Day 5, Sunday

DAY OF SOL/HELIOS

ANTHIA STOOD BEHIND THE COUNTER OF THEIR FISH STALL. I wish I could sit, she thought for the hundredth time. My back hurts so much. And my feet. She sighed, adjusting her position in an attempt to get comfortable. Adding to her burden was the fact that she hadn’t felt the baby kick all day. What can I do? she asked herself again. Another customer approached, and she attempted a smile as the man stopped at the counter. His small black eyes surveyed the fish, eventually stopping on a mackerel.

“How much?” he asked, and they began their haggling. Anthia’s heart wasn’t in it, though she was grateful for the large catch of fish that Philetus and Galleos had once again caught this morning. She and the customer finally agreed on a price, and he reached into a fine leather pouch and extracted the necessary coins. He tucked the pouch back into the waistband of his beautifully dyed tunic—bright blue!—paid, and left with the fish. She eyed the sun, which was low in the sky. Her heart raced as she thought once again of Iarine’s invitation. Part of her was curious, of course. She wondered about the people who had committed themselves to following a man who had been crucified by the Romans. Part of her was disdainful. Crucified, she thought again. Crucified. Like a slave. Or a criminal. But the biggest part of her was afraid. She knew the risk of shame with participating in a new religious group, one that wasn’t sanctioned by the city or the Romans. Beyond the legal risks were the even more important relational ones. What might happen to our ties with our fishing association, or our families, or our friends, if they disapprove of this? What might this cost me, cost us?

She knew she was getting ahead of herself. She hadn’t even talked to Philetus about the possibility of visiting the gathering of the Way. She knew the chances of him being interested were slim; he cared deeply about the reputation especially of their fishing association, and he would likely be unwilling to risk any slight to its honor. She wondered again whether she could find an excuse to go alone or with Nikias. As she was pondering this possibility, her husband returned from the latrine, grinning from ear to ear. She smiled back, arching her eyebrows in question.

“We did it!” Philetus exclaimed, pounding Galleos, who stood beside him, on the back. “The owner of the fish salting shop, Phygelus, was so pleased with our catch yesterday that he wants to discuss the possibility of a regular contract.” His eyes gleamed. “We are meeting him at a tavern on the other side of the city near his shop at sundown to discuss it.” He glanced down at the two fish that had yet to be sold. Galleos stepped forward and gestured to his wife, Euippe, with his hand. “Be sure to sell the fish with Anthia,” he commanded, “and then go home with Eubulus and Manilia.” He paused. “Where are the twins?”

“Playing with Nikias,” Euippe answered softly. Her eyes searched the nearby agora, and then she pointed with her left hand. “There they are.”

Galleos nodded, then added, “I’m taking Crescens and Trophimus with me. They need to learn how to set up a contract.” His wife nodded in response, and Anthia noted the presence of the teenage sons behind their father. They stood with their chests out, clearly proud to be included in this aspect of the family business. As they should be. She noted with some surprise that their jaws and upper lips now showed the shadows of hair growth. They are near adulthood, soon to take wives.

Alcoholic Beverages

Alcoholic beverages were consumed at all levels of society in the ancient world. They were made from grains such as barley and wheat as well as fruits such as grapes, dates, apples, and pomegranates, and they were often flavored with ingredients such as rose petals, mint, absinthe, and violets. There were known methods of chilling such beverages, including the use of cold water and snow, though they were often consumed warm. Wine was commonly mixed with water, often with three or four parts water to one part wine.

“Take Nikias home, and I’ll be back later,” Philetus said as he turned away to walk with Galleos and the young men. He didn’t wait for a response, and Anthia suppressed her delight at not having to give one. She was free for the evening! She knew not to expect her husband until late, as a business meeting in a tavern was sure to include a good deal of drinking beer and telling stories as the various parties got to know each other. Two customers approached, and she stood next to Euippe as they each attended to one. A few moments later the last fish were gone, and the women quickly divided the money and then disassembled the pieces of their fish stall, tucking the support posts, countertop, overhead board, and hooks into a bag that Euippe would wear on her back.

“Until tomorrow,” she called to Euippe, and Euippe repeated the phrase as she collected her children. Anthia took Nikias’s hand and turned left, walking toward the tentmaking shop.

As she walked she wavered in her decision. Is this wise? Am I risking the honor of my family? she asked herself again. She wished Eutaxia were with her. She’s always so brave. She caught a glimpse of the tailor shop ahead where Iarine worked, and suddenly Iarine was outside it, calling her name and running toward her.

“Anthia!” she gasped, stopping in front of her and doubling over, laughing. “I was so excited to see you that I forgot to breathe while I ran over here.” Someone bumped against Anthia, stepping on her toes with leather sandals. “Let’s go to the shop,” Iarine directed. “We’re going to get run over out here.”

They walked quickly to the tailor shop and stepped inside. “Sit,” Iarine said, pointing to a bench. Anthia did, grateful for the chance to get off her feet. The shop was empty except for Iarine’s husband, Hero, who was working on what looked to be a stola. He held his needle between his fingers and used it to point at Nikias. “He’s huge! I obviously haven’t seen him for a while, because he’s practically grown up while I wasn’t looking. Nikias,” he added, “you are such a big boy.” Nikias smiled proudly, holding tightly to Anthia’s leg.

“He is strong,” Iarine said wistfully, watching him run and play. “You are blessed. He will be a man someday.” Anthia didn’t answer as she didn’t know how to respond. She knew that Iarine had given birth to three babies, all of whom had been weak and sickly. None had lived beyond the age of two.

“So, you two will come with us tonight,” Iarine insisted, breaking the awkward silence.

Anthia hesitated, then offered an excuse. “I don’t have any prepared food to share.” She held up the bag of roughly ground wheat that she had purchased earlier in the agora.

“That doesn’t matter,” Iarine said, smiling mischievously. “We have plenty.” She picked up a loaf of soft, fresh bread, handing it to Anthia. “Nikias, you look like a good helper,” she stated, gesturing for him to come to her. She plopped a bag of grapes into his hand.

“Be careful with that!” Anthia cautioned, knowing that he did not understand the value of the food item he now carried.

“You can eat a few now,” Iarine told him. “They’re delicious. I’ve already had some.” Anthia watched as Nikias cautiously picked one up and placed it in his mouth. Her heart felt as if it was breaking. She knew Nikias had never before eaten a grape; they were expensive, and she hadn’t ever been able to justify buying them. “They’re a treat for us too,” Iarine said softly. “Business has been good lately, and I could afford to buy either mutton for tonight or grapes. I chose grapes.”

“Done!” declared Hero, setting aside the stola. He walked over to the women and picked up an amphora of wine as Iarine choose a small bowl of salt and a bottle of vinegar from an assortment on a shelf. The group left the shop, with Hero locking the door behind them.

They walked silently to the tentmaking shop, Anthia holding tightly to Nikias’s hand so that he wouldn’t run off. “Ouch, Mommy,” he complained. “Too tight.” She laughed awkwardly, loosening her grip, and realized once again that she was holding her breath. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled. I can do this, she encouraged herself silently.

“How many people will be there tonight?” she asked in as casual of a tone as she could muster.

“Oh, it’s hard to say,” Iarine responded. “It can vary a great deal. Certainly Priscilla, whom you met earlier, and her husband, Aquila, and Paul. Several of the women who were part of the conversation yesterday in the tentmaking shop will likely be there, some with their husbands and children. There is a Jewish woman named Dorcas who comes with her slaves. Her daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter will probably be there as well.”

Anthia nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. I feel so unsettled, she admitted to herself. She walked around a woman who was trying to manage several goats who were bleating and ran straight into the back of a man who was standing and talking in a group with other men.

“Oh! Pardon!” He turned with a smile, and she realized that it was Paul. His smile widened when he recognized her.

“You! . . . Anthia!” he managed after a moment. “And here is Nikias!” Anthia smiled tentatively and glanced at Iarine, who gave her a knowing look. The light from the open door of the tentmaking shop illuminated the faces of the other men in the group, one who Anthia recognized as Priscilla’s husband. Paul stooped to her son’s level and produced a small wooden horse from a pocket. “Hello, Nikias. I seem to have an extra horse who needs someone to play with him. Would you like to do that?” Nikias stared, open-mouthed, at the toy. It had clearly been carved by someone with skill. He nodded, and Paul held out the toy for Nikias to take. When he did, and then neighed in response, Paul laughed heartily.

He rose and greeted Iarine and Hero, and Anthia watched as they kissed each other on the cheek. Like families do, she realized, remembering what Iarine had said yesterday about kin. Priscilla then appeared, waving everyone inside. When she recognized Anthia she scooped her up into a warm hug, and Anthia’s eyes filled with tears at the gesture. She blinked them back as she realized why her response had been so emotional. She reminds me of my mother. She used to hug me like this. Her mother had died last year after a painful lump in her breast had grown to a frightening size, and Anthia missed her deeply. Her mother had been a mentor, always guiding Anthia as she grew and teaching her about the realities of life and marriage. She had also protected Anthia, keeping her away from her father’s angry fists most of the time. Anthia swallowed, remembering the purple bruises that often dotted her mother’s body. After an altercation with her father, her mother would gather Anthia into her arms and hug her. Last year, when her mother’s cries finally ended and her breathing stopped, Anthia had picked up her mother’s thin frame from the floor of their one-room home and hugged her again. One last time.

Figure 5.1. A brazier, an ancient portable cooking appliance

After another moment Priscilla released her but then took her arm and walked with her inside the shop. The door to the back room was open, and the two-room space held a surprising number of people. Young children were running back and forth, and Nikias quickly extracted himself from her and joined them. She noticed a small circle of men talking in one corner, and she recognized the Jewish woman named Dorcas sitting on a bench with several other women. Facing them on a separate bench were two older men with white hair and long beards who were wearing togas. Several small clay lamps were lit throughout the room, their small wicks jumping in the breeze, and in one corner two braziers were sitting next to each other, emitting both light and the delicious smell of cooking meat. Women scurried around the area, arranging food and dishes, and Anthia noted the stolas on some of the women. When Hero and Iarine headed in their direction, Anthia followed them.

“Where should we put everything?” Iarine asked an older woman whose stola marked her as a Roman citizen.

“There. Near the cushions.” She pointed with one hand while holding a child on her hip with the other. “We’re about to start.” Anthia’s stomach rumbled as she looked at the food placed on the floor or on small tables set around the room. There were several cushions and also a few stools. She wondered how the seating arrangements were made. Will I be in the back room? she wondered. I hope I can sit near Iarine.

Paul’s laughter interrupted her thoughts. His laugh is so recognizable, she reflected. She watched him walk to the center of the room, where he extended his arms as if he were about to hug a friend.

Honor and Shame

In the predominantly collectivist cultures of the first-century Roman Empire, key social values included honor and shame. The primary goal in life was honor, which involved public (as opposed to private) recognition of status. Honor was often achieved and maintained through wealth, especially if that wealth was used for the good of the whole group (or guild or city), though people on the lower end of the financial ladder could also be honorable. An individual’s honor was tied to the honor of the larger group, and either aspect could affect the other. For example, an individual who acted appropriately in light of social norms and was given honor would thus be seen to increase the honor of the group, while behavior that was considered shameful would lower the status not just of that person but of the corporate entity as well.

“Brothers! Sisters! Welcome. Grace and peace to all of you.”

There it is again. She surveyed the room, again noticing the clothing of the participants. Let’s see who the “brothers and sisters” are.

Quite a mixed group, she concluded after a moment. The range was enormous: bright white togas on some men, and bright red or blue stolas on some women. On most people, both men and women, gray or brown tunics were the norm. There are high-ranking Roman citizens here, socializing with those of us who are not citizens and rank much further down. She had seen enough of Paul to know that he seemed to enjoy intentionally flouting the social norm, but this was extreme. The Roman citizens were inviting the degradation of their honor by attending this gathering.

She suddenly realized that she wasn’t listening, and she brought her attention back to what Paul was saying.

“ . . . why we gather on Sunday. Jesus’ resurrection on Sunday indicates the beginning of the true creator god’s work in the world to restore what has been broken. Resurrection life has conquered death, and there are many witnesses who can confirm this truth, including the twelve disciples, Jesus’ own brother James, more than five hundred brothers and sisters, all of the apostles, and myself. And so we gather to remember and celebrate that hope.” Paul bent to retrieve a loaf of bread and a ceramic cup of wine from the ground. “On the night of Jesus’ betrayal, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it, and said, ‘This is my body. It’s for you. Do this to remember me.’ After he ate with his disciples he took the cup and said, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this to remember me.’ Every time you eat the bread and drink from the cup, you announce to everyone the death of Jesus until he appears again and we see him face to face.” Paul exhaled loudly, and Anthia noticed the tears streaming down his face. She was shocked by this public display of emotion.

How shameful. But . . . he really believes that. It moves him. Anthia watched as he attempted to speak through his emotion but was unable to. He gestured toward Priscilla with his hand, and she quickly stepped forward with a smile.

“Brothers and sisters, let’s eat together as Jesus taught us and remember him well. Let’s celebrate and give thanks, for we are blessed to be part of the community of the true god’s restored people!” After her announcement Priscilla picked up a tray of sausages, while Aquila hoisted an amphora of wine. The two of them started making their way around the room, offering the food and drink.

They’re serving, Anthia realized. They’re serving, while slaves sit and eat. Anthia glanced around, suddenly realizing that she didn’t know where to sit. She stood woodenly, unsure of where she belonged. Surely in the back room. But then Iarine grabbed her arm and led her over to where Dorcas was sitting, and Hero followed them.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you since you walked in.” Dorcas smiled and patted the seat next to her on the bench. “Please, eat with me.” Anthia hesitated, wondering whether this was some kind of test. Was she really supposed to eat with a Roman citizen? “Please, sister.” Dorcas patted again. Anthia sat, eyeing the rest of the room to see whether she was in line. Her astonishment only grew as she realized that all of the smaller groups were mixed. Some were sitting on the floor, and a few had cushions. A few were on stools or benches, but there seemed to be no specific organization to the arrangements.

Her expression must have relayed her confusion, because Dorcas addressed the issue. “We choose to eat the way Jesus ate,” she said simply. “He ate with those of higher and lower status than himself. If we follow him in that way, we are declaring with our lives that we believe he is the one who brings the age to come, where all are brothers and sisters.”

“The age to come?” Anthia asked.

“It is the time of restoration, of resurrection life conquering death, of all things being the way the true god intends them to be. Jesus started it.” Dorcas smiled. “Sausage? Pork belly? Grapes? What would you like first?”

Anthia chewed quietly, savoring the pork in her mouth and listening to the spirited conversation around her. She had learned that the young women sitting on the other side of Dorcas were her slaves—her slaves! She had never heard of a master and slave sharing the same bench while dining. A young man named Onesiphorus was sitting on the floor across from them, and an older man named Sosthenes was sitting next to Hero. The conversation alternated between the people in their haphazard circle and then between their circle and those sitting next to them on all sides. It was a raucous experience, but the mood was warm. Anthia had been part of what could only be described as a mob in the stadium when they cheered on gladiators, and that was raucous as well, but the mood then felt dangerous, not safe. She watched Nikias run with his new friends to the back room, each with a sausage in hand, and smiled. She suddenly realized that she needed to use the latrine. It comes on like a bolt of lightning, she thought good-humoredly, patting her belly, but when she stood she felt the blood run down her leg. She sat again quickly, pretending to feel faint. The women in the circle quickly surrounded her, bringing water and asking how she felt. Her eyes met Iarine’s, and her friend shook her head slightly in acknowledgment.

“I will take her outside for some fresh air,” she declared, grabbing Anthia’s arm and escorting her as quickly as she could to the door. Outside, the women sat and leaned against the wall of the shop, breathing in the cooler night air. “Tell me.” Iarine’s words were filled with concern.

“I haven’t felt the baby all day. And when I stood, I could feel the blood running down my leg. I don’t know what to do.”

“May we pray for you? I can gather some of the women together. Jesus is the one with the power to stop your bleeding and help your baby kick. Jesus is the one who can keep us safe during our pregnancies and deliveries and give strength to our babies. It is Jesus.”

Not Artemis. Anthia filled in the implied contrast silently, weighing the claim. Her fear was real, for she did not want to anger the goddess, but her desperation won the argument. She thought of Euxinus, running and playing in the street with Nikias. “Okay,” she agreed. At her assent, Iarine rose and went inside. Anthia went to use the latrine, and Iarine returned a few minutes later with several women, including Dorcas and her slave Rhoda. The women all looked at her questioningly, and Iarine confided in them.

“We must pray!” Rhoda exclaimed, and the women moved as one to surround Anthia. They placed their hands on her—mostly on her belly—and prayed. Each spoke briefly, imploring Jesus to stop her bleeding and heal her and her baby. Anthia found herself surprisingly moved and attempted to stay the emotion she felt rising in the back of her throat and eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry, she told herself, willing it to be so.

When it was over the women agreed that they would continue to pray for her, and then one by one they went back inside. Soon it was just Iarine and Anthia. Composing herself, Anthia finally asked a question she had been pondering for a while. “When will we see Jesus? Will we?”

“When he appears again here, in his resurrection body. We don’t know exactly when it will be.”

“And this time is also when his followers receive their new bodies? What age will those bodies be? Young? Old?”

“Yes, when he is here in his resurrection body, his followers will have theirs. I don’t know what age they will be, but I do know that they will be both like and unlike the bodies we have now. It’s a mystery.”

Anthia considered that for a moment, then asked another question, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer. “There were women wearing stolas who were preparing and arranging the food. Why would Roman citizens serve the food? And then Priscilla and Aquila were serving both food and wine . . . aren’t there slaves or lower-status people who should be in charge of that?”

Iarine smiled. “The meal, including the sharing of the bread and cup, is the center of our gathering, and women of all status levels organize it. Sometimes I contribute, and sometimes Dorcas does. Sometimes Rhoda does, but not always. The men often assist as well.”

Anthia’s shocked look must have been clear, because Iarine continued. “Jesus helped serve food, and he taught his male disciples to do so as well. Dorcas, for example, insists both on serving alongside slaves and that the men help.”

“Dorcas and Sosthenes seem to be good friends. But I heard someone mention that he is from Corinth, so how can that be?”

“He is from Corinth but has been here awhile with Paul. Sosthenes is Jewish, like Dorcas, so they share that. They both love the Jewish scriptures and often read them aloud for us when we gather.”

“So they can read?”

“Yes. So can a few others, including Paul, Priscilla, and Aquila.” She studied Anthia’s face. “When we gather, everyone contributes. Some sing a psalm—there are many that are part of the Jewish scriptures—or a hymn about Jesus. They often teach us so we can all sing together. Others teach a lesson or share something that Jesus has revealed to them. Some have a gift from god’s spirit to speak in another tongue or language, and others give insight into what was said by the tongue speaker in Greek for the rest of us. Or they might lead a prayer or testify about something that Jesus has done in their lives. And there are more ways that everyone contributes.”

“So . . . Dorcas may read scripture, and immediately after that her slave Rhoda might pray?”

“Yes. Everyone gets a turn. Slave or free, Jew or non-Jew, male or female, Roman citizen or not . . . none of those realities exclude anyone from sharing here. The same spirit of god indwells all of us and has given each one of us a gift, at least one. The only condition is that the gift you share must be useful for everyone and build up, encourage, or challenge the whole ekklesia, the whole assembly.” She paused and smiled at Anthia. “I hope you don’t mind me going on so long, but it seems like you’re curious.”

“No, please, continue.” Anthia waved her on.

“There are two main reasons why we call ourselves an assembly: The first is that in the Jewish scriptures the gathered community of the true god’s people is called an assembly. The second is that everyone knows how local Greek assemblies work. Only citizens can participate. Here, in this assembly, we are all citizens of heaven; we embody the culture and values of heaven in our gathering. That’s why we eat together first, because some in the group are hungry. It may be their first meal today, and in heaven no one is hungry. And then we share our gifts and discuss together.”

As if on cue, Priscilla stuck her head out the door and waved them in. They stood, and Anthia waited for the rush of blood down her leg, but there was nothing. She said a silent prayer of thanks to Jesus and followed her friend inside.

Anthia sat with the group in a large, messy circle, marveling again at the order within the chaos. The young children sat with parents but then also got up and moved around, playing with only an occasional shriek. The order of the circle was consonant with the meal; there was no order, and people sat in random places, a Roman citizen next to a slave, and a Jew next to a non-Jew. She had expected Paul to speak first, and longest, but the reality was different. Dorcas was first, reading a passage from a Jewish scripture called Deuteronomy. Then a man who called himself Epaenetus said that he wanted to testify to the grace of Jesus in his life. “I have been called out of the darkness of sorcery and into the light,” he declared. “I still have my sorcery books. I wanted to sell them, but I feel that the spirit of god is telling me to burn them.”

The room was electric as its occupants grasped the weight of Epaenetus’s words. Finally, Paul spoke in a quiet voice. “Epaenetus, you were the first to join the Way in the province of Asia. You took that risk, and it seems that Jesus wants you to take another. We are with you.”

Burn his sorcery books? Anthia was astounded. Why must he do that? Why couldn’t he keep them, or sell them, or . . . Her mind was racing, but then Priscilla spoke up and answered her questions. “Dorcas just read from Deuteronomy, and in that same scripture the true god tells us that only he is the lord of all. Only him. That means that we cannot split our loyalty between him and other gods or powers.” She turned to Epaenetus. “Burning your books would be a clear indication of where your loyalty lies.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Epaenetus affirmed. “I will do it near the agora so that any and all may witness it.”

Anthia’s heart was pounding in fear. So public . . . everyone will know. So risky. What will happen to him, and to anyone associated with him, at this public shaming of Epaenetus’s old gods?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Rhoda, who told the group about a vision that she had been given by Jesus. She had seen a stream that expanded into a large river as smaller streams and tributaries joined it. She laughed joyfully. “We are a tributary, and we have joined the river of the true god’s people.” Then a man who called himself Gaius across the circle suggested singing a hymn about Jesus, and others added their voices as he sang.

Anthia listened carefully. The hymn’s lyrics were describing Jesus’ equality with god, but they also affirmed that Jesus did not exploit this equality. Instead, he took the form of a slave. Who would do that willingly? Become a slave?

Next a young woman named Secunda shared, calmly telling the group that they would be tested in their faith, but the spirit of god would be with them. “We must go through many hardships to enter the kingdom of god,” she added.

Anthia felt like her heart had stopped. That’s my fear. That being part of this, following this Jesus, will cost me something because I will have shamed myself and those connected to me. She looked around the circle, trying to gauge the level of fear in others, and suddenly she sensed another presence in the room. It’s like a heavy blanket, warm and cozy. And . . . my skin is tingling. As she pondered possible explanations for what she was experiencing, a deep calm settled over her, and suddenly she was crying.

Priscilla spoke next, calling Secunda’s words a prophecy that must be weighed. Several others in the room then met to confer while a curly-haired man named Aristarchus led another song about Jesus, but this time Jesus was described not as a slave but as the one through whom all things were created, including thrones, powers, rulers, and authorities. Following the song the smaller group who had been weighing the prophecy shared, indicating that the spirit of god had revealed that Secunda had heard her prophetic word clearly and well; it was indeed from god.

A young man to her left cleared his throat, and the group turned to look at him. “My name is Timothy,” he began, “in case there are some here who are not yet my friends.” At that, he turned and smiled warmly at Anthia, and she couldn’t help but return the smile as she dabbed at her eyes. Stop crying, she instructed herself silently. “Erastus and I sense the spirit leading us to invite discussion on the text from Deuteronomy read by Dorcas.” He now turned his smile on Dorcas, who also responded in kind. “Perhaps you could read it again, Dorcas, then those of us who have grown up hearing Deuteronomy in the synagogue could share what we have been taught, and then we could give time for questions.” The group murmured their assent, and Dorcas unrolled the scroll once again and began to read.

Anthia watched it all, pondering with awe the various contributions by individuals, but especially the way in which the larger group received each person’s offering. There is really a place for everyone.

After the questions were answered to the satisfaction of all, Priscilla asked the group whether there was anyone else who would like to participate. When no one spoke up, Priscilla prayed a short prayer, after which people stood. Some left immediately, while others chatted in small groups or collected their children. Anthia knew that Nikias needed to go to bed, but her question was urgent. She waited while Iarine finished talking with Dorcas, and then she asked her question. “Did you feel the . . . presence? The warmth?”

Iarine smiled and nodded. “Is that why you were crying?”

Stunned, Anthia stuttered. “Y-yes. How did you know?”

“When the spirit moves, people respond in different ways. Some cry.”

“Iarine!” A male voice called from across the room, interrupting them.

“Go,” Anthia said, gesturing toward the man. “We’ll talk more later.” She walked to the back room to look for Nikias and found him seated on a bedmat. Perhaps Paul’s bedmat? She wondered idly, noting the chamber pot and other items that announced the space as a home. Or maybe Priscilla and Aquila’s. Nikias was playing some kind of game with a few other children that involved sticks, rocks, and his new wooden horse, and he screamed in protest when she told him it was time to leave.

Just then another young woman joined her and told one of Nikias’s playmates that it was time to go home. The woman was wearing a beautiful red stola, and Anthia recognized her as one of the women who had been organizing the meal. Anthia found herself unsure of whether she should talk. The woman touched her arm, and when Anthia turned, she said simply, “I’m Claudia. I was hoping we would get a chance to talk. I noticed that your son looks to be about the same age as mine. Is he three years old?”

“Almost,” Anthia whispered, gathering her courage and continuing in a louder voice. “But he is big for his age. I am grateful that he is strong and healthy.”

Claudia nodded her assent before adding, “They seem to be fast friends. Perhaps they could play together again soon, before another seven days have passed.” She thought for a moment. “Tomorrow afternoon?” She smiled hopefully. “We live in one of the terraced apartments near the agora. Will you come?”

Anthia knew exactly which homes Claudia was referencing; they were among the most expensive in all of Ephesus. Claudia clearly did not need to work from dawn to dusk to provide food for her family. She forced herself to smile, but answered honestly. “I will be selling fish tomorrow afternoon in the agora, and Nikias will be with me there.” Claudia’s eyes registered understanding first, and then shame. “Of course, of course. Perhaps . . . perhaps I could come to the agora tomorrow afternoon with my son and find you? I need fish for dinner, and the boys can play. And then . . . perhaps . . . some night after the sun sets, you will join us for dinner?”

Anthia was moved by this obvious attempt to accommodate her rhythm of daily life, as she suspected that Claudia had never purchased her own food in the agora. This necessary activity was almost certainly performed by slaves in her household. “That sounds nice. Our fish stall is almost always set up near the tailor shop where Iarine and Hero work.”

Claudia picked up her son and smiled. “Tomorrow, then.”

Anthia walked slowly, matching her pace to her son’s tired footsteps. In one hand she carried some leftover bread and sausage, while the other clutched tightly to Nikias’s hand. Her mind was reeling, and she was having difficulty absorbing and sorting through what she had just experienced. She passed an inscription that, even though she could not read, she knew and understood. It was that important, that famous. It declared Ephesus to be “the first and greatest metropolis in Asia.” Her mind flicked again to Artemis, one of the main reasons that Ephesus could call itself so great a metropolis. Artemis . . . Jesus . . .