The sun was setting slowly. Ptolemy felt ridiculous standing at Thais’ garden gate, but he wanted to fulfill her wishes to the letter. He slowly lowered himself to the still-warm earth until he sat, leaning against the stones of the wall. He waited with the inexhaustible patience of a soldier, witnessing the last glimmer of sunset as it faded at the top of Egayleion, watching the dark trunks of the olive trees dissolve in the dusk. After a time, he glanced over the shoulder at the closed door, barely outlined under the overhang of the portico, and decided it was time. Anticipation made him shiver like a boy, as if he were sneaking to his first date with an obliging slave. Ptolemy flew up the steps, knocked on the unlocked door, then entered without waiting for an answer.
Thais stood in the doorway, lit by a double wick lantern which hung from a bronze chain. She wore a dark ecsomida, short, as an Amazon would wear. A ribbon the same color as her chiton held together the tight curls of her hair at the back of her head. Even in the faint light of the oil lamp Ptolemy noticed the young woman’s cheeks were flushed, and folds of fabric over her high breasts rose and fell from breathing quickly. Her eyes, almost black in her shadowed face, looked straight at Ptolemy, freezing him on the spot.
“Like Athena Lemnia,” Ptolemy thought, admiring her. Thais stood, serious and focused like a warrior before battle. With her unwavering gaze and almost threatening tip of her proud head, she really did look like the awe inspiring Lemnia.
“I am waiting for you, darling,” she said simply, addressing him that way for the first time. She put so much tender meaning into the word that Ptolemy sighed with impatience and stepped closer, holding out his arms.
Thais stepped back and pulled a broad himation from behind the door, putting out the lantern with its swing. Ptolemy stopped in the darkness, puzzled, and the young woman slipped toward the exit. Her hand found the Macedonian’s, clasped it firmly and pulled him after her.
“Come.”
They exited through a side gate hidden in the shrubs, and headed down a path. The path led to the Ilissus River, which flowed through the gardens from Lyceum and temple of Hercules until it merged with Kephisos. A heavy half moon hung low in the sky, showing the way.
Thais walked quickly, almost ran, never looking back. He felt her intensity and followed in silence, enjoying the straight, regal posture set in the small figure before him. Her shoulders were open, her slender neck proudly supporting her head, which was crowned by a heavy, high-set knot of hair. She pulled the dark himation close around herself and it creased deeply to the left and right of her waist with each step, emphasizing her flexibility. Small feet stepped lightly and assuredly, her periscelides, ankle bracelets, jingling like silver bells.
Shadows of giant sycamore trees crossed their path and the couple ran past the wall of darkness toward where a platform of white marble, a semicircle of smooth tiles, shone in the night. Ilissus murmured quietly somewhere below.
A bronze statue of the goddess stood on a tall pedestal, her head slightly tilted. She was tossing a thin cape off her shoulders and her gaze was hypnotic, burning through eyes made of green glowing stones. A peculiar expression of both compassion and sincerity, rare for a deity, combined in the omniscient gaze, adding to its mysterious depths. It seemed as if the goddess were descending toward the mortals with the goal of telling each of them their own secret in the silence and loneliness of the starry night.
This was Aphrodite Uranus in the Gardens, famous all around Hellas. In her left hand the goddess held a large rose, a symbol of feminine essence, the flower of Aphrodite and love. Her strong body, outlined by the folds of her peplos was in a state of calm enthasis. Her garment, unusually open on one shoulder according to an ancient Asian or Cretan standard, left her breasts bare — high, closely set together and wide like wine casks. Their sensual power was in sharp contrast to the inspired mystery of the face and the restrained pose of the Heavenly Aphrodite.
Of all Hellenic artists, Alcman was the first to succeed in combining the ancient power of sensual beauty with the spiritual ascent, creating a religious image of irresistible allure and filling it with a promise of flaming happiness. The Goddess: Mother and Urania in one.
Thais approached the goddess reverently. She whispered something Ptolemy couldn’t hear, then hugged the legs of Alcman’s famous creation. Afterwards, she paused at the feet of the statue, then suddenly pulled back toward the motionless Ptolemy. Leaning against his powerful arm, she peered silently into his face, trying to find the right response.
Ptolemy sensed that Thais was searching for something, but could do nothing but continue to wait for her, wearing a puzzled smile.
Suddenly she leapt onto the middle of the marble platform, clapped her hands thrice, then started singing Aphrodite’s anthem. She sang with an emphasized rhythm, the way it is sung in the goddess’ temples before the entrance of the sacred dancers.
“ … Smile never leaves her sweet face, and the goddess’ flower is lovely,” she sang, approaching Ptolemy in the measured movement of the dance.
He grinned, watching her. “Goddess, accept this song and set Thais on the fire of passion!” Ptolemy thundered and grabbed the girl.
This time she didn’t pull away. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. The himation fell, and Thais’ firm body felt warm through the thin fabric of her chiton.
“You, soldier, know Aphrodite’s anthems?” she whispered, sounding surprised. “But do not ask the goddess about fire. You might burn in it.”
“Then …” Ptolemy found Thais’ lips, but the young hetaera pushed against Ptolemy’s broad chest, drawing away.
“Let’s go further,” she said, out of breath. “I purposefully waited until this day. The bulls were taken to the mountains today …”
“So what?” Ptolemy asked, not understanding the significance.
Thais rose on tiptoe and whispered into his ear. “I want to be yours. And I want to become yours by the ancient ritual of the Athenian farmers, in a freshly plowed field.”
“In a field? What for?”
“At night, on a thrice-plowed filed, to take Gaea’s life-bringing power into me, to awaken it …”
Ptolemy smiled, then squeezed the girl’s shoulders, silently agreeing with her. Thais headed along the river downstream, then turned north toward the sacred Elysian road, Ptolemy right behind her.
Deep darkness settled in the Ilissus valley, as the moon vanished behind the crest of the mountain.
“How can you see the way?” Ptolemy asked. “Do you know it?”
“I do. We are going to Skiron’s field. Women celebrate the holiday of Demeter the Law-bearer there at full moon.”
“Are hetaerae allowed to participate in Tesmophorias? And what happens at Skiron’s field? I’ll try to make it there if I am still in Athens during full moon.”
“No you won’t. You can’t. Only young women are allowed access there on the night of Tesmophorias after the torch run.”
“Then how did you find a way?”
“It was before I became a hetaera. After the torch run, Demeter’s priestesses picked me as one of the twelve. And when the celebration was over for the uninitiated, we ran in the nude, in the middle of the night, for thirty stadiums that separate the field from the temple.”
“And then?”
“I cannot tell you. It’s a female mystery and we are all under a terrible oath. But it’s something I will remember for the rest of my life. And the run across the field is unforgettable. You run under the bright moon, in the silence of the night, along with swift and beautiful friends. It was like we ran while barely touching the ground, because our entire bodies are like a string waiting for the goddess’ touch. The branches touch you in passing, the light wind cools your burning body. And when you pass the menacing road crossings, watched by Hecate’s guardians …” Thais stopped speaking, as if she felt to exhilarated to tell more.