Thais of Athens, page 14
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?”
