Day 2, Thursday
DAY OF JUPITER/ZEUS
JUST BEFORE DAWN ANTHIA ROSE FROM HER BEDMAT. She couldn’t lie there anymore, let alone sleep. My hips hurt so much, she mourned silently. I haven’t had this many aches since the last time I was pregnant. She knew that the pain in her hips was part of her body’s process to prepare for the delivery, but the knowledge did little to console her. Her most comfortable position these past weeks was standing, as lying down on her side hurt her hips, while lying on her back made it difficult to breathe. Sitting on the floor squished her belly, also making it difficult to breathe. Even standing, however, had its limits, because after a few minutes her lower back started to hurt. She quietly poured some water into a small ceramic cup and sipped.
Nikias stirred under his blanket, and Anthia resisted the urge to lean over and touch him. If I bend down over him, I might never get back up. Besides, he needs his sleep, she told herself. Their meals may be unpredictable and often too small, but at least she could give him the sleep he needed. So many children did not live beyond these early years, and Anthia was determined to do everything in her power to help her son survive even if disease and hunger stalked them.
Wet. Her mind registered the feeling, but it took a moment for Anthia to understand fully what was happening. I’m dripping. Her arms felt like wooden planks as she reached for the bottom half of her tunic and pulled it up. She attempted to bend so that she could see her thighs, but the size of her belly made it impossible. Frustrated, she touched her leg. Wet. Pulling her fingers back, she inspected them in the predawn light. Blood covered them. Then, as if on cue, a dull pain blossomed in her pelvis, spreading throughout her lower abdomen.
She glanced at Philetus and was relieved to see him sleeping on his side with his back toward her. Her father, aunt, and brother-in-law’s family were also still. Discreetly, she grabbed the clay chamber pot and crouched over it, considering her situation. She hadn’t ever bled during pregnancy, so this was not a good sign. It was too early for the baby to come, so the bleeding could not indicate a healthy labor. Am I losing the baby? Fear gripped her, and she prayed a silent prayer to Artemis for protection. Philetus stirred, and she quickly leaned over to her stock of rags, folding one into a rectangle and placing it carefully into her subligacula, the cloth she wore wrapped between her legs and around her hips. I’m low on rags, she realized, making a mental note to ask Eutaxia for more.
Everyone was drinking water. Anthia glanced at her husband, and he smiled when his eyes met hers. Should I tell him? Or any of them? Maybe Penelope . . . She wasn’t sure what to do. It probably didn’t help that she couldn’t breathe very well while sitting on the floor like this, but she was afraid that if she stood the blood might run down her legs to the floor. At least this way she could keep a rag in place.
Nikias looked at her hungrily, then his eyes moved from her face to the bowl that often held the barley porridge. It was empty. What will we do? She wished that she could nurse him, but he had been weaned for almost a year. Perhaps she should have hired out her services as a wet nurse when her breasts were still producing milk. Then she likely wouldn’t have gotten pregnant again either. She sighed. Too late. There is nothing to be done. Philetus hadn’t been thrilled at the idea of her being a wet nurse, as it was such an obvious indicator of poverty and low status. And at the time, the fish had been plentiful. She and the other women had been so busy in the agora selling the catch their husbands caught each day that Anthia hadn’t had the time to be a wet nurse. She caught herself watching her sister-in-law as she nursed the baby, and for a fleeting moment she pondered asking Penelope to nurse Nikias for a moment.
No, she decided. I can’t. Penelope hasn’t eaten either. It would be cruel to ask her body to nurse another child.
Philetus cleared his throat. “Galleos and I caught nothing last night. We are going to try another new spot in the harbor this morning.” Anthia nodded, her face a mask of calm. She dared not reveal even a hint of her true thoughts regarding Galleos. Weasel. She had always thought that he had been named after an appropriate animal. He was small in stature, and Anthia’s friends agreed that his very demeanor was predatory. His eyes always followed the women, tracing their bodies. Anthia had also overheard him making vulgar jokes.
With that short statement, Philetus stood, adjusted his belt, and left. Andrew was already gone; he had left while it was still dark, hoping to be at the front of the line for day laborers looking for work. Her father moved to lie back down on his mat, and Anthia knew her aunt would stay to attend him. Penelope stood, pulled her child from her breast, and handed him wordlessly to Anthia. Both women understood the reality; Penelope needed to go outside the city once again to attempt to find food in the fields, and Anthia would stay with the children. She needed to be near in case the men caught fish. However, with no fish to sell this morning, Anthia would be able to visit Eutaxia. As she stood, she again felt the blood run down her leg. I will talk to Eutaxia about this, she decided. Eutaxia’s mother had been a respected midwife, and she had been training her daughter when she had suddenly fallen ill and died last year. Eutaxia will know what to do.
Anthia adjusted her shoulders and looked at Phoebe and Eutaxia, her two closest friends. “When did the bleeding start?” Phoebe asked.
“Please, Phoebe,” Anthia whispered, even as she admired again her friend’s thick, curly brown hair. The knot at the back of her head could not contain it, and it sprouted curly wings that framed Phoebe’s face. All three women actually looked remarkably similar. We could be sisters, Anthia had often thought. We all have dark hair, eyes, skin, and light builds. But the hair . . . Phoebe’s hair is so beautiful. Phoebe blushed and looked furtively to her left, to the thin wall shared with Eutaxia’s nosy neighbor. The elderly woman next door lived with her adult son and his family, and she was often home during the day with the youngest two children while everyone else was working.
Anthia was grateful to be with friends. The three of them had grown up together in Ephesus in the same insula, and Eutaxia and Anthia were still neighbors, living in side-by-side one-room apartments on the top floor of an insula, largely because their husbands were cousins and had wanted to live near each other. Phoebe, however, now lived a few streets over. Phoebe was a few years older and had given birth to three children, two of whom survived. Her first, a boy, had died after three days, six days before his naming day. Her second child was a girl, and Phoebe’s husband had lifted her from the ground and chosen to raise her. The third, another boy, was swaddled in Phoebe’s arms.
Urban Housing
Though only a small percentage of the population in the Roman Empire in the first century lived in cities (perhaps 10 to 15 percent), the housing was often compact. Insulae, or a type of ancient apartment building, housed most of the population, with the same building often inhabited by people from a cross section of the status and class spectrum. Insulae often stood four to five stories tall, and the cheapest and most dangerous apartments were those on the top floor, where the structural defects of thin walls and poor building materials placed occupants at the greatest risk from collapse or fire.
While the wealthy may have lived in apartments with multiple rooms, most people lived as extended families in just one room that may have averaged about one hundred square feet. Because there were few windows, the rooms were often dark and damp, and the poor ventilation and lack of running water spread disease. While there were some well-constructed insulae in Ephesus that used a pipe system for running water (and housed only the wealthy), most apartment dwellers used public fountains and carried water up the stairs in buckets. The presence of cesspits for human waste at the bottom floor also contributed to disease, as did the waste in the streets. Chamber pots were supposed to be emptied into the cesspits (which were often bins), but contents were often tossed out of windows at night.
Of course, some city dwellers did not have access to housing, and they sheltered in storerooms under stairs or bridges, tombs, basements, public lavatories or baths, or temple porches.
Figure 2.1. The remains of an ancient insula, a type of apartment building
“This morning. I got up early because my hips hurt, and as I stood I felt the bleeding start.” Anthia paused anxiously, raising her eyebrows in question as she looked back and forth at the faces of her two friends.
Eutaxia’s response was direct and clinical. “How much blood? How many rags have you used?” Anthia wished that she would be a little more compassionate, but compassion was not Eutaxia’s strength.
“I’m still on my first.”
Eutaxia’s curt nod accompanied her analysis. “It’s not good, but it could be worse. Your belly is big, and the baby is growing, but he isn’t ready to be born. He won’t survive if he comes now. We have to try to stop the bleeding. Can you feel him moving and kicking?”
At this new question, Anthia paused to consider. She hadn’t even thought about her baby’s movement because the bleeding had worried her so much. “I haven’t felt him move today, or at least I don’t remember him moving,” she admitted.
Her friend’s worried look told her all she needed to know. At Eutaxia’s direction, Anthia stretched out on the small mat on the floor and tried to get comfortable. Lying on her back was not an option; she could hardly breathe with the weight of her belly constricting her lungs. She moved to her side and rested her head on her arm, barely moving it in time to miss a small foot that was running by.
The four toddlers were playing some kind of chasing game, and that ruckus, combined with the fussing of Phoebe’s baby, made Anthia wish they could go outside. At least Penelope’s baby was sleeping, bundled tightly in rags in the corner. And they had a lot of natural light, because while there was only one small window, there were multiple holes in the outside wall. Eutaxia covered them at night with scraps of fabric, but during the day the added light was a bonus.
Eutaxia walked to one wall and poured a small amount of wine from an amphora into a ceramic cup. She handed it to Anthia, then sat down. Anthia sipped the wine gratefully and watched Eutaxia mend her son’s small tunic. “Isn’t that the tunic you just made?” asked Phoebe.
“Yes, from Lampo’s old one. He laughed when Lykos tore it yesterday, saying that our son is indeed a wolf.” She shook her head. “I may need to go to the agora for some thread. Perhaps I can trade a few olives for it.”
“Speaking of the agora, have you heard of the man Paul, who teaches and dialogues in the lecture hall of Tyrannus near the gate of Mazeus and Mithridates?” Anthia asked. Both women nodded, with Eutaxia exclaiming in consternation.
“I heard about him from a miller, who has some Jewish customers who buy her flour. They told her that he came to Ephesus several months ago and focused on the Jews only. He spent a lot of time in their homes and synagogue, discussing something called ‘the Way’ with them.”
Figure 2.2. The gate of Mazeus and Mithridates (right) was built in AD 40 by two slaves, Mazeus and Mithridates, who had been freed. The gate is dedicated to the emperor Caesar Augustus and his family. The structure on the left is the Celsus Library and was built in the early second century AD, after Paul’s visits to Ephesus.
“What is that?” Phoebe adjusted her breast as she lifted her strophium, her breast cloth, and angled her nipple toward her infant son’s crying mouth. “I have never heard of it, and when I listened to Paul debate another philosopher a few days ago outside the hall, he did not mention it.”
“One of the Jewish holy texts mentions the way of their god,” Eutaxia proudly announced. Shocked, Phoebe and Anthia stared at their friend. “In this scroll one of their prophets tells of a time when their god will comfort them and restore their good fortune after disciplining them. When the god comes to do this, his way is to be prepared by his people, those who honor him,” Eutaxia added. “And the man Paul claims that this god is doing it now, which means that there are already those who are part of his way. Others can join if they wish.” Eutaxia exhaled and smiled smugly.
“Have you been debating with Paul in the lecture hall?” asked Phoebe sarcastically. “You are truly an expert.”
“I just keep my ears open,” Eutaxia retorted. “I was at the baths yesterday and ended up next to a slave of a wealthy Jewish woman. The slave’s mistress is a student of Paul’s and is convinced that what he says is true. She has helped to pay for his use of the lecture hall so that others can learn from him.”
“I heard him yesterday,” Anthia admitted. “Philetus and I stopped to listen to him after our morning work. He was talking about the strangest thing, something called resurrection. It means being raised to life after death. It’s not just your spirit but your body.”
“How can that be?” Phoebe mused. “And why would anyone want to be in a body? I cannot wait to escape this shell. Having babies has not improved it; I am so soft and saggy in many places, and I need to visit the latrine more often than before.” Eutaxia and Anthia laughed knowingly.
“Anthia still wins,” Eutaxia claimed. “Her injuries after Nikias were so great that she could not walk normally for months.” Anthia merely nodded in assent, not wanting to discuss it. She worked hard to keep the vivid flashbacks from coming, as they caused her heart to race and her body to break into a sweat.
“It could have been worse,” Anthia asserted. To herself she added, I could have died. She took a deep breath and continued. “That’s why Paul’s words caught my attention. He said there is hope, and that death does not win, does not have to win. He mentioned another Jewish man named Jesus who was the first to be raised from the dead. Paul said that Jesus conquered death! Could it be?”
“Impossible,” Phoebe argued. “If something like that were true, wouldn’t our great philosophers have known it long ago? These new ideas can’t be trusted.”
“I agree, but it’s still interesting.” Eutaxia’s eyes danced mischievously. “And when prominent people like that wealthy Jewish woman join, it makes for good gossip. I’m going to get thread for mending; do you two mind staying with Euxinus for a bit?” They nodded their agreement, and as Eutaxia walked through the doorway she added, “And I’ll be sure to walk by Tyrannus’s lecture hall on the way.”
While they waited for Eutaxia to return, Anthia and Phoebe talked quietly, and the children ate. Anthia resisted the urge to cry as she watched Nikias gulp down his simple meal of millet flat cake and olive oil. “Thank you,” she said again.
Phoebe’s only response was to insist that she eat a few bites. “You need to eat as well. The baby needs nourishment, and perhaps some good food and rest will help the bleeding to stop.” Gratefully, Anthia accepted a piece of the flat cake and dipped it in oil. She longed for a turnip, onion, or a few bites of chickpeas, but it was not to be. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks for Phoebe and her generosity. They were not only friends but distant relatives as well, and their shared kinship meant that they often shared resources. It was about survival, and everyone took care of their own. Anthia glanced through a crack in the wall toward the sun; it was much higher in the sky, which meant that Eutaxia had been gone for quite a while. “Where could she be?” Anthia asked.
Just then Eutaxia burst through the wooden door triumphantly, her right hand extended. In it was a treat that instantly made Anthia’s mouth water. “Sausage! Where did you get that?”
“From the slave that I mentioned earlier, Rhoda. Her mistress, the wealthy Jewish woman, bought several for herself and Rhoda. I saw them standing outside of the lecture hall listening to Paul. Rhoda shared one with me.”
Eutaxia broke the sausage into bites and gave each woman and child one. The taste of pork offal and spices exploded in Anthia’s mouth, and she nodded appreciatively at Eutaxia. Eutaxia’s smile answered her as she picked up her son and began to nurse him. Eutaxia’s son Euxinus was her third child; the first two had not lived to their naming days. Euxinus was now two years old and would be weaned soon, though Anthia knew that his weak health concerned his mother, who petitioned the gods regularly for strength and life on behalf of her son.
“Well, how was the agora?” Phoebe’s question hung in the air, and Eutaxia pasted on an innocent expression.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play that game with us,” Phoebe warned, though her laughter demonstrated her true feelings. “Tell us.”
“So today Paul was talking about all the different peoples and nations. He was answering questions from the men who were listening, but then Rhoda’s mistress asked one! In front of everyone, she asked about what the man Jesus means for the way that Jews interact with other people groups and nations.” Anthia involuntarily held her breath, marveling at the status and power some women possessed.
“And?” Phoebe prompted, when Eutaxia paused a bit too long.
“Well, first, he called her by name—Dorcas—so he knows her. And then he said that Jesus was god’s way of bringing all the peoples, nations, tribes, and clans together. Jesus is the first new human, and a new humanity and unity for all people is possible through him.” Eutaxia shook her head wonderingly. “The craziest part wasn’t even what he was saying, it was the way he said it. He was so excited, so joyful. I don’t understand.”
“How?” Anthia questioned. “How does Jesus create a new humanity and unity among people?”
“Paul talked a lot about the peace and reconciliation that Jesus brings, peace that overcomes hostility between different peoples.”
Peace, thought Anthia. Now that was a word she had heard often from the Roman citizens who lived in Ephesus. The Roman Empire had brought peace to all, they claimed. “So the peace that Jesus brings, is it like the Roman peace? Does he reconcile people to each other like the Romans do, by conquering all and enforcing Roman law?”
“No,” Eutaxia countered, “Paul made a big point of saying that Jesus’ peace is not forced. It’s peace between people and reconciliation to the god who sent Jesus, and . . .” Eutaxia paused for dramatic effect.
“And what?” Phoebe demanded. Anthia smiled at the way that Eutaxia consistently aggravated Phoebe, though Phoebe always pushed back in her own way.
“And . . . Jesus made this possible by dying on a cross.”
The women were silent as Phoebe and Anthia digested this new information, and both Nikias and Isidora, Phoebe’s daughter, apparently took the quiet as an invitation to make noise. They screeched as they fought over a small wooden toy, and Phoebe stepped in to mediate.
“A cross. That’s how that man Jesus died? He was crucified by the Romans? What did he do to deserve that kind of death?” Anthia’s rapid questions came in the order that they occurred to her. She knew that the Romans reserved crucifixion for especially heinous offenders, including runaway slaves and those who rebelled against Roman rule as traitors. “Was he a slave or a rebel?” she added.
“Neither,” pronounced Eutaxia, though her next words were cut off by the arrival of Philetus and Lampo. The women all knew what that meant, and Anthia and Phoebe quickly got to their feet. Philetus commanded Nikias to come, and Anthia scooped Penelope’s baby off the floor and into her arms. The baby’s eyes were just as blue as his mother’s, and he cooed with delight at the attention. With one hand she gestured to Demarchos, Penelope’s three-year-old son, and the five of them left and walked to their room next door while Phoebe took her children and headed down the stairs. It was time to rest.
Anthia waited for Philetus to inform her about the morning’s fishing. She knew that he didn’t like too many questions, preferring to explain when he was ready. She busied herself with laying Nikias down on the mat, rubbing his back and singing quietly while sitting next to him. Her father lay on his mat in the opposing corner, breathing heavily. Her aunt paced the small space, trying to comfort Penelope’s now-crying baby.
“Where are they?” she asked again, though they all knew the answer. Andrew likely wouldn’t return until dusk; any chance he could find to work would be utilized. And Penelope was possibly on her way back, though depending on how far outside the city she had to go, it could be a while before she returned.
Anthia’s seated posture also helped to conceal the bleeding from her husband. During the few steps between Eutaxia’s one-room home and theirs Anthia had felt the blood begin again to trickle down her leg, and she quickly readjusted the rag before she sat next to her son.
“Praise be to Glaukos.” Philetus’s comment interrupted her thoughts. “Galleos was right; we needed to petition the fishermen’s god, and Glaukos honored us with many fish this morning.”
It struck Anthia that such a petition would require some coins, or at least some food. She wondered briefly where her husband and his partner had found the resources. “Yes,” she agreed, “Praise be to Glaukos.”
Clearly proud, Philetus pulled out from a small basket a mackerel the size of his forearm. Anthia gasped and then laughed with delight, clapping her hands. Nikias joined her in clapping, and Anthia pulled him in quickly for a hug. Her aunt stopped walking and stared, her eyes bright. But Philetus wasn’t finished. Also from the basket, he drew a small amphora of wine, some cooked fava beans, and a soft loaf of bread. “We’re celebrating!” declared Philetus.
Indeed, we are, thought Anthia, touching the soft bread and mentally comparing it to the flat, hard bread that she routinely baked for their family. Finely ground flour and yeast are such wonders.
Food
Most of the populace in the first-century Roman Empire survived on a diet that was composed mainly of grains such as barley, wheat, and millet. Barley could be ground into flour and then combined with oil, water, or milk to make a cake called maza, which did not need to be baked and was often eaten by the poor. The outer hulls of barley could also be soaked overnight to soften them before grinding and cooking them as a porridge. Cheap wheat was also used for porridge and as the main ingredient in one-pound loaves of flat bread that could be made unleavened or with leavening agents such as sourdough, sour grape juice, or yeast, though bread made from quality, finely ground flour was also available.
The poor did not have separate kitchen facilities in their one-room homes, and there were no fireplaces or chimneys in these structures. The common cooking method involved the use of a brazier, a portable metal container for hot coals. Food was placed in ceramic dishes and cooked over the coals. Most people ate with their fingers and had access to plates, bowls, and cups, while the wealthy also used glassware, spoons, and knives.
Legumes (such as fava beans, field beans, peas, chickpeas, cowpeas, lupines, and lentils), vegetables, salt, olives and olive oil, vinegar, and wine (mixed with water) were also fairly common, though access to them varied greatly. The lower classes ate turnips and onions, while other vegetables and many fruits would only have been eaten occasionally (if at all). Fruits were often treated as dessert items.
Fish and meat were often reserved for the rich and special occasions, though there is some historical evidence that at least the cheaper versions were more accessible to people from the lower classes than previously thought. Fish eaten in the ancient world included octopus, sprat, sea urchins, red mullet, tuna, mussels, mackerel, and oysters. Fish were often salted so they could be eaten up to a year later. Garum— a fish sauce made by fermenting the guts of small fish (such as anchovies) with salt and herbs in large, open tanks for a month or more and then adding honey and vinegar—was popular across all socioeconomic classes of the first-century Greco-Roman world.
Meat included poultry such as ducks, geese, pigeons, owls, pelicans, swans, thrushes, larks, and nightingales as well as boar, fox, deer, and pigs. Pigs were viewed as nutritious, and they were often less expensive because of their breeding habits. The lard and blood of animals were also used; the key ingredient in black pudding was blood.
Street vendors hawked food products in urban areas, often selling breads as well as legumes and cooked meats such as sausage. Taverns, restaurants, and bars also crowded the marketplace areas and city streets. While the elite may have eaten up to three meals a day, much of the population ate when food was available to them, and that availability varied a great deal.
She moved quickly, walking to Eutaxia’s with her brazier to see whether there were coals she could share. During the return trip she was acutely aware of the heat of the portable appliance; carrying a full brazier, even one with handles, was an impressive feat with a pregnant belly, she decided. She carefully drizzled a bit of olive oil into the pot on top of the brazier and placed the fish inside, salting it before sealing it with the lid. While the fish cooked, she poured vinegar into the indentation on the bread plate and poured the wine into their shared cup. Knowing that there were fish to sell in the agora, Anthia gestured to the others to begin eating. They sat in their usual places on the floor around the plate and cup, tearing the bread, dipping it in vinegar, and enjoying the wine. When the fish was cooked, Anthia carefully tipped it onto the plate, savoring the aroma. She smiled at Philetus, acknowledging his good work, then used her fingers to break off pieces. “What a meal!” she exalted. She felt refreshed, and it was only when she stood to walk to their stall in the agora that she remembered her bleeding. She would have to be careful to hide it from Philetus when they stopped at one of the public latrines on the way.
They walked down the flights of stairs and past the cesspit at the bottom, and Anthia noted that it had been emptied that morning; the mass of flies that usually covered the human excrement was a bit smaller as a result. Philetus noticed as well. “What a relief. Workers cleaned it out this morning after I left to fish with Galleos.”
“Eutaxia mentioned that it was overflowing when she took the chamber pots down this morning to empty them,” Anthia added, instantly scolding herself for the slip of tongue. “Pots?” asked Philetus, noticing her use of the plural. “Hers and ours,” Anthia offered timidly, awaiting the scolding that she knew would come.
“Why is she doing your work? You shame our family when you do not work hard and complete your tasks.”
“I wasn’t feeling well, so she offered to help me. I am feeling better now.” Anthia paused, wondering whether her careful comment would be enough to satisfy him.
“That was honorable of her. I must thank Lampo when I see him next.”
Anthia breathed a sigh of relief and made a mental note to mention it to Eutaxia first. A few minutes later they arrived at the latrine and entered the dim room as a family. They took three seats in a row, and Anthia was grateful that the poor light helped to hide her bleeding. Just to be sure, she helped Nikias first, hoisting his naked little body up to the seat, and waited to sit until Philetus leaned forward to select a sponge stick that he would use to clean himself when he was finished. She sat quickly, her arm touching her son’s. She waited to rise until Philetus had walked to the water basin to rinse his hands, quickly adjusting the rag and her tunic. I wish we could use the baths next door, she thought.
As if he had heard her thoughts, Philetus turned to her, “Perhaps we can visit the baths today after we sell our fish in the agora. If we sell them all, we should be able to pay the fee.”
She smiled gratefully and nodded. “That would be wonderful.”
They walked toward the agora, and from a distance Anthia could see the crowd gathered outside Tyrannus’s lecture hall. “That philosopher Paul is really starting to cause a ruckus.” Philetus shook his head emphatically. “Something needs to be done. Surely one of our great Ephesian philosophers can best him in public debate and quiet things down.”
Urban Sanitation
Sanitation in the ancient world often involved cesspits (which could be many feet deep) in courtyards and on streets. Very few homes had running water or private toilets, so ceramic chamber pots were used and then dumped into cesspits or onto the street. People sometimes relieved themselves on public streets, which could be covered not just with human excrement but with animal manure, mud, and even corpses. Such unsanitary conditions attracted flies and other insects that also encouraged the spread of disease.
In major cities the multiseated public latrine was fairly common, though single toilets were also constructed in shops and bars. Seats were a mere twelve inches apart without partitions in between them. Latrines were often connected to a bathhouse so that water from the bath could be used to flush out the sewage under the seats of the latrine.
Figure 2.3. Public toilets. Very few ancient homes had private toilets
Some public latrines added a narrow gutter of shallow water in the center of the room, which likely was provided to rinse out a sponge stick after cleaning the anus with it. Sometimes basins of water were placed for the purpose of rinsing hands, but there was no soap or towels.
“Yes, surely,” Anthia agreed, though she thought it likely that some had already tried. As they walked behind the crowd, Anthia strained her ears to listen.
“ . . . the true lord,” the now-familiar voice of Paul argued.
“Caesar is lord!” a contrarian voice insisted. “This is obvious to anyone with eyes to see. Look at the might and expanse of the Roman empire.”
The tone of Paul’s response caught Anthia’s attention, though she missed the end of the sentence because she could no longer hear. “Sometimes our eyes cannot see what is true. The one true god of the world has seated Jesus at his right hand in the heavenly realms. Jesus is lord over . . .” As Eutaxia had explained, Paul didn’t sound angry or superior. He sounded . . . excited. Joyful.
Hmm, Anthia pondered as she struggled to keep up with her husband’s quick strides while not losing the rag that was placed so precariously between her legs. I wonder how long it will take the authorities to do something about Paul and his claims that someone besides Caesar or one of the gods is lord.
They walked to their fish stall and were greeted by others in their fishers and fishmongers’ association, including their wives and children. The men divided up some of the fish among themselves and left with the older boys to trade for other necessities. This was an important part of the boys’ training, as they would be fishermen as well someday.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur of bargaining, selling, and trading the many fish the men had caught. The women always managed this aspect of the work, along with keeping an eye on the children. Thankfully, a couple of the families who shared the fish stall had older girls who managed the younger children. Anthia spotted Dorema, the six-year-old daughter of Galleos and his wife, Euippe, chasing after Nikias. She caught him and swung his little body up into her arms, laughing. Dorema. Gift. The pang of grief for her friend swelled, and Anthia wondered whether Philetus would accept a suggestion of a name for their unborn baby. Dorema would be appropriate, she argued to herself. And if it is a boy, then Diodorus. Gift of Zeus.
The men returned, congratulating each other on their abilities to trade well. Philetus instructed her to find Nikias so they could visit the baths, and Anthia quickly obliged. She found him on Dorema’s hip, the girl’s left hand wrapped around him. On their way to the baths they again passed in front of the stall where she had seen Paul yesterday. He wasn’t there, though the other man and woman were busy sewing what appeared to be a tent, or possibly a sun shade. The reason for his absence in the stall became apparent as they walked past the lecture hall, for Paul’s audience had only grown in the intervening hours. The topic was unchanged, and Anthia heard bits of what was being said. Paul was saying something about the authority of lords, including how they demonstrated their rule over their subjects. The rule of Jesus was, apparently, different. Anthia was interested, wishing she could stay to hear more. But Philetus was undeterred, moving quickly toward the baths, and Anthia followed. She was relieved that she wasn’t currently bleeding; otherwise the baths could be awkward.
As she settled into the hot water, she mentally thanked the Romans for their love of bathing and their skill in designing furnaces that could heat water to this temperature. She and Philetus had undressed in the apodyterium, where their clothes were stored and watched by an attendant, and they had moved quickly through the tepid water in the transitional room to the hot water here in the caldarium. She was sitting next to Philetus with Nikias on her lap, though they were not alone. On her other side sat two men who were clearly discussing some kind of business deal that involved olives. Across the room a woman was being washed with soap by her young slave girl. Two young men entered, red-faced from their exercise in the palaestra outside. There were almost always men—and sometimes women—in that courtyard who were running, wrestling, or lifting weights. Even the thought of exercising was draining to Anthia. Running would make me even hungrier than I already am.
She had been concerned about leaving their clothes in the apodyterium; she and Philetus each had only one tunic, and she had heard that clothes had been stolen from this bath in recent days. As she prayed that the gods would guard her clothes, she appraised the young men, who were taking their time getting into the communal bathing pool. They were young and muscular, and the way they strutted and preened suggested a confidence bolstered by high status. She could tell by their shiny skin that they had visited the masseuse first. Most of the oil from the massage had been scraped off with a strigil, but they still glistened in the afternoon heat. They finally sat down, each with a depilator, who proceeded to pluck their underarm hair while they talked.
Anthia turned her head and noticed several older women sitting on Philetus’s other side, their wealth apparent because of their plump bodies. They were chatting while eating chicken legs they had no doubt purchased from the street vendor outside. Smells delicious, was Anthia’s first thought, though it was followed quickly by another when she heard one of them mention the name Paul. Is it the Paul from the lecture hall? Anthia wondered. She listened carefully, trying to tune out the other conversations in the room so she could focus on what the older women were saying.
“Yes, he is,” one of them remarked. “Dorcas insisted on paying the rent for the lecture hall. I told her that it was unwise, as he is creating quite a stir, but she wouldn’t listen to me. Even her husband refutes Paul’s claims, but she has her own inheritance, and she is paying the rent out of those funds.”
This woman knows the master that Eutaxia heard earlier! Anthia watched her husband out of the corner of her eye, looking for an indication that he was listening, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts. Useless, she decided after several minutes of eavesdropping. They aren’t talking about what Paul is saying, they’re just discussing the risks their friend is taking by helping Paul. She had sometimes seen women who spoke in public be ridiculed, but wealthy women like Dorcas were often educated and trained in various arts.
Philetus handed her a bit of the soap for which he had traded that afternoon, and she quickly worked to scrub herself and Nikias. While washing her belly she pushed in several places, waiting for the baby’s kick to answer her. Nothing, she worried. At least she was not bleeding at the moment, a small comfort. When they finished, they stood and walked to the final room, the frigidarium. As Anthia plunged under the cold water, her shiver was met with a kick, and she praised Artemis for her care.
Their dinner that night was a celebration. Two good meals in one day! Anthia rejoiced. She looked around Galleos and Euippe’s home, surveying the gathering. Several of the families in their association had decided to eat and honor Glaukos together, and Galleos’s home had been the obvious choice for the gathering. Two small rooms gives more space than one, after all.
Anthia watched as one of the men poured wine out of a cup onto a small altar in the corner of one of the rooms. A chorus of “Praise be to Glaukos” reverberated throughout the space, and several voices added their own prayers of thanks to the god for hearing them earlier. Euippe’s mention of the god as “lord Glaukos” caught Anthia’s attention, reminding her of Paul’s comments earlier in the lecture hall. Paul would say that Jesus is lord, not Glaukos. The unbidden thought caught her off-guard, and she scanned the room to see whether anyone could sense her shameful thoughts. No one knows, she told herself. Unless . . . does Glaukos know? Anthia wasn’t sure how far Glaukos’s reach extended, and her ignorance scared her. “Praise be to Glaukos!” she called out, and the entire group turned at the volume of her response. “Praise be to Glaukos!” they affirmed, and Anthia exhaled, hoping that all was well.