When we reached the gallery I paused to lean over the parapet and look down at the long reflecting pool, which seen from above was utterly black. Another group of tourists had just entered and were gazing in awe at the statue.

Antipater hissed at me, and I hastened to join the rest of our group at the western end of the gallery. Our guide was silent, which seemed appropriate, for no words could adequately capture the sensation of standing so near the god. Pressed against the balustrade, I stood as close as any mortal could to the face of Zeus Almighty. Had the god turned his head, we would have been eye to eye. Even seen this close, the details of his golden beard, ivory flesh, and lapis eyes were uncanny. Had he blinked, or raised his mighty chest with a sigh, or shaken his head to unloose the golden curls upon his shoulders, I would not have been surprised, for in that moment I had no doubt that the vessel created by Phidias did in fact contain the god.

I flinched, for by the flickering light I perceived a tremor of intent. Zeus was about to turn his face to mine! I braced myself, for were the god to speak, his voice would surely be more deafening than a thunderclap.

Then I blinked, and realized the movement I perceived had been an illusion, for no one around me had reacted to it, and the statue remained just as it was. Fool! I said to myself. Everyone knows the gods in temples never speak aloud. They express themselves through oracles, or dreams, or flights of birds that only augurs can decipher.

Still, as the tour reached its end and the guide led us back to the entrance, I kept looking over my shoulder, feeling the gaze of Zeus upon me.

As we exited the temple and reemerged into daylight, I blinked and shook my head, as if awakening from a dream. The guide seemed unfazed. After all, he gave this tour many times each day, and was privileged to actually touch the statue to anoint the ivory. He handed each of us a small wooden disk. “Use it today, and this token will allow you to visit the workshop of Phidias for half the usual donation requested. The workshop still contains the actual tools and molds used by the master sculptor and his assistants.”

“Shall we press on to see the workshop, Gordianus?” said Antipater.

I sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. “I think I should lie down for a while. It must be the heat.” I felt a bit chagrined, because it was usually Antipater who grew tired first.

“Very well, let’s return to our host’s pavilion. The crowd will be up and milling about until long past sundown, but there’s no reason we shouldn’t go to bed early.”

“Should we buy a bit of food from one of the vendors, so as to have something to eat later?”

“Oh, I suspect there will be plenty to eat and drink in the pavilion, anytime we need it. Our host can afford to be generous.”

The sun was low on the horizon as we crossed the Altis. The statues all around cast long shadows. One of the longest was that of a warrior atop a horse. His Roman armor made him conspicuous among the naked bronze athletes. I paused to read the Greek inscription on the pedestal:

TO THE HONOR OF LUCIUS MUMMIUS

COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE ROMANS

THE CITY OF ELLIS ERECTS THIS STATUE

IN RECOGNITION OF HIS VIRTUE

AND THE KINDNESS HE HAS SHOWN

TO ELLIS AND TO THE REST OF THE GREEKS

I gazed up at the figure of Mummius. His bland face showed no emotion. One hand held the reins of his horse. The other was raised in a gesture of peace.

“So here it is, the statue the guide mentioned. What do you think of it, Teacher?” I turned my head, only to see that Antipater was striding quickly on. I hurried to catch up.

*   *   *

Back at our quarters, I fell onto my cot and was asleep at once.

In the middle of the night I woke, prompted by a need to pass water. I stumbled out the flap, still half-asleep, and made my way to a nearby trench that had been dug for the purpose. The moon was nearly full, filling the valley with a dull white light and casting stark black shadows. Not everyone was dozing; above the general quiet I heard echoes of drinking songs and bits of distant conversation, and here and there I saw the glow of a few campfires that were still burning.

I returned to the tent, lifted the flap to our quarters, and was about to duck back inside when I heard a voice coming from elsewhere within the pavilion.

“Something will have to be done about him, and soon!” The speaker seemed to have raised his voice in a sudden burst of emotion. He sounded oddly familiar. Someone answered him, but in a much lower tone that was barely audible.

The first man spoke again. “Harmless? It’s all an act! The fellow’s dangerous, I tell you. Deadly dangerous! I think he’s a spy for the Romans.”

This prompted another hushed reply, and then the first man spoke again. His voice was naggingly familiar. “Whether he’s a spy or not, he’s still liable to expose us as agents of Mithridates. The Sidonian must die!”

At this, I was wide awake. Not only had Antipater been recognized, but someone was talking about killing him—someone in the very pavilion where we were sleeping!

I ducked under the flap. The little room was so dark that I could barely make out the shape of Antipater on his cot, apparently sound asleep. But when I reached out to shake him awake, what I took to be his shoulder turned out to be only a pillow and some folds of a blanket.

“Teacher?” I whispered.

Antipater was gone.

I stood stock-still in the silence and listened. I no longer heard the others elsewhere in the pavilion. Had they heard me whisper? I considered trying to find my way through the maze of flaps and dividers to confront them—whoever they were—but decided that would be madness. If they thought Antipater was a Roman spy, they would know that I was his traveling companion, and would surely wish me harm as well. What had Antipater been thinking, to arrange for us to lodge in a pavilion full of agents for the King of Pontus?

And where was Antipater?

I could not possibly stay in the tent. Nor did it make sense to go about shouting for Antipater, waking others and calling attention to myself. I left our sleeping quarters and under the bright moonlight I threaded my way past smaller tents nearby as well as a number of men sleeping in the open on blankets. By a lucky chance I found an unclaimed spot under an olive tree. Sitting with my back against the trunk, hidden amid deep moon-shadows, I had a clear view of the flap to our quarters. I settled in to watch for Antipater, thinking he would surely return soon. Perhaps, like me, he had gone out to relieve himself, or, unable to sleep, had taken a nocturnal stroll. I would watch for his return, and stop him before he entered the tent where someone—perhaps even our host?—was plotting to kill him.

I underestimated the power of Somnus—or Hypnos, as the Greeks call the god of sleep. Though I fought to keep my eyes open, a power stronger than myself kept shutting them, and the next thing I knew, someone was shaking me awake. I opened my eyes and was startled to see, crouching beside me, a stranger with an eye patch and a lumpy nose—then realized it was Antipater.

“Teacher! Are you all right?”

“Of course I am. And you, Gordianus? Could you not sleep inside the tent?”

By the soft light of dawn, people all around were waking and stirring. In starts and stops, for I was not yet fully awake, I tried to explain to him what I had overheard during the night.

Antipater was silent for a long moment, then shook his head. “It was a dream, Gordianus. What you heard were voices from a dream.”

I shook my head. “No, Teacher, I was wide awake—as awake as I am right now.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Which is still half-asleep, I think. Perhaps you heard something, yes, but I’m sure you misunderstood.”