Thais of Athens

Chapter Four. The Power of Animal Gods

There were many Helenians in Memphis, which the Egyptians called a Scale of Both Lands. Thais came to love the city. It was one of the oldest ones in the ancient land, located at the boundary between Delta and the Upper Egypt. Memphis was far enough away from the rainy winters typical down the Nile, as well as from the scorching summers of the southern part of the country.

Memphis Greeks, especially the young ones, were excited by the arrival of two beautiful women from Athens. Poets, artists and musicians tried to capture Thais’ heart, dedicating poems and songs to her or begging her to become their model, but the Athenian appeared everywhere either with Egesikhora or accompanied by the shy warrior, whose appearance discouraged any potential challengers.

The regal Spartan hetaera tied her destiny firmly to that of the chief of the Laconian mercenaries, and was interested in nothing but him and her incredibly swift horses. A woman driving a tetrippa had never before been seen in Memphis. Young Egyptian women revered Egesikhora almost as if she were a goddess, seeing in her the embodiment of the freedom they themselves didn’t possess even if they lived in the most aristocratic of households.

Thais sometimes agreed to perform at symposiums as a dancer, but she usually left as soon as the company turned rambunctious from the sweet Abydos wine. More often than not she left Memphis to visit other famous cities and temples, rushing to acquaint herself with the country, whose many legends and tales had attracted Helenians since childhood. Thais surprised both Egesikhora and Hesiona, who continued to consider herself Thais’ slave, by not being in a hurry to acquire a wealthy lover. She preferred to spend money on trips instead.

Mnema, mother of all muses, added wonderful memory to the gifts bestowed upon Thais by Aphrodite. Memory, which absorbed all details of the world, inevitably bred curiosity akin to that possessed by Hellenic philosophers. No matter what new and unusual things Thais encountered in Egypt, so different from the Greek world, her first impression acquired during the voyage up the river and during the first days in Memphis didn’t change.

One of the brightest memories of her childhood kept returning to Thais. Her mother had taken her to Corinth to dedicate her to the temple of Aphrodite, and bring her to the hetaerae school. Weather had been hot in the city, which sprawled at the foot of a huge mountain. Little Thais became thirsty while she and her mother climbed to the top portion of Corinth. She remembered the long, narrow gallery leading to a sacred spring, famous in all of Hellas. A light breeze blew inside the shaded gallery, while the noonday sun showered everything outside of it with a sea of light and heat. Cool, clear water burbled gently ahead, under a round roof supported by double columns. Further away, beyond the water basins, a reflected line blinded the eye at the foot of a steep slope. Heat and the smell of scorching rock surface was stronger than the moist breath of the spring.

The gallery of water and greenery that was Egypt stretched between two flaming deserts for tens of thousands of stadiums — a colossal distance compared to the small Hellenic states. It was all gardens and temples, temples and gardens, fields near water, and endless necropoli along the outside edge of this band of life. Like cities of the dead with countless tombs. There were no tombstones here, but rather homes for the departed. For the wealthy and important citizens, the homes were the size of a regular house, while those for the poor and the slaves were the size of a dog house.

Three royal tombs were utterly striking: the pyramids with their titanic Sphinx, seventy stadiums down from Memphis. Thais had heard much about the pharaohs’ tombs, but until she saw them, she could never have imagined their true magnitude. The pyramids were geometrically perfect mountains dressed in mirror smooth stone tiles, set together so tightly that seams between the stones were barely noticeable. During the morning hours each of the large pyramids reflected a vertical pillar of rose colored light into the gray sky. As the sun rose, the mirror sides of the stone giants burned brighter, until each pyramid turned into a star — a focus of four blinding streams of light stretched across the desert to the four points of the world. At sunset broad columns of red fire stood above the tombs of the pharaohs, piercing the purple evening sky. Below them, the outlines of the god kings of the Black Earth (as Egyptians called their country) burned like sharp fiery blades. These incomparable structures seemed to be the work of titans, although knowledgeable people assured Thais that the pyramids had been built by common slaves.

“If a man is frequently and severely beaten,” a priest from Heliopolis told her, grinning cynically, “he will do anything that might seem incomprehensible to his descendants.”

“These are the largest structures in Egypt. That means people here were beaten harder than anywhere else,” Thais said, her voice lowered with menace.

The priest glanced at her sharply then pursed his lips.

“Do Helenians not beat their slaves?”

“Of course they do. But those who do have a bad reputation.”

“Are you trying to say, woman …” the priest started.

“I am not trying to say anything,” Thais objected quickly. “Each country has its own tradition, and one must live there a long time in order to understand them.”

“Then what don’t you understand?”

“The great complexity of power. In my country everything is simple. You are either free or a slave. If you are free, then you are rich or poor, famous for arts, or knowledge, or military and athletic prowess. And here, every free person is a tiny step higher or lower than the next. One is allowed something, the other less, and the third person nothing at all. Everyone is filled with jealousy, everyone bears a grudge. It seems that everyone is a slave locked in a big cage between two deserts. I haven’t met many people here who have visited other countries of the Ecumene. Although, it is fair to say I haven’t been here very long.”

“You are observant, Helenian. Even too much so,” the priest. He spoke Greek with light clicking, allowed a threat to slip into his words. “I will leave you now.”

Egyptian temples struck Thais by their sharp contrast with those of Hellas. Each Greek temple, with the exception of perhaps the most ancient ones, stood in an elevated spot, open, graceful and light, as if it were about to take off into space, sea and sky. Statues of goddesses, gods and heroes drew admirers to themselves with their miraculous beauty. The boundary separating gods from mortals seemed thin, almost unnoticeable. One could believe that gods leaned forth in order to better hear the prayers addressed to them, and were about to step off their pedestals, as they did in those legendary times, when they bestowed their attention upon all people — from farmers to warriors, instead of just priests.

Temples of Egypt were gloomy, squeezed between thick walls and rows of massive columns. They were covered by inscriptions and a multitude of pictures and signs. Each sanctuary hid its visitors from the vastness of earth and sky, from wind and clouds, flowing creeks and splashing waves, from human songs and voices. Dead, menacing silence reigned in the temples, as they descended unnoticeably underground. Dying light faded with each step, and gloom grew thicker. It was as if a visitor descended into the darkness of past centuries. While only a thin boundary separated mortals from the dwellers of the light-filled peak of Olympus in Hellenic temples, here one felt but a step away from the kingdom of Hades, where the souls of the dead have long since wandered in the dark.

This sensation of the endless night of death oppressed the young woman. Thais hurried away, toward light and life. Temples and palaces were guarded by frighteningly identical statues of lions with human or ram heads. The image of the Sphinx, a terrible female strangler from Hellenic myths, took on a male gender in Egypt and became a favorite symbol of strength and power. Not only the Sphinx, but all Egyptian deities, including the most important ones, wore animal and bird guises, combining human and animalistic features. Thais had seen Egyptian amulets, statuettes and jewelry before, but had always thought Egyptians used the images of animals only to express a particular purpose of a talisman or a knickknack. As it turned out, it was rare for the gods to wear fully human guise. More often the faithful bowed before half-people, half-beasts and birds, sometimes grotesquely ugly, like the hippopotamus-like Tueris.

Hippopotami and crocodiles disgusted and frightened Thais. Revering them as deities seemed unworthy to the Athenian. The others were just as unattractive: Anubis with the head of a jackal, Tot with a long beak of an ibis, mean lioness Sekhmet, Hathor the cow, and Khnum the ram. Huge statues of birds of prey: kite Ra and hawk Horus, looked much more imperious as they were portrayed in the ancient times.

The complex hierarchy of gods remained just as confusing to the Athenian, as did the multitude of honors and titles and the complicated ladder of Egyptian societal relations. Each moderately sizable city was overseen by its own god. Large temples which owned wide lands and multitudes of slaves also gave their preference to one of a score of gods. Deities changed and lost their supremacy many times over the millennia.

The thing that continued to surprise Thais the most was the animal likeness of the gods revered by people, whose wisdom and secret sciences were so admired by Helenians. She knew that the great scholars of Hellas: Solon, Pythagoras and Plato, all studied in Sais. Herodotus, too, acquired a wealth of knowledge in Egypt. If this were so, then how could citizens of Egypt bow before monsters like crocodiles, which were senseless and disgusting creatures? Could they not express the essence of a deity by some other means rather than setting the head of a jackal or a kite onto a human body? Had the Egyptians not been such skilled artists, one might think they didn’t know of other ways to express the divine spirit.

Soon Thais saw a living god: sacred bull Apis, the embodiment of Ptah. He was the main god of Memphis. Using twenty-nine signs, priests had found Apis among thousands of bulls, grazing peacefully in the meadows of the country, and honored it like a god till death. Then they found a new embodiment, while the dead one was embalmed akin to the other living god, the Pharaoh. Mummies of sacred bulls were buried in a huge temple named Serapeyon, which was guarded by hundreds of stone sphinxes.

One could trace many generations of bulls by the tables inscribed on the walls of their burial chambers. There were so many bulls from ancient times that Serapeyon was already half-filled with sand.

Adoration of a black bull with a white spot on its forehead still flourished in Memphis. Local Greeks tried to humanize the cult of Apis by merging it with Osiris, under the name of Serapis.

Hellenic religion had long since departed from the primeval animal worship. Even on Crete, whose age was almost equal to that of

Egypt, the giant sacred bulls were only honored as symbols of Poseidon. They were killed as sacrifices at the altars and on game platforms. In Egypt, however, Apis was considered a real god, just like the loathsome crocodile or the reed cat howling in the night.

None of this sat well with the deep faith that was such a huge part of the particular wisdom of Egyptians. The Athenian had dared to express her doubts to the high priest of Ptah during a feast by the Helenian admirers of Serapis. In the heat of argument she hadexpressed her disgust rather harshly toward Sebek, the crocodile god. In Corinth, she had been brought up in the spirit of respect toward religions of eastern countries. But the years of living in Athens had left in her the disdain to all things alien and incomprehensible to Helenians.

Thais had no idea how dearly she would have to pay for the uncharacteristic expression of Athenian supremacy over the rest of Ecumene.

She convinced Egesikhora to go to the White Antelope settlement up the Nile, so that they could see the second wonder of the world described by Herodotus: the Egyptian Labyrinth. Her friend flatly refused, but Thais set off anyway, accompanied by Hesiona and her faithful Menedem, whose captain had given him permission following Egesikhora’s request.

It was a brief trip, only four thousand stadiums up the river, and another hundred up a canal toward the famous lake Merida. During that time of year the canal and that branch of the river filled with silt, and the way became impassable. Thais and her companions had to leave the ship behind and make their way through shallow waters in a light boat, maneuvering between reeds. Fortunately, the true bane of Egyptian rivers and lakes — mosquitoes — were absent in the fall.

The translator they had hired specially for the trip was a Greek man from Memphis. He glanced around nervously, saying there were many zukhoses living in the vicinity of Crocodilopolis since time immemorial. These were the huge, living embodiments of the god Sebek, some of them as long as thirty elbows.

Naïvely, Menedem asked why the dreadful monsters hadn’t been killed off in all that time. This was when he discovered that if crocodiles, especially young ones, get stuck in the silt and die during sudden decreases in water levels, their bodies were embalmed. Scores of crocodile mummies were stored in special rooms of the Sebek temple in Crocodilopolis, in the ancient Hetep-Senusert, and even in the Labyrinth.

Despite the oarsmen’s best efforts to deliver the visitors to the Labyrinth sooner so they could examine it before dark, they arrived there only at midday. Foreigners were not allowed to spend the night here, on sacred land. Instead, they could stay at xenon, an inn eight stadiums to the north, on the same strip of land which connected the river and the swamp housing the Labyrinth and two pyramids.

A learned priest from Herculeopolis told Thais the Labyrinth had been constructed by Amnemkhet the Third as a burial temple for himself. Based on the priest’s calculations, the great pharaoh had died four hundred years before the destruction of Knossos and the reign of Theseus in Athens. That was six centuries before the Trojan war and fifteen hundred years prior to the birth of Thais herself.

The usually bold hetaera entered the endless suite of rooms of the Labyrinth with some trepidation, even though the white pyramid to which it was attached was only half the size of those in Memphis. A huge corridor divided the Labyrinth into two halves. Its walls were decorated with marvelous frescoes whose bright colors hadn’t faded a bit after fifteen centuries. There were no usual canonical figures of gods and pharaohs accepting gifts, killing their enemies or beating their prisoners. Instead there were scenes from everyday life, painted with incredible liveliness and delicacy: hunting, fishing, bathing, grape harvesting, tending livestock, dancing and celebratory gatherings with musicians, acrobats and wrestlers.

It was as if Thais had been transported into the Egypt of that period, captured by a talented artist who was following a request from a wise king.

Though they were weary, Thais, Menedem and Hesiona wandered from one hall to the next, winding between the white columns covered with relief images in the usual Egyptian style. They strolled through ornate corridors, through rooms decorated with friezes and ornaments of incredible beauty: blue zigzags, white and purple patterns that looked like carpets woven of thick threads, and even more complex colorful frescoes. Their tired eyes refused to make out the interconnections of spirals, curlicues of wheels with twelve spokes, miraculous lotus flowers with red petals and long stems. Cleverly made cuts under the stone slabs of the ceiling let enough light into the upper rooms of the Labyrinth that they could do without torches.

According to the interpreter, exactly the same labyrinth of lower rooms corresponded to the upper portion. That was where the sacred crocodile mummies were kept, and that was where the particularly interesting ancient sanctuaries were located, painted with the images of extinct animals such as giant hyenas and unicorns. The attendant who took them around the Labyrinth did not show them the lower portion, explaining that there was an ancient rule against letting foreigners there.

Daylight was fading and the halls and corridors were beginning to darken. It was time to make their way out of the thousand-room structure. The priest led them toward the exit, and the tired visitors happily followed him. Not far from the main northern staircase, where reddish evening light trickled through the broad slots in the walls, Thais paused to examine a relief of a young woman carved in yellowish stone.

It had been done with skill unusual even for Egypt. Dressed in a delicate, transparent garment which was tied in a knot under her bare breasts, the woman held an unknown musical instrument. Her face, surrounded by a thick net of schematically drawn hair, bore unquestionably Ethiopian features as well as a sense of nobility the likes of which Thais had not seen even among the most aristocratic Egyptian women.

While the hetaera pondered to which people the ancient musician might have belonged, her companions walked ahead. A light touch to her bare arm startled her from her reverie. A woman in a common white linen stole, a long dress of sorts, stepped out of a dark portal.

Behind her stood a priest in a necklace of blue ceramic and golden beads. He nodded his closely-cropped head and whispered in broken Greek, “Down, you can go, I’ll lead.”

Thais approached the woman, nodded and turned around to call Menedem and Hesiona because they were already at the end of the gallery. But she wasn’t able to raise her voice before strong hands grabbed her from behind, shoved a rag into her mouth to stifle her shouts, and carried her off. Thais fought desperately, but more hands grabbed at her and tied her with strips of her own torn clothing. Eventually she gave up, letting them drag her along without resistance.

The kidnappers must have known the way well. They ran swiftly into the pitch dark, not needing the torches. Weak light scattered the gloom ahead. She detected the scent of wet grass and water. The kidnappers finally pulled the suffocating rag from her mouth and dragged her to the stone wall. Dark, still water glistened in the last rays of sunset, no further than half a plethor away. Having regained her ability to talk, Thais demanded to know what her kidnappers wanted of her, asking in both Greek and broken Egyptian. But the six male figures, whose faces she couldn’t distinguish in poor light, remained stubbornly silent. The woman who had lured Thais in was gone.

The Athenian was propped against the wall, freed of ropes and whatever had been left of her clothes. Thais tried to defend herself, but when she did, she received a punch in the stomach that left her breathless. The kidnappers untangled the jingling object they’d brought with them: thin but strong belts with buckles similar to horse tack. They tied Thais’ wrists to the rings that were built into the wall at chest level, wound the belts around her waist and ran one of them between her legs to a bracket behind her back.

Not understanding, the hetaera started asking again, demanding to know what they were planning to do with her. One of the people came closer to her. By his voice, Thais recognized the priest who had been with the woman and spoke some Greek.

“My brothers ordered to place you — you who spoke heresy in a public forum — before the face of our god. We will let you know his might and bow before him during your last hour.”

She was aghast. “What god? What do you speak of, scoundrel?”

The priest did not reply. He turned his back on her and said a few words to his companions. All six approached the water, knelt and raised their arms. Thais understood only one thing from their loud incantations, pronounced in a singing fashion, like an anthem, “Oh, Sebek … come and take …” but that was enough.

Sudden realization made her go numb. She panicked, yelling hoarsely and weakly, then stronger and louder, screaming for Menedem, or anyone outside of the influence of these dark figures who knelt at the edge of water in a solemn prayer.

The priests rose. The one who spoke Greek said, “Yell louder so Sebek will hear. He’ll come sooner. You will not be tormented by a long wait.”

There was no mocking in the priest’s words, no gloating. Thais was overcome by utter hopelessness. It would be just as useless to beg for mercy, threaten or try to reason with these people, as it would be to ask the same of the frightful beast they served, half-animal, half-fish with absolutely no feelings. The priest studied his victim one more time then made a sign to his companions and all six departed without a sound. Thais was left alone.

She pulled forward, felt the unbreakable strength of the belts and bowed her head in desperation. Her hair covered her body and Thais was startled by its warm touch. For the first time in her life she experienced the terror of death. The closeness of her unavoidable demise turned her entire world into a tiny cluster of hope. Menedem! Menedem! He was an experienced and fearless warrior, and a passionate lover. Surely he wouldn’t leave her to the fates.

Thais could see fairly well in the dark. She looked around carefully and realized she was tied at the foot of some statue in a semicircular opening at the end of an underground hallway which led to a lake or a small arm of the river. Another giant statue was visible on the right, one of two colossal, seated statues, rising thirty elbows above water, not far from the pyramid. Thais realized that the gallery opened to the northwest, not far from the northern entrance. A small fire of hope sparked in her heart, then grew brighter and warmed her up. It was immediately dulled by the weight of terrible danger as soon as the Athenian realized there were three thousand rooms in the Labyrinth. While it might have been possible for Menedem to find where she was, it would take a lot of time. By that time the monstrous zukhoses would have ripped her into pieces and vanished in the reeds.

Thais pushed and pulled, trying to break free of the bonds, all of her young flesh protesting against her upcoming death. The tightly buckled belts sobered her, cutting painfully into her skin. Clenching her teeth, she swallowed back her sobs and started looking around again, searching for a way out.

The floor of the wider portion of the gallery sloped gently toward the narrow band of wet shore. Two thin pillars supported the overhang of the roof, making it impossible to see the sky. Apparently the portico was open to the water, but why were there no steps?

Suddenly primeval terror shot through Thais as he realized what this sloping floor at water’s edge was for.

“Menedem! Menedem!” Thais screamed as loudly as she could. “Menedem!”

She grew cold, remembering that the creature to whom she was intended would also be attracted by her cries. She stilled, hanging against the belts. The stone was icy against her back, and her legs grew numb.

When the last glint of sunset died in the black water, Thais lost track of time.

She thought she heard a weak splash in the pitch blackness of the reeds, somewhere at the edge of the shimmering reflection of the stars. A dull roar, similar to a cow’s mooing, sounded over the swamp. Distant and not loud, still it was revolting with its peculiar hidden threat, sounding different from any other animal sound to which humans were accustomed. Shivering and clenching her fists, Thais summoned all her power to keep the dark fear from overcoming her. The courage of her bull-fighting ancestors was limitless, as was that of the Amazons, untamed by wounds. She thought of the Athenian women who were as strong as Leanna, the lover of a famous Athenian revolutionary and tyrant slayer, Aristogeyton.

Except they had all fought with their hands free, in an honest battle. All except for Leanna, who had been tied like Thais, but did not give in to people who abused and misrepresented the law.

But here in the loneliness and cold silence of the swamp, waiting for a monster, Thais struggled against her bonds, fighting until she felt defeated. She leaned against the cold stone in a near faint.

The night was silent. No more splashes could be heard from the swamp.

Thais came awake from a cramp in her numb legs. How much more time had passed? If only she could see the sky above, the movement of constellations. Shifting and flexing, she managed to restore circulation, then froze in position when she thought she heard careful, slow steps in the underground gallery behind her.

Blood rushed into her head and joyous hope flushed through her. Menedem? But no. Would Menedem slink around, pausing after each step? No. He would rush in like an enraged bull, crushing everything in his way.

Not knowing what else to do, Thais let out another loud scream over the nighttime swamp, then listened again.

What was that? A barely audible response? Thais held her breath.

No, nothing.

And what of the steps from behind? The lower portion of the statue concealed the gallery entrance. Thais listened again and realized there was no one in the passageway: the sounds came from the swamp and echoed in the dungeon.

Oh, the great Aphrodite and Zeus-protector. It was a footfall of heavy paws over silty earth, beyond the pillars of the portico leading to the lake.

Slow and uneven slurping was interrupted by long pauses. Then a crested back came up next to the shore, its huge tail still in the water. Two eyes, sunken under the bony eyebrow bulges, lit up like dull red lights. The endlessly long body, undulating left and right in rhythm with the steps of its widely spread feet, crawled upon the narrow bank so slowly that sometimes the monster seemed motionless. There was a peculiar hissing sound, the sliding of a heavy body over damp soil or wet stone. The little red lights vanished, obscured by the opening maw almost three elbows wide, and framed by mighty white teeth.

Despite her terror, Thais noticed the crocodile didn’t open its lower jaw, as most animals did when opening their mouths, but lifted the top portion of its head instead, obstructing its own field of view. That was why the red lights of its eyes vanished for a moment. Oh, if only the belts hadn’t been holding her in place, she would have known exactly how to slip away from the giant zukhos.

The crocodile snapped its mouth shut and the red eyes returned, their cold, indifferent gaze upon her. The crocodile didn’t rush as it peered into the gallery, but seemed almost to pause as if it were studying Thais. Many times in its life it had devoured victims at this spot, tied and helpless. The zukhos pulled its belly up from the silt with a loud squelch, rising slightly on its powerful, stubby legs. Thais knew the disgusting creatures moved quickly on solid ground. All it had to do was cross a short distance now, only slightly longer than its own body.

Thais screeched at such a pitch that the monster settled back onto its belly and suddenly turned right. Just then Thais heard a sound that almost made her sob. It was the smacking of running feet on dirt, overshadowed by a menacing man’s voice.

“Thais, I am here!”

“Menedem!”

For a moment his silhouette flickered in front of the entrance between the puzzled monster and its intended prey. Menedem peered into the dungeon. Thais called to him, her voice sounding as if it came from a nightmare. In the blink of an eye the Lacedemonian was at the foot of the statue, yanking at Thais’ belts with all his might. After the first, the belt on her left hand popped apart. At the second powerful tug, the right belt pulled the ancient bronze ring out of the wall but managed to stay whole. Menedem became even more enraged and tore the third belt like a bit of thread.

Thais was free. She fell to her knees with a sudden rush of weakness while Menedem spun toward his monstrous enemy. He had no weapon and was covered in mud head to toe, having left his clothes behind so he could run faster. The soldier’s rage was so great that he took two steps toward the monster with his bare hands spread out, as if he were about to strangle a mad dog.

Another pair of feet splashed over the mud and a reddish band of light spread over the water along the bank. The light became brighter, and Hesiona, half-dead from the mad dash and terror, froze at the portico, holding up her torch. Seeing the monster, the girl screamed in horror. The crocodile paid no attention to her, having now focused its gaze upon Menedem. The torch in Hesiona’s hand shook and she fell to her knees, just like her mistress.

“Light!” Menedem barked.

In the flickering light of the torch Thais saw the bulging muscles on the Spartan’s broad back, his stubbornly tipped head and his feet firmly set against the stone floor as he glanced around, looking for something with which to meet the monster.

Suddenly Menedem made a decision. In one jump he pulled the torch out of Hesiona’s hands and shoved it at the zukhos, causing it to back away. Menedem tossed the torch back to Hesiona, but Thais, who had risen to her feet by then, caught it. Menedem yanked at the wooden pillar of the portico, causing it to crack, then pushed as hard as he could. Finally, the old, dry wood gave in and everything happened all at once.

The crocodile moved at Menedem, who struck it in the snout, but the monster didn’t back down. Instead, it opened its jaws and rushed at the soldier. That was exactly what Menedem was waiting for. He shoved the pillar into the giant reptile’s maw with all his might, not even noticing as he ripped the skin off his palms. He fell, not able to remain standing while he stopped a twenty-five elbow zukhos, but managed to push the free end of the log toward the pedestal. The crocodile rammed the pillar into the immovable stone, thus shoving the wood even further into its own mouth. Terrible strikes of its tail shook the gallery, thrashing close enough to crush Hesiona. One strike broke the second pillar of the portico and the roof came crashing down, saving Hesiona from certain death. The crocodile fell on its side, convulsing, then dragged itself back to its feet and slithered back into the swamp, creating an entire fountain of mud with its tail.

Menedem and Thais stood shivering, unable to speak. Then Thais remembered and ran to Hesiona, lying prone at the entrance to the dungeon. She was covered in sticky mud, shielding her face and ears with her arms. The moment Thais touched her, Hesiona leaped up with a scream, but when she saw it was her mistress, and that Thais was unharmed, she threw herself into Thais’ arms.

Menedem took their hands. “Let’s go,” he said. “This is an evil place. The zukhos might return, or another one might come in its place. Or the priests …”

“Where do we go? How do we get out of here?” “The same way I got here: along the shore, around the temple.” All three walked quickly over the mud and under the Labyrinth’s wall. Soon the strip of shore widened, the soil turned dry and made for better footing. But Thais’ strength was exhausted, and Hesiona wasn’t much better off. Realizing it would be dangerous to stay there, Menedem put out the torch and picked up both women. He tossed them lightly over his shoulders and, in a steady trot, ran away from the menacing bulk of the Labyrinth, heading toward the glimmering light of the House of Pilgrims, which had long since been converted into a xenon, or an inn.

They had to wash before arriving at the xenon. To avoid attracting attention, Thais, dressed in nothing but her sandals and a mane of her long hair, hid behind palm trees. Menedem and Hesiona washed quickly near a wall and brought her clothes from the luggage delivered to the xenon in advance by their guides. The Greek interpreter vanished, frightened both by Thais’ disappearance and by Menedem’s rage.

While Hesiona smoothed medicinal ointment over Thais’ wounds, she told Thais how they had come to find her in that horrible state. After a fruitless search in the upper rooms of the Labyrinth, the Spartan had grabbed a priest. He had smacked the man against the column and promised to cripple him for good if he didn’t explain how the Helenian woman could have disappeared. He demanded to know where he should search for her, and was able to extract a suggestion that Thais had been taken by those who served Sebek. Those worshippers left the intended sacrificial offerings in the dungeons which had access to the lake, in the western part of the sanctuary. If one circled the Labyrinth from the lake and went left from the main entrance, he could find the passageways into the lower level galleries. Without losing a moment, Menedem had torn off his clothes to make it easier to run through water and rushed along the massive walls of the temple. There was nowhere for him to get any weapons, and had left his with their boatmen to avoid violating the rules of the temple. Someone shouted that he ought to take a lantern, but Menedem was long gone. Behind him, Hesiona grabbed two torches in their bronze holders, touched one to the flame of a niche lantern and dashed after Menedem, running as light and swift as an antelope. She ran in the gathering dark, finding her way by the gloomy wall on the left turning from west to south.

Thais kissed her faithful Hesiona. Menedem received an even more tender reward. Bunches of medicinal herbs were tied to his bleeding palms, making his hands look like claws of the same zukhos that nearly killed Thais.

The Spartan soldier kept glancing with concern at the Labyrinth. It stood tall in the distance glowing in the first rays of sunrise. Guessing his thoughts, Thais said, “There is no need, darling. Who can find the scoundrels amidst three thousand rooms, passages and dungeons?”

“And what if we bring Eositeus’ entire detachment?” he snarled. “We shall smoke them out of there like desert foxes out of their dens.”

“What for? We foreigners who eat beef are unclean in the eyes of the Egyptian people. We will do nothing but commit a great sacrilege at their sanctuary. Those who are guilty will run away, if they haven’t already. The punishment, as always, will befall those who don’t know anything and had nothing to do with this. I am the first to blame. I ought not to have argued with the priests, expressing Hellenic disdain toward foreigners and their religion. I should also be more careful traveling around temples filled with traps, mean people, and terrible deities that still demand human sacrifices.”

Menedem touched her arm gently, his gaze tender. “I am finally hearing words of sense. I wish you’d said this earlier, my beloved. You haven’t danced for us in over a month and have abandoned horseback riding since we got here.”

“You are right, Menedem. Dancing and riding demand constant exercise, otherwise I’ll turn as bulky as Tueris.”

“Tueris!”

Menedem imagined Tueris, an obese Egyptian goddess, sitting on her fat hind legs with an impossibly huge flabby belly and an ugly hippopotamus head. He laughed for a long time, wiping tears from his face with the back side of his bandaged hand.

In Memphis Thais was greeted by news from the east. A battle between Alexander and Darius had taken place at the Issus River on the Finikian side, and the Macedonians had emerged victorious. The great king of the Persians turned out to be a coward, running away from the front lines, leaving behind all his possessions, his tents and his wives.

Alexander continued to head south across Finikia, taking one city after another. Everything and everyone fell before the victorious hero, the son of gods.

Rumors flew ahead of the Macedonian army. Wealthy merchants who escaped the seaside cities appeared in Lower Egypt. They formed a union and bought ships to sail to the distant Carthage. The Egyptian envoy, Mazakhes, is terrified, and the impostor pharaoh, Hababash, ordered the Spartan mercenaries to be ready. A squadron was dispatched to Bubastis, where there was unrest among the Syrian soldiers.

The admirers of the young Macedonian king saw in him deliverance from the Persian rule. They hoped he would offer his powerful arm to support the weak son of the rightful pharaoh, Nektaneb, who had been crushed by Darius some years prior.

Egesikhora, flushed with excitement, told Thais in secret that Nearchus was in charge of Alexander’s fleet, and that his ships were at Tyre. The ancient Byblos, with its famous temple of Lebanese Aphrodite or Anachita, gave up almost without delay, as did Sidon. Everyone said Alexander was bound for Egypt. Eositeus was glum and held long meetings with his associates, after which he dispatched a messenger to Sparta.

Thais glanced at her friend inquiringly.

“Yes, I love Nearchus,” Egesikhora answered the unspoken question. “He is one of a kind, the only one among others.”

“And what of Eositeus?”

Egesikhora formed a finger gesture, used by hetaerae to indicate indifference toward an admirer. “This one is no better than others.”

“Are you waiting for him?”

“Yes,” Egesikhora admitted.

Thais thought about that. Alexander would be accompanied by Ptolemy. According to the rumors, Ptolemy was now among the best army commanders of the Macedonian king, and nearly the closest of his associates, save for Hephaestion. Ptolemy! Thais’ heart beat faster. Her friend, watching her expression, was no less observant.

“What of Menedem?”

Thais didn’t answer, trying to understand her own feelings. She was bewildered by memories of the past, the confusion of the last year in Athens, and something altogether new that came with the selfless love of the Laconian athlete, trusting as a child and courageous as a mythical hero.

“You can’t decide?” Egesikhora teased.

“I can’t. I know only one thing: it’s either one or the other. I could never lie.”

“You have always been that way. That is why you shall never have great wealth, like Frina or Thero. You don’t need it anyway. You simply don’t know how to spend money. You don’t have enough whims or imagination.”

“That much is true. I can’t seem to come up with things to impress my competitors or admirers. But it’s easier when…”

“Yes, Menedem is not rich. As a matter of fact, to put it simply, he is poor.”

Thais was faced with her lack of wealth and its difficulties, when she decided to buy a horse. A rare dappled gray mare was up for sale. She was from Azira, and of a Libyan horse breed supposedly brought in by the Hicsos. The horses from Azira were renowned for their stamina against heat and lack of water. The horse’s name was Salmaakh and no one could claim she was beautiful. Her coat was ash gray and while her front pasterns were overly long, her hind quarters sagged. However, that would mean a softer gait for a rider. Not even a hint of white in the corners of her eyes — a sign of mean temper — deterred the prospective buyers. When it became known that Salmaakh was a triabema, meaning she possessed a peculiar “three footed” trot, she was immediately purchased by a Tanisian merchant for a good price.

Thais liked the slightly wild Libyan, and Salmaakh must have recognized in the Athenian woman that strong, calm and kind will to which animals are so sensitive, especially horses. Thais was able to get the horse in exchange for the chrysolite, the very same that was intended for Aristotle to help fine Hesiona’s father.

Menedem found a panther’s hide to cover up the horse’s flanks, blanketing the small sweat pad used by the riders who wore greaves, or narrow Asian pants. This she rode barelegged, like ancient women of Thermodont. Without the hide, riding Salmaakh would have inevitably ruined her calves. When riding in hot weather, horse sweat could cause inflammation and ulcers on human skin.

The soft hide of a predatory cat was pleasant to the touch but made riding difficult. Thais’ Amazonian posture, riding with bent knees and heels resting nearly over the horse’s kidneys, demanded great knee strength. The rider stayed in the saddle by squeezing the upper portion of the horse’s torso between her legs.

The slippery panther hide forced her to double her efforts during a gallop, but Thais didn’t mind that. In fact she was rather pleased about it. After two weeks of agony, the iron grip of her knees had returned, for which her Paphlagonian riding teacher called her a true daughter of Thermodont.

While it was true that Salmaakh’s trot was soft, Thais preferred to dash about at a gallop, competing against Egesikhora’s frenzied foursome, flourishing in the dry Egyptian climate. The main roads around Memphis were always crowded by slow donkeys, carts, processions of pilgrims, and slaves carrying heavy baskets. The women were fortunate enough to discover a sacred road leading south along the Nile, only barely covered by sand here and there. The sand-free sections stretched for hundreds of stadiums, and Egesikhora reveled in mad speed rides. When Thais opted to ride her Salmaakh, Egesikhora took Hesiona into the carriage with her.

The fourth year of the hundred and tenth Olympiad was drawing to a close. The season of fifty day west wind came to Egypt, the breath of ferocious Set, drying the earth and alienating the people.

Previously unfamiliar with the wind of Set, the Helenians continued their rides. Once they were caught in a red cloud, as hot as a furnace. Sand devils twirled and danced around them. When it grew dark, Egesikhora’s frightened horses reared up against the wind. The women barely managed to subdue the stallions. It was only after Hesiona jumped off the carriage and bravely grabbed the two pole horses by the reins, helping Egesikhora turn them north toward the city that they were all right. Salmaakh remained completely calm, obediently turning her back to the storm and trotting softly next to the carriage, its bushing screeching from the sand.

The horses gradually calmed and ran more smoothly. Egesikhora rode amidst the noise and whistling of the wind, passing through dust clouds like Athena the warrior maiden. They reached the spot where they frequently stopped, by a half-ruined memorial temple, where the road went around a dark chasm. Thais was the first to notice an elderly man lying against the white steps, wearing a long, linen Egyptian garment. He hid his face within the bend of his right elbow and covered his head with his left arm, breathing heavily. The Athenian hopped off her horse and leaned over the old man with concern. They gave him a bit of wine with water, and he was able to sit up. Much to the two friends’ surprise, the old man explained in a perfect Attic dialect that he became ill from the dust storm and, not knowing where to get help, he decided to wait it out.

“Most likely I was waiting for my own demise, considering that Set’s wind always blows with all the stubbornness of its god,” the old man said.

Three pairs of strong female hands managed to get him into the carriage, Hesiona mounted Salmaakh behind Thais, and all four made it to Memphis safely.

The old man asked them to take him to the temple of Neit near the large park on the river bank.

“Are you a priest at the temple?” Egesikhora asked. “But you are a Helenian, despite your Egyptian garb.”

“I am a guest here,” the old man said and beckoned Thais to him with an imperious gesture. The Athenian obediently rode up to the steps.

“Are you the Athenian hetaera who was thrown to the crocodiles but escaped? What are you looking for in the temples of Black Earth?”

“Nothing. Not anymore. I was hoping to find wisdom, much more satisfying to the soul than philosophizing about politics, war and knowledge of things. I heard all that back in Attica, but I am not seeking to wage war or found a polis.”

“And you found nothing here?”

Thais laughed disdainfully. “They revere animals. What can one expect from people whose gods have yet to become human?”

The old man suddenly straightened his back and the expression in his eyes changed. Thais felt as if the stranger’s gaze penetrated the depths of her soul, ruthlessly uncovering secret thoughts, hopes and dreams she had thought to be well hidden. But though she was startled, the Athenian was not afraid. Despite the multitude of impressions and acquaintances, there was nothing shameful or unworthy in her short life, no underhanded actions or mean thoughts. There was only Eros, the joy of knowing she was always beautiful and desirable, and an acute curiosity.

She returned the old man’s piercing gaze, her gray eyes fearless. He smiled for the first time.

“According to your own understanding, you deserve a little more knowledge than Egyptian priests could give you. Be thankful to your name that they even stooped to talking with you.”

“My name?” the hetaera exclaimed, “Why?”

“Do you not know that you bear an ancient name for a daughter of Hellas? It is Egyptian and means ‘the land of Isis’, but came by way of ancient Crete. Have you heard of Britomartis, the daughter of Zeus and Karma? You remind me of her portrait.”

“You speak so well, Father. Who are you and where are you from?”

“I am from Delos, a Helenian, a philosopher. But look, your friend is barely holding back the horses, and Salmaakh is dancing on the spot.”

“You even know the name of my horse?”

“Do not be naïve, child. I have not yet lost my hearing, and you have addressed her at least twenty times.”

Thais blushed, laughed and said, “I would like to see you again.”

“I also feel that is necessary. Come any day early in the morning, when Set’s ferocity weakens. Come in under the portico, clap your hands thrice, and I shall come to meet you. Haire!”

Gold and white horses raced along the endless palm alley toward the north part of the city. Salmaakh, relieved of her double load, galloped merrily along. Thais gazed upon the lead colored water of the great river, sensing that the meeting with the old philosopher would be an important one for her.”

Egesikhora was curious as to why her friend had become so interested in a weak and insignificant old man. Hearing of Thais’ intentions to resume her “temple wandering”, as the Spartan called it, she stated that Thais was asking for trouble and would get it eventually. She asked Thais if she should complain to Menedem to keep her from going to the temples, or ask him to stop rescuing her the next time she is thrown to a lion, a hippopotamus, a giant hyena or some other deified monster? But that wouldn’t help. Despite his menacing appearance, the athlete was but soft clay in the hands of his beautiful lover.

Egesikhora was right, but meeting the philosopher peaked Thais’ curiosity. She went to the temple of Neit the next day, as soon as the red tinges of dawn appeared in the lead colored sky.

The philosopher, or priest as may be, appeared as soon as the claps of her little hands sounded in the shade of the portico. He was dressed in the same white linen garment that distinguished Egyptian men and women from all other city dwellers.

For some reason, he was glad of Thais’ visit. He signaled for her to follow him, and she did without question. They headed down a passageway on the left, the thick wall of which was made of enormous stone slabs and lit by no more than a narrow crack up above. The tiresome howling of the wind was inaudible here, and Thais walked amidst calm and seclusion. She noticed bright light ahead, and eventually they entered a square room with window openings as narrow as slits. There wasn’t even a taste of dust in the air, as there was in the rest of the city. The high ceiling was painted with dark colors, creating an impression of a night sky.

Thais looked around. “Egyptians build so strangely,” she said.

“Built,” the philosopher said, correcting her. “It was a long time ago. They weren’t aiming for perfection, but took great pains to create the mystery of seclusion, the enigma of silence and the secret of the unexpected.”

“Our temples, wide open and bright, are a hundred times more beautiful,” the Athenian objected.

“You are mistaken. There is a mystery there too, but not the same as the one that descends into the dark of past pages. That is the one of being one with heaven. It is with the sun during the day, and with stars and moon at night. Have you never felt enlightenment and joy among the columns of Parthenon or under the porticos of Delphi and Corinth?”

“Yes, yes.”

Rolls of papyrus and parchment sat atop massive boxes, along with writing slates. The center of the room was occupied by a large, wide table. Five point stars and spirals were painted in bright blue against the gray stone table top. The Delos philosopher led the Athenian to the table and sat her down on an uncomfortable Egyptian stool across from himself. The philosopher was silent for awhile, his intense gaze focused upon Thais. Strangely, a sense of calm filled her entire body. Thais felt so well that her entire heart was drawn to the serious, unsmiling and reticent old man.

“You surprised me by your remarks about the animal gods of Egypt,” the philosopher said. ‘What do you know of religion? Have you been initiated into any mysteries?”

“Never. I don’t know anything,” Thais said, wanting to be modest before this man. “I have been a hetaera since I was young and haven’t served at any temple other than that of Corinthian Aphrodite.”

“Then how do you know that gods become elevated along with man? That means that one searches for the divine within himself, and such statements could put you into much danger.”

“You shouldn’t consider me so smart, wise man. I am simply…”

“Continue, my daughter. I do not have children, but I feel drawn to call you that. This means there is closeness between our souls.”

“As I studied the myths, I noticed how the gods of Hellas gradually became kinder and better from the ancient times through to our days. Artemis, the huntress and assassin, became a healer. Her brother Apollo, who began as a ruthless executioner, a jealous killer and a greedy man, is now a glorious giver of life, revered in gladness. My goddess, Aphrodite, used to stand with a spear in ancient temples, like in Athena. Now Urania brings sacred, heavenly love to people,” Thais said and her cheeks flushed.

The philosopher-priest gazed upon her even more gently, and Thais grew bold.

“I have also read Anaxagoras: his teachings about Nus, the universal intelligence, the eternal struggle between the two opposing forces of evil and good, the closeness and the enmity. And Antiphontus, who taught that all people were equal and warned Helenians against disdain toward other people …” Thais hesitated, recalling her own mistakes, for which she had nearly paid with her life.

The philosopher guessed what she was thinking about. “And you yourself couldn’t overcome that disdain,” he said. “And for that you ended up with the crocodiles.”

“I could not and will not accept the ridiculous worship of gods in animal shape: the hideous hippopotami, the disgusting zukhoses, the stupid cows and senseless birds. How can wise people and good people with common sense…”

“You have forgotten, or rather may not know, that the Egyptian religion is several millennia older than the Hellenic one. The deeper you go into the ages, the darker things were around man and his soul. This darkness was reflected in all of his feelings and thoughts. Countless beasts threatened him. He didn’t even understand destiny the way we Helenians do. He believed his every moment could be his last. The animal gods, trees, rocks, creeks and rivers passed before him in an endless parade. Some of them vanished, but others survived to our days. Has it been long since we, Helenians, worshiped rivers, so important in our water-poor country?”

“But not animals.”

“Trees and animals, too.”

Much to Thais’ surprise, the philosopher-priest told her about the cult of sacred cypresses on Crete, related to Aphrodite. She was struck most by the ancient worship of the goddesses in the shape of horses. Demeter herself, or Cretan Rhea, was portrayed with a horse’s head in the temple of Figaly near the river Neda in Arcadia. The sacred mare possessed particular powers at night and was considered an omen of death.

Neither the philosopher nor Thais could suspect that more than two thousand years after their meeting, a scary dream would still be referred to as a “night mare” in one of the most widely spread languages in the world.

The mare goddess morphed into a three-faced goddess-muse. Her three guises corresponded to Thought, Memory and Song. Only later, when female deities retreated before the male ones, that the three-faced Muse became Hecate. When that happened, the maiden muses increased in number to nine and became a retinue of Apollo, lord over the muses.

Thais stared at her teacher, mesmerized. “Now I understand why the ancient names of nymphs and Amazons were Leukippa the white mare, Melanippa the black mare, Nikippa the victorious mare and Ainiippa the mercifully killing mare.”

The philosopher nodded. “And later, when the animal deities lost their meaning, the names changed. There was Hippolita during the time of Theseus, and Hippodamia, the mistress and tamer of horses. They were heroic women, not nymphs in animal guise. So the evolution of religion took place here as well, as you rightly noticed.”

“But then …” Thais hesitated.

“Go ahead. You can say anything to me.”

“Then why is the image of Mother Goddess, the Great Goddess, tender and gentle, even though it is much older than that of the murderous male gods?”

“You are mistaken again, thinking of her as only the goddess of love and fertility. Have you not heard of the bassarids, the half-mad women of Thessaly and Frakia? They were intoxicated by sacred leaves, and in their ferocity they ripped apart lambs, goats, children and even men. The women ran wild and carried branches of fir trees, wrapped with ivy, symbols of Artemis and Hecate. The same took place in Athens during Leneas, the celebrations of ‘wild women’ in the days of winter solstice of the month of Posideon. The face of the goddess-destroyer, goddess of death, was a counterbalance to that of the mother. The image of love was the only link between them, and that is the only one you know.”

Thais touched her temples with her fingertips. “It is all too wise for me. Could it be that in the dark ancient times even the female deities were as ferocious as the male ones were later on?”

“Ferocious? No. Ruthless? Yes, like life itself. For what else could they be but the reflection of life, the higher powers of fate, ruling over gods and people alike? They were ruthless and merciful at the same time.”

Thais sat there, quiet and confused. The philosopher rose and placed his big warm hand over the stray curls of hair dangling over her forehead. Incredible calm poured through the hetaera’s body, as well as a sense of complete safety. She found she understood better.

“Listen carefully, Thais of Athens. If you understand what I tell you, you’ll become my spiritual daughter. One can believe in anything, but faith only becomes religion when it is interwoven with the rules of life, the evaluation of deeds, the wisdom of behavior and the consideration of the future. We, Helenians, are still immature. We do not possess the morality and understanding of human feelings as they do in the far East. The Egyptian faith will never evolve into religion, but we too have a few philosophers, of whom you named two, forgetting Plato and a few other wise men.”

“I haven’t forgotten Plato. But the great scholar forgot about women and their love when creating his plan for an ideal state. I think he only recognized love between men, which was why I do not consider him a normal person, even though he was a famous philosopher, an Olympian wrestler and a man of state. But you are right, I did leave out Aristotle, even though I have met him personally.” Thais smiled mysteriously.

The Delos philosopher winced. “No. This scholar of natural phenomena is as barbaric in the moral questions as the Egyptians. You may exclude him. What is important is that any religion lives and has true power over people only at the beginning of its existence, and that includes the smartest and strongest ones. Then faith becomes replaced by interpretation, and righteous living is replaced by ritual, and everything ends in the hypocrisy of priests as they struggle for a well-fed and honored life.”

“What are you saying, Father?”

“What you are hearing, Thais? Does it matter whether it is a female deity or Apollo, Artemis or Aesculapius? Life on earth without fear, life that is beautiful, spreading far and wide, like a bright marble road, that is what has become my dream and care.”

“So you came from Delos to Egypt …”

“ …In order to discover the roots of our faith, the origins of our gods. To understand why Helenians are still living without understanding the duties and purposes of men among other people and in the surrounding Ecumene. You already understand that there is no sense in looking for the moral laws in Egypt. There are none in the religion of the ancient hunters, still maintained by the farmers of the

Nile. But there are other people …” The philosopher paused, then wiped his forehead with his hand.

“You are tired, Father,” Thais said softly. She rose, then touched his knees as she bowed.

“You understand. My strength is waning. I sense that shall not see my Delos again and shall not write everything I saw in Egypt.”

“Do not trouble yourself. Rest, eat the local pink grapes and the tasty fruit of the prickly palm trees,” the hetaera said sweetly, making the old man smile. “Yes, yes, I shall bring you some next time. When can I visit you again?”

When she didn’t receive an answer, she looked at the slack lines of his face and realized the old man had fallen asleep. She left him and navigated the dark passageways alone, recalling with a shudder what she had gone through at the Labyrinth.

Light and the heat of noon struck her with a hot wave. The dull hum of the fifty day wind seemed almost pleasant after the cool tunnel. But in the evening, while she sat in her drafty house, surrounded by the troubled rush of shadows from the wind-swayed lanterns, Thais felt drawn into the darkness of the temple again, to the strange old Helenian. He had given her the serenity of detachment for the first time in her life.

As a young girl, Thais had dreamed of Aphrodite Urania. The dream had come back several times over the last few years. In it, Thais, barefoot and nude, ascended an incredibly wide ladder, climbing toward a green wall of thick myrtle trees. She slipped between their tangled branches then stepped out into the light. It was bright but not harsh, warm but not scorching. Once there, she approached the statue of Aphrodite Urania. The goddess, made of translucent pink Rhodes marble, was saturated by heavenly light. She descended from the pedestal and put her unimaginably beautiful arm around Thais’ shoulders, then gazed into Thais’ face. A feeling of amazing delight and serenity filled the young hetaera’s heart.

But she didn’t like that dream. With time, the contrast grew sharper between the pure serenity of love emitted by Urania, and the frenzied art and labor of the kind of life for which Thais became famous. She was an educated hetaera and a famous dancer among the most knowledgeable Athenians in the world. The same joyous serenity Thais had experienced in those half-childish dreams of Urania had returned to Thais during her meeting with the philosopher.

Rumors of the godlike son of Philip, the Macedonian king, continued to spread through Memphis. Alexander laid siege to Tyre.

Its citizens were stubborn, but the skilled Macedonian mechanics decided to create a link between the island upon which the city stood, and the mainland. The demise of the ancient Finikian port was inevitable. When Tyre fell, there would be nothing but Giza left to resist the victorious Alexander.

After that, he could be expected in Egypt any day.

Alexander’s fleet cut off Tyre, then continued further and further south. A Hellenic ship traveling to Naucratis had recently met five ships which had supposedly been commanded by Nearchus himself.

Egesikhora became belligerent and restless, which had never happened to the Lacedemonian before. Perhaps it was the unrelenting hot Libyan wind that penetrated people’s souls, making them impatient, quick to punish, insensitive and rude. Thais had long since noticed that she tolerated the heat better than Egesikhora did. The wind of Set influenced Thais less, and she tried to meet with her friend less frequently to avoid arguments. Instead, Thais went to the river bank with her faithful Hesiona or with Menedem. There she sat on a floating pier for a long time. The slow flowing water hypnotized the Helenians and each became absorbed in his or her own thoughts: deep, secret, and vague.

One day Thais received an invitation from the Delos priest, delivered to her verbally by a boy, a servant from the Neit temple. Thais dressed modestly and was ready at dawn of the following day, anxious for the meeting.

The Delos philosopher sat on the temple steps which descended toward the Nile. He was absorbed in contemplation of the surprisingly quiet dawn.

“Have you been to the Thebes we Helenians call Diospolis?” he asked, meeting the Athenian with a question. He continued in response to her affirmative nod. “Have you seen the base of a golden circle, stolen by Kambis two centuries ago during the invasion of Egypt?”

‘I have. It was explained to me that the original circle was made of pure gold and was thirty elbows across and one elbow thick. Could that be?”

“Yes. The circle weighed approximately thirty thousand talants. Kambis used five thousand camels to transport it to Persia, after cutting it into ten thousand pieces.”

“Why would anyone cast such a senseless mass of gold?”

“It was silly, but not senseless. The greatest pharaoh-conqueror wanted to prove to the entire Ecumene the eternity of Egypt, his power, and his faith in the great circle of things. The ascent to power of male rulers brought on a desperate desire to be eternalized. Women know how fragile life is, how near death can be, but men dream of immortality. They kill endlessly, and for any reason. Such ancient contradiction has no solution. And if a man can create a closed circle for himself, for others and for an entire country, it would be with him in the center and an omnipotent and menacing god above.”

“What would be the purpose of this?”

“Solidity of power and wellbeing for kings and nobles, strength of faith for priests, stability of thinking among people, and unquestioning obedience of slaves.”

“Is that why Egypt carried its faith through millennia?”

“Not only Egypt. There are countries completely closed upon themselves for the purpose of preserving their kings, gods, traditions and way of life for millennia. I call them circular. Such is Egypt, as well as Persia and Syria. There is Rome in the west, and far to the west there is the Middle country of yellow — skinned, slant-eyed people.”

“And what of us Hellas? Do we not have the understanding that everything flows?”

“Starting with Crete, the entire Hellas, Ionia, and Finikia are open countries. There is no life-locking circle for us. It is replaced by a spiral.”

“I have heard of a silver spiral.”

“You have? It is not time to speak of that yet. The heritage of the vanished children of Minos covers a vast territory. It spreads to the west, into Libya and even further to the east, where ancient cities stand tens of thousands of stadiums beyond Hircania. It continues all the way beyond Parapamizes, beyond the desert Arakhozia to the river called the Ind. They say there is not much left of them but ruins, akin to Crete, but the open spirit of these people lives in others thousands of years later.”

“Why do you open this knowledge to me, Father? How can I, a servant of Aphroditem, help you?”

“You serve Eros, and there is no mightier force in our Hellenic world. Meetings, conversations, secret exchanges are in your power. You are intelligent, strong, curious, and dream of spiritual enlightenment.”

“How do you know that, Father?”

“Much is open to me in the hearts of people. And I think you will soon follow Alexander to the east, into the vast expanses of the Asian plain. Every intelligent woman is a poet in her heart. You are not a philosopher, or a historian, or an artist. Each of them is blinded by his own purpose. And you are not a woman-warrior, for all you have from an Amazon is the art of horseback riding and courage. You are not a killer by your nature. That is why you are more free than any other person in Alexander’s army, and I choose you to be my eyes. You shall see that which I never will. Near death awaits me.”

“Then how will I tell you?”

“Not me. The others. Intelligent, important people will always be near you. Poets and artists will be attracted to your essence. And it will be even better than if I could tell them. If it comes from your mouth it will remain in the memory of people, become a part of the poets’ songs and the writings of historians, will spread through Ecumene in legends and reach those who need to know.”

Thais regarded him anxiously. “I am afraid you are making a mistake, Father. I am not the one you need. I am not wise, I am ignorant. Eros turns my head, as do dance, song, admiration of men, envy of women and a fast ride.”

He held up his hands as if to hold her back. “Those are only transitional signs of your power. I shall initiate you, teach you the inner meaning of things. I shall free you from fear.”

“What must I do?”

“Come tomorrow in the evening, dressed in a new linostolia, accompanied by the one I send. Wait on the steps until Niktur, the Guardian of Heaven, is reflected in the waters of the Nile. Arrange your affairs so you could be absent for nine days.”

“Yes, Father. But who will you send?”

“He will appear at the appointed time. Are your periods in correspondence with the Moon?”

“Yes,” Thais admitted, suddenly shy.

“Do not be ashamed. There is no mystery or anything unworthy about a woman’s healthy body. Give me your left hand.”

Thais obeyed. The Delos philosopher placed it on the table, spread her fingers and ruffled through a small ivory box for a few seconds. He produced a ring made of electron with a red hyacinth of incredible deep pink shade. An isosceles triangle, one with a broad base and its tip pointing down, was carved into the flat stone.

Slipping it on Thais’ index finger, the philosopher said, “This is the sign of power of the great female goddess. Now go.”