The Hittite - Ben Bova [113]
Magro rode up beside our wagon. “There’re no walls around the city!” he marveled.
“Ephesus is dedicated to Artemis the Healer,” said Helen. “Men from every part of the world come here to be cured of their ailments. A sacred spring has waters with magical curative powers.”
I couldn’t help giving her a skeptical look.
“It’s true,” said Poletes, groping his way up to the front of the wagon to stand between Helen and me. “Everyone knows the truth of it. There are no walls around the city. None are needed. No army has ever tried to take it or sack it. Everyone knows that the city is dedicated to the goddess Artemis and her healing arts; not even the most barbarian king would dare to attack it, lest he and his entire army would fall to Artemis’ invisible arrows, which bring plague and painful death.”
That reminded me. “Artemis is a moon goddess, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Helen said, nodding. “And the sister of Apollo.”
“Then she must have favored Troy in the war.”
“I suppose she did.”
“It didn’t do her much good, though,” Magro said, with a chuckle. “Did it?” His horse nodded, as if in agreement.
“But she’ll be angry with us,” I said.
Helen’s eyes widened beneath her blue hood. “Then we must find her temple as soon as we enter the city and make a sacrifice to placate her.”
“What do we have to offer for a sacrifice?” I asked.
Magro jabbed a finger at the donkeys wearily pulling our wagon. “This team of asses. They’re about half dead anyway.”
“Don’t make light of it,” Poletes insisted, his voice stronger than his frail body. “The gods hear your words, and they will punish mockery.”
“I will offer my best ring,” Helen said. “It is made of pure gold and set with rubies.”
“You could buy a whole caravan of donkeys with that,” Magro said.
“Then it should placate Artemis very nicely,” Helen replied, in a tone that said the matter was settled.
11
What ever its patron deity, Ephesus was civilization. Even the streets were paved with marble. Stately temples with fluted white marble columns were centers of healing as well as worship. The city was well accustomed to hosting visitors, and there were plenty of inns available. We chose the first one we came to, at the edge of the city. It was almost empty at this time of the year, just after the ending of the rainy season. Wealthier travelers preferred to be in the heart of the city or down by the docks where the boats came in.
The innkeeper was a lean, angular man with a totally bald head, a scrawny fringe of a beard, shrewd eyes, and at least a dozen sons and daughters who worked at various jobs around the inn. He was happy enough to have the ten of us as his guests, although he looked hard at my two little boys.
“They’re well behaved,” I told him before he could work up the nerve to say anything about them.
A look of understanding dawned on his face. “Your sons?”
“Yes. Treat them well.”
“Of course, sir. Of course. My own daughters will watch over them.”
Then he glanced at Helen, who had kept the cowl of her robe pulled up over her golden hair. “And your wife, sir?”
“She will require a room of her own,” I said.
He nodded and smiled knowingly. “Next to yours.”
I smiled back. “Of course.”
Gesturing to our two miserable, creaky wagons, the innkeeper said grandly, “Your goods will be perfectly safe here, sir, even if they were made of solid gold. My sons protect this inn and no thief will touch what is yours.”
I wondered how certain of that he would have been if he’d known that inside the boxes we lifted out of the wagons there really were treasures of gold and jewels from gutted Troy. I let his four sons handle our baggage, but I watched them closely as they stacked the boxes in the inn’s largest room. I chose to sleep in that room myself, together with blind Poletes and the boys. Helen disappeared into the next room, but almost immediately a pro cession of younger women paraded in, four of them tugging a large round wooden tub, others bearing soaps and powders and what ever else women use in their