Thais of Athens

Chapter Three: Escape to the South

Thais thought of the stranger as she stood on the deck of her small ship. Could it be that when the life force of the people and the country weakened, the beauty became scarce as well, and those seeking that beauty went off into the distant lands? That was what had happened to Crete and to Egypt. Was it the turn of the Hellas? Her heart ached at the mere memory of the divine City of the Maiden. Corinth, Argos and now-demolished Thebes were nothing compared to Athens.

Clonaria approached Thais, stepping awkwardly across the rocking deck. “Do you wish to eat, Mistress?”

“Not yet.”

“The helmsman says Herculea is coming up soon. See? Aegina is already rising from the sea.”

“Where is Hesiona?”

“The Daughter of the Snake^[10] sleeps like her foremother.”

Thais laughed and patted the girl’s cheek. “Don’t be jealous. Go wake up the Daughter of the Snake.”

Hesiona appeared before her mistress, having quickly splashed some seawater over her face. Thais asked the Theban of her further intentions. Hesiona had begged her to take her with her, the hetaera had argued, feeling Hesiona was making a mistake by leaving Attica. In Attica she had a greater chance of finding her father because the largest slave market in Hellas was in Athens. Several hundred people were sold off its platform every day. There was a possibility she might find something about philosopher Astiochus through the traders, connected with all cities of Hellas and lands surrounding the Inner sea. Hesiona admitted that she had gone to a fortuneteller after Egesikhora’s nighttime visit. The man had asked her to give him something that had belonged to her father. Not without trepidation, the Theban had handed him a small cameo on a thin chain, which she carried in the knot of her hair. It carried the profile a skillful carver had created of her father on the surface of a greenish “sea stone”, beryllium. Her father had given it to her on her nymphean day, the day she had become old enough to be a bride. That had been only three years prior. The fortuneteller held the cameo briefly in his strange, square-tipped fingers. He had sighed and stated with certainty that the philosopher was dead, and in all likelihood the same fate had befallen Hesiona’s brother.

“You are all I have now, Mistress,” Hesiona said, stubbornly continuing to call Thais by that title, despite Thais’ objections. “How can I not follow you and share your fate? Do not turn me away. Please?” the girl begged, clinging to Thais’ knees.

“Must be fate,” Thais agreed. “But I am not a wife. Nor am I a daughter of an aristocrat, or of royal blood. I am but a hetaera, a plaything of fate, entirely dependent on accidents.”

“I shall never leave you, Mistress, no matter what happens.”

Thais glanced at the Theban, her knowing eyes twinkling with mischief. She stuck out the tip of her tongue, and the girl blushed.

“Yes, yes. Aphrodite herself fears the power of Eros, to speak nothing of us mere mortals.”

“I do not love men,” Hesiona said with disgust. “And if I fall in love, I shall kill him and myself.”

“You are much more a child than I thought judging by your body,” the hetaera said slowly, squinting her eyes at the Herculean harbor.

The little ship was expected in Herculea, since they had correctly calculated the length of their trip. Thais saw Egesikhora, surrounded by a group of soldiers, her mighty stature noticeable from afar. She waited for Thais on board the same ship that had taken her away from Athens. They departed for a three day voyage to Gitius, not far from the delta of the river Eurot. Gitius was in the heart of the Laconian harbor, where Spartan ships were constructed and equipped. Had Euriclidion continued to push them on, the journey could have been as short as two days, but southeast winds were not steady this time of year.

Egesikhora’s friend was in Gitius, assembling his big detachment. His hecatontarchus, squadron leader, was in charge of the ship. Thais didn’t like him because of his overt ogling. He was constantly trying to see through her himation. Egesikhora ordered the soldier around as she wished, not at all bothered by the sincere adoration of smaller commanders, simple spear-bearers who also served as rowers, or of the old one-eyed helmsman, whose only eye — round like that of a Cyclops — noticed everything around him. The man seemed to be everywhere. The slightest imperfection in the strike of an oar, a delay in the turn of the tiller causing a slight loss in their speed, everything caused an abrupt shout from the one-eyed helmsman, followed by a sarcastic joke. The soldiers nicknamed the man a Finikian for his wicked temper, but treated him with respect.

The waters of the Laconian gulf, smooth as the blue mirror Aphrodite had given the Swan’s daughter^[11], seemed to slow the ship as if it were sailing through thick wine. Halfway through their journey, across the Cyprus Cape, the sea turned grassy green in color. Waters of Eurot fell into the sea not far from there. It was a large river housing Sparta, the capital of Lacedemonia, at its origins, two hundred and forty stadiums from the harbor. Rocky and menacing Tyget ridge loomed on the left, a spot famous in the Hellas. This was where the Spartan elders sent newborn children in whom they found imperfections of body and health.

Thais’ ship approached the delta of Smenos with its Las pier, filled with numerous small ships. The ship passed around the wide cape, behind Gitius, the main harbor of Lacedemonia. They docked at the sound end of the harbor where the steep slope of the cape veered to the north, locking in the inner part of the harbor. Deep waters were as still as a dark mirror, even though Not, the south wind carrying rain clouds, came down in gusts and crashed against the opposite edge of the gulf. The ship’s deck ended up about four elbows lower than the

Both hetaerae were noticed instantly, dressed as they were in stunning chitons. Thais wore one that glowed yellow, and the Spartan wore black, setting off the incredible golden redness of her hair. Several soldiers ran toward them shouting, “Eleleu! Eleleu!”, led by the bearded giant Eositeus, who held out his massive arms to Egesikhora. She declined Eositeus’ assistance and pointed at the bow of the ship where four horses waited impatiently under a reed tent. The Spartans were obviously delighted when solders and two stablemen carefully led the stallions forward. The shaft pair was of that rare, snow white color called leukophaes by the Athenians, while the outrunners were leukopyrrian or reddish gold to match their mistress. All the powerful beasts rolled their eyes and twitched their ears. The combination of white and gold was considered particularly lucky since the ancient Cretans had initiated the art of making chryselephantine (gold and ivory) statues of gods.

The gangway was lowered from the pier. The first stallion in line refused to step on the bowing wood, choosing instead to leap straight across to the pier. The ship tilted from the powerful push and the second white stallion, who had tried to follow his brother, had failed to complete the jump off the deck. He was now stuck, reared up, with his front hooves hooked on the edge of the pier.

The ship began pushing away from the pier so that the gap between the pier and the side of the ship widened. In the stallion’s desperate effort to hang on, all of his muscles strained, and a large vein swelled on the side of his belly. The Spartan flew to her horse, but was beaten to it by a soldier who jumped down from the pier. When he landed on the deck, the ship tilted again and the horse’s hooves started slipping off the log, but the warrior shoved the stallion from behind with incredible courage and force, literally tossing the animal to the pier. He moved away, but couldn’t avoid the hind hooves and stumbled back to the unsteady deck. Fortunately, he rose immediately, unharmed.

“Hurray for Menedem!” the leader of Spartan’s shouted, and Egesikhora rewarded the hero with a deep kiss.

“Ha, ha! Look out Eositeus, or you might lose your chrisocoma!”

“No, that is not to be.” The leader of Lacedemonians jumped down to the deck, grabbed Egesikhora and was back on the pier with her in an instant.

The gold colored stallions were taken up the gangway and Thais remained on the deck, laughing at her friend’s attempts to free herself from the powerful arms of her lover. Menedem froze before Thais in admiration, struck by the black-haired Athenian. Her coppery tan and gray eyes were set off perfectly by her yellow chiton. The Spartan youth was dressed only in an epoxida, a short chiton fastened over one shoulder. The only sign that he was a soldier was his wide belt.

During his struggle with the horse, the chiton had fallen off Menedem’s shoulder, leaving the Spartan nude to the waist. Thais admired him openly, recalling the statue of a Spear-bearer by Polycleitus, who had also used a Lacedemonian youth as a model. Menedem’s torso, neck and legs were equally powerful as those of the famous statue. Over his extremely broad, conves chest rested solid slabs of chest muscles, barely missing the perfect arch at the edge of his ribcage. His stomach muscles were so thick that instead of narrowing at his waist, they overhung his thighs. His thigh and calf muscles bulged above and below the knees. The narrowest part of his body was at the top of his hips. Such muscular armor had easily withstood the impact of the hind hooves of the panicked horse, suffering no damage.

Thais looked into the embarrassed athlete’s face. He blushed so hotly that his small ears and childishly round cheeks turned into one crimson spot.

“Well, Menedem,” Egesikhora teased from the dock. “I doubt you can lift Thais. She is pantashilioboyon, worth five thousand bull,” she said, hinting at the price set by Philopatros on the Ceramic wall. The ancient Athenian silver coins, originally minted by Theseus, carried an image of a bull. Each coin used to equal the cost of a bull and was also called a bull. A bride in the ancient farming Athens was always paid for in bulls, which was why a daughter in the family was called “bull-bringing”. The largest ransom was one hundred bulls, hekatonboyon, approximately two minas, which was why the monstrous size of Thais’ “ransom” caused a series of surprised exclamations in the group of soldiers.

Even Menedem took a step back, and Thais burst out laughing. “Catch!” she shouted.

Instinctively, the soldier lifted his arms and the girl jumped off the stern. He caught her deftly, and she settled comfortably against his broad shoulder. But Hesiona ran after her, clutching at her leg. “Do not leave me alone with the soldiers, Mistress!”

“Take her too, Menedem,” Thais said. This was accompanied by general laughter. The athlete shrugged, then effortlessly carried both women to the pier.

Egesikhora and Eositeus spent the next day walking and exercising the horses, who were now clean and brushed despite the frequent gusts of wind and rain. As soon as the weather improved and the sun dried the slippery mud, the Spartan asked Thais to go with her to visit the capital of Lacedemonia.

The long road across the Eurot valley was famous for its easy horse travel, and two hundred and forty stadiums split into two stages weren’t much of a challenge for Egesikhora’s runners. The carriage holding Eositeus and Menedem constantly lagged behind the mad foursome. Thais was so caught up in the lightning ride to the capital, holding on tight when they roared around turns, that she almost didn’t look around.

The closer they came to the city, the more people greeted Egesikhora. At first Thais thought the exclamations and gestures of greeting were addressed toward Eositeus, a strategist and a nephew to king Agis. But people ran enthusiastically toward their carriage even when the soldiers’ carriage fell far behind. They entered a grove of mighty oaks whose crowns converged so thickly that the grove was wrapped in twilight. Dry soil had been covered by a thick layer of leaves accumulated over hundreds of years. The place had a grim feeling to it, as if it were a desert, and was called Scotita by the Spartans.

Once they had passed through the grove, the carriage headed to the city. Egesikhora stopped only once, near the statue of Dioskures, at the beginning of a straight street or alley called Dromos: Run. Spartan young men frequently used Dromos to race against each other. Passersby gazed upon the carriage in amazement, appreciating the four splendid horses and two beautiful women. While in Athens such a sight would have assembled a crowd of a thousand people, in Sparta the visitors were surrounded only by a few dozen soldiers and youths, enchanted by the beauty of the women and horses. When their companions caught up with them, they rode together into a broad alley shaded by giant sycamore trees. Shouts and greetings followed them along the way.

Eositeus stopped near a small sanctuary, built at the end of the sycamore grove. Kneeling, Egesikhora poured oil and wine for the gods and lit a piece of fragrant resin from a sacred shrub. Menedem explained to Thais that this temple was dedicated to the memory of

Kiniska, the daughter of Archidemos, who was a king of Sparta. Kiniska was also the first woman in the entire Hellas and all of Ecumene to win the tetrippa race during the Olympic games. This was a dangerous competition which required great skill with horses.

“Was she a sister of Agis? The sanctuary looks ancient,” Thais asked.

The Spartan soldier smiled childishly and a bit naïvely. “It’s not the same Archidemos who was the father of our current king, but the one from the ancient times. This was a long time ago.”

The Spartans must have seen an heiress to their heroine in Egesikhora, because they brought her flowers and showered her with invitations to their homes. Eositeus declined all invitations and led his beautiful companions into a large house with a sprawling garden. Numerous slaves of all ages ran out to tend the horses while the Spartan captain took his lover and her friend into the modestly appointed inner rooms. The girls were left alone in the female portion of the house, which was not nearly as strictly separated from the male portion as it would have been in Athens.

Thais watched her friend. “Tell me, why do you not stay here in Sparta, where you are treated like a daughter and everyone loves you?”

“That will only last as long as I have my foursome, my beauty and my youth. Then what? Spartans are poor. Even the king’s nephew has to hire himself out as a mercenary into a strange country. That is why I am an Athenian hetaera. My compatriots, it seems, became too carried away with physical perfection and military upbringing, and that is no longer enough to be successful in this world. It used to be different in the ancient times.”

“Are you saying that the Laconians traded education and mental development for physical prowess?”

“Even worse. They gave up their world of feelings and intelligence for military supremacy and immediately fell under brutal oligarchy. During endless wars they brought death and destruction to other people, never willing to give in to anyone. And now there are a lot fewer of my compatriots in Sparta than there are Athenians in Attica. Spartan women even give themselves to their slaves just for the sake of bearing more boys, but fewer and fewer are born.”

“I’m so sorry to learn of this. Now I understand why you do not wish to stay here. Forgive me for my ignorance,” Thais said. She hugged Egesikhora, and the other clung to her, the way Hesiona had before.

The Spartans didn’t want to let their charming guests go so quickly. They made them postpone their departure day after day. Finally, Thais told them her people would run off and that she needed to sort through her possessions, assembled so hurriedly before the road.

Their return trip was much longer. Thais wanted to take a good look at the strange country. Egesikhora and Eositeus took the foursome and rode ahead, leaving Menedem as Thais’ driver. They traveled slowly, sometimes turning off the main road to look at a legendary spot or an old temple. Thais was struck by the great number of temples of Aphrodite, Artemis and the nymphs. Temples of modest size were hidden in sacred groves, scattered all over Lacedemonia. The worshiping of female deities in Sparta made sense in light of the high position of Spartan women in society.

The women of Sparta were able to travel and walk alone wherever they wanted, without male chaperones. They could even take distant trips on their own. The participation of young women in gymnastic exercises, athletic competitions and public celebrations, competing alongside young men did not surprise the hetaera. She had heard about it before. She watched as local celebrations assembled not only nude young men to demonstrate their athletic skills, but also girls, walking proudly past the crowds of admiring spectators to perform sacrifices and sacred dances in temples.

All hetaerae of the highest Corinthian school considered themselves dance experts. They frequently mentored young students, or auletridae. Aristocles’ ancient thesis on dance was memorized by each of them. However, it was only in the Laconian capital that Thais saw fantastic dance performances by large groups of people right in the streets. Completely nude girls and youths danced Cariotis, a proud and imperious dance in order of Artemis, considered there to be the goddess of flawless health. She also saw them dance Lamprotera, the dance of purity and clarity. Dance Gormos was also performed, this time by slightly older people. Nude men and women spun in a circle, holding hands, representing a necklace.

The hetaera was completely enraptured by Yalkade, a children’s dance that included goblets of water. Through tears of delight she watched the rows of lovely Spartan children, full of health and self-possession. All this revived traditions of ancient Crete in Thais’ eyes, as well as the legends of celebrations in honor of Britomartis, Cretan Artemis.

The influence of the ancient religion, with its female deity supremacy, could be felt more strongly here than in Attica. In Sparta there were fewer people, but more land. Laconians could set aside more space for meadows and groves. Thais saw more herds of livestock along the way than she would have in the same space on the way from Athens from Sounion, which was the cape at the tip of Attica where they were erecting a new temple of the Blue eyed Maiden on top of the terrifying shore cliff.

Menedem and Thais reached Giteyon after sunset. They were met with wishes of long life and many children, customary wishes made during a nymphius, a marriage celebration. For some reason, Menedem became upset by them. He was about to leave the circle of his merry comrades when a small Messenian man, a hunter, appeared and declared that all was ready for the next day’s hunt. The officers cheered, from strategist Eositeus himself to the last decearchos.

A herd of huge wild boars made its home in the thicket of reeds between the Eurot and the Hellas. Their nighttime outings often inflicted significant damage upon the nearby fields and even in the sacred grove. The grove had been plowed through and through by the hungry pigs.

Hunting boars in the reeds was considered to be particularly dangerous. Because of the height of the reeds, a hunter couldn’t see anything except for the narrow paths made by the animals. The reeds stood like tall walls, seven elbows high, covering half the sky. At any time the reeds could part, admitting an enraged male boar with fangs sharp as daggers, or a furious female. The animals moved lightning fast. Frequently a dismayed hunter found himself on the ground, his legs cut by a strike of those fangs before he even realized what was happening. But a male boar wasn’t the worst. It struck and kept on running. A female pig was far more terrifying. Having overturned a hunter, she trampled him with sharp hooves and tore at him with teeth, pulling out pieces of flesh and skin. The wounds took years to heal. But something about the short, violent struggle, the unexpected excitement attracted many a brave man wishing to test his courage.

The soldiers became so carried away while discussing the hunt that both hetaerae felt abandoned. Egesikhora decided she would take the opportunity to remind them of her splendid self. Eositeus, distracted by her efforts, interrupted the discussion, pondered briefly, then made up his mind.

“Let our guests take part in the hunt,” he said “Let us be together everywhere, be it Egypt or the reeds of the Eurot.”

Menedem supported him with ardor, but the older soldiers laughed.

“It is impossible, master,” a Messenian objected. “We will only put the beautiful women at deadly risk.”

“Wait.” Eositeus lifted his hand. “You are saying that here,” he said, pointing at the map of their hunting site which had been drawn on the ground, “there is an ancient Eurot temple. It would be set on a hill, would it not?”

“It is a small bump with only a few rocks and columns left over from the temple,” the hunter said.

“Even better. And here, there is a clearing because the reeds do not grow on hills?”

The Messenian nodded and the captain immediately ordered them to change the direction of the hunt. The main hunting party would now hide at the edge of the reed thicket in front of the clearing, while both hetaerae hid in the ruins of the temple. The other group of soldiers would accompany the chasers in case the animals decided to attack. The brave men were armed with nothing more than small shields and spears. The more experienced hunters also took long daggers.

Clutching pale, reed colored himations around them, Egesikhora and Thais did their best to get comfortable. The two friends lay on the broad slabs of crossbeams which still sat upon the six low columns of the Eurot temple, with a perfect view of the clearing. They had been told in no uncertain terms that they were not to get up, not to even move when the chasers drove the boars toward the river.

They spied Eositeus, Menedem and two more hunters hiding behind bunches of dry reeds, clearly visible near the tall wall of reeds to the west of the clearing. To show their disdain for danger, the Lacedemonians were without clothes, as they would be during military exercises, and only wore greaves. Death held no fear for a professional soldier. Every Helenian was brought up with a wise and calm attitude toward death. Tombstones in Attica, in Laconia, and in Boeotia spoke of thoughtful parting, of sweet and sad memories of the departed without protest, desperation or fear. Injury, however, was worse than death to a Spartan warrior, as it deprived him of the ability to fight alongside his compatriots, the only thing a free Lacedemonian would ever want.

They heard the reeds crackle, and a huge male boar appeared in the clearing. The two women froze, reflexively pressing themselves into the stone. The beast sniffed suspiciously, turning its thick body this way and that. The boar’s inflexible neck made it impossible for him to turn his head. It was this peculiarity that had saved many hunters’ lives.

Menedem rose slowly from behind a reed-covered hummock. Lowering his left arm so that his shield covered the bottom portion of his stomach and hip, he gave a quiet whistle. The boar turned instantly and received a spear strike deep in its right side. The spear shaft snapped with a loud crack, and the boar charged. Its wicked yellow fangs snapped over the shield, and Menedem lost his balance. Stumbling backward, the Spartan fell over his head into a shallow pit. Eositeus shouted and the boar turned its left side toward him. All was over in seconds. Menedem, embarrassed and confused, reproached his commander for interfering. It would have been much more interesting to finish the animal off on his own.

Within a few minutes, the yells and clattering from the chasers attracted no fewer than a dozen large boars. The animals burst into the clearing and overturned two soldiers standing near the right corner of the clearing. They rushed toward the river, then turned and attacked Eositeus and Menedem. Menedem beat away an enraged pig; Eositeus was knocked down by a particularly large male. Gray hair bristled along its spine, spit and foam flew from its snapping, footlong fangs. Eositeus, whose shield had been knocked out of his hands by the animal’s strike, had tossed down his spear and now pressed himself into the ground, clutching a long Persian knife in his hand. The boar’s next move would be to try and toss him up with its snout in order to gore him. He pressing his huge head over the Spartan’s back and, bending its front legs, attempted to hook him with fangs. Eositeus kept shifting back, watching the monster carefully, but not getting an opportunity to deal the deadly blow.

Egesikhora and Thais watched the struggle with bated breath, having forgotten about Menedem, who was still fighting off the old, experienced pig. Suddenly Egesikhora clutched at Thais’ shoulder. The boar was pushing Eositeus toward a bump in the hummocky soil, and there was only a small distance left. Then the strategist would have nowhere to go …

“Ai-i-i-i-i-i-i!” Thais screeched, her voice piercing like that of a witch. She clapping her hands and leaned forward from the stone slab.

The boar dashed to the side to seek out its new enemy. That instant was sufficient for Eositeus to grab the boar’s rear leg and bury the knife in its side. The boar broke free — only Hercules or Theseus could have held such giant in place — and charged Thais.

The famous dancer possessed the reaction of an Amazon and managed to roll backward, falling on the other side of the stone slab. The boar slammed against the stone, making two deep, bloody tracks in the colorful lichen. Eositeus picked up his spear and hopped over to the beast, already dying from the wound. He struck one more blow, finishing the fight.

Victorious shouts came from the left. Eositeus’ and Menedem’s comrades had finally subdued their animals, and Menedem had managed to kill the pig. The Spartans gathered together, wiping off sweat and dirt, and praising Thais, who had escaped with nothing more than two large bruises after her rocky fall.

The chasers had already passed the thicket in front of the clearing, and the drive headed to the north, toward the junior officers. Four hunters from the group in the clearing decided to go toward the Eurot in order to wash up and swim after the battle while the servants pared the meat and cooked it for the evening feast. Eositeus lifted Thais onto his broad and scratched shoulder and carried her to the river, accompanied by a playfully jealous Egesikhora and a sincerely glum Menedem.

“Watch out, Eositeus. Have you warned our beauties of the Eurot’s dangerous properties?” Menedem shouted to his captain, as the latter walked briskly with his lovely cargo. Helenians loved to carry women they admired. It was a sign of respect and noble intentions. The strategist didn’t reply until he had lowered Thais to the ground at the riverbank.

“Egesikhora knows that the Eurot originates from under the ground,” Eositeus said. “At its upper reaches, near Phenius in Arcadia where the Nine Peaks are, there are ruins of the city called in honor of pelasgus Licaon, son of Callisto. There is a chasm of terrifying depth at the foot of the nine peak mountain Aroania, where snow lies even in summer. The river Styx falls from the chasm in a small waterfall and crashes on the rocks. Its waters are deadly to all living things and can dissolve iron, bronze, lead, tin and silver, even gold. The Styx’s black waters run through the black rocks, then turn bright blue where the rocks become colored with black and red stripes: colors of death. The Styx falls into the Cretos, then into our river, where it dissolves and becomes harmless. However, on certain days known only to the oracles, the waters of the Styx do not mix with those of the Eurot. They say you can see the difference. On those days the Styx water shimmers with rainbow colors, like old glass. He who spends time in that water will meet aoria, untimely death. That is why swimming in our river can cause trouble sometimes.”

“And what of you all? Do you dare?”

“I swear by the killer of Argos, we do not even think of it,” Menedem said, catching up with them. “For if we did, we should all meet aorotanatos, early death.”

“Then why do you frighten us?” Thais reproached the Spartans. She untied a ribbon under the heavy knot of her hair and the black waves fell across her back and shoulders. As if in response, Egesikhora let her golden tresses down and Eositeus slapped his hips in delight.

“Look, Menedem, how lovely they are side by side. Gold and black. They should always be together.”

“And so we shall be!” Egesikhora exclaimed.

Thais shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. I have yet to arrange my naulon, the price of my journey to Egypt, with Eositeus. I don’t have nearly as much silver as they gossiped about in Athens. My house there was quite expensive.”

“Serves you right, settling near Pelargicon,” Egesikhora scolded. “I told you …”

“What did you call it?” Thais chuckled.

“Pelargicon. A slope of cranes. That is what Lacedemonians jokingly call your Pelasgicon at the Acropolis. Let us go up the stream. I see a willow grove there.”

Willows were particularly revered by hetaerae as they were trees dedicated to such powerful and deadly goddesses as Hecate, Hera, Circe and Persephone. Willows played an important role during the mysterious moonlit rituals of Mother Goddess. The trunks of the old trees hung low over the water, bathing their branches in the light swift stream, as if surrounding the deep backwater with a curtain.

Thais, having tied her hair back into a tight knot, swam toward the opposite shore, leaving her friend behind. Egesikhora wasn’t as good a swimmer, so she was more careful around water.

White water lilies, nenufars, covered the deep pool near the shore, their leaves flooded with noon sun. Thais had loved nenufar thickets ever since childhood. She thought they seemed to be hiding some kind of a secret in the dark deep waters. Perhaps a dwelling of the beautiful river nymphs, a delicate precious vase, or a sparkling shell. Thais had taught herself how to dive and oh, how she loved to go deep down under the lilies and admire the small columns of sunlight piercing the dusky water. Then she would suddenly burst through the water into the blinding heat, surfacing amidst the floating leaves and flowers, laughing at the rainbow winged dragonflies hovering above them.

Now, as she had in her childhood, Thais came up among the lilies. She found a crooked tree trunk at the bottom with her foot and stood on its slippery bark with her arms spread wide over the leaves. She looked around, enjoying the quiet. The babbling of the stream over the pebbles and branches was the only sound breaking the scorching silence of Boedromion, the last month of summer. The pretty green and gold birds had long since had their babies and taught them how to fly. Black bee-eater nests could be seen in the overhang of the riverbank. The bee-eaters themselves, swift, colorful and sharp-nosed, sat in a row on a dry branch, warming themselves after the nighttime chill.

“Soon, very soon, they will fly south, to Libya, where they come from every year,” Thais thought. “And I shall sail there even sooner.”

She glanced around the quiet pool, warm in the beating sun, admiring the silvery green leaves of the old willows. She noticed two halcyons, or kingfishers, their bright blue wings fluttering over a fallen tree.

As a child, Thais had lived near a small river. Sweet memories came to her, ran through in a bittersweet wave of sad joy, then flew away. Bright and dark life experiences. She had come to know the limitless sea, its power and might, as well as the sea of human life. But the young hetaera was not intimidated by it. Instead, filled with energy and confidence, she was drawn further away to Egypt, the ancient country of wisdom and mystery to all Helenians.

It took her awhile to find Egesikhora. She swam along a channel that looked like a dusky corridor made of trees, their arm-like branches woven tightly above and found the Spartan settled comfortably in a curve of a thick tree. Her beautiful hair hung on both sides of the tree like a cover of golden silk. Her white skin, so carefully protected from tan, had a milky opal glow to it, possessed only by the true chriseides, the gold-haired women. Thais, who was tanned in the face in the Attica fashion, and had the Cretan raven black hair, climbed out of the water on the dark shade of the channel, looking like a sun scorched dweller of southern countries.

“Enough laying around. They are calling us, can’t you hear?” Thais said. She started crawling toward her friend’s feet, her fingers curled like claws.

“I am not scared,” the Spartan said. She shoved Thais with her foot so that Thais tumbled off the tree and into the water. Egesikhora, too, rolled off the trunk with an indignant yelp.

“My hair! I was drying it!” she cried, and fell into the deep pool.

Both hetaerae swam to the shore, got dressed and helped brush out each other’s hair.

The swim, having brought back childhood memories for Thais, had also prompted a surge of sadness. No matter how alluring the distant lands may seem, leaving her home country was difficult.

The Athenian turned to her friend. “Tell me. Would you want to return to Athens now, without any delay?”

Egesikhora squinted one eye in amusement. “Are you mad? I’ll be captured as soon as I am seen.”

“We could dock at Freato and ask for the judges to come there,” Thais said, reminding the Spartan of an ancient Athenian tradition. Every exile or fugitive could dock near Pyrean harbor, where there was a well, and there he could defend himself from his ship. The place was considered sacred, and even if the fugitive was found guilty, he could not be captured as long as he stayed on his ship.

“I do not believe in the sacredness of this tradition. Your compatriots became traitorous over the last few centuries, after Pericles,” Egesikhora replied. “I am not planning to go back anyway. And you have nothing to worry about. My Spartans will take you as far as it takes.”

Thais’ concerns that she would not have enough silver to pay for her journey turned out to be groundless. After Egesikhora intervened, Eositeus allowed her to take all her servants and promised to deliver her not to Naucratis, but to Memphis, where the detachment of Spartan mercenaries was to settle in the former Tyrrean stratopedon, a military camp.

Thais had absolutely no problems with sea sickness. She would remember enate phtinontos, the ninth day of the departing Boedromion, for the rest of her life. It was the day when the ship of strategist and sea captain Eositeus came to the shores of Crete. They sailed without stopping at Citera, directly across the Ionic Sea, taking advantage of the last few weeks of the pre-fall calm and steady west wind. Lacedemonians have always been excellent seafarers, and the sight of their vessels struck terror into the hearts of all pirates of the Cretan Sea. The ships passed the western edge of Crete and sailed around the Cold Cape, also known as Ram’s Forehead, at the southwest of the island, where ancient demons were still rumored to dwell in the dark woods. The woods covered the entire island, which seemed to consist solely of mountains looming nearly black in the distance, dotted white from lime outcroppings near the shores.

Eositeus’ ship entered the wide Midland Gulf, open to all south and west winds. Not one, but three ancient cities were situated above it, and the oldest one, Phestes, could rival Knossos, with its foundations sinking into the darkness of ancient times. Before sailing to the Beautiful Harbors where they would stock up on water before the long voyage to Egypt, the ships docked at Matala. They would remain there for several days.

Dark, rounded ledges on tree-covered mountain slopes descended toward the water. They were separated by moon-shaped cut-outs of sunny harbors filled with glittering foam and rolling mirrors of transparent water. The glorious blue of the open sea turned purple near the shores of Crete, then to green at the edge, where it splashed indifferently over the black lime pits and caves.

Blue mist of the plateaus hid the ruins of huge structures of unimaginable age. Giant, thousand year old olive trees grew through cracks in foundations and between staircases shattered by earthquakes, seeming to emerge from out of the gigantic slabs of stone. Powerful pillars, widening toward the top, still supported porticos and loggias; the entrances of long forsaken palaces stood gloomy and menacing. Sycamores and cypresses rose high above everything, overshadowing the remains of the walls, where the surviving crossbeams protected the frescoes. There, human figures were still visible in bright and delicate colors.

When she was near one of the better preserved buildings, Thais followed a vague feeling and ran up the still-intact steps of the upper platform. There, in a circle of cracked columns with dark stains was traces of a long-extinguished fire. Under the roof slabs, which were arranged like steps, was a round basin. Beautifully set slabs of marble lined by green veins made up the upper edge of the deep pool. Water trickled through porous lime, blocking the outlet of a spring, thus becoming filtered and acquiring a particular transparency. It then flowed down a pipe which had sustained a consistent water level in the pool for many centuries. The bright blue of the sky was visible through an opening in the center of the roof, turning the sacred water blue as well. This basin had been intended for the ritual cleansing of priests and priestesses before approaching the images of the awe inspiring deities: the Great Mother and the Earth Shaker, Poseidon, who had destroyed the Cretan kingdom and its great people.

Thais thought she sensed a strange smell. Perhaps the stones of the basin still held the aroma of the healing herbs and oils for which Crete was once so famous. The walls of the pool had absorbed forever the fragrance of the sacred cleansings, performed here for millennia. Thais dropped her clothes and lowered herself into the barely rustling water, as if to get in touch with sensations once experienced by her distant ancestors.

Egesikhora’s worried exclamation returned her to reality. The Spartan girl found herself overcome by a vague fear, brought on by the imperious ruins of unclear and unknown purpose. Thais got dressed and hurried to meet her friend.

Egesikhora paused, then beckoned her companions. She stood before an image of a woman in a pale blue dress, her thickly curled black hair flying in the wind. Her large eyes held an open and mischievous expression beneath thin lines of proud eyebrows. She had a straight nose, slightly longer than a typical Hellenic one and with a somewhat lower bridge. Her peculiarly shaped mouth combined sensuality with a childish outline of a short upper lip, protruding slightly over the lower portion of her face.

Egesikhora looked from the fresco to Thais, then hugged her friend’s unusually slender waist with her hands and pulled back the folds of her chiton. The Spartans clapped their hands in delight. If not a sister, then certainly a close relative of the woman in the fresco stood before them, incarnated in Thais.

A strange feeling of worry penetrated Thais’ heart. Death, from which this Cretan woman had temporarily escaped in a fresco, was too ancient. Those who had built these palaces, painted portraits of beautiful women, danced with bulls and sailed the seas had long since descended into the underground kingdom. Thais hurried back into the sunlight, towing her quiet companions and Egesikhora behind her, feeling as if she had had a glimpse into something forbidden.

On the southern shore of Crete sun showered the earth with bright, blinding light, but the air did not possess the divine transparency it did in Hellas. Bluish mist overshadowed the distant horizon, and the heat seemed meaner and stronger than at the shores of Attica.

A band of stone tiles, sunk into the soil and half overgrown with dry grass and lichen, stretched from the ruins across a gently rolling plateau. At the end of that ancient road, where it vanished into a valley, stood an enormous boulder with tall bull horns carved into it, as if one of Poseidon’s underground bulls tried climbing to the surface. It reminded people they were but temporary dwellers of Gaea. They walked over the shifting soil, while invisible forces nested beneath their feet, strengthening and preparing for terrible cataclysms.

Long shadows fell from the horns and stretched toward Thais, as if trying to grab her between their tips. This was probably how the sacred spotted bulls of Crete had aimed their horns at the young girls during a performance of the ritual dance. The hetaera quickly walked between the two strips of shadow, heading to the sunlit top of the second hill. There she halted and looked around.

Her entire being was overwhelmed by the realization that the land of her ancestors was the world of the dead. Their souls had been wiped away by time, taking their knowledge, skill, feeling of beauty, faith in gods, songs and dances, myths and fairy tales into the dark kingdom of Hades. They hadn’t left behind a single tombstone, the way Helenians would have, asking the best sculptors to capture the lifelike enchantment, dignity and nobility of the departed. Looking at them, their descendants attempted to emulate their ancestors or even surpass them. Thais could never forget the marvelous tombstones of Ceramic, dedicated to young women much like herself. She remembered the hundred year old monument of Gegeso, capturing the image of the young woman and her slave. But there were no Necropoli here. Closed in on their island, inaccessible to anyone in those days, Cretans did not pass their spiritual treasures onto other people.

Godlike children of the sea, they had hidden their island behind the curtain of naval might, never fearing the attack of barbaric nomads. Thais did not see any reinforcements, and none were ever described by travelers. Beautiful palaces were built right near the harbors. Rich cities and warehouses that were both wide open to the sea and unprotected from the land spoke clearly of the power of the sea people.

The impossibly beautiful Cretan art never portrayed military heroics. Images of victorious kings, tortured victims, tied and humiliated prisoners of war were absent from these palaces and temples.

Instead, the art was of nature: animals, flowers, sea waves, trees, and people walking among them, primarily women. Ritual sacrifices and bull games, strange animals never seen either in Hellas or on the shores of Finikia were all portrayed in these frescoes. The sophistication of their taste and perception of beauty amazed

Helenians, who considered themselves to be above all people in the Ecumene.

The delicate paintings were full of joy, light and purity of color. There were statues of women, animals and domestic pets, amazing seashells made of ceramic, but no mighty heroes, swinging swords or raising heavy shields and spears.

Where else in the world was there a country that dedicated all of its art to the harmonious connection between people and nature, and above all to women? Powerful, ancient, existing for millennia … Did they not know of the simple law of gods and destiny? They ought not to have been tempted by a lengthy period of flourishing, for it would surely be followed by retribution, the terrible interference of underground gods. So the gods punished the children of Minos for forgetting the sort of world in which they lived. The splendid palaces crumbled, the writing remained unread, and the delicately painted frescoes lost their meaning. Alien tribes had moved to the island, warring among themselves and all others. They felt the same toward the true dwellers of Crete as the barbarians from Hyperborean woods felt toward Helenians and their Pelasgoan ancestors.

The Spartans walked behind the thoughtful Thais, not daring to break her reverie.

Could it be that the sun-filled beauty, created and assembled in Hellas, would vanish in Erebus, like a glittering flow into an unknown chasm? And what of the Egypt she tried so hard to reach? Would it too become a kingdom of shadows, dissolving in the new life like a memory of the past? Did she act rashly by leaving Hellas? Well, the way to Athens was not yet closed. She still had her house there and …

Thais never finished the thought. With a careless toss of her head, she ran down a small path, weaving between rocky outcroppings, not heeding her surprised companions. She stopped only when she saw the harbor with its peacefully rocking ships. Soon the great sea would separate her from all things beloved that were left in Hellas. The person closest to her would be Egesikhora, the friend of her half-childish dreams and grownup disappointments, the companion in her success.

The helmsman said there were four thousand stadiums to the shores of Libya. Then they were to sail another thousand along the shore to Naucratis. With good wind that would make a ten day trip. The Egyptians would transport them on a different set of ships, sending them up from the great delta of the Nile. There was no fewer than a thousand stadiums from Memphis up the river.

Aphrodite Euploa, the goddess of sailors, was unusually merciful to Thais. Weather akin to the clear halcyon days preceding autumn equinox was rare for the end of Boedromion. The ships were in the middle of the broad and noisy sea when suddenly the stillness was replaced by a weak and scorching Not. The rowers were exhausted because of having to row against the wind, and Eositeus ordered a respite till evening, saving the energy of his warriors. He purposely hadn’t brought slaves with them, ensuring the ships could carry his entire large detachment.

Smooth waves rippled over the blue surface of the sea, dissolving into a blue mist in the distance, rocking the motionless ships like ducks on a windy lake. A hot wind, weak but steady, blew from Libyan shores, bringing the breath of savage desserts two thousand stadiums away to this place in the middle of the sea. The same distance separated the ships from Cretan shores.

Egesikhora was terrified, peering into the midnight gaps between waves, trying to imagine the terrible, unmeasured chasm of the sea depths below. Thais glanced at her friend mischievously, the latter feeling so hot she had lost her usual look of a victorious goddess. People sprawled lazily under a tent on the deck. The stronger and more impatient ones stood under the woven willow mats fastened above the sides of the ship, trying to find some coolness in the breath of the Libyan Not, under whose light push the ships slowly retreated to the north.

Eositeus sat in his armchair at the stern, grim and unhappy about the delay. His assistants lay around him on reed mats, like simple soldiers.

Thais beckoned quietly to Menedem. “Can you hold an oar for me?” she asked, then explained to the puzzled athlete what she wanted to do.

Menedem pulled the huge oar deeper into the rowlock so the paddle was perpendicular to the board. Under the surprised glances of everyone on deck, Thais shed her clothes and walked along the external trim. She held onto the woven mats, then stepped onto the oar and paused there as she got used to the rhythm of the waves. Then she suddenly pushed away from the board. With the skill of a Finikian tightrope walker, Thais balanced on the oar, ran to the end with small steps and jumped into the sea, vanishing into the depths of a slick dark wave.

“She is mad!” Eositeus shouted, while Hesiona dashed to the board with a desperate scream.

Thais’ black head, tightly wrapped in a traditional ribbon of a Lemnian hairstyle, appeared at the top of the way. Rising from the water, the hetaera blew a kiss to the Spartans and burst out laughing.

Eositeus, forgetting everything, rose up in amazement and went to the board, accompanied by Egesikhora. “What is this?” he cried. “Is your black-haired Athenian a daughter of Poseidon himself? But her eyes are not blue.”

“There is no need to seek descendants of gods among us mortals,” the Spartan girl said with a laugh. “You saw her mysterious likeness with those who abandoned Cretan palaces a thousand years ago. Her ancestral blood came alive in her through the Cretan mother. Cretan Nearchus told me they weren’t at all afraid of the sea.”

“We Spartans are skilled in the art of the sea beyond all other people.”

“But not beyond Cretans. We fight the sea, are wary of it, avoiding its cunning arms at all costs. Cretans are friends with the sea and are always ready to be with it, whether in joy or in sadness. They understand the sea like a lover instead of studying it like an enemy.”

“And Nearchus told you all this? I heard rumors that you two have exchanged the oath of the Three-faced Goddess. He discarded you like a useless toy and sailed off into the sea while you were left to weep on the shore. If he and I ever meet …”

The chief of soldiers didn’t finish, his words frozen by the hetaera’s darkened gaze. She lifted her chin, her nostrils flaring, and suddenly ripped off her head wrap, tossing the mass of her golden hair over her back. The moment she lifted her hands to the fastenings of her chiton, Eositeus knew her intentions and tried to stop her.

“What are you doing, mad woman? You swim worse than Thais.”

“But I will still follow her, trusting the Cretan instincts, considering that none of my brave compatriots seem to overcome their fears. They seem to prefer gossip, much like the Athenians.”

Eositeus flinched as if from a whip, cast a furious gaze upon his lover and barreled overboard without another word. The Spartan’s huge body fell awkwardly into the gap between waves, making a dull and loud splash. Thais, who had observed the scene between her friend and the chief, glided under the waves to help Eositeus. She realized that the Laconian chief, while he was an excellent swimmer, didn’t know how to jump from a great height into the rolling sea.

Eositeus, stunned and rolled over by a wave, felt someone nudge him from the depths. Once on the surface, he found himself on the crest of a rising wave. He breathed in, then saw Thais’ merry face bobbing nearby. Annoyed by his own clumsiness, and stung even more by the thought of the great swimmer Nearchus, the Spartan pushed away the hand offered by the Athenian hetaera. He finally regained his confidence and started swimming away with increasingly powerful strokes. With a battle cry, dozens of soldiers followed their chief from his and other ships.

“Get her!” the soldiers shouted. They gathered into a chain and surrounded Thais like a legendary Nereid. The Athenian swam farther and farther away, gliding lightly while the soldiers chased awkwardly after her.

Eositeus, having cooled down in the sea, became an energetic leader once again. “Stop her! The imp will drown all my warriors!” he yelled, rising above water and making energetic gestures signaling Thais to return.

She understood and turned back, swimming directly into the semicircle of Spartans trying to catch her. Accompanied by their victorious cries, Thais found herself in a tight circle of her pursuers. Dozens of arms reached for her from all directions.

Suddenly, the hetaera vanished. The soldiers dashed this way and that, diving after her here and there, but Thais, who dove the deepest, managed to swim a quarter of a stadium underwater and appeared far beyond the line of her pursuers. While they turned and gained speed, the Athenian was already near the ship, clutching at the rope tossed to her from above.

Menedem pulled her up to the deck, much to the disappointment of the “hunters”. To add to their embarrassment, many of the swimmers were so exhausted by the chase and the struggle with the waves that they too had to be lifted up to the ships. Eositeus, tired and out of breath, but no longer angry, climbed up a rope ladder and walked to Thais. She was being wrapped and dried by Hesiona, using an Egyptian sheet.

“I ought to have left you in the middle of the sea,” the Lacedemonian exclaimed. “I swear by Poseidon, I will give him this sacrifice next time.”

“Are you not afraid of a revolt?” Egesikhora asked, defending her friend. “Although I am quite certain she will ride there on a dolphin and get there faster than we. Ah, there they are,” the Spartan said. She pointed at the spots of foam accompanying the glistening black bodies of the dolphins. They had been attracted by the game of their human brothers.

“Where did she learn to swim like that?” Eositeus grumbled. “And to walk the oar in the wind? That is harder than tightrope walking.”

“We were all taught the art of balance at the hetaerae school in Corinth. You can’t perform the dance of sacred triangles without it. As for the swimming, you cannot learn that. You have to be born a Nereid.”

Hesiona carefully massaged her mistress’ head and gently reproached Thais for tempting the fates. “How is it that you weren’t afraid to appear nude in front of such assembly of soldiers, Mistress? They were chasing after you as if you were a dolphin!” the girl declared, glancing around as if afraid of another attack.

“When you are surrounded by so many genuinely strong and brave men, you may rest assured that you are perfectly safe,” the hetaera replied with a laugh. “They are, after all, Helenians and Spartans to boot. Remember that. It will come in useful. And besides, remember that men are usually more shy than we are. We are much braver when following tradition, while they become embarrassed.”

“Why Spartans in particular?”

“Because Spartans are hymnophiles. They love nudity, like Thessalians. That is in contrast to hymnophobes like you, the Boeotians and the Macedonians. In this case, Spartans are as much in contrast with my fellow Athenians as Aeolians are to Lydians in Ionia.

“I have read about Aeolians. They even refer to the month of Munikhion as Pornopion.”

“In fairness, most Helenians do not consider clothes to be a sign of good manners. And Spartans and Thessalians have adopted the laws and tradition of ancient Cretans. In their case, appearing nude at feasts and celebrations was a privilege of the highest aristocracy.”

“That must be where the legend about tekhinas comes from. The legend of the demons of seduction that still live on Crete and in the wilder corners of Ionia.”

“Perhaps. I think that in Egypt, nudity was initially the lot of servants and slaves. In Ionia it was the right of the strong. On Crete it was the privilege of royalty and aristocrats, and in Hellas of gods. Let’s go into our cubbyhole. I want to rest after my swim. Clonaria shall rub me down.”

“Me, Mistress, let me!”

Thais shrugged and nodded. Still wrapped in a sheet, she headed to a tiny compartment under the deck designated for her, Egesikhora and their female slaves.

While rubbing Thais down with fragrant oil, Hesiona returned to the earlier topic. “Who are Egyptians? Are they hymnophiles or not?”

“They are hymnophiles, and the most ancient ones of all people. Have you heard of Aphrodite of Knid?”

“The one sculpted by your compatriot Praxiteles?”

Thais nodded against her pillow. “He created two statues of Aphrodite from the same model, hetaera Frina. One was dressed in a peplos and the other was nude. He displayed them both for sale at the same time. The dressed one was purchased by the stern rulers of the island of Cos, and the nude one was bought for the same price by citizens of Knid. They placed her in an open alter, in the glow of yellowish pink marble of her body. They said that Aphrodite herself descended to the temple from Olympus and, upon seeing the statue, exclaimed, ‘When did Praxiteles see me naked?’

“The transparent surface of the statue gave it a peculiar glow, surrounding the goddess with a sacred aura. For many years poets, artists, military commanders, craftsmen and farmers filled the ships going to Knid. Aphrodite of Knid is revered more than that of Cos, and her image is minted on coins. One king offered to forgive all debts of the island in exchange for the statue, but the citizens refused.

“Praxiteles’ fame was shared by his model, hetaera Frina. The grateful Helenians placed a statue of her made of bronze and covered with gold leaf, at the staircase leading to the temple of Apollo in Delphi. Such is the power of divinely beautiful nudity. You need never be afraid of hymnophiles. They are true people.”