The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction by Mike Ashley Read Free Book Online

deer. The Temple of Artemis is one of the world’s great storehouses of wealth – and every Roman governor spends his tenure trying to figure out some way to get his hands on it.”
    We bought some goat’s cheese on a skewer from a vendor and slowly made our way through the crowd. The crush lessened as we ascended a winding street that took us halfway up Mount Pion, where we at last arrived at the house of Eutropius.
    “It’s larger than I remember it,” said Antipater, gazing at the immaculately maintained façade. “I do believe he’s added a storey since I was here.”
    The slave who answered the door dismissed our baggage carriers and instructed some underlings to take our things to the guest quarters. We were shown to a garden at the centre of the house where our host reclined on a couch, apparently just waking from a nap. Eutropius was perhaps forty – with a robust physique and the first touch of frost in his golden hair – and wore a beautifully tailored robe spun from coarse silk dyed a rich saffron hue. He sprang up and approached Antipater with open arms.
    “Teacher!” he exclaimed. “You haven’t aged a bit.”
    “Nonsense!” Antipater gestured to his white hair, but smiled, pleased by the compliment. He introduced me to our host, and we all exchanged pleasantries.
    The air above our heads resounded with the sound of a great many people laughing.
    “From the theatre,” explained Eutropius.
    “But why are you not there?” asked Antipater.
    “Bah! Plays bore me – all those actors making terrible puns and behaving like idiots. You taught me to love poetry, Teacher, but I’m afraid you were never able to imbue me with a love of comedy.”
    “Artemis herself enjoys the performances,” said Antipater.
    “So they say – even when they’re as wooden as she is,” said Eutropius. Antipater cackled, but I missed the joke.
    Antipater drew a sharp breath. “But who is this?”
    “Anthea!” Eutropius strode to embrace the girl who had just entered the garden. She was a few years younger than I, and golden-haired like her father. She wore a knee-length purple tunic cinched with a silver chain tied below breasts just beginning to bud. The garment hung loosely over her shoulders, baring her arms, which were surprisingly tawny. (A Roman girl of the same social standing would have creamy-white limbs, and would never display them to a stranger.) She wore a necklace of gilded acorns and a fawnskin cape. Strapped across her shoulder was a quiver filled with brightly painted, miniature arrows. In one hand she carried a dainty little bow – clearly a ceremonial weapon – and in the other an equally dainty javelin.
    “Is it Artemis herself I see?” whispered Antipater in a dreamy voice. I was thinking the same thing myself. The exotic Ephesian Artemis of the talismans was alien to me, but this was the Diana I knew, virgin goddess of the hunt.
    Eutropius gazed proudly at his daughter. “Anthea turned fourteen just last month. This is her first year to take part in the procession.”
    “No one in the crowd will look at anyone else,” declared Antipater, at which the girl lowered her eyes and blushed.
    As lovely as Anthea was, my attention was suddenly claimed by the slave girl who followed her into the garden. She was older than her mistress, perhaps my own age, with lustrous black hair, dark eyes and a long, straight nose. She wore a dark blue tunic with sleeves that came to her elbows, cinched with a thin leather belt. Her figure was more womanly than Anthea’s and her demeanour less girlish. She smiled, apparently pleased at the fuss we were making over her mistress, and when she saw me looking at her, she stared back at me and raised an eyebrow. My cheeks turned hot and I looked away.
    “Look at you, blushing back at Anthea!” whispered Antipater, mistaking the cause of my reaction.
    Another burst of laughter resounded above us, followed by long, sustained applause.
    “I do believe that means