Thais of Athens

Chapter Seventeen. Aphrodite Ambologera

Alexandria impressed Thais with the speed with which it was growing. In the few years she’d spent in Memphis, the city had become larger than the ancient capital of Egypt. It had also acquired a beautiful pier filled with lively and noisy crowds every evening. Many ships were docked at the bay, and the foundation of the gigantic lighthouse at Pharos towered in the distance.

The city was not Egyptian. Thais did find many similarities with Athens, possibly intentional. There was even a wall similar to Ceramic which separated the Amaphontus district from the shanties of Racotis. It too was inscribed with invitations to famous hetaerae, much like in Athens, Corinth and Clazomene. Ptolemy constructed the Museum and the Library more rapidly than had did the other structures, and the two towered over the roofs, attracting the eye with the whiteness of their stone and the majestic simplicity of architecture. Palms, cedars, cypresses and sycamores rose in the gardens and around houses, rosebushes filled the slopes of the elevated portion of the city.

The most beautiful thing was the dazzling blue sea. Fatigue from the monotony of the past few years and anxiety for the uncertain future dissolved in the vastness of its waves. Thais would never part from the sea again.

Holding back her desire to dive into the greenish water near the shore, she walked away from the sea, heading toward the hill with Alexander’s tomb. Thais took off all symbols of royal distinction, and yet passersby still turned to look at the small woman with the unusually smooth and clear face. Her regular features were surprising even here in the land where chiseled, beautiful faces of ancient people of the East and Hellas were commonplace. Something in the way she walked, her coppery tan, the depth of her enormous eyes and the figure outlined through the chiton of the finest Egyptian linen caused strangers to follow her with their eyes. Roykos limped a few steps behind her, shoulder to shoulder with his eldest son, armed and watchful, having sworn to Eris that he would keep an eye on Thais.

Much as she had several years ago, the Athenian approached the manmade hill of sea pebbles, held together with lime and tiled with gray Siena granite. The guard consisted of decearchos and one lokhagos, and was located in a portico made of massive slabs. The bronze doors could withstand a strike of the mightiest siege machine. During the previous visit, Ptolemy had shown Thais a clever mechanism built to protect the tomb. One only had to knock out specific supports and a mass of pebbles would crash down from above, concealing the tomb. It would only take one night to pour in lime and egg solution and cover it up with stone tiles prepared in advance.

Thais showed the lokhagos a signet ring with the royal seal and he bowed to her. Ten soldiers opened the bronze doors and lit the lanterns. The familiar golden sarcophagus decorated with bas-reliefs stood in the center of the tomb. As before, her heart filled with sadness. She took the jug of black wine and a vessel of precious oil brought by Roykos, made an offering to the shadow of the great army leader, then paused in a strange kind of stasis akin to sleep.

She heard the rustling of wings of swiftly flying birds, she heard the splashing of waves and dull thunder as if from the distant hoofbeats of a thousand horses. In these ghostly sounds, Thais imagined she could hear Alexander’s powerful voice in her heart, saying a single word: “Return.”

Return where? To the native shores of Hellas, to Memphis? Or here to Alexandria? The gold of the sarcophagus responded coolly to her touch and she found she could not focus on the past. She glanced one last time at the golden figures of the bas-reliefs, left and descended the hill, never looking black. The feeling of freedom she had first experienced at the Eridu temple had firmly established itself in her mind. She had completed the last thing that that filled her with a sense of incompleteness.

Thais returned to the white house under the cedars. She had received the house from Ptolemy after she had refused to stay at the palace. In full royal regalia, Thais and Eris rode in a carriage toward Ptolemy’s majestic palace. The first thing Thais demanded was a face to face meeting. The king, who was preparing a grand welcome and a feast for her, obliged reluctantly. However, when a Nubian slave brought in and opened the leather package with the gold tack, Ptolemy forgot his displeasure.

“This is a gift delivered to me in your name by a young Frakian slave,” Thais said.

“I never sent it, although I do enjoy things with such exceptional workmanship.”

“And these two fighting panthers tell you nothing?”

Ptolemy, sensing Thais’ seriousness, still tried to laugh it off. “Perhaps it was sent by one of your countless admirers.”

“Perhaps. Maybe one who wished me dead.”

Ptolemy jumped up in anger.

Thais continued. “Order this to be taken to the learned physicians of the Museum to determine the nature of the poison from which Boanergos fell. It was because of this that my own life was pushed to the edge of the Tartar. I would have been there a long time ago, had it not been for her,” the Athenian said, pointing at Eris.

“In my name?” Ptolemy roared. His mighty voice resonated through the entire palace. Soldiers ran in, their weapons clanging.

“Do not be angry in vain. Neither Eris nor I suspected you for a moment. But this was sent by a man from your inner circle, there is no doubt about it.”

“It cannot be!”

“Think about it. Look at the panthers, my wise Ptolemy. One more thing: you appointed Berenice’s son as your heir, and not your eldest son, Ptolemy the Lightning. And not my Leontiscus. I thank you for doing that. The boy will not die at the hands of assassins. But Lightning Ptolemy’s mother is now gone to the kingdom of Hades, and I am still alive and ruling.”

“Berenice?” Ptolemy’s voice broke, as if he had received a mortal wound.

“No,” Thais said with certainty, bringing him back to life. She handed him a tablet bearing the name. “Here.”

Ptolemy shrugged.

“Ask Berenice. I think she will recognize the name, although she may not be associated with this ghastly deed.”

Ptolemy left in a rage and returned in a few minutes, dragging the disheveled Berenice, who must have been getting ready for the feast. Her delicate face was deathly pale and twisted with fear, and her black eyes darted between Thais and her husband.

“Do you know him?” Ptolemy snatched the fateful tablet from Thais.

Berenice read it and fell at his feet. “My cousin on my mother’s side. But I swear by the Styx and the gloom of Amenti…”

“Do not swear, Majesty.” Berenice froze, hearing the way Thais uttered the title. “We know of your innocence.”

The Athenian pulled up Berenice and the latter, while taller, suddenly seemed small before the Queen of Memphis.

“I shall order the rascal apprehended at once,” Ptolemy shouted and struck a metal disk.

“You shouldn’t. He was certain to escape as soon as he received word about the failure of his attempt. But you must remember him, Majesty,” Thais said almost menacingly. She stepped away from Berenice, sending away the servants with an imperious gesture. “I am calling off the feast. Today I shall speak alone with my husband.”

Ptolemy did not dare disagree.

They talked till dawn, having settled Eris in one of the adjoining rooms. No one knew of what the king and the queen spoke. At dawn, Thais placed the sacred uraeus before Ptolemy, took off the colorful royal beads and Egyptian garments, and put on her favorite yellow ecsomida and the gryph talon necklace.

A view of the limitless sea, tinged with the rosy gaze of Eos, greeted them from the enormous palace terrace.

Ptolemy himself brought crimson wine from the Cretan vineyards and poured two delicate goblets, carved from mountain crystal during the rule of the first pharaohs of Egypt.

“Geliaine, Majesty! May the gods of Hellas, Egypt and Asia protect you in all your glorious deeds as a builder and collector.” Thais raised her goblet, splashed in the direction of the sea and drank.

“When you say that you are tearing away a portion of my heart,” Ptolemy said. “I am pained to part with you.”

Smiling mischievously, the Athenian tapped the wine vessel, which had been made of the horn of an Indian unicorn beast of fantastic value. “Do you drink only from this one, being afraid of poison?”

Ptolemy blushed slightly and did not answer.

“You have come of age. It is time to choose only one queen. And you have done so. What is there to be sorry about?”

“The glorious past is unforgettable, when I accompanied Alexander. You were with us in Mesopotamia.”

“It is unforgettable but you cannot live in the past. When will the ship be ready?”

“I ordered a sturdy ship to be prepared along with a strong guard. You may sail in two or three days, only tell the navigator where to go.”

“To Cyprus, to Pathos.”

“I thought you were returning to Athens.”

“Conquered by the late Antipatros, with Munikhia locked up by Macedonians, and with the fresh grave of Demosthenes who poisoned himself? No, until you, Cassander, Seleucus and Lysimachus end the war against Antigonus, I am not going there. I am sure you are aware that Cassander’s officer in Argos burned five hundred people alive, and in response Antigonus’ strategist completely decimated the sacred Corinth?”

“Such is war.”

“It is a war of savages. Both soldiers and officers must be barbarians if they allow themselves to do in Hellas what foreign invaders did not dare. If things continue this way, I do not expect anything good for Hellas.”

Ptolemy watched Thais and listened carefully to her.

“You speak the same way as the new philosophers who recently appeared at the Museum. They call themselves stoics.”

“I know of them. They are attempting to find the new kind of morality, originating from the equality of all people. Best of luck to them.”

“There will be no luck! Roman state grows in the west, ready to reduce the entire world to slavery. For some reason they particularly despise the Hebrews. Romans imitate Helenians in the arts, but in their essence they are malevolent. They rely solely on military force and are cruel toward children, women and animals. Instead of theaters they have enormous circuses where they slaughter animals and each other to amuse a roaring mob.”

“Are they skilled at bloody sacrifices?” Thais asked.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I know of a prophecy. Countries like Hellas, Rome, and Carthage, where people offer bloody sacrifices, placing their gods at the same level as beasts of prey, are headed toward swift demise, the destruction of all they have created, and the complete disappearance of these people.”

“I must tell this to my philosophers. Would you like to meet with them at the Museum?”

“No. I have little time. I would like to see Leontiscus.”

“He is sailing near the shores of Libya, but I had guessed your wish yesterday and sent a fast ship.”

“The advantage of being a king’s son. I thank you once more for your decision to make him a simple sailor and not an heir, an envoy or some other kind of ruler. He is much like me and is not suited for that role.”

“You gave him your Cretan blood and the limitless love of the sea. What do you wish for Irenion?”

“I want her fostered with Pentanassa, a friend of mine from an ancient family, whose names are inscribed on the monuments of Cyprus. I want to make her into a good wife. She possesses your common sense, caution in all matters and, I think, your foresight. The separation of Alexander’s empire and your choice of Egypt still serve as the best examples of your wisdom as a statesman.”

“I chose Egypt for another reason. Here I am a king of a multitude of strange people and create a new state as I see fit, selecting the most suitable people to bring to power. Those whose wellbeing is connected with my rule will serve to protect me at the time of trouble. There will be no more insufferable envy, backstabbing, squabbling or competition between powerful but ignorant people from ancient families, of the kind that kept Hellas from blossoming as it could have, with such great people. Its best citizens were always subject to slander and shame. The nobles expressed their gratitude toward the most outstanding people by executing them, sending them into exile, betraying and imprisoning them. Remember Pericles, Phidias, Socrates, Plato, Themistocles, Demosthenes. One more cup to our farewell.” Ptolemy raised the crystal goblet and suddenly stopped. “I have nothing to reproach you for after all these years, except one thing. Would you like to know what it is?”

Thais nodded.

“How could you allow the silver Anadiomena to be sold away? Did you not know how much I love you, and the beauty of women, and everything connected with you?”

“I did not allow anything. Such was its destiny. Lysippus intended the statue for Alexander, but at first the king had no time. Then he was gone. At that point, you had no time for sculptures. But I am glad that the Anadiomena went to India. They have a special attitude toward feminine beauty, and with the current state of affairs in Hellas I am not at all certain about the safety of a statue made of silver, even if it were placed in a temple.”

“Very well, you are right. I retract my criticism. Incidentally, when Seleucus was hiding out here, he told me about his plans for another Indian campaign. I advised him to reconsider and give up his part of India to Chandragupta. He said he would if the latter gave him five hundred elephants.”

“He is sweet, that giant and collector of giants.”

“He is not that sweet from the male standpoint. Elephants are a powerful military force, fairly mobile and better than a phalanx or heavy cavalry. There is a reason why Seleucus is collecting elephants for his army. He and I are friends, but will his heir be friends with my heirs? In order to counterbalance his elephants, I will have to acquire some of my own. India is inaccessible to me, which is why I will have to get elephants from Libya. That is where the information you collected about southern routes is particularly valuable, especially that of the voyages to the Punt. I have already ordered ships to be prepared so that we may sail across the Eritrean Sea to the Cape of Fragrances and beyond, from where Egyptians brought various rare animals. Libyan elephants are different from those in India. They have bigger ears, huge tusks and sloping backs, and are more savage and difficult to tame. However, they are even better for waging war because they are mean-spirited and courageous. Are the twists of fate not amusing? You helped Seleucus to get his elephants with your statue and helped me even more to discover where to get them. I thank you again.”

“It is daytime,” Thais reminded the king. “Berenice must be in agony by now, and it is time for me to go.

Ptolemy and Thais poured some wine for the gods, embraced and kissed like brother and sister. The Athenian woke up Eris, who had fallen asleep to the soothing splash of a fountain. They walked to their house, still inspiring as much delight in the passersby as they had many years before. No one would have given the forty-year-old Thais and thirty-five-year-old black priestess more than fifty years between the two of them.

“If only you know how easy it is to move in the ecsomida,” Thais exclaimed. “And I don’t have to watch my gestures, words or facial expressions for fear of alarming my subjects. I do not have any more subjects and owe nothing. I can sing, even though I haven’t done it in such a long time I may have lost my voice.”

“You will always have one subject,” Eris said, laughing. She bowed in a subservient Asian fashion.

The Athenian stopped and looked at her friend. Eris raised her eyebrows in puzzlement.

“You have reminded me of one important bit of business. I almost forgot.”

“What business?”

“You’ll see. I know it is useless teasing you with riddles. It is just that I haven’t finished thinking it over yet.”

Tired after being up all night, Thais gladly succumbed to a bath and powerful Ionian massage. She slept all day till evening and spent half the night on the terrace, pondering her meeting with her son. Leontiscus was almost fifteen years old, close to the age of an epheb.

Thais decided to combine the meeting with her son and the meeting with the sea. They would go to Pharos, where Nearchus had shown her Cretan ruins surrounded by brush and sand. There she used to dive among the splashing waves and crying seagulls near the deserted shore. This time she would take Eris with her. She was uncertain about her friend’s attitude toward the sea. It would be sad if she treated it differently from how Thais herself treated it. Many people were alarmed by the sea, made sick or were simply frightened by it.

The Athenian worried in vain. The day turned out to be a true celebration for her. The swanlike white boat cut through the blue waves which gently rocked the small vessel. Leontiscus was as slender as his mother, with the same gray eyes and copper tan as Thais, and with fuzz already growing over his upper lip. The boy watched her with delighted eyes all the way to the northern shore of Pharos. A portion of the shoreline was already dressed in carefully fitted stone, set atop the giant boulders of the old Cretan bay. Leaving the boat near the western dock, Thais, along with Leontiscus and Eris, walked to the distant edge of the pier. Water splashed near the steep wall. Imitating Alexander, she poured a mix of wine and fragrant oil into the sea and told Leontiscus to toss a gold medallion as far as possible.

“And now let us surrender to Thetis,” she yelled happily.

Leontiscus was unashamed of nudity, much like his mother. The boy undressed and dove in. Rolling waves shattered into small swift splashes as they reached the island.

“Come on, Mother!” Leontiscus called, swimming powerfully into the sea, where the waves came slower and more menacing, bubbling up in heavy walls. A pod of dolphins showed their sharp fins and black backs as they approached the swimmers. Holding her breath, Thais slipped into the dense water. Finally! She even forgot about Eris for a few moments.

“Eris, dear, swim here,” Thais shouted, and was startled by the lightning speed with which the black priestess dove into the sea. The Athenian knew that Eris swam, though reluctantly, without the overwhelming joy Thais herself experienced in the water. But there was Eris with her battle cry, “Euryale! Euryale and Eris!” She swam fast enough to catch up with Leontiscus and was not at all afraid of the dull menacing hum with which the waves rose and fell in the open sea.

“Holy Mother of Gods! It is so easy to swim in this dense water. There is no darkness of the swamp, as you would see in a river or a lake. The sea holds you up,” Eris said happily.

Wind flew in from the east, put out the glittering mirrors on the slopes of the waves, and pressed down the sharp peaks of foam. Thais felt as if invisible Nereids surrounded them, slapping them lightly over neck and shoulders, playfully splashing their faces and smoothing them over with gentle hands. She told Leontiscus about it, and was again surprised by the boy’s gaze. It followed her carefully and constantly.

Eris soon became tired, as she had not yet fully restored her strength. Thais and Leontiscus dove endlessly, descending into the depths, swimming and tumbling like the dolphins that raced side by side with them, peering with their small friendly eyes and smiling with their black and white mouths.

Mother and son finally became tired and climbed onto the smooth granite tiles. Eris doused her friend with fresh water, washed off the salt and helped brush out her black braids. Leontiscus dried himself off, then approached his mother shyly and settled at her feet, putting his arms around her strong knees.

“Tell me the truth, Mother. Are you a goddess?”

Meeting the pleading gaze of his clear gray eyes, Thais shook her head in denial.

“But you are not a mere mortal, are you? You are a Nereid or a nymph who descended to my father. I heard the servants whispering about it at the palace. Do not deny my question, Mother, tell me. I only want to know.”

The boy’s arms, strengthened from working with oars and sails, tightened around his mother’s knees. His earnest faith made Thais’ heart falter and she remembered Alexander. A single hint dropped by his mother had given him the necessary confidence. At the same time, her usual truthfulness stood against the deception.

“You are right, my boy,” Eris said suddenly. “Your mother is not a mere mortal, but she is not a goddess, either.”

“I knew it. You are one of the daughters of Thetis from a mortal man. And this sash with the star that you wear. Is that a mark of the curse of mortality? Like Hyppolita’s sash?”

“Yes. I am not immortal — and I do not possess the goddess power to give you miraculous strength or invincibility in battle,” the Athenian rushed to add. “But I have given you the love of the sea. Thetis will always be merciful to you.”

“Mother, dear Mother! That is why you are so inhumanly beautiful. Being your son is such joy! I thank you,” Leontiscus covered Thais’ knees and hands with kisses.

She pulled him up and patted his curly dark hair. “Go get dressed. It is time to go!”

The boy’s face filled with sadness. “Can you not take me with you? We would be so happy together!”

“I cannot, Leontiscus,” Thais said, feeling a lump in her throat. “You must be with your father, not your mother. You are a man, a sailor. Conquer the sea to bring joy, not demise to people. Thetis and I shall always be with you.”

Leontiscus turned away and went to retrieve his clothes. A moment longer, and he would have seen his mother cry.

Their seaside expedition seemed to have caused Leontiscus to grow up. On their way back he held his head higher, his face bearing the distinctive Cretan features. As the boat approached the dock, the boy touched his mother’s arm and whispered, pointing at Eris. “Is she also?”

“Even more than I am,” Thais replied in a whisper.

Leontiscus took the black priestess’ hand, pressed it to his forehead and his cheek and kissed the palm. Astonished, Eris kissed both his cheeks, a favor she had never bestowed upon anyone. Thais thought how good it would have been for the boy to have a friend like that nearby.

Not being a goddess, she could not have known, that five years later Ptolemy would be utterly defeated during the great sea battle of Salamis, near the Famagusta Bay at the eastern shore of Cyprus, and that Leontiscus would be taken prisoner. Fortunately, the noble victor and the Athenian favorite, Demetrius Poliorcetus, would soon return the son to his father and would be, in turn, defeated by him shortly after. The monument honoring Demetrius’ victory, the statue of the winged Nika at the Samotrakia island, would delight people the world over for thousands of years.

The sea, as if celebrating the return of its daughter, carried Thais’ ship Circe swiftly and calmly to the northeast, from Alexandria toward the island of Cyprus. The Athenian thought about her prior sea voyages. Each one had been blessed by particularly good weather. How could she not believe in the mercy of Thetis?

“They say there are fifty Egyptian skhens from Pathos to Cyprus,” said the captain, who was the most experienced navigator from Astypalaya. “But I measured more — two thousand and eighty stadiums.”

“How can you measure the sea?” Eris asked in astonishment.

“There are several methods, but I use the simplest one,” the captain said. He squinted, peering into the distance. “The weather is good and the sea is calm, so you can see for yourself.”

The captain ordered two middle-aged sailors to come on deck, one with an enormous bow and a coil of thin rope, and the other with a sea clepsydra that was known for being exceptionally steady. Held by a wide sash, the sailor with the bow hung over the water, his feet planted against the ship’s side. He shot an arrow with the length of rope marked by brightly colored fish bladders. The first two times the rope settled poorly, but on the third try it flew in a straight line. As soon as the ship’s bow reached the starting point of the rope, the navigator struck a copper gong and the second sailor started the clepsydra. The second strike sounded when the ship’s stern passed the end of the rope.

“Drop count?” the navigator shouted.

“Thirty-one,” was the answer.

“See,” the captain explained to Eris. “The rope is half a stadium long and lays straight thanks to the skill of my sailors. The ship ran its length in thirty-one heartbeats or the drops of clepsydra. One must make a correction for waves and the deflection of the rope. I would say our Circe is doing approximately sixty stadiums per hour. This is a good speed under medium sails and without oars. One must make many measurements in order to calculate the distance correctly. You can calculate how much time it would take to reach Pathos, but do it silently. Do not anger the Old Man of the Sea.”

The navigator picked the time when ethesies, summer winds blowing toward Egypt, changed direction for a brief time and caused the waves to travel from the northwest. The sea grew darker, taking on the color of Khios wine, with Poseidon’s white-maned horses rushing across its dusky vastness. The strong wind tore the foam off the waves, carrying the glittering bubbles across the cloudless sky. Every Helenian was used to seeing the sea in that state, and the strength of the wind did not bother the seamen. They knew it would weaken by evening and there would be no terrible storm.

Thais and Eris settled at the bow and sang all kinds of songs, accompanying themselves on systra and sitar. They sang sad and melodious Helenian tunes, long and mournful Persian ones, abrupt and dissonant Finikian and Egyptian ones. They sang the songs of Libyan pirates accompanied by wild shouts and whistles, much to the delight of the sailors and the ire of the navigator, because they caused the seamen to lose their concentration.

Thais secluded herself for games and conversations with her daughter in a spot between the second deck level at the stern and the side of the ship, protected from wind and waves by reed baskets. During one such heart to heart conversation the little Irana stunned Thais by telling her about the dream she had had of becoming a hetaera. With the childish naïveté, Irana spoke of rich presents the hetaerae receive, of feasts with music and dancing, of being worshiped by men.

The more her mother frowned and the broader Eris smiled, the more eloquently the girl attempted to prove her point. She plunged into glorifying men’s kisses and tender embraces.

An enraged Thais realized whose words the girl was repeating, but held back her anger and explained patiently to her daughter that she had been told nothing but fairy tales. In real life, no matter what one did, especially for a woman, nothing happened easily or effortlessly.

“We women are not given that many paths by the gods,” she told her daughter quietly, smoothing her straight brown hair and looking into her serious brown eyes. “That is why each path must be selected thoroughly. One must know and weigh each of her abilities granted by the gods, and the possibilities for improvement.

“The path of hetaera is one of the most difficult ones out there. It is akin to the path of an artist, a musician or an architect. What man would be so stupid as to become a musician without a sense of pitch? Young girls often think that the youthful charm, melodious laughter and graceful walk are sufficient for achieving success. That is not true. After a year or two she would end up leading a lowly existence in drunken trysts with crass, beast-like strangers in the slums. Even if you possess a perfect body, a beautiful face, splendid hair and some ability as a singer and a dancer, all that is only sufficient for a slave actress, who is often subject to beatings by the theater owner.

“In order to become an outstanding hetaera, in addition to beauty and grace you must possess an outstanding memory, read in three dialects, love and know history, remember the foundations of philosophic teachings. Then you would be able to talk with poets and philosophers as an equal and elevate yourself above less educated men. And even that is not enough. You must have flawless taste in clothes, understand the art of sculpture and painting, perhaps even draw or sculpt yourself. You must be able to understand people’s character from the first glance, rule men without forcing them, and be a hostess of symposiums. You also must be an athlete in a sport in which you can compete with men. For instance, I am considered a good rider and an even better swimmer. I can hold my own against any man. I am not even talking about possessing the stamina of a Spartan, the wine tolerance of a barbarian, or the health of a Cretan bull.

“If you, possessing the beginnings of all of the above, go through the Corinth school from the age of six to thirteen, those years would be watered by the tears of insults, trials, hard work and punishment. If you completed that, then you would become a truly famous hetaera. That is, if you are fortunate. If you do not become sick, and if your beauty does not fade prematurely.”

Thais reclined in the wicker armchair and closed her eyes as if tired by the memories. Irana grew silent, snuggled up to her mother and said, “I understand, Mother. I do not wish to be a hetaera anymore.”

“You are clever and cautious, daughter of a king, famous for his careful wisdom. Go take a nap. It’s growing hot. And send your nanny over.”

As soon as the girl left, Thais jumped up and paced up and down the deck. Eris embraced her, being familiar with her friend’s moods.

“Nothing has happened, it’s just that the nanny is ready for marriage and tells the nonsense that fills her head to Irana.”

“I must not have spent enough time with my daughter, if…”

“Then it is your fault and not the nanny’s.” Eris smiled.

Thais stomped her foot and laughed. “You are right. But I’ll show her a hetaera’s glorious life.”

“Isn’t it a bit too late to flaunt your royal ire? This too is your fault, to be honest.”

“How is this my fault, oh goddess of justice?”

“You missed that the nanny is a grown woman. It is time, or else she will waste herself away in empty yearnings, and her firm breasts will sag without love. Whose fault is it? It is the fault of she who is older and wiser. She lives with you, and you must be a mother to her.”

“These educated girls from good families are nothing but trouble. They read too much.”

“She has probably read some of your own adventures. Many books have been written about Alexander and his associates.”

The nanny rushed in. She was a buxom girl with dreamy dark eyes and long eyelashes.

“Call Roykos! Tell him to bring a piece of rope.”

The old Thessalian showed up and looked at Thais expectantly.

“Undress!” the Athenian ordered the nanny, who stared at her mistress in amazement.

Eris, hiding a smile, tugged on the clasps of the girl’s chiton. Like a true Helenian, she wore nothing but outer clothing. Thais touched the girl’s breast, shook her head and asked, “Did you use the juice of cikuta? How long?”

“A year and seven months in Puanepsion,” the nanny mumbled.

“Crazy girl! You should have asked me. Now they will remain rock hard.”

“So be it,” the girl said boldly.

“Is the juice of cikuta that miraculous?” Eris inquired.

Thais nodded. “If one’s breasts are small it makes them grow and firms them up forever. But one must use strict moderation and our silly girl here has overdone it, I think.”

“Your fault again,” Eris said sternly. “A mistress must sometimes be a mother.”

“Yes, my fair friend, you are correct,” Thais said, critically examining the nanny’s voluptuous body.

“Majesty … Mistress … I do not know what …”

“Oh yes, you do,” Thais interrupted, trying to maintain the necessary sternness in her voice. “You are infatuated by love and want to be a hetaera, and fill my little girl’s head with your nonsense.”

“Mistress, I only told her what I’d read.”

“You lie. You have added your own fantasies as well. I shall fulfill them. Go to the sailors’ quarters as you are. You shall please them till the end of our voyage. This will be the start of your service to Aphrodite. The seamen are lonely for women. Their kisses are firm, their bodies are strong and their arms are tireless. What more can you wish for?”

“Majesty!”

“I forbade you to mention my title. Forget it.”

“Mistress, have mercy! I did not think … did not want …”

“You do not want to serve Aphrodite by giving your maidenhead to the ship’s crew? Then you must have confused my daughter out of malice. Your words were deceitful and you must be sacrificed to the Old Man of the Sea.”

Thais ordered the Thessalian with a discreet wink. “Roykos! Tie her arms and legs and toss her into the sea.”

“Uncle Roykos! You wouldn’t!” the girl screamed.

“Yes I will. Hold out your hands,” the old soldier replied, giving her a frightening grimace.

The girl fell at Thais’ feet, shaking and crying.

“Enough. Game over.” Thais suddenly laughed. “Get up. Now you shall think ten times before telling something to Irana.”

“Oh, Mistress, were you joking? You are not angry?”

“I am angry! But I cannot stand to torture you any longer. Or him,” she said, pointing at the corner of the deck where Roykos’ eldest son stood as pale as chalk, ready to rush to the rescue.

“May I go?” the girl asked as she leaned to pick up her chiton.

“Go! Here is something to remember.” Thais slapped the nanny’s behind so hard the imprints of her fingers flushed red on her skin, and the girl squealed.

Eris gave her another smack and a shove. The girl rushed to the quarters designated for women.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Thais said to Roykos’ son. “Be a man. Go console her.”

The young man vanished in an instant.

“You struck her to tears,” Eris reproached.

“I don’t know about that,” Thais replied, blowing on her fingers. “What a sturdy girl. And now, my dear Eris, let us take care of you.”

“You rule today, oh lioness,” Eris joked, glancing at her friend with a touch of alarm.

“You shall be the one to turn into a lioness,” Thais promised and took her friend to her own quarters which had direct access to the bridge instead of the stern, as did the room designated for the other women.

“Stand in front of me and hold the mirror. No, not like that. Turn it toward yourself. Close your eyes.”

Eris obeyed, knowing Thais’ fondness for unexpected and amusing tricks.

Thais took out a carefully hidden box of ornate silver and uncovered a diadem in the shape of two snakes woven from green gold wire. The reptiles’ heads were broad, akin to the serpent at the Eridu temple. They crisscrossed and each held a sardonyx bead in its mouth, striped black and white. The Athenian placed the diadem on Eris’ head. It fit perfectly, which was not surprising considering it was made in three days by the best jewelers of Alexandria based on Thais’ design. Instead of a traditional diadem or stephane, the piece looked like the crown of an Ethiopian princess.

“Now look.”

Eris could not suppress an exclamation of surprise.

Thais beamed, pleased with herself. “I had them make the eyes out of sapphires to match yours, instead of rubies like on the amulets of Hebrew beauties,” Thais said. The diadem did indeed go well with her friend’s black hair and dark bronze skin.

“Is this for me? What for?”

“I thought about it while we were still in Alexandria but did not tell you. We are traveling to the lands where people with your skin color arrive either as slaves or as high royalty. So in order to keep from being mistaken for a slave, you shall wear a piece of jewelry suitable only for those of elevated status. Remember it and walk like a princess. As for your barbaric necklace made of the poison snake teeth …”

“I will not take it off. It is a sign of distinction more precious than any other.”

“Very well, but wear this over it,” Thais took a sky blue beryl necklace from the box and fastened it around Eris’ neck.

“You are giving me the gift of the high priestess of Kibela?” Eris exclaimed.

“As long as you wear it, no one will question your status. This truly is a royal gift.”

They finally approached Cyprus. The Athenian pressed her hands to her chest, a sign of particular anxiety. The ship was approaching a native corner of the Inner Sea, still remote but similar to other islands of Hellas. After so many years spent in other countries, it was time to reunite with her homeland. The peak of Trident Olympus, which was usually hidden in the clouds, revealed itself clearly above the blue mist of forest-covered mountains. On Thais’ orders, the captain did not take the ship to the crowded Pathos, but went around the Northern cape and entered the Golden Lagoon, where the Athenian’s friends owned some property.

Luminous air and turquoise waters of the lagoon which cut into the purple hills like an amphitheater made Thais feel as if she were back in Attica. The stone pier ran adjacent to the white road leading up the mountain, whose terraces housed small homes painted with pink clay and overshadowed by cypresses, sycamores and sprawling pines. A pure stream fell from above, flowing into a flat pool on the shore and scattering into small droplets. Beyond the houses were bands of the dark greenery of myrtles, covered with white flowers, a sign of the hottest portion of summer. The incomparable aroma of the seashore on a sunny summer day awoke childhood memories of her life spent in a small Attica village under the gentle watch of her parents. Thais sent the ship back with a note of gratitude to Ptolemy and immersed herself into her childhood.

Every day she took Irana, her nanny, and Eris to the west side of the bay, protected by a long cape that slithered into the sea like a dragon’s spine. They swam till they dropped, climbed the rocks, chewed their favorite sweet brown figs and shot at each other using their hard, metallic-looking seeds.

Thais’ friends turned out to have an entire gaggle of girls aged eight to twelve, their own daughters and nieces as well as the children of their servants and slaves. Following old traditions they all played together. They ran around playing tag, wove wreaths, and danced with abandon, wrapped in flower garlands under the hot sun, or completely nude under the bright moon. They dove into the sea trying to find a corner with intact bunches of blood red coral missed by professional coral gatherers. At full moon they competed to see who would swim the farthest along the silver moon path, carrying a goblet in one hand to make an offering to Thetis, Poseidon and Hecate.

Sometimes Thais and Eris went riding on the small but stout Cyprus horses who were good in the mountains. After the death of Boanergos, the Athenian had no wish to buy her own horse. Sometimes, as they used to do in Ecbatana with Hesiona, they climbed the mountains on foot. They followed the steep paths, picked a large overhanging plateau which seemed to float in the air, and settled there.

Eris was intoxicated by height. With her eyes flashing and her head tipped back, the black priestess sang strange songs in a language even she did not know, memorized at the temple during her early childhood, or perhaps even earlier in her now-forgotten country. The sad melody went on without beginning or end, suddenly exploding in verses filled with passion and rage, rising into the clear sky like a call for justice. Eris’ nostrils trembled, her teeth flashed and her eyes darkened savagely. Everything in Thais wanted to respond to this yearning. The mystical song made her want to stand on the edge of the outcropping, spread her arms and throw herself down into the dark greenery of the woods that looked like a mossy coverlet from above.

Thais was not afraid of heights, but still marveled at Eris’ self-control as she stood with her back toward the abyss and casually pointed something out.

Armed with spears, they went on longer trips. Thais wanted her friend to experience in its entirety the enchantment of the woods and mountains of Cyprus, so similar to her beloved Hellas.

For the first time, Eris saw the groves of sprawling pines with long needles, oaks with dark round filigree leaves and red bark, mixed with enormous chestnuts, walnuts and lindens. She was amazed by the forests of tall junipers with their strong scent akin to the cypresses, and the gloomy dark thickets of a different species of juniper with yet another fragrance.

Thais herself was experiencing for the first time the groves of tall cedar trees that were different from those on the Finikian shore. These were slender with short, greenish blue needles. More cedar woods sprawled over the mountain ridges, marching to the east and south among the silence and gloom of the endless colonnades. Below them, crystal clear springs flowed from under rocks, and elm trees grew like thick round hats of greenery supported by twisted charcoal gray trunks.

Thais loved the rocky, sun-drenched plateaus covered with dark bushes of Finikian juniper and fragrant rosemary, crawling stems of thyme and silver bunches of wormwood. The air was filled with warm aromas of a multitude of fragrant plants. The sun seemed to pour itself into one’s veins as it reflected off the white outcroppings of marble that popped up at lower heights.

Eris settled on her back. Her dreamy blue eyes met the blue of the sky. She said she was not at all surprised that Hellas had so many artists and beautiful women, and why everyone she met was a connoisseur of beauty one way or another. The nature was a glowing and uplifting world of clearly outlined forms, inviting thoughts, words and deeds. At the same time, these dry and rocky shores, poor in fresh water, did not encourage easy living. Instead, they demanded constant labor, skilled farming and courageous seamanship. This life did not pamper the people living it, but did not consume all of their time with a search for sustenance and protection from natural disasters. Had it not been for the anger, the war and the constant threat of slavery … Even in such a beautiful part of the Ecumene, people had failed to create a life filled with divine serenity and wisdom.

Eris rolled over onto her stomach and gazed at the distant woods or the blue sparkling of the sea. She thought of the countless slaves who had created this beauty: the splendid white temples, porticos, galleries and staircases, piers and windbreakers. What was the purpose of this beauty? Did it soften people’s temperaments? Did it reduce violence and cruelty? Did it create more people like Thais and Lysippus who were just and humane? What was life’s direction? No one knew, and to receive an answer to that question would mean gaining an understanding of where Hellas, Egypt and other countries were going. Was it toward the better, toward the flourishing and justice, or toward cruelty and death?

Thais was occupied by different thoughts. For the first time she was free of duties and obligations of her elevated rank. She was uninterested in the fact that people admired her, and did not need the constant exercise for distant travel. The Athenian gave herself up to observation for which she always had an inclination. Everything around her felt like home. Her body absorbed the luminous sky, the scents and dry heat of earth and the menacing blue expanse of the sea.

Thais wanted to live like that for years, not depending on anyone and not owing anyone. But summer passed, as did the rainy and windy winter, and the white clusters of asphodels rose again along the roads and paths. The Athenian’s lively mind and body demanded activity, new impressions, and perhaps love.

One hundred seventeenth Olympiad was coming to an end, and Thais had fully experienced the meaning of the word ametocleitos as applied to fate: merciless, inevitable and irrevocable. Her Egyptian mirror now reflected silver strands in her thick black hair. Thais noticed the first wrinkles on her smooth body which was still akin to a polished Ethes statuette. They had not been there before and ought not to have been there now. Even her impeccably young body had given in to the pressure of time. The Athenian had never realized how much she would be wounded by this discovery. She set aside the mirror and secluded herself among the laurels to grieve alone and come to terms with the inevitable.

Eris found her there when she brought an urgent letter from Ptolemy. Everything had unfolded as Thais foresaw back in Babylon, when she had explained to Eris the uncertain fate of royal children.

Cassander arrested Alexander’s mother, Olympias and accused her of treason. He also captured Alexander’s widow Roxanne and his twelve year old son, Alexander the Fourth, the heir of Macedonia, Hellas and Asia. The cruel tyrant ordered the great king’s mother and the former high priestess of Pella to be stoned and his widow and son executed. The soldiers did not dare raise their hands against Alexander’s own flesh, so Cassander himself tied up the mother and son and drowned them. All of Hellas, all diadochs, and all of Alexander’s soldiers who were still living were outraged by the disgusting deed. But, as it often happened, the culprit went unpunished. None of those with power or military force rose against him. For Cassander’s crimes were not limited to the slaughter of Alexander’s family. The tyrant of Macedonia had carried out many more atrocities.

Eris bitterly regretted that she was not living in Macedonia and had no access to Cassander’s inner circle. She would have killed him without delay, she said, although she had no doubt that gods would eventually punish the scoundrel. Her prophecy about Cassander’s approaching end turned out to be correct.

The news of the despicable crime resonated deeply with Thais. It caused a spiritual crisis, perhaps because it coincided with the realization of her departing youth. It was now Eris’ turn to entertain her by taking her to secret female dances in the moonlight in honor of Hecate, and gathering colorful pigments to the east from the Golden Bay, where green and blue malachite and azurite veins came to the surface of the mountain slopes in bright and pure hues.

In the fall Thais decided she’d spent enough time in country seclusion and decided to go to Pathos. The bustling city was a trade center for copper, cedar and particularly the special fibers for lamp wicks that did not burn away. It was famous the world over for its temple of Aphrodite Anadiomena. There, at Pathos, the goddess appeared from sea foam and starlight, which was why she bore the nickname of Patia or Cypredae, which meant ‘born at Cyprus’.

The sacred road led from the temple to a section of the shore separated from the rest of the bay by a wall. Nine marble columns honoring Aphrodite’s nine qualities framed the open portico of the pier, which was made of cube-shaped slabs of dense dark stone brought from the Trident Olympus. Two steps led to a water-covered landing made of the same stone. Transparent green waves rolled in from the sea and scattered at the sand bank. Long strips of white foam twirled fancifully over the smooth surface of the landing. Based on these curlicues, the priestesses of the goddess tried to divine the future, for according to the most ancient legends, this was the same spot where the gold-footed Aphrodite, the joy of people and gods, had emerged from the sea.

The beauties of the island: women from noble families, hetaerae, and daughters of farmers and shepherds bathed here after praying at the temple, believing the goddess would bestow upon them a fraction of her irresistible power of attraction. On the fifth day of each week, which was dedicated to Aphrodite, the place was crowded by curious bachelors in search of brides, artists with drawing paraphernalia, and sailors from ships arriving from all Helenian islands, from Finikia, Ionia, Egypt, Sicily and even from Carthage.

After some hesitation, Thais decided to participate in the ritual. Eris examined her friend and assured her that she still looked well enough to bathe during the date. Thais objected and went bathing at night, an hour before midnight, the time dedicated to Eros. Full moon shone over the knee-deep water at the first step, when both friends, having offered a bloodless sacrifice at the temple, entered the sea.

Focused and solemn, Thais stood in the moonlit sea, small waves splashing around and caressing her shoulders as if Thetis were trying to console her. Following a sudden urge, the Athenian raised her arms to the sky, whispering, “Foam-born, here I am at the place where you appeared in the world. Give me a sign. Tell me what to do next. A brief time shall pass and I will no longer bring joy to people or experience their power and yearning for beauty. I will no longer be able to serve you. Life is short. By the time you gather bits of knowledge and realize how to live, you are no longer able to go on. I beg you, oh gold-footed one, show me the way or kill me. Add gentle death to all your prior priceless gifts so that your divine will would see me across the River.”

Thais stood for a long time, watching the dark glimmering mirror of the sea, sometimes lifting her head to peer into the delicately-veiled sky. There was no sign or word surrounding Thais, nothing but the whispering of waves.

Delighted shouts, the ringing of small tambourines, and splashing of water startled the two women. They found themselves surrounded by young girls and men, drawing them in a merry dance to the second step of the landing where water was above their shoulders. Not letting the two friends cover up with capes after emerging from the sea, the young people, who were artists and poets as well as their models and lovers, wrapped Thais and Eris in garlands of white flowers that shone like silver in the moonlight. Ignoring their protests, they took them to a symposium as guests of honor.

Thais managed to get their clothes and appeared at the feast fully dressed, much to the disappointment of the sculptors, who had heard a lot about the beautiful bodies of the Athenian and the Ethiopian princess. During the symposium, Thais secretly observed who attracted more admiring glances. What it she, with her simple hairdo with three silver ribbons, wearing a gryph talon necklace and laughing openly and merrily, or was it Eris, always imperious, with her proudly raised head wearing a crown of menacing serpents, and the necklace of blue beryls sparkling against the dark skin of her long neck.

“They are looking at Eris more. No, at me. No, at Eris.” Failing to establish supremacy, Thais became absorbed in singing and dancing. This was the first real symposium of Helenian poets and artists she had attended in many years. Even Eris succumbed to the atmosphere of merriment and youthful love, earning insane admiration of the guests with her dancing.

The Athenian’s involvement did not last long. Thais settled off to the side, resting her face on one hand, and watched the young people with pleasure while sensing a strange sort of alienation at the same time.

Several times she caught the careful gaze of her host, a tall Ionian with much gray in his thick mane of wavy hair. It was as if he were trying to understand and weigh all that was happening in Thais’ heart. His wife, formerly a famous singer, led the symposium like an experienced hetaera. Following a barely noticeable sign from her husband, she stepped between the tables into the middle of the hall. She whispered to the musicians, they took the first few chords of the halting accompaniment, and the hostess’ voice rose amid the silence like a bird freed from its cage.

Thais shivered as the melody reached her heart. This was the song of the Great Threshold that rose inevitably in the path of each man and woman, in the middle of all roads of life. It was erected by Chronos after a number of years, designated by Ananka-Destiny. For the more fortunate ones, the Threshold was merely a small rise. Peaceful farmers stepped over it without noticing. Old warriors did not see the Threshold in their last battle. But people with changeful, event-filled lives, the creators of beauty, travelers and seekers of new lands, they often ran into a kind of wall, with the future beyond that was dark even for the most perceptive. They either chose not to cross the Great Threshold and wait for the end of their days by its side, or they threw themselves bravely into the unknown future, leaving everything behind: love and hate, happiness and peril.

The singer sang in Aeolian dialect, addressing Thais as if perceiving her as someone who had arrived at the Threshold and stood before it in noble and fearless contemplation.

The song struck a chord with the young ones as well, despite the fact they were still far from the Threshold of Destiny. Its shadow subdued the passionate joy of the symposium, providing a sign to end the celebration. The guests vanished into the night in pairs and groups. Luminaries between the portico of the entrance and the feasting hall were put out. Thais and Eris rose, thanking their hosts.

“You are guests of our city,” the master of the house said. “You would do us an honor if you agreed to rest here, under our roof. The inn is far away from the Sacred Road, and it is late.”

“Worthy host, you do not even know who we are,” the Athenian replied. “And we arrived without invitation. We were brought here by your friends. They were sweet and we did not wish to offend them.”

“You are wrong to think that citizens of Pathos do not know Thais,” the host said with a chuckle. “Even if we’d never heard of you, your beauty and conduct at the symposium would have been sufficient. The visit to my house by you and your royal friend is a holiday. Please make it last by staying overnight.”

Thais stayed with nary an inkling of a great change in her destiny. It would transpire after her visit to the house on the shore of Cypredae.

The next day, while swimming with the wife and daughters of the host, the Athenian learned of the sanctuary of Aphrodite Ambologera. Until then, she and many other Athenians had believed that the incarnation of Aphrodite Averting Old Age was but one of symbols of the many-faced goddess. Perhaps it was the youngest of her images, akin to the statues of a barely-blossoming girl made of transparent pink Rhodes marble. It was much loved by sculptors and forbidden at temples by the strict censors of old tradition.

Here on Cyprus, Aphrodite’s birthplace, there was an ancient temple of Ambologera Averting Old Age. It was visited by the goddess’ favorites, men and women who were approaching the Great Threshold of the Mother. They made offerings, listened to prophecies, selected a new path and went home either encouraged, or with their heads lowered in sadness, seeing nothing but the dust of the road under their sandals.

The temple of Aphrodite Ambologera was located three days away on foot from Pathos, at the border of an ancient Finikian colony at the southeast of the island. It was said that the temple had been built by Helenians and Finikians together, as they both worshiped the Averter of Old Age. Thais set her mind on visiting it.

“This will not bring you serenity or happiness,” Eris said with certainty, warning her friend.

Thais replied that she presently did not possess either of the two, and would not until she found another path. “Do you not feel that way yourself?”

“No. I never parted from sorrow, and thus never lost the guiding light in my life,” Eris replied mysteriously.

The Athenian did not listen. Accompanied by her new friends, they rode up a twisting stone road, ascending into the mountains through pine groves and dark cedar woods. After the silence and the dry resin-scented air at the southern slope of the mountain range, the travelers emerged onto a vast plateau. Bluish rocks protruded through the surface among silvery grasses rippling in the wind. A peak towered ahead, split in half by a wide road with the temple at the top. The entrance to the valley had once been marked by structures that were presently in ruins. All that was left were broad, even levels, surrounded by enormous stone slabs and covered with trees. Walnuts, chestnuts and sycamores that were centuries old stood in their crimson autumn attire, followed by two giant cedars whose clear outlines formed a kind of gate and whose sprawling horizontal branches were so thick they screened away small rocks that fell from above.

An alley, framed by flaming gold trees, led deep into the valley. A sense of incredible light and serenity descended upon Thais. Other visitors grew quiet and spoke in whispers, trying not to interrupt the rustling of autumn leaves and the bubbling of a spring that flowed along the bottom of the valley, pouring over the edges of terraced pools in small cascades among the flat, moss-covered stones.

Mountains rose in the gaps among trees, covered with the moss of centuries and wrapped in a mysterious enchantment of ages past.

Further into the valley the rows of dark cypresses intersected with crimson pyramid poplars. The smell of heated autumn foliage and needles was simultaneously fresh, bitter and dry without any tinge of road dust. Behind them the valley broadened and spread in a pool of evening sunlight, filled with peace and warmth. Reddening crowns of oaks, elms and maples foamed among the spread of flat pine tops.

The temple of Aphrodite Ambologera resembled a fortress. The walls of gray stone protruded into the gorge, closing off the mountain peak from the west. The façade of the sanctuary with its colonnade faced the east, soaring above the plateau. It was planted generously with grapes and fruit trees. Their Pathos friends asked them to wait, then struck a bronze sheet hanging on a short chain three times and stepped through a dark narrow entrance. They soon returned with two priestesses of unquestionably high rank. They examined Thais and Eris sternly and seriously, then one of them, who was dressed in a pale gray garment, suddenly smiled. She placed her hands on their shoulders and nodded lightly to their hosts, then led the two women into the temple.

The usual silent rituals followed: evening fasting, cleansing and nighttime watch on the floor at the sanctuary’s door.

At dawn the high priestess appeared, ordered them each to eat an apple and take off their clothes, then led the two friends to the Goddess Averting Old Age, Aphrodite Ambologera. Neither the Athenian nor the black priestess had ever seen the likes of this temple.

A triangular skylight in the roof directed the bright glow of the sky towards two walls the color of helianthus petals which converged ahead in the direction of the east.

Upon the walls, bronze nails held up enormous sheets of wood at least ten elbows wide, cut from whole tree trunks. Only thousand year old trees like Lebanese cedars could possess such girth. Two goddesses were painted on them in pure mineral colors used for eternal frescoes by an artist who must have been a greater genius than Apelles himself.

The left painting, in hot shades of red earth and flaming sunset, portrayed a woman at the height of earthly fertility and health. Her full lips, breasts and hips were so filled with desire, they seemed ready to burst from wild broiling passion, pouring forth the dark blood of the Great Mother, the Queen of the Abyss. Her hands reached toward the viewer with an irresistible yearning and held a dark rose, which was a symbol of feminine essence, and a square vessel with a star with which Thais was familiar.

“Lilith,” Thais said, barely moving her lips, unable to take her eyes off the painting.

“No,” Eris replied. “Lilith is kind. This one is death.”

The priestess raised her eyebrows when she heard them, and pointed at the right wall with agitation. The Athenian sighed in relief as she saw the embodiment of her dream.

The blue color scheme blended together the sea, the sky and the low horizon. Against this backdrop the goddess’ body assumed a pearly tinge of early dawn, when large stars still shone above and the opal sea splashed against rose-colored sand. Urania walked, barely touching the ground with her bare toes, reaching up to the morning sky, wind and clouds. The face of the goddess half-turned over her shoulder, looked both into the distance and at the viewer, promising comfort with the gaze of her eyes. These were gray, like Thais’. Light shone over her forehead and between her eyebrows, emphasizing, rather than competing with, the light in her eyes.

A time-blackened incense-burner fumed on a low altar before each painting.

“Were you told of the two faces of Ambologera?” the priestess asked.

“Yes,” Thais and Eris replied in unison, remembering their evening conversation with the temple’s philosopher.

“Neither the Olympian gods nor the Great Mother herself can avert the aging of a mortal body. All things in the world are subject to the flow of time. But there is a choice. It is before you. You may burn in the last fire of serving Aphrodite. Or you may transfer this fire to the all-encompassing love, leading toward heaven, serving Urania in tireless care about the happiness of those young and old. Place something that is not necessarily valuable but that is most precious to each of you before the goddess of your choice.”

Without hesitation Thais approached Urania, unclasped the chain sash with a single star given to her by Alexander and placed it on the altar.

Eris remained motionless. The priestess of Ambologera gazed at her in surprise.

“Is there no middle path?” Eris asked.

“There is,” the priestess said. She smiled and clapped her hands three times.

Heavy panes of the wall between the paintings opened slowly. A semicircular balcony overlooked a peaceful valley with vineyards, olive trees and a field of wheat. Men and women worked hard that cool morning, growing the fruits of Gaea-Demeter. There were quite a few elderly people, gray-haired men and women in heavy garments and dark head coverings.

“Peaceful labor in the quiet and serenity of the last years of life is a noble end of a farmer,” the priestess said.

“Then there is a fourth way,” Eris said.

“Why did you come to Ambologera?” the priestess asked, spreading her arms as if to stop Eris from going back to the sanctuary.

The black priestess, majestic, proud and solemn, appeared more imposing than ever to Thais. Her blue eyes gazed at the priestess with elevated confidence, but without daunting or mocking, and the priestess calmed down.

“Why do I need the insult of another faith?” Eris asked. “You showed three paths and all three are for lonely men and women. A person leaves the community of others only after death. There must be a way of serving people not just by means of personal perfection, but by direct action to their benefit.”

“Then you did not understand the depth of the symbols you saw. The middle path gives people food to sustain them, for a farmer always has more to feed an artist and a poet and thus increases the beauty of the world. The path of Urania is for a wise and gentle woman. It can only be expressed through love and care for others. That is what a woman must always do to achieve joy in her heart.

That is why Urania is an ideal woman and that is why Plato considered her to be the most important for the future of humankind.”

“And forgot about the perils and screams of slaves who give their lives to serve like beasts of burden so that Urania’s admirers could pour their love over their equally elevated fellows.” Eris replied angrily, causing the Athenian to stare at her friend in amazement.

“No!” Eris exclaimed, leaning forward like her statue of Acsiopena. “Heavenly Love and celestial peace are not possible over the corpses of the defeated or the backs of slaves. You, people of the west, who reached the heights of philosophy and flaunting your freedom, do not see the essential error in all your reasoning. You imagine power only through murder and sacrifice. Those who are more skilled in murder are stronger and, consequently, right. Such are your gods, your heroes and you. This is a curse of the Great Mother you shall bear to the end as long as the people of the west exist. That is why the second image of Ambologera, Urania, is a lie for poets and failed lovers.”

“What of the other image?” the stunned priestess asked hoarsely.

“The goddess of Dark Eros? There is truth in her, and I used to serve her with all the passion of youthful faith. It is a good path for those filled with animal power.”

“Or those who have yet to comprehend Urania,” Thais interjected.

“Thousands of years ago, the Great Mother appeared to people in the same two images — those of destruction and creation, death and eternity. Except eternity is not available to us, and we must not deceive ourselves and each other with that symbol of our heart’s yearning. It is but a way to conceal the cruel truth of the Great Mother. We all know, and this knowledge runs deep inside us, that eternal forces of nature are always ready to destroy. And we create in our dreams — exalted and pure, or lowly and dark — a multitude of gods and goddesses to protect us from the forces of the Great Mother, as one would try to hide from a storm behind a delicate curtain. The weak plead for miracles, like the beggars for money, instead of taking action and clearing their path by their own power and will. The burden of a free and fearless man is great and sad. And if he does not attempt to load it off onto a god or a mythical hero, but carries it himself, he becomes truly godlike, worthy of heaven and stars.”

The overwhelmed priestess of Ambologera covered her face with her hands.

“There is also eternal reincarnation,” Thais dared, uncovering the Orphic mystery.

“With the payment for the past when there is nothing you can do to correct it?” Eris continued. “I was taught the notion of Karma at Eridu and I came to believe in it. That is why the fourth path is so difficult for me. I could kill everyone who brings suffering to others, and who use falsehoods to lead people into the abyss of cruelty, and who teach them to kill and destroy supposedly for the benefit of humankind. I believe there will be time, when there are more people like me, and each would kill at least ten scoundrels. The river of human generations will become cleaner with each century until it turns unto a crystal clear stream. I am ready to devote my life to this, but I need a teacher. And not the kind of teacher that only gives orders. Then I would be a mere assassin, like all fanatics. I need a teacher to show me what is right and what is wrong, what is light and what is darkness, and leave the last decision to me. Can there not be a path like that? And I need a teacher who can tell a dead soul from a living one, and who knows who is unworthy of living on this earth another hour. In order for a human being to undertake the difficult duty of retribution, he must possess the divine precision of aim. Only the highest consciousness, reinforced by a wise teacher, can avoid that which always happens when force is used blindly. A healthy tree is cut, leaving a rotten one behind. Precious seedlings of future heroes are killed, allowing more room for human weeds to flourish.”

The priestess of Ambologera dared not look up under Eris’ burning gaze. Thais approached and embraced her friend, feeling each of her muscles trembling.

“I have no answer for you, even having sampled the ancient wisdom of Eridu,” the Athenian said sadly. “Perhaps you and those like you will become weapons of Karma without being burdened by responsibility. I know little and am not very intelligent. But I feel that with people like you there would be much less grief and poison in the Ecumene.”

“I do not know where you came from, sun-scorched woman,” the priestess of Ambologera finally said. “Or who placed words into your mouth, to which I do not know an answer. Perhaps you are a messenger of the new people sent to us from the future, or perhaps you are the last of those who were left in the past. Your notions about Urania are incorrect and distasteful. Your friend will tell you that one in the position of power can do much for the sake of Heavenly Love.”

“I see you have never risen high enough.” Thais smiled. “A female ruler is more helpless than others. And this is not only because she is held back by the rules of behavior, guidelines and rituals of religion, or limited by the royal inaccessibility. She is overseen by advisers telling her what is beneficial and what is not. That is, they tell her what is beneficial for power, beneficial for accumulation of wealth, beneficial for war. Nothing is ever said about what is beneficial for the heart, your own and those of other people. You said that a woman must work for her heart. I was a queen and succeeded very little at that. I could not even save my own child from exclusively male upbringing that turns a young man into a weapon of war instead of a servant of Urania.”

Thais remembered Leontiscus and his boyish faith in beautiful Nereids, and her eyes filled with tears.

Eris said quietly, “We are used to thinking about gods as jealous creatures who would destroy perfection in people and their creations. Would a true admirer of beauty be capable of such a thing? Does that mean that a man is beyond gods? Of course not. The fact that gods were invented and had the worst human traits bestowed upon them, reflects the entire wrongness and unworthiness of our life, in which fate, of which we are weapons, takes the good ones away and protects the bad ones. We must correct this on our own, and if we cannot save the good ones we can at the least eliminate human scum, not letting them live any longer or better.”

The priestess of Ambologera stood dismayed between the two incredible women she’d met for the first time, who were so different and so alike in their inner greatness. She bowed before them, which she had never done for anyone, and said modestly, “You do not require my advice or Ambologera’s health. Please get dressed and go downstairs. I shall ask for a wise man, a friend of our philosopher. He arrived recently from Ionian and has been telling us strange things about Alexarches, Cassander’s brother.”

“Brother of a ruthless killer? What good can one expect from a man like that?” Thais asked sharply.

“Still, I think both of you need to learn about Uranopolis, the City of Heaven, the place for people like you.”

And the two friends discovered something unheard of, that had never happened anywhere in the Ecumene, not captured in the inscriptions carved in stone, in legends or in historic records. Alexarches, the son of Antipatros and the younger brother of Cassander, the ruler of Macedonia, had received a plot of land in

Khalkidhiki, at the isthmus behind Athos mountain, where Xerxes had been ordered to construct a canal once upon a time. There Alexarches founded the city of Uranopolis, thirty stadiums in circumference. Being a scholar of linguistics, Alexarches invented a special language for his citizens. He refused to be addressed as a king and assumed only the title of the High Councilor in the Council of Philosophers who were in charge of the city. His own brother, who once declared Alexander mad, now said the same about Alexarches. Alexarches then abandoned construction in Khalkidhiki and transferred Uranopolis to Pamphilia^[41]. He took with him the descendants of the Pelasges who resided near Athos. They were joined by freedom-loving Ephesians, Clazomenes and Carians.

Citizens of Uranopolis were all like brothers and sisters, equal in their rights. They proudly called themselves Uranides, or Children of Heaven. They worshiped the Maid of Heaven, Aphrodite Urania, in the same way Athenians worshiped Athena, and minted her image on their coins. Other gods of the citizens were sun, moon and stars and were also portrayed on the coins along with the more upstanding citizens. Alexarches dreamed of spreading the idea of brotherhood among people under the protection of Urania, the united love, to all of the Ecumene. First and foremost he wished to eliminate the difference between languages and religions. He wrote letters to Cassander and other rulers in the language invented for the City of Heaven. The wise man saw two of these letters, but no one could decipher them.

What she learned overturned all of Thais’ intentions.

What she dreamed of during the sleepless nights in Athens, in Egypt, in Babylon, and in Ecbatana, had come true. She felt the warm breath of the Lykean mountains. Love that did not serve jealous deities, that did not slavishly follow armies, was becoming a foundation of the city-state of Aphrodite, the daughter of Heaven, the highest deity of wisdom and hope.

She now had a goal, a place to apply her ability in inspiring artists and poets, as well as her own thoughts of reaching Urania. And this goal was so close, across the sea and to the north of the golden Bay, a mere thousand stadiums away. She was grateful to Ambologera. Without her, she would never have found out about the existence of the city from her magical dream.

A few months later, having gathered all her treasures and left Irana to be brought up on Cyprus, Thais and her inseparable friend were aboard a ship, rushing toward the broad Adalian Bay. Lykean mountains rose from beyond the horizon like heavy stone domes, covered with dazzling white snow, like a promise of purity. The ship slowly sailed around a sharp rock and they saw a small blue port with a delta of a swift river at the back. On its western shore the structures of Uranopolis, standing behind a low wall, were turning pink in the rays of the rising sun. Cypresses and sycamores rose along the streets and around the façades of modest homes. The central square was occupied by the recently finished building of the Council of Heaven, which sparkled with freshly cut white lime and a plinth of bluish stone visible from afar.

The ship docked. Thais glanced at the less than mighty walls, straight streets and a low sloping hill of Acropolis. She saw a whirlwind of visions of enormous seven and nine walled cities of Persia and Finikian coast, the cities of Egypt, protected by scorching deserts that fell before the conquerors and were pillaged and deserted. The white magnificence of Persepolis, turned into blackened ruins by her own hands.

Uranopolis suddenly seemed like a fragile altar of humankind’s heavenly dream, set precariously at the edge of the hostile world. A premonition of doom squeezed Thais’ heart with a cruel hand and when she glanced at Eris, she recognized the same anxiety in her friend’s face. The City of Heaven could not exist long, but the Athenian felt no doubt or desire to seek a safe place on Cyprus, in Alexandria, or in one of the more secluded corners of Hellas.

The City of Heaven was her dream and the meaning of her future life. If it vanished, what would remain of her, unless she gave all of herself to serve the Children of Heaven? Responding to her thoughts, Eris squeezed her hand firmly and nudged her toward the gangplank.

Thais and Eris descended onto the pier. Sailors, supervised by Roykos, carried heavy bundles and boxes with valuable offerings to the mission of Alexarches and Urania.