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said Eutropius, with a vague wave.
    We followed Amestris down a short hallway and up a flight of stairs. Her shapely hips swayed as she ascended the steps ahead of us.
    She showed Antipater to his room, then led me to the one next to it. It was small but opulently appointed. A balcony offered a view of the harbor. On a little table I saw a basin of water and a sponge.
    “Will you require help to bathe yourself?” said Amestris, standing in the doorway.
    I stared at her for a long moment. “No,” I finally managed to say, in Latin—for at that moment, even the simplest Greek deserted me. Amestris made an elegant bow that caused her breasts to dangle voluptuously for a moment, then backed away.
    “Amestris—that’s a Persian name, isn’t it?” I blurted, finally thinking of something to say.
    For an answer, she merely nodded, then withdrew. I could have sworn I heard her laughing quietly.
    After we had refreshed ourselves and changed into our most colorful tunics, Antipater and I returned to the garden. Eutropius had been joined by another man about his own age and of his own class, to judge by the newcomer’s expensive-looking garments. Anthea had also been joined by a friend, a girl attired exactly as she was, in the guise of Artemis the huntress, but with flowing red hair and plainer features.
    “This is my friend and business partner, Mnason,” said Eutropius, “and this is his daughter, Chloe, who will also be taking part in the procession for the first time.” Under his breath he added, to Antipater, “The two of us are both widowers, sadly, so quite often we take part in festivals and civic celebrations together with our daughters.”
    The six of us set out. Amestris came along as well, to make sure that all was perfect for Anthea’s and Chloe’s appearance in the procession. I tried to keep my eyes off her, determined to take in the sights and sounds of the festive city.
    A short walk brought us to the main entrance of the theater. There were a great many people in the square, and the crowd was still letting out. Everyone looked quite cheerful, and for those who needed more cheering up, vendors were selling wine. Some in the crowd had brought their own cups, but the vendors were also selling ornamental cups made of copper, or silver, or even gold set with stones. Like the talismans for sale in the market, these precious objects were destined to be offered to Artemis at the end of the procession.
    As darkness fell, lamps were lit all around the square, casting a flickering orange glow across the sea of smiling faces. The crowd suddenly grew hushed. A way was cleared in front of the theater entrance. I assumed some dignitary, perhaps the Roman governor, was about to make his exit. Instead, a statue of Artemis emerged, carried aloft by a small group of priests wearing bright yellow robes and tall yellow headdresses.
    Antipater spoke in my ear. “Those are the Megabyzoi, and that statue is the Artemis of Ephesus, the model for all the replicas we saw in the marketplace.”
    The statue was made not of stone or bronze, but of wood, probably ebony to judge by the few areas that were not adorned with bright paint. Her face and hands were gilded. An elaborately embroidered robe with broad sleeves had been fitted over her body, and a veil covered her face. A wagon festooned with wreaths and strings of beads approached, drawn by bulls decorated with ribbons and garlands. The Megabyzoi gently placed the statue upright in the wagon.
    Suddenly I understood Eutropius’s pun about the wooden statue watching a wooden performance. Artemis herself, brought from her temple and specially dressed for the occasion, had been the guest of honor at the play.
    The wagon rolled forward. With Artemis leading the way, others took their place in the procession. Musicians with flutes, horns, lyres, and tambourines appeared. Eutropius gave his daughter a kiss on the forehead, and Mnason did likewise, then Anthea and Chloe ran to join