When they stopped, the thick scarf was removed from his face and his eyes adjusted to the light. Looking up, Marcus thought they were still outside, under the night sky. Stars shone overhead and he could identify dozens of constellations. Behind him, a shaft of light dappled the stone stairs leading up the tunnel he’d just descended. Wavering candles and oil lamps produced a glimmering effect. “An illusion. Gregorios of Melos painted it fifty years ago.” Gus was at his shoulder. “I’ve heard of him. There’s a statue by Gregorios in the square near my insula.” “A Greek, but still. He made Perses, fifth degree. Come, I’ll show you the rest of temple hall.” At one end of the rectangular cavern, along the wall opposite the entryway, there was a bas-relief that covered its entire length, from floor to ceiling. A muscular youth grappled a bull under the shade of a sprawling fig tree, his lance piercing the beast’s flank. A mastiff clamped on the bull’s neck and a scorpion pincered his genitals while a viper sucked at the blood. Above right, a raven soared across a fanciful representation of the sun. “That’s even older. It’s been here since the founding. Another Greek, Andronikos of Crete. Not a fellow, just a hired artisan.”
