Day 4, Saturday

DAY OF SATURNUS/KRONOS

ANTHIA PEERED INTO THE LECTURE HALL. It was empty, and busy pedestrians walked in front of it without so much as a second glance. He must be working, she considered. Perhaps he’s in the tentmaking shop. She glanced again at the sun in the sky. I have time, she told herself. It can’t hurt just to walk by it.

Philetus was fishing again, and she was assisting Eutaxia. Her friend was still being cautious in protecting her son, though Euxinus was doing very well. Eutaxia had kept him home this morning as she worked on her mending. Even one day of missed work had created quite a pile, and she needed to do her best to catch up. Her mending was part of the small fullery business where Lampo worked. He and a few other men purchased wool from weavers, including the family operation that Phoebe and her husband were part of, and finished it, making it into usable fabric for clothing. They also cleaned clothing, a messy and time-consuming process.

Anthia readjusted her grip on Nikias’s hand and strode toward the agora. Vegetables, garum, flour, she repeated to herself. The sun was shining but the day was still pleasantly warm—not yet hot—and Anthia decided to browse a bit. She also wanted to distract herself from the continued bleeding and reduced movement of the baby. I’m just looking for the best deals for Eutaxia, she told herself as she pushed on her belly again, hoping for a response. I need to see what my options are. She entered the agora through her typical gate on the southern side. She normally turned right, so this time she took a left and noticed a vendor selling garum. The woman caught her eye and began to call out to her to come. Anthia noted the size of the bottles—too small!—and smiled and walked past, determined to find a better option.

As she walked she scanned both the shops around the edges and the temporary stalls, often set up in tents, that vendors and merchants used to sell or trade their goods in the interior of the agora. She walked past a statue of the emperor that had been erected when she was younger. Hail, Claudius, she mimicked silently. I’ve certainly heard that enough times from all the politicians and Roman citizens around here. She paused for a few moments near a food vendor, watching the woman make sausages while she breathed in the aroma of the cooking meat. The woman was scooping a mixture of animal organs and spices into pig intestines that she was using as casings. She doesn’t have any teeth, Anthia realized suddenly. As if hearing her thoughts, the woman looked up and smiled at her. No teeth. She smiled back. That’s a good job for her. At least she can eat what she doesn’t sell, since sausages are so soft. Anthia took one more deep breath, her mouth watering, and moved on.

A shop on her left was neatly organized with tables and shelves, on top of which were sets of weights. The woman working the counter was clearly supervising the young girl at her side, who was scooping flour into a clay pot to be weighed. “Is this right, Mama?” the young girl asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” the woman confirmed, adjusting the scale while a customer watched. Behind them a young man was directing a blindfolded donkey; the animal was walking in a tight circle, grinding the wheat between two large stones into fine flour. Finely ground flour—what a treat! Anthia thought, then modified her internal monologue as she noticed the customer’s attire. The woman was wearing a stola, the traditional dress of a female Roman citizen. Not a treat for her. This is daily life.

Nikias pulled away from her hand, and she let him run. He quickly joined a group of other toddlers who were playing with a pile of small sticks in front of a vegetable stall. Anthia approached, offering a smile to the women behind the makeshift counter. She surveyed the turnips and garlic, trying to decide. Suddenly a man walked up from the direction of the western gate and set down a basket of onions. He quickly turned and headed back to his cart, and Anthia knew that her decision had been made. “How much for two onions and two turnips?” she asked, prepared to haggle.

The woman’s reply was instant. “Five quadrantes.”

Four quadrantes equaled one as, and sixteen asses equaled one denarius, a typical day’s wage for a day laborer. She shook her head quickly. “Two.”

The woman surveyed Anthia more closely, her eyes narrowing. “Four.”

“I have family who grow turnips,” she lied, “and I know that turnips have been growing well. Two quadrantes.”

The woman exhaled. “Three.”

“Done.” Anthia smiled, proud of herself; her haggling skills were impressive. I think people underestimate me. I don’t look like I’d be good at this, but I am. The searing heat from a corner blacksmith shop caused her to take a few steps toward the interior of the agora. She glanced inside, noting that a pair of blacksmiths were working together. One is a woman! she realized, silently congratulating the woman’s physical strength and wondering about the woman’s husband, whom she assumed was the other blacksmith. I haven’t seen that before. That’s new. In Ephesus, however, there was always something new.

Dyeing

Access to dyed items, including clothing, was only possible for the wealthier population in the ancient world, who used it as one way to signal their social status and class. Purple was especially popular among Roman senators and other wealthy citizens. Those lower on the status ladder wore creams, grays, browns, and blacks, the natural colors of wool. Dyeing required extensive plant and animal materials, as well as chemicals such as iron salts or alum. Reds were often made from plants or insect larvae, blues from berries such as whortleberry, and purple from mollusks. Often a pound of dye was required for a pound of wool. Dyers often specialized in particular colors.

Garum, flour, garum, flour, she reminded herself, though she couldn’t help but pause in front of a dye shop. She smelled it first, thinking not for the first time that dyers smelled just as pungent as fishmongers, though the smells were different. She could see the vats of soaking wool near the front, while behind them the lead cauldrons of dye were being heated over firepots. She watched a young woman stir a cauldron with a pole, noting that her hair was matted with sweat around her face. You’ll be even hotter when you’re pregnant, she warned silently, though the woman’s red tunic was an impressive advertisement for their work in the shop. She glanced down at her own gray tunic and moved on.

Next door was a tavern, and the smell of beer, warm bread, and cooked meat wafted out. A young waitress was carrying a tray filled with ceramic mugs, and she stopped at a low table surrounded by men on benches. As she placed their drinks on the table, one of the men’s hands grasped her thigh and crept upward underneath her tunic. She stood as if frozen while the other men laughed, her face turning even paler than the white powder that she wore. The man who was touching her nodded to another man seated behind a counter. Her owner, Anthia realized. The serving girl was a slave, and her body was available as well. The man behind the counter stood and walked over to the group. It was clear that the girl’s behavior wasn’t pleasing to him, but a swift slap on the back of her head helped to change her demeanor. She smiled and leaned into the customer’s chest, whispering something to him that only made him laugh harder. He grabbed her by the wrist and half-dragged her to the stairs at the back of the tavern. As he pulled her up the stairs, another man squeezed past them on his way down.

Philetus. Anthia glanced quickly around, checking to see whether any of their family or friends were watching Philetus’s departure. She breathed a sigh of relief that it seemed he hadn’t been spotted—but then she wondered at the cost of such a visit. Where did he find the money? Or did he make a trade? Anthia kept walking, grateful that Nikias had not spotted his father and that Philetus had not noticed her.

A pack of wild dogs ran across her path, and Anthia jumped back, anxiously searching for Nikias. There he is. Several young men armed with sticks and rocks chased the dogs; she had seen similar mobs kill dogs before. Somewhat ironically, there was a man in a toga in front of her who was carrying a small dog that was now yipping furiously in the direction where the other dogs had run.

Someone called her name, and she turned to see Sulpicia, a woman who, along with her husband, worked as a fuller in the same shop as Lampo. Anthia approached the counter at their shop and greeted her friend, and at the sound of her voice Lampo stopped jumping on the terra cotta pressing bowl that was being used to soak and clean the clothes inside it. His face registered concern as he used the hand rest he had been clasping to adjust his body to face Anthia’s direction. “Is it Euxinus? Is he all right?”

Cosmetics

The use of cosmetics was fairly common in the ancient world, though because of the cost they were more associated with the wealthy and/or prostitutes. Eyebrows were darkened with black and brown liners (often made from kohl); cheek rouge was created from wine, red ochre, and plants; and pale complexions were accentuated and embellished with powders and creams made from white chalk, lead, or marl. Shells were often used as containers.

“Oh, yes, he’s fine. I’m just getting a few things for Eutaxia, since she’s trying to catch up on the mending.”

Lampo nodded and went back to his work, jumping again and again on the pressing bowl. “Please tell Eutaxia that I will not be back at midday; I need to catch up from yesterday and collect the urine jars from around the city.”

Anthia said that she would, and Sulpicia then leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially. “We need to talk. I want to hear all about it, both Euxinus and the man with the evil spirit yesterday. I heard you were there.” Another customer walked up to the counter, and Anthia backed away, telling Sulpicia that she would see her later.

The smell of baking bread greeted her as she turned right once again and approached the north gate. Several loaves of fresh bread were being placed on the wooden counter, and Anthia gazed enviously at them as wealthier customers got in line to buy them. At least we have food to eat today and a brazier to bake bread, she affirmed, willing herself to believe it. She craned her neck to see over the heads of the people waiting, appreciating the ovens lining the back of the shop.

Laundry and Fullers

Fulleries were the laundromats of the ancient world, but fullers also prepared new textiles. In washing, fullers used natural clays such as fuller’s earth to absorb grease and other dirt. Raw material such as wool often contained burrs, dirt, and the animal’s fat, lanolin, or grease. Potash and soapwort were other common cleaning agents, as was human urine, which (often when fermented) was well known as a detergent, especially in cleaning white material. Fullers often dispersed urine jars around their city, which were collected when full. In Ostia a local public latrine was even connected to a neighboring fullery by means of a lead pipe that could deliver the urine.

Washing, soaking, and shrinking were accomplished with large basins covered with pressing bowls on which fullers jumped or danced occasionally. This process could take days, especially as cloth was normally washed twice, with a beating in between. After drying it was brushed or carded with plants such as thistles or even hedgehog skin. Shearing was also sometimes needed in order to smooth the surface. (Discarded lint or nap was not wasted but used to stuff items such as pillows.) Bleaching often came next and was executed by burning sulfur under exposed material. Such an extensive process was obviously expensive, thus limiting its regular access to the wealthy.

Fulleries ranged in size from small (perhaps five employees) to large (as many as twenty employees). Fullers often organized themselves into local guilds for their mutual benefit as well as for the honoring of their patron goddess, Minerva. Being a fuller was foul-smelling and dangerous work; exposure to various chemicals and sulfur affected the skin and lungs.

Across from the bakery was a grain stall, and Anthia walked over to survey the selection. Wheat, barley, millet, emmer, rye. She fingered the small coins in her pocket, estimating how much she could purchase. She asked for a price on the wheat and haggled the vendor down a bit. Placing the wheat in her small cloth bag, she walked ahead to where she knew a milling shop was located. Again she negotiated, finally settling on an acceptable amount. She watched as a young man funneled her wheat into the hole on the top milling stone. Several rotations later, he stopped the donkey and scooped the roughly ground flour into a ceramic pot. He handed it to the woman working the counter, who kept the amount they had agreed on and gave the rest to Anthia. That should be enough for a whole loaf of bread for tonight, she thought. She wished that she could do her own shopping as well, but until Philetus returned with fish to sell, she had no coins or fish to use in trade. Again she wondered how he had paid for his visit to the brothel.

Conveniently, a garum stall had been set up under a tent next to the miller, and Anthia was pleased when she saw the larger bottles of garum. As she surveyed the selection she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, her eyes met those of Iarine, a distant cousin of Phoebe’s. The women had both been present at the birth of Phoebe’s youngest child, and Iarine pointed to Anthia’s belly with a smile. “Your baby is coming soon.”

“Yes, soon.” Anthia gave Iarine a quick hug. “It’s good to see you.”

Iarine held up a pile of clothing. “This needs tailoring, and soon, but stop by the shop when you can.”

“I will,” Anthia replied, nodding, then turned back toward the garum selection. “Where was this made?” she questioned the child who was seated behind the selection. The boy, who looked to be about five or six years old, turned to a woman in the back of the tent who was nursing an infant. “Pompeii,” she said. Impressed, Anthia asked for a price.

The amount the child mentioned was so high that Anthia gasped audibly. “Thank you,” she said softly, walking away. It’s just fermented fish sauce, she told herself, though she knew that the Italian factories were said to make the finest batches of the sweet-and-sour sauce in their big, open tanks. That garum stall is only for the politicians and rich Roman citizens.

In the usually empty space on the other side of the north gate a slaver had set up shop. A slave boat must have come into the harbor this morning, she realized, surveying the merchandise. Anthia’s family had never owned slaves; people from their status level usually didn’t. Her eyes fell on a woman about her age who was nursing an infant, and involuntarily Anthia glanced back toward the garum stall with the other nursing mother. Like the other slaves, this young woman was almost naked, wearing just a cloth wrapped around her thighs and hips. Her large breasts hung free, and the one that was not being used to nurse the baby was leaking a steady stream of milk. As she watched, a tall man with coarse black hair and skin almost the same color walked up to the woman and inspected her carefully, surveying each part of her body as he lifted her arms and walked around her.

“How much,” he asked the slaver, “just for the woman?”

“You don’t want the child as well? He looks strong and healthy, and in a few years he will be able to work hard.”

“No,” the customer deferred. “I need the woman as a wet nurse, and I don’t want the milk being shared with my sons. They are twins.”

They haggled over the price, starting at 280 denarii, as she watched. The price, while almost a year’s wages for some, was for others a small amount to pay. Anthia glanced down the row at the others, noting the varied ages, skin colors, and builds. She watched as a female customer inspected a young girl, and a man in the toga of a Roman citizen walked around a large male slave with the palest skin Anthia had ever seen.

Slavery

Slavery was commonplace in the Roman Empire, with estimates as high as 20 to 30 percent of the population at various times. Slaves could be purchased in marketplaces in every major city. One became a slave through a variety of means, including being born to a slave, being taken during conquest or by pirates, selling oneself to repay debt or because the family was in dire financial straits, and exposure of unwanted infants. There is no evidence for slavery being related to modern conceptions of race.

Slaves were the lowest class of people, though slaves owned by the elite benefited from the higher status of their owners. Some such slaves were educated or were able to acquire their own slaves and amass wealth. Slaves were also at times manumitted, or freed, because of the gratitude of an owner or the ability to pay for their own freedom.

Slaves were the legal property of their owners and could be used in whatever way their owners wished, including sexual pleasure. Abuse was common, and runaway slaves hoping to escape abuse were often punished severely or even killed by crucifixion if caught.

Anthia’s eyes skipped to the next shop, where pigs were being sold. Both adult pigs and piglets were on offer, and part of the space was partitioned as a butcher shop. Slabs of pork hung on hooks and rested on the counter. Anthia noticed the sausage vendor from earlier waiting in line; apparently she already needed more offal.

She crossed in front of the area where this afternoon, hopefully, their fish stall would be set up. “Please, Glaukos, send fish to their nets,” she offered quietly. Nikias looked up at her when she spoke, his eyes curious. “Pray to the fish god with me, Nikias. May he bless us today with a large catch.”

“Fish!” screamed Nikias, darting away once again. She let out a low chuckle, walking to her usual garum stall. The merchant who owned it purchased large quantities of garum from factories in the province, and his prices were always fair. She bought a nice bottle with minimal haggling and walked toward Iarine’s tailor shop, looking for her friend’s face.

Where is she? Iarine was almost always at the shop, working with a group of both men and women. Suddenly Anthia felt the gush of blood, and she halted her pace. She looked for a place to sit, needing to control the bleeding. Up ahead she saw the tentmaking shop, and a crowd of women gathered inside it. Perhaps there, she decided, noticing Iarine’s profile among the women. Her fiery red hair was difficult to miss. She took Nikias’s hand, pulling him away from the wall where he was scratching lines with a small rock, and walked past a poultry vendor on the way to her destination.

Iarine and the other women stood in a circle around another woman whose face Anthia couldn’t see. She squeezed her way into the shop and then sat down quickly with Nikias in her lap. She wished she could see, but at least this way she could attempt to manage the bleeding. The woman in the middle was speaking.

“Yes, it is Jesus who has the ultimate power to heal. Before his death and resurrection he healed many people in the province of Judea, where he lived. Healings are one of the signs that the kingdom of the one true god is being powerfully established, for this kingdom is one of healing and restoration.”

A woman who stood directly in front of Anthia responded, and Anthia stared at her back as she spoke, admiring the fine leather of her sandals. “But Priscilla, how does this power and name of Jesus work? I heard that Paul gave some people an article of clothing that then healed the sick or exorcised demons, but a friend told me this morning that she knows someone who was healed by an apron that Paul didn’t give him. Paul touched it, but Paul didn’t give it to him. What do you make of that?”

Priscilla answered calmly. “The power of Jesus is big, so much bigger than human attempts to confine it or limit how it is used. He stands above all other powers.”

All powers, pondered Anthia silently. Even Artemis? Could the power of Jesus really save me and my baby?

The woman in front of her spoke again, and it was as if she were reading Anthia’s mind. “Even Artemis? Even Asclepius?”

“Yes,” Priscilla insisted, “for those are our true adversaries. They are the powers that control the darkness and its armies.”

The woman’s response was sarcastic this time, and Anthia watched as the woman’s body language mirrored her tone. She arched her back and tilted her head, the braids of her golden hair moving softly as she did so. “Adversaries? Please, Priscilla . . .” and then she paused, clearly searching for the right words.

Anthia smiled. She reminds me of Eutaxia.

Priscilla took advantage of the silence, adding quickly, “Friends, I don’t want us to lose sight of the bigger picture. Jesus is the true savior, the true lord, and these healings and exorcisms are a demonstration of that. He calls us to respond and commit to his lordship with our lives.”

Priscilla’s dialogue partner had an immediate response to that comment. “So he’s the true savior and lord, but he lets us decide whether to give him our allegiance? I’ve never heard of such a thing. When the emperor or Artemis claims supremacy, we just defer to the reality.”

Anthia nodded vigorously, silently thanking the woman for asking such a relevant question. Priscilla’s response was again given calmly. “Yes. That’s one of the ways—the many, many ways—that Jesus is different from our emperors and goddesses like Artemis.”

The conversation continued as other women joined in, and Anthia listened quietly while she examined a curved needle and waxed thread that sat on a low table near her. Also on the table was a piece of cloth that appeared to be made from some kind of animal hair. It had holes punched into it. It doesn’t look big enough to be a tent, she reflected. Perhaps a sun shade?

Suddenly a woman from the other side of the circle exclaimed loudly that she needed to leave because her husband was waiting for her at their perfume stall. Instantly an image of a tiny curly-haired woman appeared in Anthia’s mind, and Anthia wondered whether it was indeed the woman she walked past every day. Other women followed, and the group dispersed.

As the group thinned, Anthia glanced around furtively. Her eyes met Iarine’s bright green ones, and her friend’s arched eyebrows asked the question for her. “I’m bleeding,” Anthia confessed. “I had to sit down.”

Concerned, Iarine knelt beside her. “How long have you been bleeding?”

“Several days.”

“Priscilla,” Iarine called out, “do you have any rags?”

Priscilla approached and smiled warmly, and Anthia couldn’t help but notice the evenness of her teeth. “Yes, yes, of course. Is this your friend?”

“We grew up near each other. She sells the fish that her husband catches in a stall nearby.” Iarine paused. “She is bleeding.”

Priscilla motioned to a small room attached to the back of the shop. “Would you like to lie down? There is plenty of room.” Anthia nodded gratefully, and the women helped her stand so that she could walk to the bedmat. Priscilla left, then returned with two small rags and a cup of water. “I’ll be out front,” she stated.

Anthia took the opportunity and plunged in with rapid-fire questions, hoping to find answers from her friend. “How do you know Priscilla? And do you know Paul? And what do you know about Jesus? Eutaxia’s son Euxinus was healed through a handkerchief yesterday that Paul gave her husband. I also saw a demon—or some demons, I’m not really sure—leave a man yesterday because of another cloth that Paul had touched. Have you heard about that?” She stopped suddenly, feeling foolish, but Iarine just smiled and touched her arm.

Iarine smiled, a thoughtful look on her face. “Yes, I’ve heard about all of it, and I know Paul.” She paused. “We have joined the Way,” she said, looking at Anthia directly. “We are now part of the group of people throughout the world who prepare for and participate in the true god’s rule. Our allegiance is with Jesus, who is this god in human form. Jesus comforts, heals, restores, and makes it possible for people of different tribes and peoples to come together as brothers and sisters.” She paused again, then added, “He also judges, as the true sovereign should.”

Anthia digested this information, filtering what she knew of Hero, Iarine’s husband, with the idea of him joining a community of people whose leader was a crucified Jew. “How did you decide to do this? What compelled you?” she asked. “And how do you know Priscilla?”

Iarine settled in, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the mat. “It’s a surprising story, and when I think about it I’m still a little overwhelmed myself. It started a while ago when I met Priscilla. She had just come to Ephesus. I met her at the fountain one morning when we were getting water for the day. She was helping an elderly woman get a drink, and my mother always used to do that. We started talking, and I kept seeing her every morning. She eventually told me why they were here.”

“Why are they here?” Anthia whispered, though she almost feared that she knew the answer.

“To declare to Ephesus and the whole province of Asia that the true lord of the world is Jesus.” Iarine chuckled softly, shaking her head. “It caught me off-guard the first time too. I wanted to dismiss the idea, but I couldn’t. I liked Priscilla so much—respected her—and by that time I’d started visiting her here in the shop.” She gestured around the room with her hand. “They live here, the three of them, behind the shop. For a while it was just Priscilla and her husband, but then Paul joined them. I’d been watching Priscilla and her husband interact day after day, and I would ask Priscilla questions about Jesus once in a while.”

Anthia hesitated, then asked, “Why would anyone think that a crucified Jew could be lord of the world?”

“That was one of my many questions, and let me tell you, the answer to that is big. But it has to do with how this god operates and what he prioritizes. Priscilla is always saying that Jesus turns everything upside down in terms of power and status. ‘Strength through weakness’ is her favorite phrase, I think.”

“Well, I’m certainly weak, and no one would say that I’m important,” Anthia reflected. “I’m not sure how that could equal strength. So . . . how did Hero become convinced?”

“Aquila, Priscilla’s husband, needed a tailor. He came to our shop, and Hero did the work for him. They became friends, often going to the taverns and baths together. Then he met a Jewish man named Apollos, and that was it. He was such an amazing speaker, so convincing. He spent a lot of time with other Jews in the synagogue across town—I think that’s where they met him—but Priscilla and Aquila hosted him here quite often. They would all eat dinner together, talking about Jesus long into the night, and they often invited Hero and me to join them.” She looked around the small room with satisfaction. “We spent many amazing evenings here.”

“I didn’t realize that you two had so many Jewish friends.” Anthia’s question was half-jest, half-serious.

“Hero grew up next to a Jewish family. He played with their sons and daughters often when he was young. The Jews don’t practice infanticide or infant exposure, so there were a lot of kids running around. He was always impressed by their commitment to their god and the way they treated each other, especially the youngest daughter, who has a leg deformity and can’t walk.” She shrugged.

“So this was your husband’s decision, and you went along with it?”

Iarine shook her head. “I agreed with him, but my reasons may be a bit different. I love what I’ve seen of Priscilla’s marriage. Priscilla herself is just amazing as well, and the way that Aquila treats her and talks about her is inspiring.”

“How so?”

“Well, he clearly respects his wife and loves her deeply. I’ve seen that in other marriages, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a husband act so self-sacrificially toward his wife. He puts her first all the time. I’ve never seen him hit or push her, or even speak disrespectfully to her. I asked Priscilla about it, and she said that he’s the same way in private. He also doesn’t visit the brothels.”

This last statement really caught Anthia’s attention. “He only has sex with her? Why?”

“Hero told me that the Jews believe that spouses should not have other sexual partners, and Priscilla said that marriage is like the relationship Jesus has with his followers. He is loyal to them, and they are loyal to him. He sacrificed his life for them, so they should sacrifice their lives for him.” She lifted the cup, handing it to Anthia. “Drink.”

“When Paul came back to Ephesus,” Iarine continued, “he was so grateful for them, to them. Both of them. I’ve heard him call both Aquila and Priscilla his fellow workers in Jesus. He approved of the way that both Priscilla and Aquila taught Apollos. I’ve heard of women teachers or philosophers, but I’ve never seen or known one. Until now.”

“Is this Apollos still here?”

“No, he left before Paul came back.”

“I’ve seen and heard Paul in the lecture hall of Tyrannus. Philetus and I stood outside with the crowds to listen to the dialogue.”

Iarine nodded. “When Paul first came back he spent time in the synagogue, not the lecture hall. That lasted until some Jews who disagreed with him about Jesus started slandering him and the Way. Then he went to the lecture hall, and some of the Jews who were convinced about Jesus went with him. One of them, Dorcas, pays for the hall.”

“They slandered him? How did Paul respond to this attack on his honor? Did he return it?”

“No, he refused to slander them! He could have, but he didn’t. We asked him why, and he said that Jesus didn’t respond in kind when he was slandered. His mantra is, ‘When reviled, we bless; when persecuted, we endure; when slandered, we speak kindly.’ I’m still trying to make sense of it.” Iarine paused, then added, “You’re welcome to join us tomorrow when we gather as the Way. We meet right here after the workday ends. People bring food to share for dinner, but you could just come. You and Philetus. And bring Nikias; there are tons of kids running around.”

“I’ll try to talk with Philetus,” she said, wondering how she could bring up a controversial idea like that without putting her husband in a bad mood and possibly endangering herself.

Iarine stood. “I have to go back to my shop—I need to begin tailoring those stolas and tunics I was carrying earlier—but I’ll be back as soon as I can to check on you.”

As soon as she left Priscilla popped her head into the back room. “Please excuse my poor hospitality, but I have a customer who is coming later today to pick up his tent, and it’s not quite finished. If you hear men’s voices it’s probably just Paul and Aquila returning; they went to the harbor to pick up some goat hair that we ordered from a merchant whose ship docked this morning.” She smiled briefly. “Paul’s convinced it’s the best material for making tents, but I think he’s just biased because they’re his hometown goats.”

Paul! The name hit Anthia like a thunderbolt. She couldn’t help but hope that he would come soon. Maybe he’ll talk more about Jesus. Maybe, with Priscilla and her husband as part of the conversation, I can eavesdrop and get some answers. While she used the rags Priscilla had given her, Nikias ran in circles, flailing his arms in all directions. She could hear the carpenters in the shop next door, pounding away. She had seen the benches, tables, and chairs displayed often in the front of their shop, as well as the wealthy people who could afford to buy them browsing and bargaining. She suddenly felt exhausted, and she looked at Nikias, who was now lying on the floor and playing with a couple of rocks. She pulled him toward her, and when he settled in, her eyes began to close. Just for a moment, she told herself.

“Priscilla!” a male voice called out suddenly, waking Anthia from her nap. “We have food!”

Priscilla laughed heartily. “But the better question is, do you have the goat hair?”

“We do,” the male voice insisted.

The now-familiar voice of Paul joined in. “We stopped at a vendor for salted fava beans with oil. We know they’re your favorite.”

Anthia’s mouth watered. Fava beans were one of her favorites as well, and it had been a long time since she had been able to purchase the prepared treat from a market vendor. The smell of the sautéed beans wafted back to the room, and she closed her eyes and inhaled.

“I’m glad that you brought so much,” Priscilla announced. “We have guests in the back room who are likely hungry. A friend of Iarine’s and her young son are resting on the bedmat.”

Just then Iarine returned, greeting the men and Priscilla warmly. “There’s enough for you as well, sister,” Paul encouraged.

Sister?! Is Iarine somehow related to Paul? Anthia’s thoughts raced as she considered the possibilities. She was still thinking about it when Iarine ducked through the low doorway with a handful of beans.

“Here,” she insisted. “For you and Nikias.”

“Thank you.” She paused, then blurted out, “Are you related to Paul?”

Looking surprised by the question, Iarine answered. “No, we do not share blood. But we are brothers and sisters in Jesus.”

Anthia shivered involuntarily. “And that’s why they’re sharing food with you?”

Anthia watched as Iarine popped a couple of beans into her mouth. “Yes,” she said simply. “We are kin, and we share resources as kin do.”

Anthia ate silently for a few moments, chewing while she placed another couple of beans in Nikias’s outstretched hand. “I must get going,” she said after a few moments. “Eutaxia will be waiting for me.” She stood up in the awkward manner that she had come to think of as her pregnancy reality, first half rolling onto her side, which allowed her to push herself up with her hands.

“You’re always welcome,” Iarine added, scooping up Nikias for a hug as they walked to the front room.

Both Paul and Aquila were busy dealing with another customer, but the women were able to talk to Priscilla, who was busy sewing. All that Anthia could manage in the moment was a brief “thank you,” but Priscilla still smiled warmly.

“You’re welcome. And please, join us tomorrow night at sundown if you can. We’d love to have you.” She went back to work, and Anthia raced from the shop, her heart pounding. She turned to look back only once and found Paul’s eyes looking at her curiously. She lifted Nikias and ran.

Why am I running? she asked herself after just a few steps. I can’t run with Nikias. I can’t even run by myself right now, not with this belly. She forced herself to slow down and walk, pacing herself and breathing as deeply as possible. I’m fine, she told herself as she walked in front of a stall displaying rabbits and other wild game for sale. I feel much better. And she did, she realized. Except I need to use the latrine. She considered the possibility of waiting until she reached the public toilets nearer her insula but decided that it would be painful to try and wait that long. I’ll use the one outside the south gate, the gate of Mazeus and Mithridates. Then I’ll rush back to Eutaxia, who’s probably wondering where I’ve been.

She realized after a moment that she was matching her pace to the sound of music, and she turned toward the center of the agora to see who was playing. The two flutists and cymbalist were younger than her—maybe fifteen or sixteen?—she thought idly, and they were dressed in material that was almost translucent. They swayed with the music, moving around a young man in a mask who was performing a pantomime routine. The sexual act being imitated was clear, and the crowd responded with approval; several men shouted out invitations to the performers. A well-dressed man then stepped forward and announced their performance tonight in the theater, inviting all to pay the fee and be entertained. A second well-dressed man—this one in a white toga with a purple stripe, a clear sign of his Roman citizenship and high status—stepped forward and loudly announced that he would be honored to pay the fee for all attendees that evening. And he’ll probably have his generosity as a patron engraved on a plaque for all to see in the agora. . . . Part of me wants to attend, she admitted to herself. She could picture the many beautiful statues of Cupids and Nike that adorned the stage, another gift from a generous donor.

Figure 4.1. The ancient Ephesian theater

The last shop she passed on her way out of the gate was a perfumery, and the combination of smells brought a wave of nausea. Always, she mourned. I am so sensitive to smells when I’m pregnant. It’s like my nose decides that it should compete with the noses of dogs. Ugh. She walked past as quickly as possible and exited the agora. She stopped at the latrine, grateful for the semidarkness as she surveyed once again the blood on her thighs. She rinsed Nikias’s fingers in the basin along with her own, then adjusted the bag of food and took his hand for the walk home.

Perfumery

Perfumes were yet another luxury item afforded only by the wealthy, and even those who produced and traded them often ran in elite circles. Producing perfume was expensive and time consuming, a cultivated skill that, along with recipes for perfumes, was passed down in families.

Perfumes could be dry or take the form of a paste or liquid, and they were made with a variety of ingredients and methods, from soaking flower petals and leaves in liquids (such as grape juice or olive oil) to combining the fat and marrow of bulls and calves with wine and spices such as cinnamon, cardamom, and nard. Myrrh, frankincense, saffron, aloe, resin, almonds, honey, lavender, and fennel were other common ingredients. The mixtures were often heated, after which they would be strained. Perfumes were often stored and sold in cloth or small flasks, vases, or boxes and were used both for secular and religious purposes, such as enhancing sexual appeal (including for prostitutes), advertising status, for bathing and funeral rituals, and in social settings such as dinner parties (where guests’ feet were sometimes washed with perfumed water) and performances in theaters (where the audience might be sprinkled with a perfumed water mixture).

Figure 4.2. Perfume and/or makeup vessels. Perfumes were affordable only for the wealthy

She began the climb up to their top-floor home. At Eutaxia’s door she knocked quickly but entered without waiting for a response. Eutaxia was sitting with her mending, as Anthia expected, but Euxinus was not sitting with her. Anthia laughed out loud as she watched him do a somersault. “Wow, he’s definitely feeling better.” Nikias rushed to join his playmate, and Anthia carried the market items over to her friend.

“Before I forget, Lampo said that he won’t be coming back until this evening. He needs to work through the rest period because he’s behind.”

“Like me.” Eutaxia pointed to the pile, which was noticeably smaller than it had been that morning.

“Nice work, friend!” Anthia congratulated her. She set the garum and vegetables down before holding out the flour for Eutaxia to see. “Does this meet your approval?”

“Yes, and those vegetables are beautiful. Do you mind getting the bread started while you wait for Philetus?”

“Of course not!” Anthia sat quickly, and Eutaxia’s keen eyes noticed.

“You’re bleeding again.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes,” Anthia admitted. “And I haven’t felt the baby kick all morning.”

Eutaxia pursed her lips, thinking. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. You can help with the dough, but then you need to go home and rest. I’ll keep Nikias for a bit so that you can sleep, hopefully.” She pulled last night’s leftovers from a small shelf. “Here, eat a few bites of bread—and some olives—first.”

Anthia accepted the food, then added in as innocent a tone as she could muster, “Thank you, I will. I did already have some fava beans, however.” She paused for effect. “At the tentmaking shop of Paul.”

She may as well have shouted the news at Eutaxia, because the effect was the same. Eutaxia’s face quickly moved from an expression of astonishment to curiosity. “How did that happen? Tell me everything.” As they ate and worked, feeding the children bites of food between somersaults, Anthia shared the whole story.

“The question now,” Eutaxia stated, “is whether you’re going to visit the gathering or not.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of Philetus, who opened the door loudly and then stood swaying in the doorway. The women exchanged knowing glances before Eutaxia repeated her earlier decision. “Go with Philetus and rest. I’ll keep Nikias for a while.”

In their home next door Philetus leaned into Anthia, kissing her sloppily as he wrapped his arms around her. Drunk, she confirmed as she tasted the beer on his tongue. She also caught the faint scent of perfume, and the memory of him on the brothel stairs returned. She wanted to ask him pointedly what money or fish he’d used, as well as why he was drunk when it was only midday, but she feared the repercussions of being impertinent. She had enough pain and bleeding without being hit by her drunken husband.

“Praise be to Glauuuuukos,” Philetus slurred, then shook his head and spoke more carefully. “He honored us with a large catch this morning. As soon as we dropped our nets.”

Ahh, that was it. He was celebrating, she thought silently. “Was Galleos with you today?” she asked, and Philetus nodded as he sat and then lay down on the bedmat.

“Yes. We caught the fish and sent most of them with his sons to a fish-salting shop. The owner of the shop placed the order with Galleos last night. We brought the rest alive to a Roman politician who wanted them for his fish tank. He plans to have his own little fish hatchery. He lives in one of the terraced homes just down the street from the agora’s south entrance. He paid us well for them.”

Anthia watched him, thinking he had fallen asleep. “Primigenia,” he said softly, rolling from his back to his side.

So that’s her name. Anthia was grateful that no one else was paying attention. She just hoped he hadn’t spent too much on the girl; the price could vary widely, from the price of a glass of wine or meal all the way up to a typical full day’s wage.

She didn’t blame him for it. That’s just how men act, she reflected, recalling her mother’s advice to her when she became a woman. In some ways it’s actually a relief. With this belly I’m not in the mood to service my husband. But then, unbidden, Iarine’s words about her husband’s refusal to visit the brothels came to mind. She shook her head to clear it and laid down next to her husband. Time to rest, she instructed herself.