28 - A Threat to Business

A meeting of several hundred religious vendors of Ephesus is taking place in one of the interior halls of the Temple of Artemis. Demetrius, the First Silversmith, has called together the silversmiths, magicians and stargazers. Demetrius is up there in years, in his mid-eighties, but he’s still a man of demonic energy. His life has been hard, his career stormy. For sixty years he’s fought to achieve and maintain the unchallenged position of First Silversmith of Artemis. Everyone knows that his statuettes of the goddess and his models of the temple are the most potent, and have the sanction of the goddess herself. All the healing virtues of Artemis are concentrated in them as in no other.

True, there are other silversmiths in Ephesus, but they exist only by Demetrius’ indulgence. The competition among manufacturers of sacred objects is bitter and unrelenting, and even though supreme, Demetrius doesn’t dare relax his vigilance. A childless man, he’s driven not so much by the love of gain as by a savage ambition. The struggle of six decades has fixed his character beyond change. First in his field, he’s as contentious and restless as ever, and his attitude is one of constant wariness and hostility. He’s reluctant to die, not because he fears death, but because in death he will be demoted from his position.

His bitterness is expressed in his features. His skin is yellow and hardened like the back of a turtle. His mouth is shaped like a beak, the pointed lips curving over his chin. As he sits among his competitors and colleagues, he keeps cracking his bony fingers and muttering to himself, so that his Adam’s apple bobs continuously, like he’s swallowed a toad that’s forever leaping up again.

He keeps repeating the same words over and over , “Swindlers! Liars! Deceivers! The man’s nothing but a deceiver! A liar!”

He’s been saying these words for sixty years with such fury and conviction, that the public just takes it for granted that any silversmith who claims his religious products are as potent as those of Demetrius really is a swindler, liar and deceiver. And even when he has no reason to use those words, Demetrius still mutters them out of force of habit, directing them against no one knows whom.

Babylus, the astrologer, sits across from Demetrius. He wears the high headgear and mantle, decorated with constellations and comets, which are the sign of his profession. He’s also no longer a young man, but age has dealt more kindly with him. The beauty that made him famous in his youth has transformed into a certain majesty, which he continues to exploit. As the First Astrologer, he should conduct himself with becoming dignity, but he’s still a ladies man, awakening the passions of the young and stirring the memories of the old. He’s tall and well built and gives special care to his appearance. His beard is dyed a deep black and is curled daily by the most skillful Ephesian hairdressers. His eyes, still with the luster of youth, are ringed with kohl.

In order to maintain his reputation, Babylus has to make public forecasts of important events. Sometimes they come true, sometimes they don’t. When they don’t, he blames the worshippers of Artemis with laxity, backsliding and indifference. They’re paying less attention to her, and so she withdraws her grace from them.

Babylus had a more difficult time establishing his position than Demetrius, and it’s not as secure. There are swarms of young astrologers competing with him, all of them thinking themselves better. They spread slanderous rumors about him. He’s too old, too senile, unable to properly read the stars any longer. He maintains his position not so much by his intellect as by his appeal to women. They’re the first to remember his accurate forecasts, and the first to forget his failures. They denounce his young competitors as envious ignoramuses, not one of whom knows how to cast a true horoscope or read a man’s fate. Babylus alone, they say, has the true secret and tradition, as it’s come down from the great Belshazzar.

Then there are the two First Magicians of the goddess in attendance, Appolonius and Mithridatus, both younger men. These two treat each other with great courtesy in public, using the proper etiquette of the magicians’ guild. But in private they invoke all sorts of maledictions on each other’s heads as contained in their favorite scrolls. Public meetings are a great strain for them and they do their best to avoid them. But for this occasion they must override their mutual hatred. A common danger threatens them, as it threatens all the servants of Artemis.

Demetrius opens this meeting of artificers, astrologers, and magicians.

“My friends and fellow servants of Artemis,” he begins, drawing immediate attention since he never calls any man his friend. “As you’ve no doubt heard, an unclean little Jew, a swindler, a liar, a deceiver, has arrived in our city. He’s begun to persuade our people against worshipping our goddess. And you all know what that means. Our lives and fortunes are bound up in the goddess. But this man Paul” – a mutter of rage and contempt rises from his listeners at the mention of the name – “he spreads his pernicious doctrines not just here but in all the cities of Asia. And what is he preaching? That gods fashioned by the hand of man are not gods.”

A burst of savage laughter interrupts him. When he’s able to continue, he says, “Our goddess is in mortal danger. Great Artemis, the wonder of all the world, is threatened by a foul little Jew. Paul, a swindler, a liar, a deceiver. And a blasphemer!”

Hissing and whispering passes through the assembly. Eyes are flamed, and teeth are bared.

“And think of our workmen,” cried Demetrius, “our image makers , our scroll writers, our magic potion sellers. Ask yourselves whether they will sit around and watch their livelihood being stolen from them.”

Good old Demetrius! He knows what tactics to use to inflame the masses.

He sits down amid an ominous silence.

Babylus then gets up to speak. His tone is completely different from that of Demetrius. He takes a more lofty position in his appeal, solemn rather than vehement.

“Princes of the night! Wanderers in the lonesome paths of the stars! An ancient tradition says that the Jews have always been enemies of the gods. Even in the days of the great Belshazzar the Jews refused to bow down before his golden images. They had their own Paul, some unclean Jew named Daniel. He also used false magic to interpret the king’s dreams. Our sages, the true servants of star-lore, suffered martyrdom.

“Jews are destroyers of gods by nature. They poison the wells of faith, and deny our immortal arts. Even Haman of old warned Ahasuerus against them. And long before that, Pharaoh had reason to know the character of the Jews.”

And so Babylus goes on in his very learned speech, reviewing the history of the Jews and of their contacts with other peoples, showing that from their very beginnings they’ve spread contempt for the gods and derision of their high servants, the star-gazers and magicians. In fact, he goes on for so long that some of his listeners start to nod off, undoing the level of hatred that the more simple and direct Demetrius had inspired.

Demetrius interrupts him. “Yes, yes, everything you say is beyond challenge. But let’s remember, we’re not concerned with what happened to the kings of Babylon and Egypt. We’re concerned with our own lives, with the bread of our workers and of their wives and children. How many of you have already felt Paul’s evil influence in your own pocketbooks? How many silver statues have you sold this year compared to last year?”

“At the great festival last year we sold eighty thousand images and models,” cries one of the silversmiths. “This year we sold a third less than that.”

Another says, “A year ago we sold ten thousand parcels of roots for barren women and fifty thousand phials of love potions. This year we haven’t sold half that.”

“There you have it then!” screams Demetrius, clapping his hands together. “Will you wait till we have to come begging at the door of the Jews? Our temple and goddess, the pride of Asia, teeter on their foundations. Food is snatched right from the mouths of our children. And all because of one unclean little Jew!”

“No!” roar several voices. “Because of all the Jews! They’re all guilty. They hired this Paul to undo us!”
“They hide behind his skirts. They plan to destroy us.”
“What are we waiting for? Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!”

This is the slogan Demetrius is waiting for, the torch that kindles the fanaticism of the Ephesian masses.

“Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!” he shouts in response.

Like a rhythm of waves, the cry passes back and forth through the assembly.

“Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!”

No more talk is needed. The slogan intoxicates the meeting. A drunken ecstasy, compounded with superstition, greed, and blood lust seizes the hundreds of servants of the goddess.

“Let’s find Paul and drag him down to the theater!”
“Not just Paul, but all the Jews. Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!”

Suddenly there’s a rush for the door. The assembly streams out of the temple, through the open gardens, and into the main street of Ephesus. Some head for the amphitheater, and some head for the Jewish quarter.

The crowds in the street see this happening and even though they don’t know what’s going on, they get caught up in the excitement.


The open amphitheater of Ephesus lay in another part of the city not far from the temple. Fifty thousand people could sit comfortably on the tiers circling the platform. Here they could see sacred plays or gladiatorial combats. Armed men might square off against wild beasts, and sometimes unarmed criminals condemned to death were thrown into the arena. A pair of leopards, whose strength and ferocity had been widely proclaimed, were scheduled to fight each other today. The crowds in the street seeing the demonstration thought that perhaps the time had come for the leopards to be released, and so they followed them, hoping to find room in the amphitheater.

As people began to pour out of their houses, throw down their tools, and abandon their looms and dyeing vats, rumors sprang up and spread like wildfire from group to group as they always do in such circumstances.

“The Jews have set fire to the temple of Artemis!”
“The Jews have thrown filth on the image of the goddess!”

Some tried to say that it was only the newcomers who were doing these things. But others shouted them down.

“It’s all of them! All the Jews! They support the strangers! They brought that magician Paul to destroy us! Ephesus is in danger! Our city will become a wilderness! No pilgrims will come here, there’ll be no more Ephesus!”

“Throw them to the beasts!”

As the theater filled with a howling mob that lashed itself into a frenzy with the rhythmic cry, “Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!” another mob was gathering around the Jewish quarter, a mob beside itself with the lust of destruction. One would have thought that the demons had been released from the fire that burned the images and talismans and had taken over the people.

At that moment in Priscilla’s home were the apostle, the two visitors from Macedonia, Gaius and Aristarchus, Aquila, Priscilla, and a handful of Christians. They heard the mounting tumult and guessed what it meant. When the first blows fell on the door Paul got up and went out to talk to the ringleaders, but no sooner did he show himself than a great yell went up.

“There he is! That’s the man!”

A hundred clenched fists were stretched out toward him, and instantly he was surrounded and lifted off his feet.

“To the beasts! To the beasts!”

Among Paul’s companions only Priscilla kept her head. While the others yielded weakly, she threw herself through the confusion of bodies and with great effort she was able to reach the apostle’s side. Because of the insane confusion, her fury was mistaken as part of the general frenzy against the believers.

Like a tigress leaping to the rescue of a cub, she scratched and tore her way toward Paul. Pulling down the men who held him, she lifted him in her arms. Before anyone could react, she had fallen back with her precious cargo, slipped aside, and was out of the mob. She didn’t carry him back to her home, since they’d just come there again. Instead she rushed him to a hut under the city wall, where Aquila kept his stocks of goat’s hair. Closing the door behind them, she laid Paul down on a heap of skins.

As Paul slowly came to, he looked around dumbly. What was this? Where was he and where were Gaius and Aristarchus? Had they been carried off to be thrown to the wild beasts? He couldn’t be here. His place was with them. Perhaps he could prevail over the mob with words. And if he couldn’t, then he would die with his companions.

He rose unsteadily to his feet only to encounter the unblinking stare of Priscilla. There was no look of a disciple’s obedience to a teacher in that stare. There was the unshakeable will of a mother determined to shield her child from danger.

His first reaction was anger. Who was this woman to prevent him from confronting the death his mission called him to? He’d known danger before and been saved from it. Wasn’t this just another offer of divine grace?

Silently, coldly the two stared at each other, and a wordless struggle ensued. Paul felt his sense of destiny, his divine obligation. Priscilla felt a primitive protective passion. For the childless Priscilla, it was almost as if all her powerful motherly instincts had been stored for this moment. She would protect him even against God if needed. And in her strange, hard look Paul read her purpose. She would not let him go, even if she had to restrain him by physical force. Paul was dumbstruck.

It was Paul who blinked. Quietly he allowed Priscilla to take him by the hand, to lead him back to the heap of skins, and to wait it out.

* * * * *

Besides Gaius and Aristarcus other stray Jews were picked up by the mob on the way to the amphitheater. Meanwhile the exultant shouting increased, “We have them! We’re bringing them!”

Meanwhile, word reached the elders of the Jewish community. Not knowing what caused the uproar, they sped toward the theater by another route, hoping to prevent bloodshed. They hastily appointed a certain Alexander, one skilled in the Greek tongue, to address the Ephesians for them, and a deputation accompanied him.

When they reached the theater and pushed Alexander to the front to speak for them, it was too late. The crowd was in such a frenzy that no voice could dominate it. Besides, Alexander may have been Greek in his ways, but he had a Jewish face, and no sooner did the mob see him than the tumult rose to a new pitch, and nothing could be heard except the rhythmic roar, “Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!”

For two hours this shouting continued until word of the uproar reached the city Chancellor, the chief municipal authority appointed by Rome. Knowing the Ephesian mob, he didn’t wait for a second report. He immediately issued orders to muster a cohort of legionaries and went to the theater. No sooner was his majestic figure seen in the arena than the mad shouting suddenly stopped.

The Roman official lifted his hand.

“Men of Ephesus! Everyone knows the greatness of your city, and the devotion of the Ephesians to the goddess Artemis.”

The crafty opening sent a wave of pleasure through the crowd.

“So why do you need to proclaim it in this way? Isn’t it more becoming to be silent and do nothing in haste?”

And pointing to Gaius and Aristarchus, he said, “As to these men, they’ve neither robbed your temple nor blasphemed against your goddess. If Demetrius and the artisans of the goddess have anything against these men, let the case be brought before the courts, and justice will be done. Or, if there are other matters, let them be discussed peaceably in a lawful assembly. For know that such tumults place us all in danger.”

And having thus associated himself with the people of Ephesus, he suddenly changed his tone, and issued the command, “Now go to your homes.”

The subtle mixture of flattery, cajolery, and firmness had an immediate effect. But the strongest argument was the cohort of legionaries. Demetrius understood that the Jews of Ephesus still enjoyed the guardianship of Rome. Gaius and Aristarchus and their companions were released, and the mob began to disperse.