Thais of Athens

Chapter Five. The Muse of the Neit Temple

Having returned from the temple early, Thais sprawled out, facedown, on her wide bed. Her arms were under her head, and she swung her heels in the air while Clonaria rubbed walnut oil into her back. Hesiona, offended it had not been she given the honor, rustled in the corner, fitting the newly purchased linen garment, the linostolia.

As always, Egesikhora didn’t just enter, but burst in, spreading the scent of rose oil and sweet Arabian resin.

“You’ve been to the Neit temple again,” she challenged her friend. “When will it end? I can’t wait for the Macedonians to get here and straighten you out.”

“Why? Because the Spartans failed?” Thais teased.

“Helenian artists and poets of Memphis are having a symposium tonight,” Egesikhora announced, ignoring her friend’s jibe. “I dare you not to be there.”

“Then what?”

“Then I don’t envy you. They can embarrass you in songs and drawings. You won’t forget it.”

Thais grew serious. “You are right. I’ll go.” “Good for you. And we’ll have to dance, so we’d better rest.” Egesikhora stretched out next to Thais and beckoned Hesiona. The latter perked up, tossed away the linen dress and started massaging the Spartan thoroughly, pouring generous doses of oil over her. Both friends relaxed became drowsy under the caring hands. They fell asleep, covered by a blanket of soft Cappadocian yarn.

The symposium took place in a large house with a sprawling garden, owned by the wealthiest Greek merchant in Memphis. Considering this was not the best time of year, the number of guests was unprecedented. Haughty Persian nobles, who had despised Helenians until recently, stayed away from them after Alexander’s invasion and the battle of Granic. Now they sought the company of influential Greeks after the king of kings had sustained a brutal defeat at Issus. Thais and Egisikhora had earned the nicknames Chrisosphira and Argiropesa (“Gold-footed” and “Silver-legged”), by their poetic admirers, and their arrival caused shouts of admiration. Both friends showed up accompanied by Spartan captains, led by the strategist Eositeus himself.

The wine servers diluted both the thick purple wine from the Upper Egypt vineyards and the bright pink one from Syria using water from glass goblets decorated with fanciful spirals of various colors. Music played quietly, combining the sadness of Helenian double flutes and the sharp moans of the Egyptian ones, the seemingly distant ringing of sistras, the humming of sitar, lyre and a large harp. A choir of Egyptian mandolins with long necks and bells joined in from time to time, overpowered by tambourines. Following a skillful conductor, the collection of such different instruments created a sad rhythmic chorus interspersed with bright, lively splashes of high notes and slightly rough ringing strikes. To all of this, the dancers of Hellas, Egypt and Finikia danced well.

Both famous hetaerae wore transparent silvery white chitons. They were identical except for the different jewelry emphasizing Thais’ tanned darkness and Egesikhora’s divinely gold coif. A necklace of fiery red garnets (pyrope or Nophek), the stone of spring equinox, circled the Athenian’s long neck. The dangling earrings of large amethysts, amulets against intoxication, glittered on each side of her lively round face. Egesikhora had the same earrings but made of beryllium, the sea stone, while her wide Egyptian necklace of lapis lazuli and white Syrian agate signified the coming of summer to those who understood the language of jewels.

The Symposium started, as was customary in Hellas, with a light dinner, followed by dancing, performances by singers, poets and storytellers, eventually deteriorating into drunkenness and debauchery. That was when respectable hetaerae and actresses left the overly enthusiastic male company.

However, for now there was still a long way to go before the crossing of limits and loss of the sense of beauty. The enraptured guests listened and watched, forgetting to drain their goblets. Helenians despised gluttony, and considered themselves to be above barbarians, which included all foreigners. The Greeks considered it uncivilized and ridiculous to follow the Syrian and Persian customs of constantly eating or drinking something, snacking on nuts or seeds, making coarse jokes, talking incessantly, and hugging strange women. They preferred calm contemplation, self-pondering and joyous admiration of beauty.

A star dance performed by Egyptian girls unraveled slowly, accompanied by the ringing of bells and sistras. The girls were draped in long garments of the finest linen and wore red wreaths over their wavy hair. They walked in a line, slender like blades of grass, focused and haughty. Their row turned to the right, by the sun or strophe, showing the movement of stars. Breaking the line, a group of swifter girls moved antistrophe, or to the left. Their entire outfit consisted of a belt made of colorful glass beads. The dancers in white leaned forward, touching the floor with outstretched hands, while the dark-skinned bodies undulated between them in smooth, snakelike movements, their clasped hands raised above their heads. The Egyptian dances were performed carefully and reverently with no unattractive, awkward or unfitting movements. Nothing violated the charm of these streaming and bending young bodies. The Helenians froze in numb and respectful admiration.

Then the Egyptian girls were replaced by auletridae, accompanied by the fast trills of strings and beat of tambourines. They twirled, spun and shook their hips in the movements of apokinnis, the hetaerae’s favorite dance of erotic courage and bravery. The Helenians were set on fire by the power of Eros. Delighted shouts were heard, goblets were raised higher and wine was splashed to honor Aphrodite.

“The Greek girls dance wonderfully here,” Eositeus exclaimed. “But I am waiting for your performance,” he said, and put his arm possessively around Egesikhora.

She obligingly leaned against his shoulder. “Thais has to go first. And you are mistaken thinking the auletridae dance well. Look, along with the perfect movement they have quite a few coarse, unattractive poses. The pattern of the dance is disorderly and excessively varied. It is not the highest art, like the Egyptians showed. Those were beyond all praise.”

“I don’t know,” Eositeus grumbled. “I just don’t like dance if there is no Eros in it.”

“There was Eros, just not in the form you understand,” Thais interrupted.

A group of male poets appeared before the guests, their garb flamboyant. Eositeus reclined on his settee and covered his eyes with his hand. Thais and Egesikhora left their seats and moved to the outer edge of the table. The poets belonged to kikliks, dedicated to the circle of Homer-like epic tellers. They gathered in a circular choir and sang a poem of Nauzikaya, accompanied by two lyres. Akin to Leskh of Mitilena, the poets strictly followed the smooth flow of hexametric form and drew the listeners in with the power of the poem. They told about Odyssey’s heroics, something every autochthon, or natural-born Helenian, could relate to as they’d heard the stories since childhood.

As soon as the last verse of the rhythmic declamation was sung, a jolly young man stepped before the audience. He was dressed in gray blue garb and his black sandals sported high, ‘feminine’ crisscrossing of straps around his ankles. He turned out to be a rhapsody poet or an improvisational singer, accompanying himself on a sitar.

The poet approached Thais, then bowed, touching her knees. Afterwards he straightened solemnly. A thickly-bearded lyre player in a dark chiton came to stand behind him. After the young man’s nod, he struck the strings. The rhapsodian’s strong voice sounded through the banquet hall, constructed with the knowledge of laws of acoustics. The poem, the anthem to Thais’ charms, caused a humorous excitement among the guests. People started singing along with the rhapsodian, and the kiklik poets gathered into a circle again, serving as a vocal accompaniment. New epithets placed at the end of each verse of the improvised anthem was picked up by dozens of strong throats and thundered through the hall. Anaitis, the fiery one; Targotelea, Anedomasta, the proud-breasted one; Kiklotomerion, round-hipped one; Telgorion, the charmer; Panthorpa, she who gives the greatest bliss; Tolmeropis, daring-eyed one …

Eositeus listened and frowned, glancing at Egesikhora for direction. The Spartan hetaera laughed and clapped her hands in delight.

“Thais’ hair,” the poet continued, “is deca oymon melanos kianoyo, ten strips of black steel on Agamemnon’s armor. Oh, sphayropigeon telkterion, she who is full of charm, Kikloterezone …”

“Oh, my chrisocoma Egesikhora,” Eositeus interrupted in a mighty bass. “Leukopoloa, she who rides the white horses! Oh, Filethor eunekhis, beloved of the beautiful shoulders. Meliboa, the sweetness of life.”

Thunderous applause, laughter and encouraging exclamations drowned them both out. The dismayed rhapsodian froze, letting his mouth hang open. Thais jumped up, laughing, and held out her arms both to the poet and to his accompanist, then kissed each one.

The bearded lyre player held her hand and pointed at the ring given to her by the Delos philosopher. “You will be at the Neit temple tomorrow night.”

“How do you know?”

“I shall accompany you. When shall I come for you, and where?”

“We can speak later. I must dance for them now.”

“No, you mustn’t,” the bearded accompanist stated firmly.

“You speak nonsense. How can I not? I must thank them for the rhapsody and show the poets and the guests that they didn’t sing in vain. They’ll make me dance, anyway.”

“I can spare you. Nobody will ask or force you.”

She grinned. “I’d like to see the impossible.”

“Then step outside, as if to change and wait in the garden. Don’t bother changing your dress, though. Nobody will want you to dance. I’ll call you.”

Persistent cries of “Thais! Thais!” grew louder. Mad with curiosity, the Athenian ran out through the side door, which was covered by a heavy curtain. Against the bearded man’s advice she didn’t take the steps into the garden but stayed to watch, shifting the heavy fabric off to the side a little.

The bearded man handed his lyre off to someone and made a sign to his assistants.

“While Thais is getting ready, I will show you some miracles from the eastern lands,” he announced.

Two glass globes were placed near the tables and round mirrors reflected beams of light upon them from the bright luminaries. Glowing with golden light, the globes began revolving, helped along by leather straps that were moved by the assistants. Light striking at the metal mirrors filled the hall with long, even vibrations, ringing as if from afar.

The bearded man spread his arms, and his assistants placed two enormous censers to his left and right. He gazed upon the guests with his bright eyes. “Those who wish to see Tihe, the goddess of happiness, and ask her to fulfill their dreams,” he said, “must look into either of the globes and repeat her name in rhythm with the sound of the mirrors.”

Soon the entire room was chanting “Tihe! Tihe!” in unison. The globes revolved faster. Suddenly the bearded man stuck both hands into his leather sash and poured two handfuls of herbs over the coals. Sharply scented smoke, picked up by a light draft, spread rapidly through the hall. The bearded man stepped back, examined the crowd of partygoers and exclaimed, “Tihe is before you in her silver dress, wearing a sharp golden crown over her red hair. Do you see her?”

“We do!”

The powerful choir of voices indicated that all guests were now participating in the strange game.

“What would you rather have?” he asked. “Thais’ dance or Tihe’s mercy?”

“Tihe, Tihe!” the guests roared as one, reaching for something Thais couldn’t see.

The bearded man tossed more herbs over the coals, made a few strange gestures and people suddenly appeared to freeze on the spot. Then he turned and stepped behind the curtain. Thais barely managed to step aside in time.

The bearded man said briskly, “Let’s go.”

“What about them?” she whispered to the mysterious stranger.

“They will soon come back to their senses. And those who watched from the distance will testify that you were rejected in favor of Tihe.”

“Did she really appear to them?”

“They saw what I told them to see.”

“Where did you learn the art of ruling the crowd like that?”

“Satep-sa has been known in Egypt for a long time, and I have also been to India, where people are even more skilled at this art.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend of the one who waits for you tomorrow after sunset. Come, I shall escort you home. It is improper for Thais to walk around alone at night.”

“What am I to be afraid of next to such a ruler over people?”

“It is not as you think, but you won’t understand it now. My power is in my well-developed lema (will), and it can be used only at appropriate and carefully prepared moments.”

“Now I understand. Your magic is but an art that is unknown to us. And here I thought you were a son of Hecate, the goddess of night illusions.”

The bearded man chuckled. Without another word, he escorted Thais to her house. Once they arrived, they arranged a meeting time and place for the next day, left.

All the servants were asleep except Hesiona, who sat next to a lantern with her sewing and waited for her mistress. She had fully expected Thais to show up at dawn, accompanied by torch bearers and a noisy crowd of admirers. Hearing her voice in the silence of the night, Hesiona ran out to meet her, concerned and dismayed. Thais reassured her voluntary slave, had some honey drink and went to bed. Then she called Hesiona, informed her that she would be going away for ten days, and gave the Theban instructions for the duration of her absence. The girl begged to come with Thais, and her mistress’ refusal caused Hesiona to despair.

“You reject me, Mistress, and leave me alone. I don’t have anyone else in the world except you, and now you don’t need me. What am I to do if I love you more than life? I will kill myself.”

Hesiona had cried rarely till now. Reserved and somewhat stern, she absolutely refused to participate in dances or symposiums and rejected the men who attempted to pursue her.

Thais told Hesiona to climb into bed with her, patted her head and face and when her sobs subsided, explained to the Theban the reason why she couldn’t take her along either the previous time or this one. Hesiona calmed down and sat up on the bed, looking at her mistress with admiration and a bit of fear.

“Do not be afraid. I shall not change,” Thais said with a laugh. “And you will be with me, as before. But not forever. Your turn will come, and the one will appear for whom you’ll follow to the ends of the world. You will know the sweetness and the bitterness of a man’s love.”

“Never! I hate them!”

“Perhaps, but only until you recover from the war-induced trauma. Love will take what’s due. You are healthy, beautiful, and courageous. You cannot avoid Aphrodite’s traps.”

“I shall love only you, Mistress.”

Thais laughed and kissed her. “I am not a tribada. The goddess did not bestow the gift of double love upon me, or upon you. That is why the Eros of male love is unavoidable for both of us. It divides women, and fate pulls them apart. Be ready for it. However, both our names mean servants of Isis. Perhaps we are destined to be together.”

Hesiona slipped to the floor, frowning stubbornly, but relieved in the knowledge that Thais was not rejecting her. Her mistress fell asleep almost immediately, tired by the many events of a long day.

Thais and the poet-magician from the day before sat on the steps of the Neit temple in the twilight, above the dark river, waiting for the Sky Sentinel to rise.

The bearded poet said that the Delos philosopher forbade her to ask his name. He was a great scholar, but was only known to those who were initiated in the ways of the Orphics, Pythagoreans and gymnosophists. For several years he had lived in the west of the Libyan desert, where he discovered the empty ruins of ancient Cretan sanctuaries.

That was where the cult of the triple goddess Hecate, the snake goddess of Crete and Libya, had spread from all other Hellenic countries. Her beautiful, seductive priestesses, or Lamias, became the terrible night demons in Hellas. The owl-goddess turned into a demon too, becoming Lilith, the first wife of the first man, in Syria. The Syrian moon goddess was sometimes portrayed with a snake’s body, and sometimes with a lion’s head when she was pictured in Egypt. Neit was essentially the same three-faced snake, the goddess of Libya. The main goddess of Attica, Athena the Wise, was born on the shores of the lake Triton in Libya as a triple snake goddess. The triple goddess of Love dominated all ancient religions, and that was where three Muses or Nymphs came from. In the later myths, she was always defeated by a male god or a hero, like Perseus.

The Delos philosopher said that goddesses and gods of the ancient religions always transformed into evil demons when they were transferred to new people. It was necessary to soil the old in order to establish the new. That was just the way people were, unfortunately.

The great Mother Goddess, or Ana, who united the faces of Wisdom, Love and Fertility, turned her other side toward people. She became the goddess of Evil, Destruction and Death. But the intuitive memory was stronger than that, and the ancient beliefs constantly floated up from under the mass of the new ones. The image of Ana divided and became the goddesses of Hellas: Ur-Ana, Aphrodite; Di-Ana, Artemis; At-Ana, Athena. The moon goddess, Artemis, the most ancient one of all, preserved her triple image and became Hecate, the goddess of evil enchantment and night illusions, the leader of the night demons. Her brother, Apollo the Assassin, became the glorious god of the sun and healing.

“Are you not afraid to speak of gods as if they were people?” Thais asked with concern, having listened to the bearded man without interrupting.

“The Delos teacher have already told you. And besides, I am a poet, and all poets revere the female goddess. There is no poet without her, he only addresses her. She must succumb to the power of his words. For a poet always seeks the truth, and comes to know things that do not interest Muse or Love. She is a goddess, but she is a woman, too.”

“You are speaking to me as if I were…”

“That is why he is a poet,” a weak but clear voice sounded behind them.

They both jumped up and bowed to the Delos priest.

“You have even forgotten that Nikturos have already reflected in the waters of the river,” he said.

The bearded man, having instantly lost his solemnity, mumbled something to justify himself, but the Delos philosopher signed for him to stop.

“A poet should always be ahead of a man,” the philosopher said, “for such is his essence. If something mighty became overripe or dead, it must be destroyed, and the poet becomes a destroyer, directing the strike of humiliation. If something sweet is still weak, not fully grown or even destroyed, it needs to be created anew, and have new power poured into it. This is where a poet is dreamer, exalter and creator. That is why he always has two faces, or better yet, three, like the Muse. But woe for him and the people if he only has one face. Then he is a spreader of harm and poison.”

“I would like to object, Delos scholar,” the bearded man said, lifting his head. “Why do you only speak about a poet? Are the philosophers not equally responsible for their words?”

“I am not talking about the limits that are equal for all. You know how the magic of word and sound is much stronger than the quiet voices of the sophists. The power of a poet over people is much greater, which is why…”

“I understand, teacher, and I bow again before your wisdom. Do not waste any more words.”

“No, I see you have not yet reached all of the depth of a poet’s power, even though you are initiated by the Five Petals of Lotus. The notion of a poem originates from the root of the word ‘struggle’, but a poet in his other guise always stops the warring parties. He is a peacemaker, and has been since ancient times. Why is that?”

The bearded man spread his fingers to indicate that he was at a loss, betraying by this gesture that he was from Mitilena, and the Delos philosopher smiled.

“Then you listen too, Thais, for this will help you understand many things. After the establishment of male gods, the arrogant male spirit replaced the order and peace, associated with female dominance. These male gods came from the north with Achaeans, Danaians and Aeolians, the tribes that had enslaved the Pelasgoans, ‘People of the Sea’, fifteen centuries ago. Warrior-heroes replaced the splendid female rulers of love and death and the priests declared war on the female beginning. But a poet serves the Great Goddess and is, therefore, a woman’s ally, even though a woman herself is not a poet, but a Muse.

“New people separated the Sun and the Moon, the male god from Anatkha-Ishtar, bestowing upon him the greatest power and considering him to be the beginning and the end of all existence. You were just telling Thais, and correctly so, that the gods of old religions become demons of the new one. I will add to this that the goddesses, as the rulers of evil magic, are being increasingly pushed away. This is happening in the east, in the west and in Hellas. Along with the goddesses, poetry is leaving as well, the number and the power of poets decreases. I foresee trouble from this far in the future.”

“Why trouble, Father?” Thais asked quietly.

“The essence of a person is being torn in half. A poet-thinker is becoming increasingly rare. Nus and Fronema, the mind more typical among men, becomes more dominant, rather than that of Mnema, Estesis and Timos, memory, feeling, heart and soul. And men, as they lose the poetic force, become akin to the Pythagorean number-crunchers, or to the vengeful and calculating deities of Syrian and western peoples. They declare war to the female beginning, and with it lose the spiritual interaction with the world and gods. When they pay their debt to a deity, they count their honors and sins like money, and instead of a cleansing they receive a fateful feeling of guilt and helplessness.”

“When did it start, Father? Why did it happen?”

“A long time ago. When a man first picked up a tool or a weapon, invented a wheel, he lost faith in himself and started relying on the tools he invented, increasingly departing from nature and weakening his inner strength. A woman lived differently and preserved herself better, becoming spiritually stronger than men in love and in the knowledge of her essence. That is what the Orphics believe. But enough discussion, night has fallen, it is time to go.”

Anxiety hastened Thais’ breath. She followed the men through a small courtyard which led to a stone pylon. The pylon was erected over a gallery, which led into the slope of a hill. For some time they walked silently, stepping carefully in the dark.

Then Thais heard the bearded poet ask the Delos philosopher, “Must we understand from what you said, that we Helenians, despite enormous knowledge and great art, purposely avoid creating new tools and machines so we can avoid parting from the feelings of Eros, beauty and poetry?”

“I think yes, although it is possible we do not even realize we are doing it.”

“Is it wise?”

“If the entire world is going toward the separation of a poet and a philosopher, feeling and mind, toward the acceptance of the all-intelligent and all-powerful, toward a punishing god and away from living nature to polises, under the protection of walls and machines, then our way will lead to destruction.”

“But it will be a glorious demise. We shall be sung about for centuries.”

“You are right. For thousands of future years Hellas will remain a beautiful dream for at least somewhat worthy people, despite all our shortcomings and mistakes. Here we are.”

The Delos philosopher stopped and turned to Thais. The hetaera froze. The philosopher smiled encouragement to her and took her hand, having whispered something to the poet. The latter vanished in a side passageway, while the philosopher led Thais into a high, round space lit by smoking torches and made of aromatic wood. He raised his arm, and invisible drums thundered from somewhere. They beat loudly, increasing the tempo, and soon the thundering cascades of sounds crashing over Thais made her entire body shiver, drawing her into the rhythm and power.

The philosopher leaned toward the Athenian and, raising his voice, ordered, “Take off everything. Sandals too.”

Thais obeyed without question. The Delos philosopher patted her hair approvingly and told her to take out the comb and ribbons.

“The blood of the Great Goddess is obvious in you. Stand in the center of the circle.”

Thais stood in the center, still shuddering from the thunder, and the Delos philosopher disappeared. Suddenly, nine women appeared, seeming to come out of walls themselves. They wore wreaths over their hair, and were otherwise nude, like Thais. They were not Egyptians but not Helenians, either. She thought they belonged to some people unknown to Thais. One of them, she appeared to be the eldest, was stout and broad-chested, with dark bronze skin. An entire mane of fine curly hair surrounded her face. She ran up to Thais while the rest formed a circle.

“Do as we do,” she ordered in good Greek, taking the Athenian by the hand.

The women moved in a line, lifting their knees high and holding each other’s long hair. The tempo increased and transformed into a run. Disconnecting, they spun like a top, strobilus, then froze and began undulating in a wild dance of the Trojan goddess, rotating their hips madly. They ran again, tossing back their heads and spreading their arms, as if they were ready to hug the entire Ecumene. The thunder of the drums turned into solid roar, the dancers performed complex moves, sometimes shouting something out with dry mouths. One after another, the women fell on the floor and rolled to the wall, away from the other dancers’ feet.

Thais, having given herself up to the wild ritual, didn’t notice that she was alone with the eldest dancer. The other eight lay on the floor, exhausted. The eldest continued to dance, sheathed in sweat, looking at Thais in amazement, as the latter kept up with her and only flushed brighter and brighter.

Suddenly the dancer stopped, her arms raised high. The music, if one could call the deafening thunder music, stopped just as silently. The eldest dancer bowed to Thais, then wailed sharply, summoning the other dancers up from the floor. The Athenian remained alone, still fluttering with excitement.

The voice of the Delos philosopher sounded from somewhere above. “Wake up. Go to the right.”

Thais noticed a narrow, crack-like exit from the round hall and went that way, weaving slightly, as if she were in a fog. A door clanged closed behind her and she found herself in complete darkness. Thais reached out with her arms and took several cautious steps.

Suddenly, a mass of sea water washed over her from above. The stunned Athenian stepped back, but remembered the closed door behind her and went forward instead. The passage turned at a right angle once, then again. After the second turn, a barely noticeable light flickered in the corner. Wet from head to toe, but still not completely cooled from the dance, Thais rushed forward with relief, then stopped in terror.

She stood in a tall hall without a roof, its walls rising into the starry night sky like those of a well. The entire floor was taken up by a pool of water. A narrow strip of beach pebbles sloped toward the water from where Thais stood and water splashed carefully over the pebbles. A breeze came from somewhere, trying to put out the only torch, throwing red glints over the black water. Thais’ teeth chattered and she moved her shoulders trying to stop shivering, but the oppressive feeling of strange and mysterious fear refused to go away.

“Do not be afraid, my daughter. I am with you,” the Delos philosopher said, appearing on the opposite side of the pool. She waited as he walked slowly along the granite edge toward her.

“According to the ritual, we must chain you to the rock to be devoured by a sea monster. But you have already undergone a much more frightening test at the Labyrinth, and we decided to drop the first stage. I shall spread the coal from three sacred trees here: oak, walnut and willow. They are used for burial pyres and symbolize power, wisdom and charm. You shall spend the night on the coals, like on a death bed.” The philosopher turned and gathered an armful of black sheep fleece from a niche in the wall which he handed it to Thais. “Take this,” he said. “You shall spend the night here, lying prone till the first signs of dawn. At dawn, go back to the gallery, turn left to follow the light of a luminary, and enter the dark cave, where you shall spend the day. When you hear a bell, go back to the pebbles till the next dawn. This time, lie on your back, look at the sky and recite the ancient anthem to Gaea. You will pass two more nights in this manner. Then I shall come for you. You will have to fast. The drinking water is in the cave, in an amphora near the bed. Haire!”

Thais, shivering from the chill, spread some of the fleece over the rocks. She tried unsuccessfully to get comfortable on this unusual bed, tried to cover herself with the other half. Fortunately, the barely audible splash of the waves soothed her and she drifted to sleep.

She woke up shaking from the cold and hurting from the pain of the pebbles sticking to her body. The fleece smelled of sheep, the dark water in the pool seemed unclean, and her hair was in disarray, stuck together from the salt water shower the night before. Thais raised her head and saw the sky had lost its velvety blackness and was turning gray. Recalling the teacher’s orders, she gathered the fleece in a pile, rubbed her numb limbs and went into the underground passage.

She felt hungry, her mouth was dry and she felt dirty. Thais was puzzled. Could it be that such simple inconveniences constituted the trials of initiation? And what kind of initiation was this? Suddenly, the Athenian remembered that the philosopher had never said anything about it, and she hadn’t asked, having felt childlike trust toward the strange old man. If he considered it necessary to initiate her, then she assumed that’s what was needed. But the night’s inconveniences, followed by nothing but discomfort made her skeptical. She had simply slept, albeit on a dreadful bed, in an odd gloomy well. Why? What had changed about her if anything?

To her surprise, in the cave the Athenian found a wash basin and everything necessary to complete her toilette. Having washed and brushed out her thick hair, Thais drank some water and felt much better, despite the hunger. The luminary faded and went out, leaving the cave completely dark. Thais found the bed, which was covered with soft cloth, by touch and lay there deep in thought until sleep came upon her. She woke at the ringing strike of a copper bell, went back to the pool, spread the fleece to make it as comfortable as possible, then settled down on the crackling pebbles, gazing into the bright starry sky.

Having gotten plenty of sleep during the day, she didn’t sleep all night, and never took her eyes away from the stars. She didn’t notice the strange sensation of flight when it came to her. Along with Thais, Earth itself was reaching for the sky, ready to embrace it.

“Rejoice, mother of gods, oh, the wife of the many-starred sky,” she said, remembering the newly understood words of the ancient anthem.

In that moment, Thais felt as if she merged with the broad, generous Gaea, waiting to unite with the black infinity that sparkled with stars. The great mystery of the world was just out of her reach. Thais spread her arms, her entire body straining, and a moan of torturous impatience escaped her lips. But the black veil of the night still hung over her like an abyss, and the mysterious flickering of celestial bodies was not coming any closer.

All at once she saw herself lying there: pitiful, small, and naked at the bottom of the well, enclosed by an inescapable circle of tall, smooth stone walls. Her perceived merging with Gaea had been nothing but an arrogant sacrilege, and all things incomprehensible still remained so, while the future did not promise anything great or glorious. Thais wanted to jump up and run away, like an impostor who had entered forbidden territory, then realized her own insignificance. Something, perhaps the will of her Delos teacher, held her in place.

Gradually, Thais obeyed the calm of the starry night, letting a feeling of self-confidence replace her earlier dismay. However, when she returned to the cave to fall into a fretful slumber, her restlessness returned, exacerbated by hunger and puzzlement.

The third night alone with the stars on the shore of a symbolic sea started differently. After two days spent in the dark, the stars appeared particularly bright. One of them attracted Thais’ attention. Its sharp beam penetrated her eyes, continuing through them to her heart, and spreading through her body in a blue fire of magical power. With her gaze fixed upon the star, she remembered the magical chants of ritual dances meant to help focus physical and emotional energies, and started repeating, “Gaea — Thais, Gaea — Thais, Gaea — Thais …” The disorderly flow of her thoughts slowed, the soil under Thais rocked a little and she was carried forth smoothly, like a ship in the night sea.

Thais finally understood the purpose and the meaning of her trials. There, on the islands of the Inner Sea, a man left alone with the sea in the middle of the night had an easier time becoming absorbed in a primal connection with the natural forces of Gaea, dissolving himself in the eternal splashing of the waves.

The understated symbolism did not allow her to dramatically assume the right mood and enter the flow of time, akin to the Akheloy-Argirodines, the river in ancient Sparta which flowed and disappeared underground, rolling its silvery waves from the unknown future into the dark caverns of the past. Had her intentions been sincere and strong from the beginning, the focus and the spiritual rise could have been achieved, even in this almost theatrical setting.

The seemingly short night passed quickly, and the colorful multitude of stars began growing cooler, tinged with the silver of dawn. Obeying a sudden urge, Thais rose, stretched her entire body, then dove into the deep dark water. She was at once enveloped in surprising warmth. The water that had seemed stale and unclean to her before was as clear as sea water. An almost imperceptible current caressed her with a gentle hand, soothing her irritated skin. Thais rolled over onto her back and gazed into the sky again. Dawn was rolling in from the eastern desert, but Thais did not know whether she was to go back into the darkness of the cave or wait for a sign here.

Her puzzlement was interrupted by a familiar coppery strike and the old philosopher appeared on the strip of pebbles. “Come to me, daughter. It is time for the ritual.”

Almost simultaneously with his words the vibrant dawn of a clear day rose into the gloomy sky and reflected in the smooth wall of the well. Thais saw herself in the crystal clear water of the pool made of dark, polished granite. Rolling over, she swam quickly to the strip of pebbles. Blinded by so much light after spending such a the long time in the cave and in the nighttime darkness, she came out of the water, covering herself with wavy strands of her hair.

The bearded poet appeared behind the Delos philosopher, carrying some kind of black stone in his hand.

“You must be symbolically struck down and purified,” the philosopher said. “He will strike you with the stone that fell from the sky. Push your hair back and bow your head.”

Thais obeyed without question, so great was her trust in the old philosopher.

The strike never took place. Instead, the poet stepped back with a sigh, covering his face with his free hand.

“What is the matter, Mitilenian?” the old man asked, raising his voice.

“I cannot, Father. This creation of Gaea’s formative powers is too beautiful. Look at her perfection. I feared I might leave a scar and my hand fell.”

“I understand your feelings, but the ritual must be completed. Think of where a scar would be least noticeable.”

Seeing the poet’s hesitation, the Delos priest took the stone himself.

“Put your hands behind your head,” he ordered Thais, then struck her quickly with a sharp edge of the stone over the inner side of the arm, just above the armpit. Thais cried out slightly as blood trickled out of the wound. The priest collected a little bit of blood and mixed it in with the water in the pool. Bandaging the Athenian’s arm with a linen band, he said with satisfaction, “See? Only she and the two of us will know about this scar.”

The Poet bowed and handed Thais a cup of goat milk with honey, the drink fed by the divine goat Amalthea to baby Zeus in a Cretan cave. Thais carefully drank it all and felt her hunger fade away.

“This is a sign of rebirth,” the philosopher said.

The poet placed a wreath of fragrant five-petal flowers over Thais’ head, then brought her a light blue stola, hemmed not with the usual fringe but with a pattern of hooked crosses. The design seemed sinister to the Athenian, but the Delos philosopher guessed her thoughts, as always.

“This is a sign of a fire wheel that came to us from India. See? The ends of the crosses are bent anti-solon. Such a wheel can only roll solon, with the sun, and symbolizes kindness and benevolence. But if you see similar hooked crosses with ends bent solon, so that the wheel can only roll against the sun, know that you are dealing with people who chose the path of evil and unhappiness.”

“Like a dance of black magic, danced anti-solon at night around that which they want to harm?” Thais asked, and the philosopher nodded.

“Here are the three colors of the three-faced goddess-muse,” the poet said, putting a sash of striped white, blue and red cloth around

Thais. He made another deep Egyptian bow to the Athenian, touched his right knee with his palm, and left silently.

The Delos priest led Thais out of the dungeon, through the brightly lit courtyard, and into the top floor of the pylon above the gates.

The following seven days and nights were filled with strange exercises for focus and relaxation, effort and rest, taken in turns with the philosopher’s disclosure of such things of which the well-educated Thais had no idea.

A large change seemed to have taken place in her. She could not yet tell whether it was for the better or for the worse. All she knew that a different Thais was to leave the Neit temple, and it would be a calmer and wiser one.

She would never tell anyone of the difficult days and unusual feelings that had flared up like fire, consuming the worn remains of her childish faith. She wouldn’t mention her pain from the declining charm of new successes that seemed so important once, nor the gradual establishment of new hopes and goals she could only tell a daughter who was like her. Life no longer lay before her in fanciful twists of a road, passing from light to shadow in its endless turns, from groves to rivers, from hills to the shores of the sea.

All things had become unknown, new and tempting, waiting everywhere. Her life path now appeared straight as the flight of an arrow to Thais. It cut through the valleys of life, broad and clear at the beginning, narrow and indistinct in the distance, until it finally vanished beyond the horizon. But it was astonishingly uniform all along the way, like an open gallery with identical pillars, stretching into the distance till the end of Thais’ life.

Deira, the knowledgeable one, as Persephone was secretly called, had stepped into her soul, where only Aphrodite and her mischievous son had ruled until then. This feeling, unusual for a young, healthy woman, never left the Athenian during her stay at the Neit temple, and strangely enhanced her comprehension of the Delos philosopher’s teachings. The old man uncovered to her the teaching of the Orphics, called such because they considered it possible to leave the underground kingdom of Hades, akin to Orpheus who rescued his Eurydice.

The teaching sprang from the depth of past centuries of the combined wisdom of Crete and India, uniting the belief in reincarnation with the rejection of the hopelessness of the circles of life and fate. The great principle: “all things flow, change and pass”, reflected in the name of the great Cretan goddess Kibela-Rhea, ran into a question: would there be a return to the past?”

“Yes, there always will be,” the scholars of Syria and Pythagoras stated, the latter being the most famous student of the Orphics. They were the Pelasgoan from the island of Samos, who had led the Orphics away from ancient wisdom, succumbing to the game of numbers and symbols under the influence of the scholars of Ur-Salim.

“No, there will not be,” the philosophers of the old-Orphic type disagreed. “It is not the Wheel that constantly makes one circle after another, but a Spiral. That is the true flow of changing things, and that is our salvation from the Wheel.

“Gods did not create the Universe,”taught the Orphics. “It came to be from the natural physical powers of the world. Cosmos is order, first and foremost. The egg of the Universe formed from Chaos, Chronos (time) and Ether (space). The egg started growing until one half of it formed the sky and the other one formed the earth. Between them Bios — life — was born.”

Satisfying the needs of thinkers in their own era, the Orphics could not have suspected, of course, that twenty-six centuries later the greatest minds of the hugely increased humankind would accept a similar concept of the origins of Cosmos, with the exception of excluding Earth from the dominance over the Universe.

In Gaza, the Cretan colony on the shores of Syria which had been founded twelve centuries before Thais’ birth, a myth of Samson was born. He was a blind warrior, chained to a mill and doomed to eternally revolve its wheel. He escaped due to his tremendous strength, having broken the columns and crashed the temple roof on everyone. The meaning of the hero’s deed was in the fact that the entire world would have to be destroyed. All people would have to be killed in order to escape the eternal circle.

The Orphics solved that problem in their own way. Their instructions could still be found on the gold medallions they put on their dead. As each thirst-tormented departed soul stumbled its way through the underground kingdom through the fields of white lilies, or asphodels, it had to remember not to drink from the river Leta. Its water, dark from the tall cypresses shading its shores, made everyone forget his previous life. Thus the soul became helpless material for a new cycle of birth, destruction and death without an end. However, if a soul were to drink from Persephone’s sacred spring hidden in a grove, then the soul could preserve its memory and knowledge, escape the endless Wheel, and become the ruler over the dead.

Along with the teachings of reincarnation from Asia, the Orphics preserved the ancient local rituals.

“From you,” the Delos philosopher said. “The Orphics teaching requires us to remember that a man’s spiritual future is in his hands, and not entirely dependent on gods and fate, as everyone from Egypt to Carthage believes. One cannot compromise along this path. They cannot deviate, otherwise, akin a sip of water from the Leta, you will drink the poison of evil, envy and greed, and be tossed into the distant abyss of Erebus.

“We, the Orphics of Ionia, teach that all people are the same on the path of the good and are equal in their search for knowledge. The difference between people at birth is enormous. There is only one way to overcome it, to unite everyone as well as to conquer the differences between them, and that is the way of knowledge. But one must understand what sort of a path unites different nations. Woe be upon us if it does not lead to the good or, even worse, if one people considers itself above all others, chosen by gods and destined to rule. Such people will make others suffer and feel the general hatred, wasting their energies on reaching insignificant goals rather than the breadth of life. We Helenians have only recently stepped onto this savage and evil path, while the Egyptians and the people of Syria arrived at it sooner. Now an even worse supremacy of Rome is growing in the west. It will achieve terrible power. And this power will be worse than all others because the Romans are not of the Helenian mindset. They are ignorant and reach for the military invasions and wealthy living accompanied by bloody spectacles.

“But let us return to you,” the old philosopher said, interrupting himself. “One cannot be an Orphic of our kind if he remembers the goal but forgets the price at which people came to possess things. I am not talking about simple things made by the hands of craftsmen, but of large structures: temples, cities, harbors, ships, just about everything that requires the effort of many people. You must not be captivated even by the most beautiful temple if it has been erected upon torment and bones of thousands of slaves. No grandeur is worthy if people were killed, starved or enslaved for the sake of achieving it. And not only people, but animals as well, for their suffering also weighs down the scale. That is why many Orphics do not eat meat.”

“Father, why do gods demand bloody sacrifices?” Thais asked, then pulled away, seeing a flash of anger in her teacher’s eyes.

He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was hoarse, his words halting, completely unlike his usual calm manner. “Only murderers offer savage sacrifices to savage gods.”

Thais became embarrassed. This wasn’t the first time during their talks when she had felt as if she were getting into forbidden territory, sacrilegiously pushing away the curtain separating people from gods.

Sensing this, the Delos philosopher dismissed the subject. “Let us not speak of something you are not ready for yet.” And he let Thais go for the day.

In the subsequent days he taught her proper breathing and development of particular flexibility of the body, allowing her to assume poses for concentration and quick rest. Trained since childhood, beautifully developed and moderate in food and drink, Thais turned out to be such a capable student that the old man slapped his knee with delight, encouraging the Athenian.

“I can teach you only the basics. You may continue on your own if you wish and if you can, although this path takes more than one year,” he said over and over again, making sure Thais remembered it well.

On the sixth day, the symbolic number of life among the Pythagoreans, the old man told Thais in greater detail about the foremother of all religions, the Great Goddess. He taught her the preachers had lied trying to prove that the male deity began it all. Thousands of years ago, all people worshiped the Great Goddess, and women were heads of households and families. The path had split when men became dominant. Ancient religions were wiped off the face of Gaea, or were preached against, and women were called the source of all things evil and impure.

In the east, in the immeasurable distance, there lay an enormous Middle Empire^[12] that was contemporary to the demolished Cretan civilization. The yellow-skinned, slant-eyed people living there considered the male Yang to be the essence of light, and the female Ying to be that of darkness in heaven and on earth.

In the scorched valleys of Syria there lived another people, just as ancient and wise, who initially worshiped Rhea-Kibela, as the Cretans did. Then the goddess’ female name turned into a male one: Jehovah. Recently in Egypt, there had been a cult of Jehovah and two goddesses, his wives: Ashima-Betkhil and Anatkha-Betkhil. When the wives disappeared, the god remained alone.

The faith of the Jehovah worshipers declared a woman impure and evil. They accused her of causing the eviction of people from the primeval paradise by her sins. A woman who dared enter a temple, or appeared nude, even before her husband, was punishable by death. The more awkward the faith, the more the ignorant people clutched at it. Once they believed in this, their souls darkened and they became more fanatical. Endless wars, including bloodshed between closely related people, all resulted from men’s ascent to the thrones of gods and kings. All things poetic associated with the Muse, vanished. Poets became the court singers of a menacing god, while the philosophers justified his actions as the mechanics created new weapons.

And if a king became a poet and worshiped the Muse in the guise of a beautiful lover, then she was murdered. Such was the story of the Comagen king, Solomon and Sulamyth. She was also killed because she violated the taboo and did not hide her nudity.

“But there are so many poets and artists in Hellas who glorify the beauty of women,” Thais said.

“Yes, our female and male gods have not parted too much. That is good luck for Helenians and provides eternal envy for other people. In Hellas, the world is open to women, and that is why they are not as ignorant as those of other peoples, and their children do not grow up to be barbarians. Those who pose before artists and sculptors in all of their splendor are not killed, but celebrated, because we believe that to give one’s beauty to people is no less honorable than for a master to depict it in a fresco or in marble. Helenians have always understood the power of Eros and the importance of poetry for evolving the senses. We did not reach a point where women embody all their qualities in one incarnation, but at least we created two kinds of women in two most important guises: the lady of the house and a hetaera-friend.”

“Which one is more important?”

“They are both important. And both united in the Great Goddess Mother, the Mistress of Wild Animals and Plants. But remember, the Great Goddess does not live in cities. Her dwellings are among hills and groves, valleys and mountains, inhabited by animals. She is also in the sea, for she is a sea goddess as well. The prophets of Syria considered the sea to be the homeland of all things sinful. Rahab, the seductress and heiress of the Babylonian goddess Tiamat, is connected with the sea. They have an exclamation: ‘There will be no more sea’. The Egyptians too are afraid of the sea.”

“How strange. I think I couldn’t live without the sea,” Thais said. “But I am not afraid of a city if it stands on the seashore.”

“Do you not know which guise to follow?” the philosopher asked, then chuckled. “Don’t think about it too much. Fate itself made you a hetaera while you are young. When you are older, you’ll become a mother and much will change about you, but for now you are Circe and must fulfill your purpose.”

To Thais’ question as to what exactly her purpose was, the Delos priest explained that the female goddess, the Muse, while not being bloodthirsty, was still not as kind as her admiring poets saw her. There was a saying among people that to be a poet, to love a poet, or to ridicule him — all were equally deadly. The ancient moon goddesses of Crete and Syria were decorated with snakes as a reminder that their beautiful images concealed death, as lions guard their victims at their feet. Such are their sisters: the owl goddess with her wisdom-burning eyes, flying at night, announcing death. She is akin to the “night mare” Demeter, or the ruthless hawk Circe, the omen of peril, or to the mistress of the island of Tears, Ea, in the north of the Inner Sea. Circe was the enchantress of love, turning men into animals according to their worth: pigs, wolves or lions. Artemis Elate, the Huntress, watched over the health of all wild animals and people, destroying the feeble, the sick, the weak of mind and the ugly.

The great goddess Muse was always portrayed in the nude, as the giver of truth, unattached to any place or time. She could not be a housewife. She would always counter that guise. Therefore, women could not play her role for any length of time.

“I know,” Thais said with sadness and concern, “how many maenadae commit suicide during the love festivals.”

“I am increasingly pleased with you,” the philosopher exclaimed. “I shall add to your statements that she who was born to be a muse, but is forced to be a housewife, always lives with the temptation of suicide. Your role in life is to be a muse to artists and poets, charming and merciful, gentle but ruthless in all things pertaining to Truth, Love and Beauty. You ought to be an inspiring beginning that awakens the best aspirations of the sons of men, distracting them from gluttony, wine and fighting, stupid competition, miserly jealousy and humiliating slavery. Through poets and artists, you, the Muse, must not let the stream of knowledge turn into a dead swamp.

“I am warning you: it is not an easy path for a mortal woman. But it will not be long, for only young women full of strength can stand it.”

“And what then? Death?”

“If gods are merciful to you and allow you to die young. But if not, then you shall turn a different feminine face to the world, that of an instructor, a teacher of children, a gardener of those sparks of light in children’s souls that can later become torches. Wherever you are and whatever happens to you, remember you are a bearer of the Great Goddess’ face. When you lose your dignity, you humiliate all women, both Mothers and Muses. You allow the dark forces of the soul, especially the male soul, to be victorious instead of winning over them yourself. You are a warrior, which is why you must never fall before a man. Do not let the power of Eros do what you see as disgusting, allowing things that humiliate you. Better Anteros than such love.”

“You said Anteros, Father?”

“You grew pale. What are you afraid of?”

“We were taught since childhood that unrequited love was the worst misfortune, feared by Aphrodite herself. It dooms a man to intolerable suffering, the world becomes like the Nesses’ clothes^[13] to him. Anteros, God of unrequited love, invents new misfortunes and torment. And I cannot overcome my childhood fear.”

“Now that you are initiated into the knowledge of the Orphics and the three-faced goddess, you shall overcome this fear. Have you seen people who, like our poet, had the gift of subjecting others to their will? There are more of them than you think. They include tyrants, demagogues and strategists. It is great trouble when they serve the forces of evil, causing suffering. One must avoid all contact with such people for they spread around themselves the harmful breath of dark magic, also called black magic. You must know that there are ways to influence people through physical love, through attraction of genders, through beauty, music and dance. Obeying the purposes and knowledge of a black mage, a woman possessing beauty increases her power over men several fold, and a man does the same over women. And woe be upon those who will crawl at their feet, despised and willing to do anything for one word or glance. All this constitutes true Anteros. People and their lives are endlessly varied. But you possess the power not to obey blindly either people, or love, or deceptive words, whether they be they spoken or written. Why then would you be scared of unrequited love? It can only strengthen you on your way, bringing out your hidden powers. That was why I taught you.”

“And what about the terrible companions of Anteros, revenge and payback?”

“Why should you follow them? You must not humiliate and torture a man just as you must not humiliate yourself. Keep to the thin line of wise behavior or else you shall fall to the position of the one you humiliated, and both of you shall drown in the mud of lowly life.

“Remember the people who consider themselves to be “chosen”. They oppressed others by military force, by hunger or by deprivation of knowledge. Invariably, a sense of guilt grew in their souls, strange, blind and even more terrible because of it. That is why they rush about in search of a deity that could remove their guilt. Not finding such among the male gods, they rush toward the ancient female goddesses. And the others store the guilt within themselves. Becoming even more angry, they become torturers and executors of others, trampling over dignity and beauty of men, dragging them into mud and drowning there themselves. Such people are the most dangerous ones. Once upon a time the Orphics employed nemetors, the secret priests of Zeus Metron, Zeus the Measurer, whose duty was to eliminate such evil people quickly with the aid of poison. But the cult of Zeus the Measurer is no more, nor are his secret priests. And the number of tormentors grows in the Ecumene. Sometimes I feel that the daughter of Night, Nemesis, has fallen asleep, intoxicated by her own wreath of the daffodils which feed forgetfulness.”

“Do you know the secret of the poison?”

“No. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Your purpose is different. One cannot overlap different paths. This leads to errors.”

“You taught me yourself: the Orphics do not kill people. I would like to know, in case…”

“There are no cases. All things require Understanding and Discovery, two great components of Justice. No matter what you encounter in life, never step onto the dark path, and always do your best to dissuade other people from it. You are sufficiently armed for that. You may go home. I am tired, my daughter. Geliaine!”

Thais fell to her knees before her teacher, filled with gratitude. The Delos philosopher became serene when she kissed his hand.

“If you learned modesty here … But no, you were born with this gift of fate. I am glad for you, beautiful Thais,” the philosopher said, rising from the chair with difficulty.

Desperate longing, the anxious anticipation of a long separation from her beloved mentor, made Thais stall with her departure. She went to the main entrance, but stopped when she remembered her strange and colorful outfit. She couldn’t possibly walk down the street in it. Perhaps this clothing was only given to her temporarily. As if in response to her thoughts, a servant boy of the empty temple ran across the courtyard toward her. He bowed and took her into a side room, where she had gone in the beginning. There she found her clothes and sandals.

The boy said, “I shall take you home.”