sort of plaster, so highly polished that they glittered like glass under the sun.

A litter took us all the way to the top of the hill where the Temple of Ares stood. Having come from Ephesus, where Antipater and I had seen the Temple of Artemis, I could not be easily impressed by another temple, but it was certainly grand, and the colossal statue of the god inside was truly awe-inspiring.

We descended by way of the theater, so that I could have a look at it, then crossed a lively district of shops and taverns where we stopped for a bite to eat, and then at last arrived at the Mausoleum. First, we circled the monument on foot, so that I could appreciate the decorations on all four sides. Bitto was not sure how many statues adorned the monument, but estimated there were at least 250-the population of a substantial town, I thought. She pointed out the various architectural influences to be seen in the monument, indicative of Caria’s location at the confluence of the world’s greatest cultures-the lower tiers suggested an impregnable Persian citadel, the upper level with its columns was clearly Greek, and the roof suggested Egypt and another of the Seven Wonders, the Great Pyramid. All these influences had merged in magnificent harmony to create the Mausoleum.

True to her promise, Bitto was able to sweet-talk one of the guards into letting us enter the monument. To my surprise, there was no grand space within, only a narrow, winding staircase that ascended to a promenade that circled the upper level with columns. I had assumed there were rooms within the lower tiers, and that the upper level was an actual temple with a sacred chamber, but according to Bitto, except for the sealed sepulcher at ground level, the entire structure was solid. A hollow space, like the cella of a temple, would have been an engineering impossibility; only a core of solid stone could support the incredibly heavy stepped-pyramid roof with the colossal chariot atop it.

Leaving her slave and bodyguard behind, the two of us ascended the narrow spiral staircase all the way to the promenade. I was panting for breath by the time I took the final step. The size of the columns, seen so close, was truly astonishing, and with the gigantic statues of Mausolus and Artemisia and their ancestors towering above us, I felt rather as a canine must feel standing in a human’s shadow.

But when I saw the view, I felt godlike. Beyond the harbor, filled with tiny ships, I gazed over islands and craggy promontories all the way to the open sea. Ships in the far distance appeared as mere points of white, their sails catching the sunlight. I had never been so high up, not even when I stood atop the Capitoline Hill in Rome. To think that I had attained such a height by ascending a man-made structure was almost beyond belief.

“Truly, this is a wonder!” I whispered.

Bitto smiled and placed her hand on my arm. I felt a quiver of pleasure at her touch. The height made me giddy. We were alone on the promenade. Impulsively, I kissed her on the mouth.

She did not draw back. After a couple of heartbeats, she separated her lips from mine, and smiled.

“I think cousin Antipater would disapprove of your behavior, young man.”

“Antipater isn’t here. He would never have made it up those stairs!”

We both laughed. She began to stroll. I followed her. We slowly circled the monument. Each of the four sides offered a new, breathtaking view.

“Bitto, may I ask you a personal question?”

“You may.”

“What you do-is it just for the money?”

She laughed. “That is indeed a personal question! But because you ask so politely, I’ll answer. No, it’s not only for the money. The life of a hetaera is something I’d always been curious about. I never dreamed I’d have the chance to experience it for myself.”

“Then … you like what you do?”

She laughed again. “Believe it or not, Gordianus, a woman-even a woman of my years-is capable of experiencing carnal pleasure.”

“I know that, of course. I didn’t mean-”

“Why did Artemisia drink the ashes of her dead husband? As part of some magical spell, because she thought she could bring him back to life? No. She did it because she yearned for him physically, so acutely that she mingled his substance with hers in the only way that remained possible. After my husband died, I found that I had yearnings, too-but I saw no reason to settle for ashes when warm, living flesh was available. For Artemisia, desire was stronger than death. For me, desire is stronger than age.” She strolled ahead of me, gazing at the view. “But what about you, Gordianus? Have you known many partners?”

My face grew hot. “I’m not a virgin,” I said, recalling my last night in Ephesus.

She looked back at me and nodded. “But there are experiences you’ve not yet had. That’s not a bad thing, Gordianus. It means you have much to look forward to. My cousin is taking you to see the so-called Seven Wonders, but you’ll find the world holds many other wonders, made not of stone and bronze, but of flesh and blood.”

I think you’re a wonder, Bitto! I wanted to blurt out, but I feared I would sound like a fool. “Do you always charge for your company?”

“What an interesting question, Gordianus. No, not always, and not for everyone.” She turned about and faced me squarely. “But whether I sell my favors or give them away, I remain a free woman. It’s important that you understand me, Gordianus. Men may pay me, but they do not purchase me. No man owns me, and no man ever will. Please remember that, if you should ever feel an urge to kiss me again. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I doubt it. You’re young, Gordianus. Your heart will go where it wants. But I mean to be clear with you from the start, no matter what should happen between us.”

We came to the west-facing side of the monument, and watched the sun sink behind the distant hills. I learned that the only sight in Halicarnassus more spectacular than watching the sun set behind the Mausoleum was watching a sunset from the Mausoleum itself, and to do so standing beside Bitto.

* * *

Even though Bitto proclaimed it her favorite temple, since she was an avid worshipper of the goddess of love, we had no time that day to see the Temple of Aphrodite and Hermes, or the spring of Salmacis, which Antipater had mentioned. Bitto said there was to be an annual ritual at the spring later that month, and we would go then.

Antipater’s indigestion lingered for several days, but he gradually recuperated. He was at last feeling fit again on the day when Bitto was to hold one of her parties.

“Have you had a change of heart, cousin?” she asked, in between ordering her slaves to get this and that ready for her guests. “Will Zoticus of Zeugma be attending as an honored guest?”

“Alas, Bitto, your food does not agree with me, and I fear that your guests and their conversation would give me indigestion as well. I shall spend the evening with Herodotus, if you don’t mind.”

“And what about you, Gordianus?”

Both of them looked at me, and both raised an eyebrow.

“I think I will attend the party, if I may.”

Antipater pursed his lips but said nothing. Bitto looked pleased.

* * *

The first guests to arrive that evening were the other hetaerae. There were five of them. As each arrived, Bitto introduced me. Three were of foreign birth, with exotic accents. The other two were widows. They were all younger than Bitto but there was not a tittering girl among them; these were women of the world, poised and self-assured. Physically, each filled a particular niche; one was a voluptuous blond, another a slender redhead, and so on. Their gowns were tucked and belted to accentuate their assets, but were not unduly revealing. Bitto’s garment was the most daring; this was the first time I had ever seen the sheer fabric called the silk of Cos. Its green matched her eyes; its translucent shimmer gave the illusion that she was clothed in nothing but a rippling sheet of water that somehow clung to her flesh.

As the hetaerae settled themselves and the serving slaves made final preparations, Bitto drew me aside. “The men will be arriving soon,” she said. “Before they get here, perhaps you’d like to choose your partner for the evening.”

“My partner?”

“For later.”

“Ah,” I said softly.

“Is there one you like more than the others? Have another look.”

I didn’t even glance at the others, but gazed steadily into Bitto’s green eyes. “I think you know my choice,” I said.

She smiled and gave me a kiss so delicate I hardly felt it, like a warm breeze brushing my lips.

The five men whom Bitto entertained that night were impeccably groomed and well-dressed, wearing colorful Roman-style tunics and expensive-looking shoes. They were all well spoken, and there were a couple whom even Antipater would have considered witty. The conversation ranged from politics (cautious observations on the looming conflict between Rome and King Mithridates of Pontus), to business (the effect such a war would have on trade), to art (the revival of Euripides’ Phaëton at a recent festival, which all agreed had been a triumph). The food was excellent. The wine flowed steadily but was mixed with water, so that no one became too quickly inebriated.

After the meal, there was entertainment. One of the girls played the lyre while another sang. Both were accomplished performers. Then, while the other women shook rattles and tambourines, Bitto danced.

Watching her, I thought of one of Antipater’s poems, about a famous courtesan of Corinth who moved to Rome to ply her trade:

Melting eyes cast glances softer than sleep.

Arms undulate like water from the deep.

Her body when she dances seems boneless,

As soft and pliant as cream cheese.

Now she crosses to Italy, where the Romans she will tease

To lay down arms, their warlike ways to cease.

Bitto was certainly capable of making this Roman lay down his arms, I thought, unable to take my eyes off her.

When the dance was over, Bitto joined me on my dining couch. She was flushed from the exertion; I felt the radiant warmth of her body next to mine. Errant thoughts distracted me, and only gradually did I realize the conversation had drifted to the subject of Bitto’s neighbors.

“We saw them just a few days ago, out on their balcony,” Bitto was saying. “Tryphosa was reading aloud to her daughter-in-law-”

“This scandal has gone on long enough!” declared one of the men, who was younger and more hotheaded than the others.

“But what can be done?” said another, whose few remaining strands of hair were carefully arranged and plastered down on his bald crown. “We all know what must have happened in that house-the poor young man was strangled in his sleep, or more likely poisoned-but we have no evidence.”

“Even so, something should be done,” declared the hothead. “Indeed, I make a pledge here and now that I shall do something about it.”

“But what?” said Bitto.

“Surely a male relative can be found somewhere-if not in Halicarnassus, then abroad-to lay claim to the estate and put these dangerous women in their place. And if not, then the city magistrates need to take action. If an accusation is officially registered, the magistrates can seize and interrogate the household slaves. Slaves always know the dirt.”

The bald man shook his head. “But slaves can be very loyal-”

“Not when questioned under torture. Give me an hour with those slaves and I’ll get at least one of them to confess what he knows about the crimes of his mistresses. And once one slave confesses, the others will follow suit, and then we can bring down the wrath of the law on these deadly widows!”

Alarmed by the man’s vitriol, I glanced at Bitto, who flashed an indulgent smile and deftly redirected the conversation to a less volatile subject. Probably the fellow was all hot air and no flame, I thought, but the idea of slaves being tortured and the young widow from Commagene becoming the target of so much hostility made me uneasy. I found myself wishing that Antipater were present; Antipater would have put the hothead in his place. But if Antipater had been in the room, I would not have had the courage to press my thigh alongside that of Bitto, who gently pressed back.

I drank more wine, and soon had difficulty remembering what had made me uneasy, especially when Bitto whispered in my ear that the time had come for the two of us to retire to a private room.

* * *

Life at Bitto’s house was rather like a dream. The spring weather could not have been more perfect. Antipater seemed quite content to immerse himself day and night in the volumes of the library. As for Bitto and myself, we, too, found ways to amuse ourselves. Indeed, I was surprised that so many ways existed, and that Bitto seemed to know them all.

One evening, as night fell, the three of us-Antipater, Bitto, and I-made ready to head out across the city to have a look at the Temple of Aphrodite and Hermes, and to attend the annual ritual at the spring of Salmacis.

Just before we left, I stepped onto the balcony, and for only the second time since our arrival, I caught a glimpse of the young widow from Commagene. Veiled and dressed in black, Corinna sat on her balcony and gazed at the sunset. She must have felt my eyes on her, for suddenly she looked up at me. Again I saw her bright blue eyes, and again I wondered if I detected something strange in them, or if that idea had been planted in my mind by Bitto’s suspicions.

A team of bearers carried us in a single large litter across the city. While Antipater gazed at the Mausoleum, which was in shadow on one side and ablaze with the glow of sunset on the other, I turned to Bitto. “Do you think that fellow at your party was serious about making an official accusation against your neighbors?”

“What fellow?”

“The hothead.”

“Ah, Straton! He often blusters like that. But he’s not afraid to take legal action. He’s always dragging others into court. A very litigious fellow! I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he makes good on his promise, if only to impress me.”

“And would you be impressed, if he succeeds in punishing the widows?”

Bitto frowned. “I’m not sure. If only we knew the truth about those two, and what happened to Timon.”

Antipater, who had not been listening, suddenly spoke up. “The spring of Salmacis! I haven’t been there since my first visit to Halicarnassus, many years ago-you were only a child then, Bitto. But one never forgets the story of the nymph Salmacis. Do you know it, Gordianus?”

“No. Tell me, please.”

“Ah, what a poem it would make! Once upon a time, long before there was a city here, the nymph Salmacis dwelled in the grotto that contains the sacred spring that bears her name. One day, a beautiful youth happened by. Since it was a hot day, he stripped off his clothing and made ready to take a dip in the spring. Salmacis, gazing up at him from the bottom of the pool, was overcome with desire-for the youth was no mere mortal, but the child of two gods, Hermes and Aphrodite. His name combined those of his parents: Hermaphroditus.

“Salmacis suddenly emerged from the water, giving the boy a start. She at once began speaking words of love, and reached out to caress him. But Hermaphroditus was only fifteen, and not ready for love, and he found the frantic, wet kisses of the nymph repellent. He dove into the water to escape her, not realizing that in the spring lay her power. She dove in after him. Making herself as supple as seaweed, she wrapped herself around him, entangling his limbs with hers. Try as he might, there was no escape.”

“She drowned him?” I said.

“If only she had!” said Antipater. “Since he would not yield to her, and since she could not stand to be parted from him, she cried out to the gods to join his body with hers, to graft them together as two branches may be grafted, merging two living things into one. The gods answered her prayer. When the son of Hermes and Aphrodite emerged from the pool of Salmacis he was no longer a young man, but a creature of both sexes. And from that day forward, the pool of Salmacis has this special property: any man who drinks from it or swims in it becomes partly female.”

“If that’s true, surely no man goes near the spring!” I said, laughing a bit nervously at the very thought.

“You might be surprised,” said Bitto. “There are some who would like to change their sex. They come to the spring of Salmacis seeking such a favor from the gods. Do you disbelieve the story, Gordianus?”

“Well…”

“Wait until you’ve seen the ritual.”

Night had fallen by the time we joined a gathering of a hundred or so people in the Temple of Aphrodite and Hermes. Incense was burned on altars. Prayers were chanted to the god and goddess and also to their son. Then the worshippers, most of them women, filed out of the temple.

We followed a winding path through a grove of ancient trees and entered a cavernous recess. Water seeped from the mossy walls that encircled a pool perhaps twenty feet wide and twice that long. The shadowy space was dimly lit by lamps hung from hooks driven into the grotto walls. Points of flame danced on the water. The only sounds were the hushed murmur of the crowd and the quiet splash of water dripping into the pool.

The priests stepped to the edge of the pool. With them was a boy with shoulder-length black hair who wore only a loose robe. While the priests chanted, the boy shrugged the robe from his shoulders and slowly turned about, so that everyone could see him naked. He was still a child and did not yet have a man’s hair on his body.

The boy stepped into the pool. The chanting grew louder as the priests called upon Salmacis to show her power. As the boy strode forward, his back to us, the water rose to his knees, then to his hips, then to his chest. He never broke stride, but kept walking until the water closed over his head. For a long moment there was no sign of him, not even bubbles on the surface of the water, and then he suddenly reemerged, continuing to stride away from us. First we saw his black hair, shimmering and wet, then his shoulders and back, then his buttocks and legs. He emerged from the pool at the far side, and slowly turned to face the crowd.

Some gasped. Other cried out with joy. By the flickering light of the lamps, we saw the power of Salmacis made manifest. The naked boy who entered the pool had emerged from it as a girl.

“Impossible!” I whispered, but beside me Bitto joined the others in singing what I took to be a traditional song performed every year at the ritual, praising the awesome power of the gods to change the unchangeable.

I looked over my shoulder at the crowd. Lamplight flickered across their joyous faces. For a moment, I thought I saw the young widow from Commagene, but the light was uncertain, and the ritual had left me afraid to trust my own eyes.

The priests announced that any who wished to drink from the spring or enter the pool should remain, but that all others must leave. I was not sorry to leave that dark, dank, mysterious place.

* * *

“Twins!” I said to Antipater, as we sat on the balcony the next day. “They do it using twins!”

Antipater frowned. “Are you still going on about the ritual? What we witnessed was a divine transformation, Gordianus, not a mime show. It’s a wonder to be marveled at, not a puzzle to be figured out.”

I rose from my chair and began to pace. “The grotto has all sorts of recesses and fissures; there must be a chamber under the water, large enough to contain the girl, with enough air for her to breath. One twin enters the pool, takes the place of his sister in the underwater cave, and the other twin emerges.”

“Gordianus, do you really imagine there’s such an abundance of twins that the priests can come up with a new pair every year, never before seen by the worshippers? Besides, boy and girl twins are never identical.”

I frowned. “I suppose they don’t have to be twins. They merely have to look alike-the same size, the same hair. It’s awfully dim in that cave, and the firelight plays tricks with your eyes, and the far side of the pool isn’t that close-”

“Do be quiet, Gordianus. I’m trying to compose a poem.” Antipater closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun.

“What makes the females of Halicarnassus so possessive?

To drink a husband’s ashes is surely obsessive.

To emasculate a god, as did Salmacis,

Joining her sex with his … joining her sex … with his…”

Antipater’s voice trailed off. He mumbled for a bit, then began to snore.

“How my cousin loves his naps,” said Bitto, joining me on the balcony. “It’s so warm today-such a lazy afternoon. Perhaps we should take a nap, too.”

“In the middle of the day? I’m not sleepy.”

“You will be.”

“I will?”

“After I’ve tired you out.” She raised an eyebrow, then turned and headed toward her room.

I followed.

* * *

An hour or so later, I woke in a cold sweat, though the room was stifling hot.

I had been dreaming. In my nightmare, armed men broke down the doors of the house next door-the house where the widow Tryphosa and her daughter-in-law lived. Their slaves were rounded up and dragged screaming into the street, then loaded into a wagon that was to take them to a place of torture. Tryphosa, resisting arrest, ran to her balcony and threatened to jump. Corinna was driven into a corner, where the mocking soldiers cruelly laughed and tore away her black veil, then ripped the black garments from her body.…

I got out of bed without waking Bitto and quickly dressed. Out on the balcony, Antipater was still snoring, with his head thrown back and his mouth wide open.

I slipped out the front door and headed down the winding street to the residence of the two widows. I knocked on the door.

I explained to the gruff doorkeeper that I was a houseguest next door, and that I needed to see his mistress. He told me, in surprisingly crude language, to move on. I insisted that I had something of the utmost importance to discuss with Tryphosa. He slammed the door in my face.

I returned to Bitto’s house and stepped onto the balcony. Antipater continued to sleep soundly, though his snoring had ceased. I paced for a while, then leaned over the balustrade and looked down at the neighbors’ empty balcony. It occurred to me that, by traversing a couple of narrow ledges and taking a short leap at the end, it might be possible for a surefooted young man to climb from Bitto’s balcony to that of the neighbors-or else fall and break his neck.

There are things a man will do at the age of eighteen that he will balk at doing later in life, when he has more sense. This was one of those things.

More than once, poised on my toes, slowly shifting sideways and clinging to small declivities in the wall with my fingertips, I came very near to losing my balance and tumbling backward into empty space. At last I took the final leap and landed safely on the neighbors’ balcony.

The brush with danger only served to exhilarate me, so that I felt emboldened to take the next and potentially more dangerous step, to enter a house where I had no right to be. So far as I knew, Halicarnassian law would permit the occupants to kill a trespasser on the spot. But I was learning to follow my nature-to willingly take small risks when greater consequences were at stake. If what I suspected was true, the widows might be guilty of fraud, but not of murder, and I had no intention of allowing the hothead at Bitto’s party to destroy the lives of two women simply to impress a third.

Insofar as I had a plan, it was to encounter one or both of the widows, very quickly reassure them of my peaceful intentions (so as to forestall them from having me bludgeoned or hurled from the balcony), then inform them of the danger facing them, and only then to let them know that I suspected the truth. But I was learning that plans, however carefully or carelessly made, have a way of playing out in unexpected ways. Thus it was that the thing I thought would happen last happened first.

From the balcony I passed through a small but beautifully appointed dining room. Finding that room empty, I moved on to a short hallway, where I stepped into the first room I came to, which happened to be the dressing chamber of young Corinna. Because she happened to be naked when I entered-about to step into her undergarments, assisted by her mother-I knew at once that my suspicions were correct. Corinna was no one’s widow and no one’s daughter-in-law.

* * *

I never said a word to Antipater about what I had done, but I saw no way to avoid telling Bitto everything, since it was upon Bitto that I staked my hopes, and the hopes of her neighbors, to stop the hothead from taking action.

After dinner that night, Antipater retired to the library. Bitto could see I was bursting to share something with her. First I made her vow, before the statue of Aphrodite in her garden, to reveal to no one what I was about to tell her, then we withdrew to the balcony and sat under the stars.

First I told her what I had surmised-she raised her eyebrows but did not say a word-and then I explained how I had confirmed it, by trespassing.

“But how is it that you’re still alive?” said Bitto, when I told her of my encounter in Corinna’s dressing room. “The punishment Actaeon received when he saw Artemis naked is nothing compared to what I should do if a stranger suddenly appeared in my room while I was undressed!”

“The two of them were not pleased to see me,” I said, vastly understating the uproar of their initial reaction. “So I had to talk very fast-while dodging vases and other things they threw at me-to convince them that I was there to help them. It was actually a good thing that I came upon Corinna naked. If I had encountered her in her black mourning garb, and stated what I believed about her, she and her mother would almost certainly have denied it, and might have continued to deny it, no matter what I said. But since I had seen the truth with my own eyes, there was no use trying to convince me I was wrong. And when I made them see the threat posed by your hotheaded friend, and told them I wanted to stop him, they realized that I was their friend, not their enemy. They’ve built such a wall of secrecy around themselves, they’re not used to trusting anyone other than their slaves and each other. When Tryphosa finally decided to tell me everything, she wept with relief. I think she’s wanted desperately to share the truth with someone for a long time. So-can you do it, Bitto?”

“Do what?”

“What I promised them: throw your hotheaded friend off the scent, make him back off his pledge to lodge an accusation against them.”

Bitto dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. “It will be no problem. I’ll tell Straton that we’ve all been mistaken about the two widows, that I had a long talk with them to clear the air, and I now see that all those rumors of murder are completely unfounded.”

“And will Straton simply take your word for that?”

Bitto narrowed her eyes. “Do you doubt my powers of persuasion, Gordianus?”

I nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of such people-born in the image of the god Hermaphroditus, having parts of both sexes-but I’ve never encountered such a person before.”

“I have,” said Bitto, “but only in certain temples on certain sacred occasions. Many believe that such individuals possess magical powers, and their peculiarity is a mark of divine favor that especially suits them to serve in certain sacred capacities-as the mouthpiece for an oracle, for example. When Tryphosa gave birth and saw the child’s dual sex, she might have proclaimed the truth instead of hiding it.”

I shook my head. “I suggested something like that to her myself. ‘And have my child be raised as a holy freak?’-those were her exact words. Apparently, when the child was born, there was some indication of dual gender, but the male aspect appeared to predominate, and the midwife told them that the female cavity might eventually close up altogether, so Tryphosa and her husband decided to name the child Timon and raise it as a boy. Then her husband died, and Tryphosa had sole responsibility for the boy’s upbringing. But beginning with puberty, the ‘boy’ increasingly took on feminine characteristics-not just physically, as when her breasts began to bud, but in her personality, as well. The child began to think of herself as a girl, and wanted to dress and behave as one. Mother and child experienced a great deal of confusion and indecision, but ultimately, together, they concocted a scheme to go off on a journey and return with a bride-the bride being Timon himself, or herself, now renamed Corinna.”

“So bride and groom were one and the same!” said Bitto. “Did no one ever see the two of them together at the same time?”

“From what Tryphosa told me, there were a handful of occasions, as when they first returned to Halicarnassus, when the bride and groom were seen in public together-but the bride was played by one of their slaves, who wore a veil so that no one could see her face.”

“And the ‘death’ of Timon-how was that managed?”

“They waited until they could acquire a recently deceased body, reasonably similar in age and appearance to Timon, then hastily held a private funeral ceremony and burned the corpse. I suspect they had to pay a few bribes along the way, but ‘Timon’ was dead and his body reduced to ashes before any outsiders had a chance to pose awkward questions. From that time on, the child lived exclusively as Corinna, the widow of her former self.”

“But how can Corinna hope to maintain this pretense? If she ever tries to marry-or ‘remarry,’ I suppose-her husband will see her for what she is on their wedding night.”

I shrugged. I was learning that the world was not a simple place, and the people in it were full of surprises. “However Corinna plans to deal with her future, she’s determined to do so as a woman. That is her choice, and her mother has done everything possible to help her realize her transition from boy to girl. That’s why they attended the ritual at the spring of Salmacis the other night.”

“I didn’t see Corinna there.”

“I thought I did, but I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t mention it at the time. After everyone else left, a few people, under priestly supervision, were allowed to enter the pool. Corinna drank from the pool and stayed in the water a long time, hoping to eradicate the vestiges of her masculinity. Alas! Having seen her naked, I must conclude that the gods did not see fit to grant her wish.”

“Poor girl!”

I nodded. “So you can see, Bitto, why it would be such an injustice for those two to be persecuted by Straton or by anyone else. In a way, they did ‘murder’ Timon, but his disappearance harmed no one. I believe mother and child should be left alone, each free to pursue her destiny as she chooses, don’t you? You might even consider befriending them, Bitto. They are your neighbors, after all.”

She pursed her lips. “I suppose I could invite them over to dinner sometime.”

“Corinna is shy, but she’s a lovely girl. As for her mother-what is it about Halicarnassus that breeds such strong widows? Tryphosa struck me as a very forceful woman, intelligent and resourceful and fiercely independent. She reminded me of you, in fact.”

Bitto smiled at this compliment. There on her balcony, beneath a sky full of stars, she rewarded me with a tender kiss.

* * *

Spring turned to summer. The month of Sextilis arrived, and if Antipater and I were to attend the Games at Olympia-and see the Temple of Zeus with its colossal statue of the god-it was time to board a ship and set sail.

Bitto had warned me that no man could possess her, including myself. When she saw us off at the wharf, she waved until she dwindled from sight, but I saw no tears in her eyes. It was I who felt a pang of loss at our parting. I blinked and bowed my head.

“What’s the matter, Gordianus?” asked Antipater.

“Just a bit of sea spray. It stings a little,” I said, wiping my eyes.

The last I saw of Halicarnassus was the Mausoleum, its massive tiers rising to a templelike facade of huge columns and gigantic statues, and the step-pyramid roof with its quadriga of glittering gold surmounting all-the widow Artemisia’s everlasting mark on the landscape. But it was another widow of Halicarnassus who left an everlasting mark upon my life.