Day 7, Tuesday

DAY OF MARS/ARES

THE RAIN CASCADED IN SHEETS across the tiny window opening in their top-floor home. There was nothing to keep the water out, and the result was a continuous spray that covered a section of the room. Several holes in the ceiling were letting water in as well, and Nikias and his cousin Demarchos were busily adjusting small containers on the floor to catch the drips. When a cup or small bowl filled, one of them carried it quickly to one of the larger water jugs and dumped it.

Figure 7.1. An ancient bowl

Anthia poured another cup of water, using the only cup not being used to catch water. “Drink,” she said, again, to the others. The men were gone, of course. One could fish in the rain—some even said it improved the chances of a good catch—and Philetus insisted on trying. Andrew had left with hope that the weather might improve his chances of finding work as a day laborer, perhaps keeping others inside and away from the lines. Penelope sat with her baby in her lap; her aunt was seated on the floor, leaning against the wall, while her father reclined on his bedmat. He struggled to sit in order to accommodate her wishes.

“Would you rather we empty the water jug but fill the chamber pot?” His eyes twinkled. “I’m going to need to use it again soon.” Anthia smiled at the return of her father’s humor, silently thanking the gods for his strength today. Or should I thank Jesus? The suddenness of this thought again caught her by surprise, and she decided to put it out of her head. Her father adjusted his tunic, fresh from the fullery last night.

They sat in the only dry spot big enough to accommodate them and divided the leftover food. Claudia’s leftovers fed us for two meals, Anthia marveled. The baby inside her kicked and then started squirming and somersaulting. “Look,” she directed, holding the fabric of her tunic tightly across her belly. “Watch him move.” Her aunt quickly placed a firm hand on Anthia’s belly, smiling at the feel of the little life within. Her smile took on a sad edge, and Anthia thought, not for the first time, about the pain of her aunt’s life. Barrenness was no woman’s dream. She covered her aunt’s hand with her own and pushed harder, and the baby responded, the movements rippling across her skin.

Anthia smiled, and the effort brought pain to her face, which cultivated the memory of her husband’s slap near the fish stall. I wish he wouldn’t have done it in public, she thought again. But that was part of the point, wasn’t it. To shame me. To demonstrate publicly that my behavior was inappropriate but that he’s handling it. At least he isn’t here right now.

She shivered when she remembered his return home last night. It was dark, and everyone had long since gone to sleep. Philetus had entered, announcing to the room a decent catch that had been sold as part of the new contract established two days prior. He had asked about food, and Anthia had risen to light a lamp and show him the food. If the combination of Claudia’s leftovers and the hard, dark bread that she often made was confusing to him, he didn’t show it. He only grunted and sat to eat while she returned to the bedmat, massaging her sore hips.

After eating, however, he wasn’t yet ready for sleep. He used the chamber pot and then joined her on their small bedmat. His hands found her breasts, large and tender underneath her tunic. He pressed firmly on them, though Anthia’s small cry of pain went unnoticed. Roughly, he pulled her tunic over her head, grasping at her body with hands and a mouth that were hungry with desire. At first he pushed her down on her back, but her belly protruded too far. He then lifted her up and directed her head toward his lap.

It didn’t matter that there were others in the room. Nikias and the other children slept, thankfully. Their breathing was even. The adults all lay still, so still, but Anthia couldn’t hear them breathing. She was almost certain that they were awake, listening. They wouldn’t interfere, of course. This was the way marriage worked, and the rights of husbands were clear. Anthia was introduced to this reality at a very young age; she could remember nights similar to this, when she pretended to sleep while her father crawled on top of her mother. She had heard of wives who serviced their husbands not just willingly but with pleasure, because the pleasure was returned. Her mind flicked to Iarine, and she wondered what her marriage bed involved. Was there joy, pleasure? She made a mental note to ask.

At least it was over quickly. Philetus grunted several times, then lay back and slept almost instantly. Anthia waited until she was sure he was asleep, then she reached for her tunic and pulled it on. She carefully massaged the sore places on her body and rolled away from him, on her side. And she slept.

He had risen early and left without saying a word to anyone. It had already been raining then.

So now she sat, eating the remnants from the meal shared with Claudia. Penelope and her father and aunt celebrated again the acquisition of such good food, and they asked more questions about the woman who had shared it with them. They forced Nikias to stand and turn, showcasing his fine new attire for the third time that morning. “What a generous family,” her father remarked. “And are you sure that you are not in her debt? Does she expect you to pay her back somehow, or honor her in another way, perhaps by praising her publicly in the marketplace?”

“She does not, Father. She made that very clear.”

Her aunt leaned back toward the window, then changed the subject. “The rain is ending. When it’s over, Nikias and I will bring the chamber pot downstairs.”

There was no food to prepare—that depended on Philetus’s catch. Because of the full water jugs there was also no water to fetch. She rose, brushing off her tunic. “Could you keep Nikias until the midday rest? I’m going to go to the agora in case there are fish to sell.” Her unspoken comment, that it was unwise to wait here until Philetus came to retrieve her, was obvious to the adults in the room. It would only provoke his anger. Her aunt nodded, and Anthia walked out the door.

Anthia loved the smell of wet earth, and she inhaled deeply as she walked. Well, as deeply as I can with this baby taking up all the space, she thought, a smile playing on her lips. She stopped at a public latrine, then continued her walk. She moved as quickly as possible, avoiding the puddles. Her feet were already dirty, but the rain was adding to the grime. The narrow, windy street was packed with people who had also just come outside after the rain. People were emptying chamber pots, carrying water jugs to the fountain, herding animals, and hauling food and other necessities. Children were everywhere, most of them naked. She skirted a group of old women sitting on the ground outside an insula and narrowly avoided the contents of a chamber pot that was being dumped out of an upper-floor window behind her.

As she entered the agora, she noticed a group of men who had congregated in and around a shop. The men were talking animatedly, and while she couldn’t hear the conversation, the mood was angry. The silversmiths, she realized. I wonder what the issue is. Did one of them cheat the others in the guild? Or are they having supply problems? She took a short detour so that she could hear more clearly and soon wished she hadn’t. She caught snippets of the conversation now and clearly overheard the names “Jesus” and “Artemis.” It’s not just anger. It’s fear. Anthia realized. They all know exactly what’s at stake. They make statues of Artemis, and the well-being of Artemis is tied to ours.

She walked quickly away, trying to force her mind to think about something else. Don’t worry, she told herself. She rubbed her belly as she walked, and her baby kicked strongly in response. Seeing the outline of the tailor shop ahead, she craned her neck in an attempt to spot Iarine. There! She’s there! Picking up her pace a bit more, she practically skipped to the front of the shop. Iarine looked up, surprise written on her face, but it was quickly followed by a smile. The two women hugged, then leaned in conspiratorially.

“How are you and the baby?” Iarine got right to the point.

“Fine. We’re fine. He’s kicking and squirming continually.”

“Oh good. I’m so happy to hear that. You know, Paul asked about you yesterday. He wanted to know what you thought about our gathering and whether you felt welcomed.”

“Oh yes. Very welcomed. Honestly, the mix of people felt odd, but . . . warm. Friendly. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. And then I saw Claudia again yesterday.”

“Isn’t she wonderful?” Iarine began. “She was the first . . .” Iarine suddenly stopped talking, her face concerned. Iarine was no longer looking at Anthia, but behind her. Anthia turned, and there stood Philetus. He looked angry.

“Philetus, I . . .” Anthia paused. “I am on my way to our stall. You must have caught fish, as I was hoping. I . . .” Anthia trailed off as Philetus strode toward her. He said nothing, but one hand reached out and slapped her quickly across the face. There was such force behind the blow that Anthia stumbled, and Philetus reached out with his other hand and grabbed her by the braided knot at the back of her head, pulling her away from the tailor shop by the hair. She stumbled as she attempted to keep pace with him while walking backward, and he yanked harder in response.

By the time they arrived at the fish stall, Anthia had composed herself. He released her, and she fell at his feet without looking at him, knowing that an emotional display would only shame and anger him further. “I had heard that you’ve been spending time with Iarine and Hero, and now you’ve confirmed it.” Anthia waited without responding, unsure. “Galleos’s wife told him about those two and their involvement with an association that honors Jesus.”

Hair, Beards, and Barbers

In public settings most free women in the Greco-Roman world wore their hair long and parted in the middle or combed straight back and pulled away from the face, held either with small hairpins (of metal, bone, or ivory) or a scarf, headband, ribbon, or hairnet. Sometimes the hair was braided and wound around the head or into a knot at the back of the neck or head. Slave women often wore their hair shorter than free women. Slaves routinely worked on hair for higher-status women, who also sometimes wore more complicated hairstyles, including piling it into a mass on the crown. Higher-status men and women sometimes wore wigs (including blond wigs imported from Germany and made with the hair of prisoners of war), used curling tongs, or dyed their hair blond or black, especially to cover grays.

While many Jewish men wore their hair a bit longer and favored beards, Greco-Roman men typically wore their hair short and styled it by combing it straight down with no part, sometimes with the help of oil or grease from animal fat or marrow. While the elite used slaves or in-home barbers (and there is evidence for emperors and other wealthy men shaving every day), those of middle status and class often visited barbershops. As in many contexts today, barbershops in the Greco-Roman world were known both for their gossip and their grooming services (which included the use of iron razors and scissors to trim nails, remove earwax, trim hair from the nose and ears, cut corns and warts, and perform minor surgical procedures). Free men on the lower end of the status and economic spectrum lived with untrimmed hair and unshaven beards, while some male slaves would have their heads shaved.

There it is, Anthia thought. That’s why he’s angry. I haven’t been faithful to Philetus and his gods. I have shamed him as a wife. He knows. Anthia stole a sideways glance toward the fish stall and saw Galleos’s smug face. Philetus noticed her movement, however, and rewarded it with a quick slap to her head. Dazed, Anthia looked down.

“Never again,” Philetus warned. “Never again will you shame our family, our association, or our protector Artemis. You will not talk with Iarine and Hero again.” Then he turned and stalked away.

Anthia knew better than to respond directly, even though a part of her wanted to call after him that it was the power of Jesus that had healed his nephew. She didn’t, however—this was about Philetus and his honor, especially in relationship to his fishing guild. This was not about the kindness of Hero and Iarine, or Paul and his healing towel.

She got carefully to her feet and brushed off her hands and tunic. She walked slowly to the stall and began to lay out fish, ignoring the stares of those who had gathered to watch the altercation. She wanted to cry, but she knew it would do more harm than good. Willing herself to be stoic, she fought back the tears and cleared her throat, greeting a customer with a forced smile.

Does he know that I visited the gathering? She pondered. Or does he just think that I’m friends with people who are part of the Jesus association? Anthia saw another customer approach out of the corner of her eye and quickly recognized Plancia, one of Claudia’s slaves. They haggled quickly over the price of a fish, and then Plancia said quietly, “I saw. I was behind you near the tailor shop. Iarine sent me to check on you. She wants to help.”

Anthia forced a smile. “There’s nothing to do.”

“There’s always something. I’ll be back.” And Plancia was gone.

It was time for the midday rest, and Anthia couldn’t wait to lie down. She trudged through the agora, grateful to be alone. Philetus and Galleos had headed off together without a word, probably to a tavern. Suddenly someone touched her arm. She turned, surprised, and Plancia was walking beside her.

“I have news,” Plancia said, her eyes forward. “Claudia sent me to tell the others about you, and we are praying. We are meeting tonight to pray. Claudia is hosting.” She turned then, looking directly at Anthia. “When we gather this evening, we will also discuss how each free member could honor your husband’s fishing guild with their friendship and partnership. For example, Claudia’s husband would like to offer Philetus a fishing contract for our household. Aristarchus is a miller, and Dorcas owns both garum factories and fish-salting houses. Secunda’s family owns a farm outside the city. All of these brothers and sisters are connected in some way to Hero and Iarine, of course.” She shrugged. “There are good possibilities.”

Stunned, Anthia didn’t respond immediately. They are attempting to provide me with a way to continue to participate in the gathering. She almost couldn’t believe it. She rubbed her belly absently, walking as she thought. She knew the risks, but she also knew how pleased Philetus would be by such honorable business associations. It’s almost a competition between honor and shame, she mused. Great honor may balance the great shame I’ve caused. And enough honor may even encourage Philetus to allow me to participate in the gatherings, if his honorable business partners also do so. Perhaps . . . Suddenly, the baby kicked. She kept rubbing, and he kicked again. And again. She stopped then, startling Plancia, who looked at her questioningly. “Yes, there are good possibilities. Yes,” she said again, louder now, gathering her courage. She thought once more about her baby and how Jesus had healed him. Yes, Jesus! she admitted to herself. “Plancia, if I can, I will be there tonight.” Her hand moved to her cheek in a gesture of protection. “It depends on what Philetus is doing, but if he is at the tavern, it may be safe.”

Plancia nodded once and walked away. Anthia watched her go for a moment, then turned toward their insula.