“That you will have a path in a loop for many years. And me, too, but my path will be short, although you will be with me to the end.”
Thais gazed silently into the scattering of pebbles on the slope before her, at the blades of grass fluttering in the wind. Egesikhora was watching her, a strange sadness deepening the corners of the Spartan’s full, sensual mouth.
“When are they sailing?”
“On the twentieth day of Boedromion. From Gitius.”
“How are they getting there?”
“A week prior to that we must sail from the Pyrean harbor. His ship will pick us up with all our possessions.”
“There isn’t much time left,” Thais said, rising and brushing the sand off her belly, hips and elbows.
Egesikhora rose as well, dividing her heavy hair into strands with her fingers. Hesiona ran up to Thais with a piece of cloth for wiping off the salt and rubbed her down. The women set off, managing to reach Thais’ house with barely a sound. Egesikhora covered her face with a veil and went home in the dusk, accompanied by a strong groom.
The next day the entire Agora buzzed with excited discussion about the incident at the Lykean grove. Athenians, who were fond of gossip, tried to outdo each other in describing the details. The number of “victims” grew steadily and reached fifteen by noon. Thais’ name was repeated either with admiration or with outrage, depending on the age and gender of those who were discussing her. All respectable women agreed that “ta metroten Kressa”, that Cretan on her mother’s side, had to be taught a lesson for being so audacious as to disturb the peace of the great scholar’s abode.
Gineconomes had already dispatched their representative to Thais to summon her to court for testifying. And while Thais herself was not accused of any serious crime, and had nothing to be afraid of save a monetary fine, even if the court decided against her, her friend could be severely punished. Witnesses had seen a woman riding in a carriage, and the entire city knew that only hetaera Egesikhora could drive a tetrippa, four horses at once. Her benefactors managed to delay the case, but it became known that the son of a wealthy and influential citizen, Aristodem, had been crippled by wheels and hooves. Three more of Stagiritus’ students demanded satisfaction for broken ribs, an arm and a leg.
During the “heavy days” of Megateynion, the last three days of each month, dedicated to the dead and the underground gods, Egesikhora suddenly appeared at Thais’ house, accompanied by her slaves and an entire detachment of young men who carried bundles of her most precious possessions.
“It is over,” the Spartan announced. “I sold everything else.”
“What of the horses?’ Thais exclaimed.
Her friend’s glower suddenly lightened. “They are already on the ship, at Munikhion. I will be there before dawn. So. Was the fortune teller wrong? Are we to be parted by the will of gods?”
“No,” Thais said passionately. “I decided, too.”
“When?”
“Just now.”
The Lacedemonian squeezed her friend in her arms, wiping tears of joy against her hair.
“But I need time to get ready. I won’t sell the house, I’ll just leave it to my faithful Akesius. The gardener and his wife will stay, too. The others, Clonaria, Hesiona and the stableman, are coming with me. I need three days.”
“Let it be so. We are sailing to Aegina and will come back for you in three days.”
“No. Don’t come back. Wait for me in Herculea. I will find sailors who will transport me willingly and without attracting anyone’s attention. Hurry, we have decided everything.”
“Thais, my darling,” Egesikhora said, beaming. She hugged her again. “You took a stone off my liver.”
At that, the Spartan led her improvised little army toward Pyrean road, humming a tune.
“I took off, and you put on,” Thais thought, looking after her friend.
Beloved constellation shone over the black tips of cypresses, having heard so many of Thais’ silent prayers to Aphrodite Urania. The hetaera sensed an unusual longing, as if she were forever leaving the great city, the focus of powerful beauty, created by dozens of generations of Helenian artists.
She sent Clonaria to get Talmid, a powerful athlete living nearby. Armed with a dagger and a copper bat, he had often accompanied the hetaera when she’d wanted to wander around at night. Thais paid well, and Talmid stepped after her silently, not interfering with the girl’s simple enjoyment of the night, stars and statues of gods and heroes.
That night Thais meandered toward Pelasgicon, the wall of enormous stones erected by the distant ancestors at the foot of
Acropolis. Perhaps it had been built by the mighty people, whose blood flowed through the veins of the half-Cretan. These stones had always attracted Thais. Even now she touched one slab and pressed her entire body against it, feeling its timeless hardness and warmth through her thin chiton.
The darkness of the moonless night was akin to translucent black fabric. Such a sensation could only be experienced in the clear, light-bearing air of Hellas. The night dressed everything in a delicate veil, akin to that on a statue of the nude Anachita in Corinth, hiding, yet simultaneously revealing the unknown depths of mysterious sensations.
Thais quietly ascended the worn steps toward the temple of Victory. A distant light flashed from behind Pnix, a lantern over Barathron the terrible abyss, reminding Athenians of the wrath of Poseidon the Earth Keeper. Sacrifices to the menacing underground gods and Erinias were thrown there. Thais wasn’t thinking about Hades yet, and she hadn’t done anything to anger the goddesses of retribution.
Gods were jealous, that much was true. Remarkable beauty, happiness, success and admiration, all things Thais had enjoyed in abundance since the age of fifteen, could bring on the anger of the gods. Disasters would surely follow. Wise people wanted success and failures to follow each other in equal measure, happiness mixed with sadness, hoping that by approaching life this way they would be protected from the more devastating blows of fate.
Thais thought it ridiculous. How could one buy happiness by groveling before gods and begging them to send you misfortune? The cunning goddesses could inflict a blow so painful that any happiness would feel bitter after it. No. It was better to ascend to the top of the mountain like Nika, and if a fall were to follow, then let it be forever.
Thais drew her eyes from the little light over Barathron, thinking she ought to bake a magis tomorrow, a sacrificial pie for Hecate, the goddess of road crossings. Hecate was the goddess who struck far and never granted passage to the late night travelers. She should also make a sacrifice to Athena Caleutia, the goddess of roads. Oh, and she shouldn’t forget Aphrodite Euploa, the goddess of trouble-free sailing. No trouble there. Egesikhora would take care of that.
Thais’ light footsteps resonated under the colonnade of her favorite temple to Nika Apteros. There, she sat on the steps for awhile, gazing upon the tiny lights that twinkled on the streets of her beloved city like fireflies scattered in the wind as well as at the
Pyrean lighthouse and two low lanterns of Munikhia. With a sigh, she realized Egesikhora’s ship would have already entered the Saron Gulf and turned south to the nearby Aegina.
Thais descended toward Agora. As she passed the old, deserted temple of Night, Niktoon, two “night ravens” (owls) flew by her right side: a double good omen. Many of these sacred birds of the goddess Athena flew around the city, but such coincidence was the first one for Thais. Sighing with relief, she sped toward the massive, glum walls of the ancient sanctuary of Mother Goddess. After the decline of the ancient Minian religion, the sanctuary had become a municipal archive of Athens; however, those who continued to believe in the might of Rhea and the feminine beginning in the world, came here at night to press their forehead against the corner stone and receive a warning of any upcoming danger.