He continued speaking, becoming more excited, gesturing with his hands as we walked and ignoring the sidelong glances of the passersby.
"The problem is, Theo, if Apollo knows he's being duped by being asked a staged question from which his choices are limited, why would he meekly accept this, and cause the oracle to provide the truly best answer? Because of the goat we sacrifice in his honor beforehand? Is the god so easily bought? If the truthfulness of his answer is conditional upon the size of the sacrifice, next time I'll bring an elephant! If Croesus, with all the wealth he donated to the oracle's treasury, was given an answer calculated to lead him astray, even though the god knew of his ambitions to conquer Persia, what hope did penniless Aglaia have of receiving a straight answer from the god? At least Croesus asked an honest question!"
Xenophon fell silent for a few moments, as we finally approached the inn. He looked longingly back at the streets, as if reluctant to go inside, though I myself was exhausted from our long ramble up and down the steep flagstones.
"I'm speaking gibberish, Theo, forgive me. But I was much more confident of my prospects with the oracle before we met Aglaia. She's put more doubts in my mind than Socrates ever did."
I was at a loss what to say to my troubled master. The faint echoes of the ancient chanting had begun repeating themselves in my mind, like an irritating buzzing of which I was unable to rid myself, and my feelings for the success of our venture had begun to darken.
CHAPTER THREE
THE DOORKEEPER CHALLENGED us as we passed through the entrance to the inner temple, demanding our names and business. "Xenophon of Athens," my master replied condescendingly, "and my freed-man Theo… Themistogenes of Syracuse, who will assist me." The custodian coolly appraised us, then turned to a scroll containing a list of names. This was the last day the oracle could be consulted this year, and though the list was short, containing only two or three names, the guardian pursed his lips self-importantly and made a considerable effort to maintain the protocol of his position. At last finding our names on the scroll, and verifying that we had already paid the consultation fee, the guardian grudgingly waved us through the narrow door into the huge temple grounds.
Before us was a broad, square courtyard, paved with flagstones worn smooth by the centuries of sandal-clad and bare feet that had trod its surface. It was completely abandoned, except for a half dozen acolytes lethargically mopping the stones in the corners with hand rags, in preparation for the dedication of Dionysus' arrival the following day. At the front of the courtyard stood a small altar, with a lamp burning on either end. A stone trough had been placed to the side of it, into which flowed a trickle of water from one of the many sacred springs located on the mountainside. We walked cautiously up to the altar and waited in silence, wondering whether we were expected to seek a guide, or to call out and announce our presence.
The wall above the altar was carved with the wisdom of the responses emanating from the oracle over the generations. Know Thyself, and Nothing Too Much were placed in prominent locations directly over the entrance to the inner temple. Other sayings too, all conveying the spirit for which Apollo stood, adorned the side doors, even the entrance to the stone barn where the sacrificial animals were kept for the ceremony: Curb Thy Spirit, Keep a Reverent Tongue, Observe the Limit, Glory Not in Strength and my favorite in consideration of its effect on Aglaia: Keep Woman Under Rule. The impact would have been lost on her in any case, as I doubted she could read.
Suddenly a side door opened, and a bald, elderly priest in white robes shuffled out, accompanied by a young acolyte leading a magnificent ram. The ram followed docilely as the trio calmly approached the altar. Upon reaching it, however, the ram determined not to stop, but rather to continue on with its stroll, and it took all the boy's strength to tie the beast to an iron ring set into the stone wall, where it continued to strain against the tether with might and main.
Xenophon had studied the customs of the oracle in advance, and knew that at this point we were expected to sacrifice the animal, which had, in fact, been paid for as part of the consultation fee. The procedure was to sprinkle the creature with cold water taken from the sacred trough, to induce a shudder. This could not be merely a quick tremor, but rather had to consist of a trembling and a shaking throughout the animal's entire body, to the tips of its hooves. The animal's very bones must rattle, the point being to obtain its nod of assent for the sacrifice. If this were achieved, the occasion would be deemed propitious, and Xenophon allowed to make the sacrifice to the god.
With the boy's help, I held the squirming animal between my legs, uttering calming words until its thrashing had subsided and it stood still. Looking down on its face from above I could see my own head and torso reflected in the ram's large watery eyes, until my legs disappeared into the edge of its long eyelashes. I wondered if the gods, too, saw their reflections when looking down into men's eyes from the heavens, and whether, if one were careful and closely observed the Pythia while communing with Apollo, one might not catch a glimpse of the god himself in her eyes, even if the reflection were upside down. Xenophon scooped up a handful of water and sprinkled it gently on the ram's brow. It snapped its head in irritation and snorted, but gave not the slightest semblance of a shudder. Xenophon stepped again to the trough, scooped up more water in his cupped hands, and this time, rather than sprinkling it, dumped it straight into the ram's face. The beast bleated in rage and spit, nearly bucking me off as I struggled to immobilize it between my legs, with my hands tightly grasping its horns. Still no shudder.
In exasperation, Xenophon looked around and spied one of the temple slaves continuing to mop on his hands and knees in the corner, pretending to ignore the whole proceeding while his shoulders shook in silent laughter. He stalked over, grabbed the boy's bucket, and before anyone could react, strode straight to the trough and slopped an entire bucketful over the doomed beast, soaking it and me in the process.
If ever I heard a ram roar, this one did: a deep, lengthy bellow of protest at this ill treatment of its august self. It kicked up its hind legs, tripping me and causing me to flip over its body flat onto my back, knocking the wind out of me. One of my hands slipped free of the horn, and the squirming ram flopped around on top of me with its wool in my face and its sharp hooves flying, while with my free hand I struggled to gain purchase on one of its limbs. I grasped at its wool, which kept tearing free in my hand, and then finally clamped down hard on its soft flesh with my entire fist. The animal stiffened like a plank, and I realized I had seized it by the testicles, causing it to freeze in terror and pain. I cautiously struggled to my knees and secured the grasp of my other hand on its horn, until I was finally able to let loose with the offending hand and assume my original position, straddling its back, with my hands pulling its head up by the horns. As I cautiously let go its balls, the ram heaved a tremendous shudder of relief, and the priest nodded in satisfaction. Xenophon leaped to with the sacrificial knife, I muttered a short prayer under my breath, and in an instant the task had been successfully completed.
"Xenophon of Athens," intoned a voice from behind the thick curtain. Two slaves drew it back along the rod on the rings from which it hung, revealing a small, shadowed room, the central temple, the adyton, wherein mysteries older than mankind itself had been perpetuated. Before us was the most sacred object in Greece and the most ancient, the omphalos, the marking stone of the world's navel, the center of the earth. On either side of it stood two solid gold eagles, commemorating the finding of the earth by Zeus' eagles. The stone itself was unremarkable: Cone-shaped and perhaps a foot high, it was worn smooth by a hundred generations of Pythian hands and by the daily oiling they devoutly applied to it. Remarkable as this object was, however, my eyes scarcely lingered on it a moment before being drawn to the side, where a withered, monkeylike creature sat immobile and silent, pale as a larva. The voluminous folds of her white gowns were tucked around and behind her, the purity and newness of the starched linen fabric contrasting sharply with the rough, papery skin and wispy strands of hair it enframed and enveloped.