The Seven Wonders

V

On our journey to see the Seven Wonders, Antipater and I saw much else along the way. As a poet, and a Greek, Antipater wished to pay homage to his great predecessors, so we stopped at Lesbos to visit the tomb of Sappho, and at Ios to see where Homer was buried. (Had we wished to see where Homer was born, we would have had to stop at almost every island in the Aegean Sea, since so many claimed that honor.)

We saw many remarkable places and things. None could match the Seven Wonders, though some came close. The Parthenon in Athens was certainly a marvel, as was the statue it housed, the chryselephantine Athena by Phidias; but, having seen the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus, and Phidias’s statue of Zeus at Olympia, I understood why those were on the list instead.

We stopped at the island of Delos to see the Keratonian Altar, which some claim should be counted among the Wonders. The name of the altar comes from the Greek kerata, “horns,” because it is made entirely of antlers ingeniously fitted together without any sort of binding by Apollo himself, who used the horns of deer slain by his sister Artemis. To be sure, the altar was an astonishing sight, but the visit was not pleasant. Under Roman rule, Delos had become one of the largest slave markets in the world, a place of misery and foul odors. Men came to Delos to purchase humans by the thousands, not to marvel at Apollo’s altar.

Of the many sites we visited other than the Seven Wonders, one stands out especially in my memory: the ruins of Corinth.

After seeing the Games at Olympia, we hired a driver and a mule-drawn wagon and headed east on the road that crosses the Peloponnesus, that vast peninsula that would be an island were it not for the slender strip of earth that connects it to the mainland. The road was a winding one, skirting mountains and passing through clefts in the rugged landscape. At last, toward the end of a long day of travel, Antipater told me that we were drawing near to the isthmus.

“At its narrowest, the isthmus is less than four miles wide,” he said. “A young fellow like you, Gordianus, might easily walk from the Gulf of Corinth on the north to the Gulf of Aegina on the south and back again in a single day, with time for a leisurely lunch beside this road, which at the isthmus links the two parts of Greece.”

“The route is certainly popular,” I said. Since leaving Olympia, we were constantly being passed by faster vehicles and travelers on horseback.

“Yes,” said Antipater, “there’s always a great deal of coming and going between the cities of the mainland-Athens, Thebes, and the rest-and the cities of the Peloponnesus, like Sparta and Argos. But the traffic is especially heavy now, and particularly in the easterly direction, since the Games at Olympia have just ended and all the athletes and spectators who poured into the Peloponnesus from the mainland are now heading home again. To do so by land, this is the only route.”

The winding road took a turn to the north, skirting a craggy peak to our left that erupted from the earth like a knuckle of sheer rock. As the road crested a hill, I suddenly saw the Gulf of Corinth straight ahead of us, and at the same time, far away to our right, I had my first glimpse of the Gulf of Aegina, a glimmer of silver beyond a long blue ridge.

“With the two gulfs so close on either side, and this road the only route from west to east, I should think this would be an ideal location for a city,” I said.

I was rather proud of this astute observation, and expected my old tutor to reward me with a smile. Instead, Antipater scowled. “Gordianus! Do you remember nothing of the geography I’ve taught you? Do you not realize where we are?”

I was eighteen, and a man, but Antipater had a way of speaking that made me feel I was a boy again.

He shook his head. “Fifty-four years ago, for the glory of Rome, Lucius Mummius utterly destroyed the city of Corinth and its people. And you, a Roman, don’t even know where Corinth was! Could you even find it on a map?”

“Of course I could,” I protested. “If that’s the Gulf of Corinth, to the north … and this winding road will eventually take us down to the Isthmus of Corinth, over that way … then…” I looked up at the craggy peak to our left. “Do you mean to say that’s Acrocorinth, the fortified mountain above the ancient city?” I squinted. “Now that I look, I do see the ruins of what might have been a line of walls up there. But that means the city must have been right over there, at the foot of that sheer cliff.”

I finally saw what had been in plain sight but invisible to my inattentive gaze-a distant jumble of stones and mounds of earth that were all that remained of the once proud city of Corinth. I felt a stirring of curiosity, but the ruins were a considerable distance from the road, and the late summer day was drawing to a close. The cart and the mules cast long shadows on the tall, dry grass. Antipater leaned forward to speak to the driver.

“Is there a place nearby where we can spend the night?”

The driver turned his head and looked at Antipater as if he were a madman. “Here, so near the ruins? Of course not! The Romans won’t allow so much as a vegetable stand to be built within a mile of the ancient walls, much less an inn. Besides, this place is…”

“Yes?” said Antipater. “Go on.”

“Haunted!” The man lowered his voice to a gruff whisper. “This is as close as I care to come to it. I dread passing by here, every time I make this trip.”

“Nevertheless, it’s my intention to have a closer look at the ruins,” said Antipater.

The driver snapped the reins and urged the mules to go faster. “You’ll be doing so without me, then. I tell you what-up ahead there’s a road that branches off to the left. That will take us down to the waterfront, to the old port of Lechaeum. There’s a Roman garrison there. The soldiers maintain a few of the docks and warehouses, strictly for military use. There’s not much of a town, just a few shops and a brothel that caters to the soldiers, but there’s a small inn with a tavern. You and the young Roman can spend the night there.”

“Where will you sleep?” I said.

“A pile of straw in the stable will be good enough for me,” said the driver.

“After a visit to the brothel, no doubt,” whispered Antipater.

“And tomorrow morning,” the driver went on, “if you’re still bent on visiting the ruins, I’ll drop you off. You can have a look at the place in broad daylight, and then I’ll come back and fetch you before nightfall.”

As the road tilted downward we saw the Gulf of Corinth before us, a broad sheet of gold lit by the westering sun. Eventually, the old port appeared as a silhouette of jumbled roofs against the shimmering water. As we drew nearer, the silhouette resolved into ramshackle structures. The inn was the first building we came to. It was a humble-looking place, but after a long day on the wagon I was glad to see it. No people were about. As the wagon came to a halt, a few dogs lying in the dusty street roused themselves and listlessly wagged their tails, looking worn out by the heat of the day but too hungry to miss an opportunity to beg. The driver shooed them away and went inside to make arrangements for us.

I looked around, but there was not much to see. The place had a melancholy, deserted air. All the nearby buildings had fallen into disrepair. Walls had given way. Roofs had fallen in.

“To think, Lechaeum was once one of the busiest ports in all Greece!” Antipater sighed. “The sister port on the other side of the isthmus is probably just as dilapidated.”

“But if the location is so ideal, why do the Romans not rebuild the ports, and reap the profits?”

“Ask the Roman Senate! It’s because they’re all so jealous of each other, I suspect. None of them is willing to give the authority to rebuild the port to another senator-they can’t stand to see a rival become rich off such a lucrative commission. So nothing is done.”

“But the driver says there’s a Roman garrison.”

“Yes, stationed here not to maintain the port but rather to keep anyone from using it! Because it dared to defy Rome, one of the world’s most beautiful cities was destroyed, and because the conquerors squabble among themselves, the ports of ancient Corinth are left to rot.”

I had never heard Antipater express such vehement disdain for Rome. While I was growing up, he had done his best to teach me Greek and to instill in me an appreciation of Greek culture, but regarding recent history, particularly Rome’s conquest of Greece, he had always been circumspect.

The driver returned with bad news: there was no room at the inn.

“What! But this won’t do,” declared Antipater. “I shall talk to the innkeeper myself.” I helped him dismount from the cart and followed him inside.

The innkeeper was not a local, but a discharged Roman centurion named Gnaeus who had served for years at the Roman garrison before retiring to run the little inn and tavern. He explained that another party had arrived ahead of us and taken all four rooms.

“Every room? Who are these people?” said Antipater, speaking Latin in preference to the innkeeper’s uncouth Greek.

“A group of Roman travelers, just come from Olympia. They say they want to stay here for a while and have a look at the old ruins up the hill. That’s them in the tavern, having some wine and a bite to eat.” The innkeeper nodded toward the adjoining room, from which I heard a murmur of conversation and occasional laughter.

Antipater glared. “‘A look at the old ruins,’ you say? The city had a name, you know: Corinth. Now why don’t you go ask your other guests to double-up, and free a room for us?”

The innkeeper scowled and muttered under his breath: “Crazy old Greek!”

“What did you say?” asked Antipater.

“Yes, repeat what you just said,” I demanded.

The innkeeper took his first good look at me. His eyes settled on the iron ring on my right hand.

“You’re a Roman?” he said.

“Indeed I am.”

“Hardly look old enough for that citizen’s ring.”

“I’m eighteen.”

He nodded. “Well, that’s different. What are you doing, traveling with this old Greek?”

“Zoticus was my tutor when I was a boy,” I said. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Exactly who stays under my roof is very much my business, young man,” said the innkeeper, with an edge in his voice that reminded me he had once been a Roman centurion, used to giving orders. “But I like your spirit. I tell you what, I’ll do what your Greek friend suggests, and have a word with the other guests. They seem like reasonable men. Maybe I can supply a room for you, after all.”

He stepped into the tavern and returned a few moments later, accompanied by a big man with curly red hair and a bristling beard. We exchanged introductions. The Roman’s name was Titus Tullius.

“Our host tells me you’re looking for a room,” he said. “And here I thought we were going to have the inn all to ourselves. I’m surprised anyone else even managed to find this place, it’s so out of the way. Just come from Olympia, have you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“First time at the Games? Yes, for me, too. Quite a show, wasn’t it? Did you see the footraces? That fellow Eudamos made the competition eat dust. And the pankration? Protophanes walloped the competition!”

“Will you give up one of the rooms or not?” said Antipater brusquely.

“Steady on,” said Tullius. “It’s too early for bed, anyway. Join us in the tavern for a drink.”

“I’m an old man, and I’m weary, and I need to lie down,” said Antipater.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Yes, by all means, take one of our rooms. We’ll manage. We were going to split up three to a room, but we can just as easily fit four to a room, I suppose.”

“There are twelve of you?” I said. “Did you all attend the Games together?”

“We certainly did. Now we’re seeing a few more sights here in the Peloponnesus before we sail back to Rome. I’m the one who insisted on visiting the ruins of Corinth. The rest thought that would be a bore, but I assured them it will be well worth it.”

“That’s our intention, as well,” I said. I turned toward Antipater, but he was already heading up the stairs. The innkeeper followed after him with a ring of jangling keys in his fist.

Tullius smiled. “It’ll be just us Romans in the tavern, then. There’s my group, plus a few off-duty soldiers from the garrison. Come, Gordianus, join us.”

I did so gladly, thinking a cup or two of wine would do much to soothe my travel-stiff limbs.

Tullius’s party consisted entirely of men. I was the youngest in the room, though some of the soldiers were not much older. A single serving woman moved among them. She was neither young nor pretty, and by her gruff manner I judged her to be a freeborn local woman, not a slave.

“Ismene!” called Tullius. “Bring a cup for my young friend.”

She gave him a sour look, but fetched a wooden cup and pressed it into my hand, then filled it from her pitcher. “Let’s hope this handsome fellow has better manners than the rest of you louts,” she said. She gave me a warm smile, then glowered at the others.

“I do believe Ismene is smitten with you, Gordianus!” Tullius laughed.

“Finally, a man to tempt Ismene!” said one of the soldiers, flashing a broad grin. He had a neck like a bull’s and the first touches of silver in his brassy blond hair. In every drunken group, there is someone louder than the rest; he fit the role.

“Don’t tease her, Marcus,” said the soldier next to him, who looked frail in comparison. The frown lines around his mouth betrayed an anxious disposition.

“Why not, Lucius? Are you afraid of Ismene? Or perhaps you’re a bit in love with the old battle-axe?” Marcus laughed uproariously.

The conversation settled down, and the chief topic was Olympia. The soldiers envied the travelers for having witnessed the games. Since I had seen some events that others had missed, I found myself joining in the conversation and thoroughly enjoying it. At this point in my journey with Antipater, I was beginning to feel a bit homesick. It felt good to be in a room where everyone was speaking Latin. When the conversation turned from Olympia to Rome-the soldiers were eager for news-I felt quite at home, a Roman among Romans.

“These days, all the talk in Rome is about war,” said Tullius. “War looming in the East with King Mithridates, and war looming in Italy between Rome and her unhappy Italian confederates.”

“But there’s no war yet, in either of those places,” said Lucius, looking fretful.

“No-not yet,” said Tullius darkly. His companions nodded gravely. “You fellows are well out of it here. Must be pretty quiet duty in a posting like this.”

“As quiet as a grave!” said Marcus with a laugh.

Lucius made a sign with his hand to avert the Evil Eye. “You shouldn’t talk that way, Marcus. You know this place is lousy with ghosts, and rife with magic.”

“Magic?” I said.

“Black magic!” Lucius raised his thick black eyebrows. “Curses and spells, sorcery and witchcraft. It’s everywhere you turn in this part of the world.”

“It seems to me this part of the world is practically deserted,” I said. “Except for a few scattered farms, we saw hardly any signs of life along the road. Where would you even find a witch?”

“You wouldn’t have to go far.” Lucius looked sidelong at Ismene. She noticed his gaze and glared back at him.

Marcus laughed. “Lucius, what an old woman you are! Afraid of your own shadow.”

“Am I? Tell me then, why do soldiers die in their sleep here? You remember Aulus, and then Tiberius-both dead, and with no explanation. And why is everyone afraid to go anywhere near the old ruins, especially at night?” Lucius shivered. “Give me Mithridates or a civil war in Italy any day! At least you know what you’re up against when it’s another man with a sword that’s trying to kill you.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you fellows intend to go traipsing around those ruins tomorrow. There’s something wicked in that place. If you ask me-”

“Now, really!” Tullius drew back his shoulders and raised his chin. “You’re a soldier of Rome, my good man, and I won’t have you talking such rubbish. What was Corinth? Just another city conquered by Rome and put to the sword. Was there a massacre? Undoubtedly. Does that mean that no Roman should ever set foot there, for fear of restless spirits seeking retribution? Nonsense! If a Roman should be afraid to go walking in a city defeated by Romans, then we should have to give up all our conquests and go scampering back to Rome! So much for fearing ghosts. As for this magic you speak of, that sort of thing is women’s work. Oh, some women are always cursing each other, especially these Greeks-‘Hermes of the Underworld, Ambrosia is prettier than me, please make her hair fall out,’ or ‘Great Artemis, helper in childbirth, all the girls have babies now except me, can’t you make their babies get sick and cry all night?’ That sort of rubbish. Women squabbling, and asking deities to take sides-as if the gods have nothing better to do. Hardly the sort of thing for a man to worry about, especially a Roman, and especially a Roman soldier.”

Lucius shook his head. He drained the rest of his cup, then took his leave without another word.

“Superstitious fellow, that one,” said Marcus. “Doesn’t like it here. Always brooding. Don’t take it personally.”

To show that he didn’t, Tullius bought everyone another round. Ismene rolled her eyes, but shambled off to refill her pitcher.

* * *

An hour or so later I staggered upstairs and crawled into the lumpy bed beside Antipater, having eaten too little and drunk too much. When he roused me at dawn the next morning, my head was full of spiders and my mouth was stuffed with cobwebs.

Down in the tavern, Gnaeus the innkeeper served us millet porridge with a small dollop of honey-the simple sort of breakfast he had learned to cook in his centurion days, no doubt. The other guests were not yet stirring. I envied them the luxury of sleeping late.

The wagon driver seemed as hungover as I was.

“How was your visit to the brothel last night?” asked Antipater cheerfully.

The man only groaned and shook his head. True to his word, he took us to the outskirts of the old ruins, hissing at every bump in the road, then turned back toward Lechaeum with a promise that he would return for us before nightfall.

A defensive wall with gates and towers had once surrounded all of Corinth. Only the foundations remained. Within their boundary, it was possible to discern where streets had run and how blocks had been laid out, but almost nothing remained of the buildings except for scattered stones, fallen columns, broken roof tiles, and bits of charred wood amid the high grass. Here and there I saw evidence of a mosaic that had once been part of a floor, but even these had been broken into pieces and scattered. I saw a few pedestals, but no statues.

The place cast a melancholy spell, especially upon Antipater. He wandered about like a man in a dream. There was a strange look in his eyes, as if somehow he could see the city as it once had appeared.

“Did you ever visit Corinth, before it was destroyed?” I said.

He took a deep breath. “I saw it as a boy. My father was appointed by the elders of Sidon to consult the Oracle at Delphi, and he took me along on the trip. We crossed the isthmus coming and going, and each time we spent a couple of nights here in Corinth. But my memories are a child’s memories, vague and dim. It’s impossible to know what I actually remember and what I only imagine, and there’s nothing here to confirm my recollections. Nothing at all! And yet…”

He began to wander again, with a more purposeful look on his face.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” I said.

“I’ll know the right spot when I come to it,” he muttered.

I followed him for an hour or more, walking up and down the streets of a city that no longer existed. A warm wind began to blow, whistling amid the ruins and causing the dry grass to shiver.

At last he came to a halt. He sighed, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. We were in the midst of what once had been a grand house, to judge by the layout of the many rooms and the traces of a garden with a fountain at the center. Antipater threw back his head. With his eyes still shut, he declaimed in Greek:

Utter silence followed his recitation, broken only by the sighing of the wind in the grass. Suddenly I heard someone clapping, then a whole group applauding.

With a start, I spun about. Did I expect to see the ghosts of Corinth? The truth was more prosaic: Titus Tullius and his party had joined us.

“A most excellent recitation!” declared Tullius. He turned to his companions. “Gentlemen, what you’ve just heard is a fictitious epitaph for a dead mother and daughter of Corinth, composed by the late Antipater of Sidon. I was planning to recite it for you myself, but good Zoticus here, with his native Greek, has done a far better job than I could have. That was excellent, Zoticus!”

The party responded with another round of applause. None of the traveling Romans had any idea that it was Antipater of Sidon himself who stood before them.

Usually Antipater was delighted to hear his poems praised, but if looks could kill, Tullius would have fallen dead on the spot. Oblivious of Antipater’s scowl, Tullius recommenced with what appeared to be an ongoing lecture for the edification of his companions.

“So, gentlemen, is this really the spot where the distraught Boisca slew her daughter Rhodope and then committed suicide? Probably not, since both women are most likely fictional creations. The poet’s intent was not to memorialize two actual women, but to remind us of the pathos and terror that must have attended that final day here in Corinth, when the Roman legionnaires under Lucius Mummius pulled down the walls and, under orders from the Senate, proceeded to raze the city to the ground, slaying the men and enslaving the women and children. Any questions?”

“Other Greek cities joined Corinth in the insurgency against Roman rule,” said one of the men, “and yet those cities weren’t destroyed. Why Corinth?”

“First of all, it was Corinth who started the war by attacking her peaceable neighbors, who were perfectly content under Roman rule, and inciting others to revolt. Also, the Senate never forgot a rather nasty incident that occurred in Corinth before the insurrection, when Roman ambassadors, passing by a private house, had feces and urine dumped on them. Sooner or later, there is a price to be paid for such disrespect! And, finally, it was decided that any future insurrections in Greece could best be forestalled by making a strict example of Corinth. As you will recall, in the very same year, Rome’s ancient rival Carthage was utterly destroyed and her people enslaved. As Carthage was annihilated to the west, so Corinth was annihilated to the east. The result: more than fifty years later, the cities of Greece remain firmly under Rome’s control-and greatly to their benefit, I might add, since Rome put an end to centuries of bloody squabbling among them. Sometimes, as terrible as the consequences may be, an example must be made.”

The men around Tullius nodded thoughtfully and grunted in agreement.

“What utter nonsense!” muttered Antipater.

“Of course,” Tullius went on, “when any city meets it end, there are deeper causes at work. Some contend that divine will engineered the destruction of Corinth, but others argue that her own reckless leadership was quite capable of causing the city’s downfall without any intervention from the gods. That the Corinthians had grown corrupt and decadent, no one can deny. There is a theory that proximity to the sea, while it may bring commerce and riches to a city, may also bring the vices of luxury and exotic temptations. Men are distracted from the virtues of discipline and bravery and spurred to compete instead in extravagant shows of wealth. The same decay afflicted Carthage, another maritime city, where the love of commerce and foreign goods made the people soft. Corinth was perhaps doubly at risk in this regard, having not one but two ports on either side of the isthmus, only a few miles apart.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I am reminded of another of Antipater of Sidon’s laments for Corinth, which alludes to the city’s special relationship with the sea. In that poem, the beautiful Nereids, daughters of Ocean, bemoan the city’s fate.”

Tullius paused and cleared his throat. “I shall quote the poem now-that is, if Zoticus here does not object?” He smiled, but this rhetorical flourish was strictly for the amusement of his listeners; he did not even glance in Antipater’s direction. “Well, then-

“Oh, really, this is too much to bear!” said Antipater, who turned about and stalked off. I followed him. The laughter and the quips of the Romans (“Silly old Greek!”) rang in my ears.

“Teacher!” I cried, but rather than halting, Antipater quickened his stride. The way became steeper and steeper as we began to ascend toward Acrocorinth, and still he hurried on. We appeared to be following the course of what had once been a well-maintained road that skirted the steep face of the mountain and circled around to its far side before reaching the top. The road became little more than a poorly kept footpath, switching back and forth as it wound its way up the slope. I began to think Antipater would reach the top without stopping, but eventually he paused for breath. Whether from exertion or anger at the Romans, his face was bright red.

“Do you know the tale of Sisyphus?” he asked me.

“The name is familiar.…”

He shook his head, dismayed yet again at my ignorance.

“Sisyphus was the founder of Corinth, the city’s first king. Somehow he offended Zeus-the tales vary-and he was given a terrible punishment, forced to roll a boulder up a steep hill only to see it slip away and roll back down again, so that he had to repeat the pointless task over and over again. Some believe this was the very hill where Sisyphus carried out the impossible labor Zeus set for him. That is why this is called the Slope of Sisyphus.”

I looked down the rocky incline, then looked upward. We were more than halfway to the top, but the steepest part was yet to come. Antipater resumed the ascent.

We passed the ruined walls of what must have been a fortress, and at length we arrived at the summit and stood atop the sheer cliff that towered above the remains of Corinth. To the north lay the sea. The wharves at Lechaeum were tiny in the distance, with tiny Roman galleys moored alongside them; the walls of the waterfront garrison were manned by Roman soldiers almost too small to be seen. Below us, at the foot of the cliff, I could clearly discern the course of the old walls and the layout of Corinth.

The sun was directly overhead. The harsh light and the lack of shadows made everything look stark and slightly unreal, drained of color and parched by the warm, dry wind. From the ruins below I imagined I could hear a sound like many voices whispering and moaning. The ruins themselves appeared to shimmer, an illusion caused by the rising heat and the undulation of high grass amid the stones. I shivered, and felt dizzy from the heat.

“What really happened here, Antipater?”

He sighed. “According to our friend Tullius, the Corinthians brought about their own destruction. Typical Roman reasoning: blame the victims!

“When the Corinthians and their allies in the Achaean League revolted, they lashed out against the Spartans, who remained loyal to Rome. The Romans used that incident as a pretext to mount a full-scale invasion of the Peloponnesus-they claimed they were merely coming to the defense of an ally. There were several battles. The Achaean League was crushed, and its leaders were either killed or committed suicide. The climax occurred here, at Corinth. The city opened its gates in surrender, but Lucius Mummius had been given orders by the Senate to make an example of Corinth. His soldiers poured into the city and utterly destroyed it.

“Men were rounded up and slaughtered. Women were raped; if they survived, they were sold into slavery. The same thing was done to the children. Houses and temples were looted, then burned. The soldiers were allowed to stuff their pockets with all the jewelry and gold they could carry, but the choicest works of art were claimed by Mummius and sent back to the Senate. Rome was enriched beyond measure. Look inside any temple in Rome; all the best paintings and statues came from Corinth. And half of them are mislabeled, because the ignorant Mummius couldn’t tell a statue of Zeus from one of Poseidon!”

Antipater paused for a long moment, lost in thought. “There’s a painting by an artist named Aristeides, a stunning work. Hercules is in agony, trying to rip off the poisoned shirt given him by his wife, who thought the magical garment would merely make him faithful to her. Deianira is in the background, horrified by what she’s done. The scheming centaur Nessus looks on from his hiding place in the woods, laughing. When I was a boy, my father took me to see that painting here in Corinth. How that image fascinated and terrified me! I never forgot it. Then, a few years ago, I had occasion to enter a temple in Rome, and there in the vestibule, I saw it again-not a copy or imitation, but the very painting by Aristeides! That was when my boyhood memories of Corinth came flooding back. That was when I wrote this poem.”

Antipater stepped to the very edge of the precipice. I held my breath, fearful that a gust of wind might push him over, but I didn’t dare interrupt him. The words that had sounded pompous and hollow coming from Tullius sounded very different as they poured from Antipater.

I stepped beside Antipater. Together we gazed down at vanished Corinth with the moaning of the wind in our ears.

A movement amid the ruins caught my eye. It was the party of Tullius-or so I presumed. The tiny figures were too distant to be clearly discerned, but among them I thought I recognized Tullius by his red hair and bristling beard. They were no longer standing in a group, listening to Tullius, or following him from place to place. They seemed to be poking amid the rubble and moving bits of it about, but toward what purpose I couldn’t imagine. I thought of asking Antipater’s opinion, but his gaze was elsewhere, and I didn’t wish to agitate him by returning his attention to Tullius.

The wind continued to rise. Antipater at last stepped back from the precipice and we headed down the slope.

On the way down, a little off the path I noticed some ruins that had escaped my attention on the way up. Antipater saw them, too, and we left the path to take a closer look.

The largest of the ruins had once been a small temple or sanctuary. Drums from a fallen column lay amid the tumbled stones, and in a much-worn painting on a fragment of a wall Antipater claimed to recognize the image of Persephone, wife of Hades and queen of the underworld.

“Can you not see her regal headband, Gordianus, and the winnowing fan in her hands? Harvesters use such an implement to sift grain. Persephone uses it to winnow the dead as they descend to Hades, revealing some souls to be wheat and others chaff. Ceremonial winnowing fans like that are used in rituals at sacred sites all over Greece.”

“What happens at these rituals?”

“No man knows, since the acolytes are all women. Presumably they call upon the powers of the underworld.”

“But that’s witchcraft, not worship.”

Antipater shrugged. “Who’s to say where one ends and the other begins?”

The remains of several other small buildings were nearby. Antipater speculated that these might have been used as dining halls and meeting rooms by the women who worshipped at the sanctuary of Persephone. The buildings had all collapsed except one. It was half-buried in rubble but the roof remained intact. It was hardly more than a shack with a door and a window. Antipater pushed open the door and we stepped inside.

It was normal that the air in the room should be cool, but to me it felt unnaturally so. At first glance the dim little chamber appeared to be empty. But as my eyes adjusted, I saw a few objects scattered about the floor-clay lamps, incense burners, and some thin, flattened pieces of black metal. I picked up one of these tablets, surprised at how heavy it was, and at how soft. The metal was easily bent.

“Put that down!” said Antipater.

His tone was so urgent that I did so at once. “What is it?”

“A sheet of lead, for writing on. Don’t you realize where we are? We’ve stumbled into a witch’s den!”

I looked about the room. “Are you sure? We’re in the middle of nowhere. Why would anyone-”

“The Romans demolished her sanctuary, but this spot is still sacred to Persephone. The women of Corinth must have practiced magic here for centuries. Ever since Jason brought the witch Medea back from Colchis and made her his queen, there have been witches in Corinth.”

“But Corinth no longer exists.”

“Yet the witches do. These things have been used recently. See the ash in the incense burners? See the dark spots on the ceiling made by the smoke of the lamps? They meet here at night. Someone is casting spells. While chanting incantations to the forces of darkness, they use the point of a blade to scratch curses on lead tablets, which are then placed near the person whom they wish to destroy.”

“But all these tablets are blank-except for this one.”

I picked up a tablet that was lying apart from the others. The crabbed letters were difficult to read, especially by the dim light, but the Greek was simple. “‘I call upon Ananke. I call upon Moira. I call upon Egyptian Ufer of the Mighty Name. Destroy my enemy Eudocia! Destroy her utterly, from the hair on her head to the nails of her toes. Fill her mouth with sawdust. Fill her womb with sand. Fill her veins with black puss and vinegar. Make her-’ And then it ends, just like that.”

“Put that thing down, Gordianus!”

“But why is it still here?”

“Who knows? Perhaps the curse was interrupted, or the spell went awry, or the person cursing Eudocia changed her mind. Now put it back where you found it, and let’s get out of here at once.”

I would have stayed longer, curious to see if there was yet more evidence of magic to be found, but Antipater insisted I follow him. Emerging from the chill and darkness, I was dazzled by the harsh sunlight. Stifling waves of heat rose from the rock-strewn hillside.

“When is the driver returning for us?” said Antipater. “I’ve seen enough of Corinth.”

The sun was still high in the sky when we reached the place where we were to await the driver. Antipater found a shady spot under an olive tree and took a nap. I sat against the trunk and listened to the chirring of cicadas in the grass.

At one point, a Roman soldier came by on horseback. His helmet kept me from recognizing him, until he gave me a mock-salute and spoke. “Hot enough for you?”

I realized it was Marcus, the soldier at the tavern who had made fun of his comrade for being so fearful of witches. “What are you doing out here?” I said, keeping my voice low so as not to wake Antipater.

“Just making the rounds.” Marcus gave his mount a gentle kick and ambled on. Horse and rider soon disappeared beyond a low hill.

Every now and again I imagined I heard sounds coming from the ruins-men talking, and a clatter like metal implements being struck against stones. Was it possible that Tullius and his party were still nosing about the ruins? If so, what could they be up to? I thought about going to look for them, but decided it would be irresponsible to leave Antipater alone. It also occurred to me that perhaps the sounds I heard were not being made by the Romans at all, but by the ghosts of vanished Corinth. A foolish idea, I had no doubt; but I stayed where I was.

Like Antipater, I had seen enough of that desolate, melancholy place. I was glad when the wagon finally arrived to carry us back to the inn at Lechaeum.

* * *

Antipater and I ate an early dinner. Before we headed to bed, we made arrangements to be taken the next morning to the port of Cenchrea on the opposite side of the isthmus, where the wagon driver was sure we could hire a small vessel to take us as far as Piraeus, the port of Athens. Just as I laid my head on the pillow, I heard Tullius’s party arrive downstairs, talking loudly and laughing. I feared their carousing would keep me up, but as soon as I shut my eyes I fell asleep.

I woke at dawn. Nightmares clung to me like a shroud. What had I been dreaming about? Witches and curses, no doubt, but my head was such a muddle I couldn’t remember. I regretted having consumed so much wine the night before-then remembered that I had drunk only a single cup of watered wine with my dinner. Nearby, Antipater continued to snore.

I rose from the bed, feeling a bit unsteady, and unlatched the simple lock on the door. I made my way down the stairs, wondering if Gnaeus or Ismene would be stirring yet. My mouth was parched and I craved water.

I reached the foot of the stairs, crossed the small vestibule, and stepped into the tavern. What I saw bewildered me at first-my mind could make no sense of it. Then I staggered backward, retching and clutching my stomach.

The room was a scene of utter carnage. Bodies lay in heaps, covered with blood. Among them I saw Titus Tullius. His head was thrown back, his eyes and mouth wide open, his limbs twisted. His throat had been cut. The front of his tunic was so soaked with blood that no trace of its original color remained.

Even as a spectator at gladiator games, I had never seen so much death in one place. Suppressing my nausea, I counted the bodies. There were twelve. The entire party of Romans lay dead on the tavern floor. Every one of them had his throat cut.

I ran upstairs to wake Antipater. He clung to sleep, but finally I was able to rouse him. He seemed confused and unsteady on his feet, as I had been after waking. By the time we went downstairs, the innkeeper was up. He stood in the tavern, gaping at the slaughter and shaking his head.

“It’s like a battlefield,” he whispered.

“Great Zeus!” cried Antipater. “They’ve all been murdered. Gordianus, did you hear anything last night?”

“I slept like a stone.”

“So did I. But how could the noise have failed to wake us? There must have been a struggle. Surely these men cried out.”

I frowned. “And yet, I see no signs of a fight. No benches overturned, nothing broken-and no weapons drawn. It’s as if they submitted to what was done to them.”

“Or were taken by surprise,” said Antipater. “Who was here last night, Gnaeus?”

“Only these men, no one else.”

“No soldiers from the garrison?”

The innkeeper shook his head.

“What about your serving woman?”

“Ismene was here, of course.”

“Where is she now?” said Antipater.

“I don’t know. At night she goes home to a little hut on the outskirts of town. But she’s an early riser. She’s usually in the tavern before I get up.”

“Perhaps something’s happened to her,” said Antipater.

“Or perhaps she’s fled,” I said. “You don’t think Ismene could have-”

Gnaeus snorted. “If you think Ismene played some part in this, you’re mad. Why would she want to harm these men? Why would anyone have done this?”

I thought of the way Tullius had talked about the destruction of Corinth, disparaging its people and blaming them for their own demise. Antipater had been offended by his remarks. Whom else had Tullius offended, here at the tavern or elsewhere? Had the ghosts of Corinth themselves been stirred to retribution by his slanders? Horrified by the inexplicable slaughter, my imagination ran wild.

Antipater thought of a simpler motive. “Perhaps they were robbed.”

Gnaeus ran upstairs and returned a few moments later. “Their rooms appear to be untouched. No one’s taken their things.” He shook his head. “The garrison commander will have to be told. I’ll go to him myself.”

Not caring to remain in a room full of corpses, Antipater and I waited in the street outside until the innkeeper returned. He was followed by a troop of armed soldiers marching in formation. The dogs yelped and scattered at their approach. Among the men I recognized Marcus and his superstitious friend Lucius. At their head was a silver-haired officer with a weak chin and a patrician bearing.

The officer took a good look at Antipater and me. “You two are witnesses?”

“I found the bodies,” I said. “But we didn’t witness anything.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Quintus Menenius, commander of the garrison here at Lechaeum. And who are you?”

“I’m Gordianus of Rome. This is my old tutor, Zoticus. We’ve just come from the Games at Olympia. We were going to cross the isthmus this morning and catch a ship over at Cenchrea-”

“Not today, you won’t. Show me these bodies, Centurion Gnaeus,” he said, paying the innkeeper the courtesy of using his old title. “And you two, come along. I may have more questions for you.”

Quintus Menenius had surely witnessed bloodier spectacles in his years of military service, but when he saw the carnage in the tavern he drew a sharp breath and shuddered.

“All these men were your guests here at the inn, Centurion Gnaeus?”

“Yes.”

“Were they robbed?”

“Their rooms appear to be untouched. I don’t know about their persons.”

“Lucius! Marcus! Examine the bodies. See if you find any coin purses.”

Moving from corpse to corpse, the two soldiers found small money bags on each, all apparently intact.

The commander furrowed his brow. “No robbery? Then why were they killed? And how was it done, without a struggle?” He shook his head. “Put the coin purses back where you found them, men. These are Roman citizens. There will have to be a scrupulous inventory of each victim’s property-for the inquest.” He uttered the final word with a tone of dread, and sighed, as if weary already of the mountain of reports he would be obliged to file.

Stuffing a coin purse back where he had found it, Lucius suddenly drew back.

“What do you see, soldier?” said Menenius.

At the same moment, from the corner of my eye, I noticed Marcus; he, too, was returning a coin purse, this one to the body of Titus Tullius-but did I see him remove an object from the little leather bag? I wasn’t sure, and no one else seemed to notice. Then I was distracted, for Lucius, having previously drawn back, now cautiously reached for something beneath the body at his feet, then snatched back his hand as if scalded.

“By Hercules, man, what is it?” Stepping over corpses, Menenius stooped down and pulled a thin, flat object from beneath the body. It was a lead tablet such as I had seen in the witch’s den.

Menenius heard me gasp. He gave me a sharp look, then returned his attention to the tablet, squinting at the letters scraped into the lead. With a snort, he abruptly crossed the room and shoved the tablet into my hands. “Here, you have young eyes-and you seem to know what this is. Read it aloud.”

I scanned the words. Hackles rose on my neck. “I’m not sure I should.”

“Read it!”

I took a deep breath. “‘Ananke, I call on you. Moira, I call on you. Egyptian Ufer of the Mighty Name, I call on you. Strike down these impious Romans! Rob them of their lives and let them join the dead whom they besmirch. Open their throats and let the blood of life pour out of them-’”

Lucius emitted a stifled shriek and began to shake. He looked as if he might bolt from the room. Only his commander’s glowering gaze held him in check.

“Go on!” shouted Menenius.

“‘Destroy these Romans, Ananke. Destroy them utterly, Moira. Annihilate the impious defamers of the dead, Egyptian Ufer of the Mighty Name-’”

Lucius began to sway. His eyes rolled up in his head. He crumpled to the floor amid the dead bodies.

“By Hercules, the man’s fainted!” said Menenius with disgust. He ordered a couple of his soldiers to tend to Lucius, then snatched the lead tablet from me. “Witchcraft!” he declared. “The local women are mad for it. Was this the work of your serving woman, Centurion Gnaeus?”

The innkeeper looked back at him, speechless.

“It will all come out at the inquest.” Menenius sighed. “We’ll have to round up the local women and make them talk. Extracting evidence from females suspected of practicing magic-a nasty business, hardly suitable work for Roman soldiers, but there you have it. Garrison life!” He ordered the soldiers to clear the bodies from the room and take an inventory of their belongings, then asked the innkeeper to show him the dead men’s rooms. Antipater and I were dismissed, for the time being.

While Antipater stepped outside, saying he needed fresh air, I drew Marcus aside. “Your friend Lucius was terrified when I read that curse.”

Marcus grinned. “He’d hide behind his shadow if he thought a witch was in the room.”

“So you don’t think what happened here was the result of a curse?”

He shrugged. “Who can say? The commander will determine who, or what, killed these men.”

“What did you take from Tullius’s coin purse?”

The question caught him off guard. He tried to feign innocence. I tried to feign certainty, since I was not at all sure of what I’d seen. I kept my gaze steady, and it was Marcus who gave way. With a crooked smile and a shrug, he produced a finely crafted bronze image of Hercules the size of a man’s finger.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” he said.

“Where do you think Tullius got such a thing?”

“Perhaps he brought it with him, as a lucky charm.”

“Then little good it did him,” I said. “Do you mind if I keep it?”

For a moment, Marcus maintained his good-natured mask, then abruptly let it drop. “If I say no, I suppose you’ll tell the commander, eh?” He glared at me. “Go ahead then, take it. That makes you a thief, too, and no better than me. I suppose we all have a bit of magpie in us, eh? Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

Marcus rejoined the others in the gruesome task of moving the dead bodies.

* * *

Even though we had told him all we knew, Menenius would not allow Antipater and me to move on until the inquest took place. The driver refused to stay any longer, and headed home to Olympia with his wagon early the next morning.

There could hardly have been a more boring place to get stuck. A full day exploring the ruins of Corinth had been quite enough for me. Lechaeum itself had little to offer beyond the tavern, which I could no longer enter without becoming nauseated. The dusty, sparsely stocked little shops clustered around the garrison offered nothing to tempt me; nor did the brothel on the waterfront, to judge by the haggard women I saw coming and going by the back entrance.

On the bright side, it appeared that the inquest would be held in short order. Things did not look good for Ismene, the serving woman at the tavern. A search of her little hut turned up materials used in witchcraft-the same types of lamps, incense burners, and blank lead tablets that Antipater and I had discovered in the witch’s den on the Slope of Sisyphus, along with small lead boxes containing wooden dolls, which according to Antipater could also be used to cast spells. Obviously, Ismene was a witch, and presumably had written the curse tablet discovered in the tavern-but she was nowhere to be found. The soldiers searched every house in the vicinity and questioned all the locals. Ismene had vanished into thin air.

According to Gnaeus, the locals all agreed that witchcraft had killed the Romans. Absent evidence to the contrary, it seemed that the commander was prepared to go along with this idea.

“Do we really believe all those men were killed by a curse?” I asked Antipater. We were sitting under the shade of a fig tree outside the inn, enduring the heat of the day along with the dogs lying in the dust nearby.

“You read the tablet yourself, Gordianus. It called upon the forces of necessity and fate, as well as this Egyptian Ufer, whoever he is, to ‘open their throats.’ Isn’t that exactly what happened-in the middle of the night, with no resistance from the victims, and so quietly that neither you nor I was awakened? That sounds like witchcraft to me.” Antipater shuddered. “What’s that in your hand?”

Absentmindedly, I had pulled out the little figure of Hercules I had taken from Marcus and was fiddling with it. There was no use trying to hide it, so I explained to Antipater how I came to have it.

“I’ve been thinking I should give it to the commander, to be restored to Tullius’s property, but it’s awkward. If I tell him Marcus took it, he’ll probably be flogged, or worse. But if I don’t tell the commander the truth, he may think I stole it myself. If I say I simply found it, how do I explain that I know it belonged to Tullius?”

“Are you certain it was his?”

“It came from his coin purse.”

“Let me have a closer look.” Antipater examined the figure under a patch of sunlight. “This is Corinthian. The city’s bronze workers were famous for making miniatures like this. Do you see the mottled surface, dark red and green? That’s a special patina they developed, which is seen in no other bronze sculpture. And here, this stamp on the bottom-that’s the sign of one of the most famous Corinthian workshops.”

“Tullius was such a show-off, you’d think he would have shown his Corinthian good luck charm to everyone.”

Antipater frowned. “Do you know what I think? Tullius didn’t bring this with him from Rome. I think he found it amid the ruins the other day, and filched it.”

“I’m not sure ‘filch’ would be the proper word. After all, if he found it, fair and square-”

“He had no right to take it. By decree of the Roman Senate, nothing can be built within a certain radius of the ruins of Corinth. Nor can anything be taken out. Nothing in, nothing out. There is to be no commerce of any sort, and that includes treasure hunting. Of course, one presumes there’s no treasure left, that everything of value was long ago looted or destroyed. But perhaps under all the dirt and rubble, a few precious items might yet remain-like this figurine. That would make this object quite rare-probably worth a legionnaire’s salary for a year.”

“This little thing? You’re joking!”

Antipater looked up and down the street. “Perhaps I exaggerate. Nonetheless, I’d tuck that away, if I were you. And I’d keep my eyes peeled for Marcus. I wouldn’t put it past that fellow to knock you over the head and take it back from you.”

The day grew warmer still. Antipater fell fast asleep. I found myself looking at the craggy face of Acrocorinth in the distance, and felt a sudden impulse to return there. We had lost the wagon driver, but without Antipater to slow me down, I decided I was perfectly capable of walking there and back. I rose to my feet and headed out, shooing the dogs to keep them from following.

The sunlight was blinding. Waves of heat rose from hillsides covered with dry, brittle grass. I quickly grew thirsty, and realized I should have brought some water with me.

I reached the line of the ruined city walls, and pressed on. I found the spot where we had run into Tullius and his party, and from there, I tried to determine where I had last seen them when I gazed down from the summit of Acrocorinth. Heat and thirst made me light-headed. The piles of rubble all looked alike. I became disoriented and confused. I began to see phantom movements from the corners of my eyes, and the least sound-the scrambling of a lizard or the call of a bird-startled me. I thought of the mother who had killed her daughter and then herself, and all the countless others who had suffered and died. I felt the ghosts of Corinth watching me, and whispered words to placate the dead, asking forgiveness for my trespass.

At length, I stumbled upon an area that had recently been disturbed. Overturned rocks exposed the worm trails beneath, and clods of earth had been dug up. Some instinct led me to move a particular stone, and behind it I discovered a narrow defile, just large enough for a man to stick his arm inside.

The idea that a snake or a spider or something even more terrible might live in such a crack gave me pause. I took a deep breath, then reached into the dark hole.

My fingers touched something cold and scaly, and I heard a slithering noise. I drew back my hand, then had a glimmer of realization. I reached inside again and felt my hand immersed amid bits of smooth, cold metal. I trapped one of the coins between my forefinger and thumb and pulled it out.

The silver was tarnished almost black, but the images were so finely cast that I could easily make out Bellerophon astride his winged horse, Pegasus. On the reverse was an image of the monstrous Chimera slain by the Corinthian hero. The coin was thick and heavy in my hand.

I became so lost in studying the images that I didn’t hear the approach of the horse and rider. When their shadow fell on me, I looked up, startled. The sun formed a blinding halo around the soldier’s gleaming helmet.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Marcus. “The coin, I mean. It’s a funny thing, how some objects are beautiful because they’re one of a kind-like that figure of Hercules you took from me. But coins become more beautiful the more of them there are. And there are a great many in that little hiding place you’ve discovered. It took me months to dig up those coins, along with all the other treasures I’ve found amid the ruins.”

“Treasures?” I said, my mouth dry.

“Vases and such. A lot of the things I find are broken to bits, or melted by the flames, but every so often I find something so perfect I can hardly believe it. Like that little figurine of Hercules that Tullius found yesterday and dared to slip into his coin purse. From what I overheard, he and his friends agreed ahead of time to split anything they found evenly between them, and when they found this particular cache of treasures, they agreed to leave it intact and come back for it later. That was naughty of Tullius, to slip the Hercules into his coin purse while the others weren’t watching. What if Menenius had come across it while searching the dead bodies, and realized where it came from?”

I frowned. “Overheard? When did you hear Tullius and the others talking?”

“Yesterday, as they went about their business here in the ruins. They clucked like hens the whole time-and had no idea I was watching and listening. I can thank my training for that. Quintus Menenius may be one of the stupidest men the gods ever made, but he did teach me a thing or two about stealth and surveillance. That sort of thing comes in handy if you want to scavenge treasures from an area that’s off-limits, and keep anyone else from doing so.” He shook his head. “Titus Tullius and his friends thought they could come here, loot to their hearts’ content, and run off with the spoils, and no one would lift a finger to stop them. What fools!”

“Why didn’t you simply report them to Menenius? Wouldn’t he have arrested them?”

“Menenius would have clicked his tongue, given them a stern lecture, and sent them on their way-then barred all visitors to the ruins, posted guards night and day, and sent a full report to the Senate asking for further instructions. My treasure stores would have been discovered. My little operation would have come to an end. I’d have nothing to show for all my hard work.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Scavenging the ruins? For months. Almost since the first day I was posted to this gods-forsaken place. I couldn’t believe no one else had thought of doing the same thing. The locals are all too superstitious to go nosing about the ruins, and so are most of the Roman soldiers. That silly Lucius keeps the others frightened half to death with his stories about witches and ghosts. I encourage him at every turn, of course. Meanwhile, I come here as often as I safely can, and go treasure hunting. Usually I find nothing. Sometimes I find a ring or a stray coin. And every so often I make a real discovery, like a cameo from a brooch, untouched by the flames and in perfect condition. Or a bag of coins that must have been buried by some wealthy Corinthian, thinking he could come back later and claim it. I hide the things I find. There’s no safe way to smuggle them out without someone noticing, and nowhere in this gods-forsaken place to spend the money or sell the precious stones, so my treasures just keep accumulating. How Tullius and his friends were lucky enough to stumble on this particular hiding place, I can’t imagine.”

“Lucky? Surely it was misfortune that led them here.”

Marcus laughed. “Yes, since I observed them doing it. I couldn’t report them, because that would ruin my own scheme. And I had no intention of letting them come back here the next day, and the day after that, plundering the treasures I’ve worked so hard to accumulate. Ugh, this thing is hot!” He took off his helmet and tossed it on a soft patch of ground, then combed his fingers through sweat-soaked tufts of blond hair streaked with gray.

“So you got rid of them,” I said. My mouth was so dry I could hardly speak. I was so dizzy I thought I might fall. “Did you kill every one of them, all by yourself?”

“I certainly did. With this.” He pulled his short sword from its scabbard. “Had a terrible time cleaning all the blood off afterward.”

“But how did you manage it? Why didn’t they resist? No, wait-I think I know. You’re not alone in this scheme. The innkeeper is in it with you.”

“How did you deduce that, Gordianus?”

“The way Zoticus and I slept that night-we were tired from the long day and the heat, but not that tired. It wasn’t natural. Some sort of drug was put in our food or wine. Something that made us sleep like dead men. The innkeeper did it.”

Marcus gave me a shrewd look.

“And he did the same thing to Titus Tullius and his party,” I said. “He put something in their wine that sent them into a deep sleep-so deep that not one of them woke while you killed them at your leisure. Why didn’t you kill Zoticus and me, as well?”

“I’m a soldier, Gordianus. I kill from necessity, not for enjoyment. Clearly, your interest in the ruins was historical, or in the case of your old tutor, sentimental. A Roman pup wandering amid the rubble and a doddering Greek declaiming poetry posed no threat to me. I told Gnaeus to drug you so that you’d sleep through the killing; I saw no need to kill you as well. It seems I made a mistake-which I now intend to rectify.”

He deftly swung one leg over his horse and dismounted, keeping the drawn sword in his hand. He tightened his grip on the hilt, making ready to use it.

I backed away and tried to stall him with more questions. “The witch’s curse-the lead tablet among the bodies-was it a forgery?”

He laughed. “Can you believe the coincidence? Gnaeus and I found it when we searched Tullius’s room after the killing. We couldn’t believe our luck-a genuine curse tablet, scary enough to make Lucius faint and even old Menenius lose all common sense.”

“But who made the tablet?”

“Ismene, I’m sure. Lucius always said she was a witch. I took the lead tablet downstairs and hid it among the bodies. It was perfect, that Lucius should be the one to find it. And the way you read it aloud, with that tremor in your voice-like an actor on a stage! Even I had to shudder. ‘Egyptian Ufer of the Mighty Name!’” Marcus laughed so hard he stopped in his tracks. But he was still holding the sword.

“Lucius said something about other soldiers who died, in their sleep,” I said. “He blamed witchcraft.”

Marcus shrugged. “That was my doing. Aulus figured out what I was up to, and demanded a share. So I poisoned him. A month later, Tiberius did the same. Lucius was sure they died by witchcraft and told everyone so. No suspicion ever fell on me.”

“If poison worked before, why didn’t you poison Tullius and the rest?” I said, desperate to keep stalling him.

He shook his head. “That would have required a great deal of poison. No, it was quicker and easier and more reliable to give them all a sleeping draft, and then use this.” He slashed the air with his sword, so close that a gust of warm air blew against my nose.

While I ran through every question I could think of, I had been looking for something to throw at him. I was surrounded by rubble, yet all the stones and bits of wood were either too big or too small to use as a weapon. Marcus saw my consternation and smiled. He said he killed for necessity, not enjoyment, but the look on his face told another story.

I staggered back, weak from heat and thirst. My heart pounded so hard I thought my chest would burst. Amid the oily spots that swam before my eyes, I glimpsed ghostly faces-the dead of Corinth, making ready to welcome me.

I heard a strange whistling noise.

Marcus abruptly dropped his sword. His jaw went slack and his eyes rolled back in his head. He crumpled to the ground.

I stood dumbfounded, then looked up to see Ismene. She seemed to have materialized from thin air.

“How did you do that?” I whispered. “You killed him without even touching him. You were nowhere near him.”

She gave me a withering look. “First of all, he’s probably not dead. Feel the pulse at his wrist.”

I did so. “You’re right, he’s only unconscious.”

“And not likely to stay that way long. I’d tie him up, if I were you.”

“With what?”

She rolled her eyes. “Use the leather reins from his horse.”

“Ah, yes, of course. It’s the heat-I can’t seem to think straight. But I still don’t understand how you did that. Was it a spell?”

“Feel the back of his head.”

I did so. “There’s a big lump. What sort of spell-”

“Really, young man! Did your father never teach you to use a sling?” She held up a bit of cloth. “Witchcraft achieves many things, but as long as there’s an egg-sized stone handy, I don’t need Ufer of the Mighty Name to bring a man down.”

I finished tying Marcus’s ankles and wrists. “You’re very resourceful,” I said. “Are you really a witch?”

“Titus Tullius and his friends are all dead, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but that was because-”

“If you don’t like my answers, don’t ask me questions.”

I thought about this, and decided to show her more respect. “The handwriting on the tablet at the inn was the same as the handwriting on the tablet I read in the room on the Slope of Sisyphus. You wrote both curses. That’s your witch’s den, isn’t it?”

“I’m one of the women who use it, yes.”

“Who is Eudocia, and why didn’t you finish the curse against her?”

Ismene laughed. For a moment her face was transformed. She looked almost pretty. “Of all the questions to ask! Eudocia is someone’s mother-in-law. At the last moment, the woman asking for the spell lost her nerve. I still made her pay me. Now, I suggest you drape this soldier over his horse and hurry back to Lechaeum, before you die of thirst.”

“What about you? Don’t you need the horse?”

“What for?”

“To get away. The commander has the whole garrison looking for you.”

“I’m a witch, you silly boy. I don’t need a horse to make my escape. Now go about your business and I’ll go about mine.” She reached into the narrow place, pulled out a handful of coins, then stuffed them into a pouch at her waist. The loose garment she was wearing appeared to have many such pouches sewn into it. Several were already bulging.

“You’re taking Marcus’s loot?”

“I never intended to do so, but Ananke demands it. Better I should have it than a Roman soldier.”

“Titus Tullius impugned sorcery and insulted the dead of Corinth. Now he and his friends are dead. What about Marcus?”

“His own commander will see to his punishment.”

“And Gnaeus?”

She spat on the ground. “There’s a lead tablet under his bed right now. He’ll be dead before nightfall.”

Hackles rose on the back of my neck. “And me?”

She smiled. “You’ve done nothing wrong, young Roman. You and the poet showed only respect for the dead of Corinth, and for the sacred place of Persephone. You do the bidding of Moira in this affair. You are the agent of fate. Do you not realize that?

“Now go!”

* * *

By the time I got back to Lechaeum, the sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows. In the dry breeze that moved through the grass I no longer heard the whispers of the dead, only the sound of wind. The ghosts of Corinth were at peace, with me at least.

As I approached the inn, I could see at a distance that Antipater was still asleep under the fig tree. One of the dogs saw me and barked. Antipater shifted in his sleep, but did not wake. I thought I saw a movement at one of the windows upstairs. Had Gnaeus seen me? I hurried on to the garrison.

Lucius was on guard duty. At my approach, he ran to alert the commander. Menenius appeared a moment later. He strode out to meet me, staring at the soldier slung over the horse like a sack of grain. Marcus was just beginning to regain consciousness. He mumbled and tugged fitfully at the leather straps around his wrists and ankles.

“What in Hades is going on?” demanded Menenius.

My throat was so parched I couldn’t speak. Menenius ordered water to be brought. It helped a little, but not much. It is not an easy thing, revealing a truth that will lead to another man’s death. Marcus was a murderer many times over. He had poisoned two of his comrades and slit the throats of a dozen Roman citizens. If Ismene-or Moira-had not intervened, I would have been the thirteenth. I had a duty to both men and gods to deliver him to justice. Still, I found myself unable to look at Marcus as I told Menenius all I knew, aware that my testimony would lead surely and swiftly to his execution. Once he was fully awake, Marcus might deny my story, at first. But I had no doubt that Menenius would obtain a complete confession from him.

Roman citizens are accorded the dignity of a swift death by beheading, but what did the law decree for a soldier who had murdered his own comrades? Would he be crucified like a slave, or stoned like a deserter by his fellow legionnaires? I tried not to think about it. I had played my part. Now it would fall to Menenius to act as the agent of fate.

The commander dismissed me, saying he would question me again after interrogating Marcus. I walked swiftly to the inn. The first stars had appeared in the sky. The shade beneath the fig tree was now so dark I could hardly see Antipater, but I heard him softly snoring. The lazy dogs did not even look up.

I stepped into the inn. The vestibule was dark, but the doorway to the tavern framed the soft glow of a single lamp. Gnaeus must have lit the lamp. I imagined him standing in the room, alone amid the ghosts of the slain. At any moment, soldiers from the garrison would arrive to arrest him for his complicity in the murders. I had no intention of warning him, but something compelled me to step into the tavern.

Half in light, half in shadow, Gnaeus hung from a rope secured to a beam in the ceiling. His lifeless body still swayed slightly, as if he had committed the act only moments before. Ismene had told me he would be dead before nightfall.

* * *

The next day, Menenius allowed us to leave. He even arranged for our transportation across the isthmus. Two soldiers drove us in a wagon, and seemed glad for the excursion.

At Cenchrea, we found a ship to take us to Piraeus, and continued on our journey.

As the Isthmus of Corinth receded in the distance, I wondered if the magic of Ismene had truly motivated all the bloodshed and havoc of the last few days, with no one aware of the full truth except the witch herself. If that were the case, how many times already in my life had I been the unknowing agent of unseen powers, and when would I next fall under the spell of such sorcery?

I shivered at the thought, and hoped never to encounter Ismene again.