The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

Over the last twenty years Steven Saylor has been carving a sizable niche for himself in the world of ancient Rome. He has recently embarked on a colossal history of Rome told in fictional form, starting with Roma (2007) which charts the growth of Rome from its earliest days to the time of Julius Caesar, and Empire (2010) which takes us through to the Emperor Hadrian. But Saylor is probably best known for his stories featuring Gordianus the Finder, who lives by his wits and, because of his acquaintanceship with Cicero in Roman Blood

(1991), the first book in the series, frequently finds himself involved in the higher level of politics and intrigue in Republican Rome. Other books in the series include Arms of Nemesis (1992), Catilina’s Riddle (1993), Rubicon (1999)

, The Judgement of Caesar (2004), The Triumph of Caesar (2008) and two collections, The House of the Vestals (1997) and A Gladiator Dies Only Once

(2005).

Saylor is working on another volume featuring Gordianus but this time set during his early years, against the backcloth of the original Seven Wonders of the World. The following story, set in 92 BC, takes place at the Temple of Diana (know as Artemis to the Greeks) in Ephesus. Gordianus, aged just eighteen, is on an extended journey accompanied by his former tutor, the poet Antipater of Sidon, who was one of the first to list the Seven Wonders.

Marina If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep,Untied I still my virgin knot will keep.Diana, aid my purpose!Bawd What have we to do with Diana?

— Shakespeare, Pericles, Prince of Tyre

“Ah, Ephesus!” cried Antipater. “Most cosmopolitan of all Greek cities — pride of Asia, jewel of the East!” He stood at the prow of the ship and gazed with glittering eyes at the city before us.

As soon as the ship left the open sea and entered the mouth of the Cayster River, Antipater had used his sharp elbows to force his way to the head of the little group of passengers, with me following in his wake; despite his wrinkles and white hair, the old poet was neither shy nor weak. Our first glimpse of Ephesus came as we rounded a little bend and saw an indistinct mass of buildings clustered against a low mountain. Moment by moment we drew nearer, until the city loomed before us.

The harbour was pierced by a long mole that projected far into the water. So many ships had moored alongside, that it seemed impossible we should find a spot, especially because other ships were arriving ahead of us, with their sails aloft and colorful pennants fluttering in the breeze. By the Roman calendar this was Aprilis, but in Ephesus this was the holy month of Artemision, marked by one festival after another in honour of the city’s patron goddess, Artemis. Antipater had told me that the celebrations drew tens of thousands of visitors from all over the Greek-speaking world, and it appeared he had not been exaggerating.

A harbour-master in a small boat sailed out to inform the captain that there was no room for our ship to dock at the mole. We would have to pitch anchor and await a ferryboat to take the passengers ashore. The ferrymen would have to be paid, of course, and Antipater grumbled at the extra expense, but I was glad for the chance to remain for a while in the harbour and take in the view.