“She will be here soon. Do not sulk, sea man.”
“Who?” Ptolemy asked.
“A goddess, fair-haired and blue eyed, the one you dreamed of on the shore near Khalipedon.”
Ptolemy was about to object, but just then a tall girl in a red and gold himation burst into the room, bringing with her the smell of sun-filled wind and magnolia. She moved swiftly, with purpose, a motion which the more delicate connoisseurs might have called overly strong compared to the snakelike movements of Egyptian and Asian female harp players. The men greeted her enthusiastically. To everyone’s surprise, the imperturbable Nearchus left his bench in the shadow corner of the room and came closer.
“Egesikhora, the Spartan, my best friend,” Thais introduced briskly, glancing sideways at Ptolemy.
“Egesikhora: a song on the road,” Alexander said thoughtfully. “This is the case when Laconic pronunciation is more attractive than the Attic one.”
“We don’t consider the Attic dialect to be very attractive,” the Spartan said. “They breathe in at the beginning of each word like the Asians do, whereas we speak openly.”
“And you yourself are open and beautiful,” Nearchus said smoothly.
Alexander, Ptolemy and Hephaestion exchanged glances.
“I interpret my friend’s name as ‘she who leads the dance’,” Thais said. “It works better for a Lacedemonian.”
“I like song better than dance,” Alexander said.
“Then you will not be happy with us women,” Thais replied.
The Macedonian prince frowned. “It is a strange friendship between a Spartan and an Athenian women,” he said. “Spartans consider Athenians to be brainless dolls, half-slaves, locked in their houses like women of the East, not having a single notion of their husbands’ business matters. Athenians call Lacedemonians slutty wives who act like prostitutes and bear dumb soldiers.”
“Both opinions are completely wrong,” Thais said, laughing.
Egesikhora smiled silently, looking much like a goddess. Her broad chest, the stretch of her shoulders and the straight setting of her strong head gave her the posture of an Erekhteyon[4] statue when she turned serious. However, her face, when filled with merriment and youthful joy, was ever changing.
To Thais’ surprise, it was Nearchus, not Ptolemy, who was struck by the Laconian beauty.
The female slave served uncommonly simple food. The goblets for wine and water were decorated with black and white stripes resembling the ancient Cretan dishes, which were valued at more than their weight in gold.
“Do Athenians eat like Thessalians?” Nearchus asked. He splashed a little from his goblet for the gods, then handed it to Egesikhora.
“I am only half Athenian,” Thais replied. “My mother was an Etheo-Cretan of an ancient family that escaped the pirates from the island of Theru in order to seek protection in Sparta. There, in Emborion, she met my father and I was born, but …”
“There was no epigamy between the parents and the marriage was deemed illegitimate,” Nearchus finished for her. “So that is why you have such an ancient name.”
“And so I did not become a ‘bull bringing’ bride, but ended up in a school for hetaerae at the Aphrodite of Corinth temple.”
“And became the glory of Athens!” Ptolemy exclaimed, raising his goblet.
“And what of Egesikhora?” Nearchus asked.
“I am older than Thais. The story of my life is like a trace of a snake and is not for the curious,” the Spartan girl said, lifting her eyebrows disdainfully.
“Now I know why you are different,” Ptolemy said. “A true daughter of Crete in your image.”
Nearchus laughed unkindly. “What do you know of Crete, Macedonian? Crete is a nest of pirates who arrived from all corners of Hellas, Ionia, Sicily and Finikia. Scum who have destroyed and trampled the country, wiping out the ancient glory of the children of Minos.”
“When I spoke of Crete, I meant the splendid people, the rulers of the sea who long since departed into the kingdom of shadows.”
“And you were right, Nearchus, when you said this is Thessalian food before us,” Alexander intervened. “If it is correct that the Cretans are related to Thessalians and those to the Pelasgoans, as Herodotus wrote.”
“But Cretans are the rulers of the sea whereas Thessalians are horse people,” Nearchus objected.
“But they are not nomads. They are horse breeding farmers,” Thais said suddenly. “Poets have long since sung ‘the hilly Phtia of Hellas, glorious with the beauty of women’ …”
“And plains thundering with horses’ hooves,” Alexander added.
“I think Spartans are more likely descendants of the sea people,” Nearchus said, glancing at Egesikhora.
“Only legally, Nearchus. Look at Egesikhora’s golden hair. Where do you see Cretan blood?”
“As far as the sea is concerned, I have seen a Cretan woman sea bathing in a storm when no other woman would have dared,” Ptolemy said.
“And he who saw Thais on horseback had seen an Amazon,” Egesikhora said.
“Poet Alcman, who was a Spartan, compared Lacedemonian girls to Entheyan horses,” Hephaestion said, laughing. He had already consumed a good quantity of delicious bluish black wine.
“He who praises their beauty when they go to bring a sacrifice to the goddess, nude, with dances and songs, and their hair down akin the golden red manes of Paphlagonian mares,” Egesikhora replied.
“You both know a lot,” Alexander exclaimed.
“It is their profession. They do not sell only Eros, but also knowledge, manners, art and beauty of senses,” Hephaestion said with the air of a connoisseur. “Do you know,” he teased, “what is the highest class hetaera in the most splendid city of arts and poetry in the entire Ecumene[5]? The most educated among scholars, the most skillful dancer and reader, the inspiration to artists and poets, with the irresistible allure of feminine charm? That is Egesikhora.”
“What of Thais?” Ptolemy interrupted.
“At seventeen she is a celebrity. In Athens that is well and above many great warriors, rulers and philosophers from other countries. And you cannot become one, lest the gods gift you with an insightful heart to which senses and the essence of people are open since childhood, the delicate sensations and knowledge of true beauty, far deeper than most people possess.”
“You speak of her as if she were a goddess,” Nearchus said, displeased that Hephaestion set the Spartan girl below Thais. “Can’t you see? She does not even view herself that way.”
“That is a true mark of spiritual height,” Alexander said, then fell deep into thought again. The Spartan’s words of ‘long manes’ awoke in him the longing for the black flanked, white-faced Bucefal. “Athenians here cut their horses’ manes, making them stick up like stiff brushes.”
“That is to make sure the horses don’t compete with the Athenian women, among whom thick hair is a rarity,” Egesikhora joked.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Nannion said. She had been quiet to this point but now joined the conversation. “Considering the Spartan women’s hair is as legendary as their freedom.”
“Had forty generations of your ancestors walked around with bare hips, wearing linen peploses[6] and chitons year round, then your hair would have been just as thick.”
“Why are you called phainomeris? ‘Those who show their hips’?” Ptolemy asked.
“Show him how a Spartan woman is supposed to be dressed in her country,” Thais said to Egesikhora. “Your old peplos has been hanging in my opistocella since we staged a scene from Cadmian folklore.”
4
One of the main temples of the ancient Athens is located at the Acropolis to the north of the Parthenon. It had an unusual asymmetrical layout due to the uneven ground on which it was built. The south side of the temple was decorated with a portico, supported by six marble statues of beautiful women.
6
A tubular cloth folded inside out from the top about halfway down, altering what was the top of the tube to the waist and the bottom of the tube to ankle length. The garment is then gathered about the waist and the open top (at the fold) is pinned over the shoulders. The top of the tube (now inside out) drapes over the waist, providing the appearance of a second piece of clothing.