“The duties of a Roman governor are tedious,” I said, gazing about the beautiful garden, “but they have their compensations.”
“Our host has done well for himself, I suppose.” Photinus sniffed. He and Cleopatra lived amidst luxury that made the mansion of Silvanus seem little more than a hovel.
THE NEXT MORNING ALPHEUS ACCOMPAnied me to the naval docks, where I learned that there was no word of new depredations. I ordered my skippers to keep the men in or near the barracks, ready to board and sail instantly. In the arsenal I checked on the progress made on the catapults and ballistas, which were coming along nicely. Then I went with Alpheus to visit the Temple of Aphrodite.
“The temple,” Alpheus explained, as we drew near the complex of sacred buildings, “is one of the most ancient in the Greek-speaking parts of the world. Even if the tale of the goddess’s arrival here and personal founding of the temple is untrue, it is far older than any Temple of Aphrodite on the mainland. It was built by people who still respected human scale.”
Human scale was something of an exaggeration. It looked more like a temple built for Pygmies, no larger than a common farmhouse, constructed of large, ragged blocks of local stone and roofed with the inevitable red tile. The pillars of its portico were clearly stone replacements for wooden ones hewn from single logs.
Oddly, I found this pleasing. I have always preferred the very ancient, small Italian temples to the grandiose structures we have built in recent generations. The proportions of this temple were exquisite, and its setting was as charming as one could ask: a garden of ancient and lovingly tended trees in which bees hummed and birds sang as they had for who could tell how many centuries. Smoke from the morning sacrifice rose from the altar, and the scent of pure frankincense perfumed the air.
“The Ptolemies and the other successors of Alexander,” I noted, “were in the habit of building colossal temples and enlarging the ones already in their domains. Have you ever been to Sicily?”
“I confess I’ve never been that far west,” he said, “although I have heard of its temples.”
“They built temples for giants. In fact there is one that has caryatids in the form of Atlas-like Titans. The Temple of Ephesian Diana is immense and, of course, the Serapeum in Alexandria is tremendous. The kings of Cyprus have never been poor. Why is their most famous temple so humble?”
“The priestesses have never allowed the temple to be enlarged. They say that the goddess founded it this way, and this is what she wanted. The kings have found other ways to embellish it. This garden, for instance, is entirely man-made. Early kings built great retaining walls and hauled in earth for the plantings. But the temple itself, and the image of the goddess, are as they have been since the days of legend.”
I could find no fault with this, having seen too many bloated temples erected to the glory of the rich and powerful rather than in reverence to a god.
White-robed priestesses were everywhere, speaking with the numerous visitors. Most of the latter had come to Cyprus to attend the Aphrodisia. As usual, many of the more prominent visitors brought gifts for the temple. To my astonishment there was a familiar face among the priestesses.
“Flavia!”
The woman turned and smiled. She had been speaking with some prosperous-looking people in Roman dress. She took leave of them and came to join us.
“So you have found time from your duties to pay the goddess honor, Senator?”
“Indeed. But I did not expect to see you here dressed as a devotee.” “At home I am a priestess of Venus of the Mariners. We enjoy reciprocal status with the sisterhood here. Aphrodite of Paphos is primarily a sea goddess, with beauty, love, and fertility as her secondary traits. The connection between our temples goes back for centuries, before the time of the Etruscan kings. Come along, I’ll show you the regalia.”
Nothing loath, we followed. Since the temple was so small, most of its belongings were in outlying buildings, most of them larger than the temple itself. We entered one of these, a low, one-story structure faced with a finely painted portico, its roof supported by severely plain Doric pillars. Inside, a number of visitors stood admiring a wall covered with nets. It was not what I expected.
“Looks like a fisherman’s storehouse,” I remarked.
“Look more closely,” Flavia advised.
So I went closer. The nets were extremely fine, almost like if oversized spiderwebs. They also glistened brightly in the light that streamed through the portico windows and door. Then I saw that they were made not of twine but of fine, golden chain.
“At the climax of the Aphrodisia,” she explained, “the priestesses will wear these nets when they go down to the sea to bathe and be renewed.”