“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” I said.

“Am I? Did you not see that knocker on the door? A clear indication of the kind of house this has become.”

“Perhaps it’s there to avert the Evil Eye. I see phallic talismans everywhere in Rome, and they don’t always mean—”

“And this statue of Aphrodite looming over us—the goddess of love!”

“Anyone might have such a statue. Who doesn’t worship Aphrodite?”

“And those paintings on the walls of the room we passed through—did you not observe the subject matter? Apollo and Daphne, Paris and Helen, Leda and the swan—all stories of lust and seduction.”

“I did notice that the paintings were rather … suggestive.”

“Suggestive? Prurient, I would say! And there’s the simple fact that Bitto obviously has money. When her husband died, he left her in dire straits; I know that for a fact, because she wrote to me asking for a loan, and I sent it to her. But look at this house—freshly refurbished and beautifully decorated. And the delicacies we were served, and the wine—that was no cheap vintage. How else could a woman possibly earn so much money? Not by weaving or making baskets or any other respectable occupation, I can assure you of that! And her appearance—it’s downright scandalous. She’s a widow and should be in black.”

“But you said it’s been a couple of years since her husband died—”

“In black, I say, until she either remarries or dies. Instead she’s wearing a red gown that looks as if she were poured into it, and her hair is all pinned and piled atop her head, when it should be in a snood!”

I considered the implications. “What if Bitto is a hetaera? Is that such a terrible thing? If her clients are respectable men, and if she’s able to make a good living—”

“But Gordianus—at her age? It’s outrageous.”

“Is she really that old? I think she’s rather…” I left the thought unspoken. It would hardly be proper for me to express to Antipater the thoughts I was having about his kinswoman.

“Thank you, Gordianus,” said Bitto, for suddenly she had rejoined us in the garden. “I’m not sure what you were about to say, but I’ll presume it was a compliment. As for your concerns, cousin Antipater—”

“How much did you hear?” he sputtered.

“Quite enough. I suppose it was improper of me to eavesdrop, but then, it’s not exactly proper to speak ill of a woman in her own house.”

“Cousin Bitto, I have only your best interests at heart.”

“Do you? Then I should think you would be glad to find me prospering. And by the way, before you leave Halicarnassus I intend to pay back to you every drachma of that loan you so generously provided in my time of need.”

“Bitto, the loan means nothing—”

“It meant a great deal to me. And the fact that I am now able to repay it also means a great deal to me. Whatever you may think of me, Antipater, I have my pride.”

“And yet—”

“And yet I see fit to become a hetaera? I’m proud of that, as well.”

“Bitto!”

“Perhaps you forget where you are, cousin. Halicarnassus has a somewhat different heritage from that of other Greek-speaking cities. This was the capital of Caria, and Caria has a long history of strong, independent women—like Queen Artemisia.”

“But when Artemisia became a widow, her chief concern was to honor the memory of her husband. If you were to follow her example—”

“I would die of grief, and follow my late husband to Hades! That aspect of Artemisia’s legacy I do not intend to emulate. I prefer to live, cousin, and to live I must have money, and to have money, a widow of limited means has only two options—and I have no interest in weaving. On the day I entered this profession, I broke my loom into pieces and burned it on Aphrodite’s altar. What I do, I do in her honor. I don’t take my profession lightly, cousin.”

“Even so…” Antipater averted his eyes and shook his head.

“Is it that you still think of me as cousin Theo’s little girl, and it makes you uncomfortable to imagine me as a woman, capable of pleasing men?”

Antipater frowned. “If anything, my objection is quite the opposite. It’s so unseemly, for a woman of forty—”

Bitto laughed. “Cousin Antipater, as long as Aphrodite gives me the strength, and as long as there are men who enjoy my company, what does it matter how old I am? What do you think, Gordianus?”

Unprepared for the sudden question, I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Bitto returned her gaze to Antipater. “Cousin, you are more than welcome to stay here, for as long as you like. But I do intend to go about my business. I host small gatherings a few times a month. Other women—some of them widows, like myself—join me in entertaining a very select group of invited guests. The women sing and dance. The men drink wine and talk politics and philosophy, and occasionally, when they say something really silly, I feel obliged to join in the conversation. Later in the evening, some of the guests retire to private quarters off the dining chamber, and in the morning, everyone returns to their workaday life, refreshed and rejuvenated. What could be more pleasing to Aphrodite?”

“And what am I to do during these parties?” said Antipater.

“Participate, of course. The food and wine are excellent. The girls are beautiful and talented. The conversation is seldom dull; some of the richest and most highly educated men in Halicarnassus regularly dine under this roof.”

“Rich, I’m sure,” said Antipater, “but educated?”

“Oh, what a snob you are, cousin! I daresay you’ll find the wealthy men of Halicarnassus to be as refined as those of Ephesus or Rhodes or even Athens. They know your poetry.”

“Do they?” Antipater pricked up his ears.

“Indeed, they do, and it’s a great disappointment to me that I won’t be able to introduce you as my dear cousin Antipater of Sidon, since you’re supposed to be dead. When word of your ‘death’ reached Halicarnassus, you were the talk of all my gatherings.”

“Was I?” Antipater could not suppress a smile of pleasure.

“Everyone agreed that the world had lost its greatest poet.”

“Well, perhaps not the greatest,” said Antipater, trying to sound humble.

“In your honor, the girls and I took turns quoting your epigrams about Myron’s cow, and we debated which was cleverest. Have you ever actually seen that statue in Athens? And can any statue really be so lifelike?” She quoted:

“Had Myron not fixed my hooves to this stone,

I would have gone to pasture and left you alone.”

Antipater tittered with delight and matched her with another of his epigrams:

“Calf, why nuzzle my flank and suckle my udder?

I am the cow of Myron, not your mother.”

I rolled my eyes and cleared my throat. Greeks and their epigrams! Given all the poems Antipater had written about that cow, such an exchange could go on indefinitely.

Bitto sighed. “Alas, I shall have to introduce you as Zoticus of Zeugma, and no one will be at all impressed. But you’re so good at making verses on the spot, I’m sure you’ll win them over. Well, I’m glad that’s all settled.”

Antipater blinked, suddenly realizing he had been outflanked. “Bitto, I never agreed that I would attend these parties of yours.”

She shrugged. “If you prefer, you can sequester yourself in the library while they’re going on. You’ll be glad to see that I managed to keep every scroll my husband collected. For a while I thought I’d have to sell them, before my parties proved successful. There’s a complete set of The Histories by Herodotus in there. He was born in Halicarnassus, you know.”

Antipater’s eyes lit up. “I suppose, on those evenings when you play hostess, Gordianus and I can use the time to better acquaint ourselves with Herodotus.”

Speak for yourself ! I wanted to say, but bit my tongue. Bitto saw the look on my face and laughed. “We shall see,” she said. “But look—we’ve lost the sunlight here in the garden. You can almost see Aphrodite shiver. Shall we move to the balcony?”