Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

Thais pulled out the box she always carried, the box containing the Cretan statuette that had been Ptolemy’s gift. She took out the precious sculpture and stretched out on the bed, examining the little figure as if she were seeing for the first time. Time and sad ponderings of recent days had given her new eyes.

A thousand years was an enormous period of time, and the statuette was older than that. The splendid Athens hadn’t even been around then, and heroic Theseus had yet to travel to Knossos to slay Minotaur, and to crush the mighty sea state. From that immeasurable distance had come to her this delicately carved face with enormous eyes and a small, tragic mouth. The little figure’s arms were bent at the elbows and raised with her palms up, a signal either for a pause or for attention. Her long, girlishly thin legs were stretched and slightly spread, and she stood on tiptoe, as if caught in the moment of pushing away from earth. Her clothing was made of gold leaf and appeared to wear a short, ornate apron with a broad sash, wrapped around an incredibly thin waist. A close-fitting bodice was supported by two shoulder straps, leaving her breasts open. A wide necklace lay over her collarbones at the base of her strong neck, laying rather than hanging because of her pronounced chest. A head band ran under the girl’s chin, holding together a tall cone-shaped hairstyle. The tauropola was young, fourteen years old, fifteen at most.

Thais suddenly realized that by calling her a tauropola, she had called the unknown Cretan girl a bull hunter, one of Artemis’ titles. Gods were jealous and possessive of their rights, but what could the goddess do? She had long since vanished into the kingdom of Hades, inaccessible even to Zeus himself. Of course it was possible Artemis could become angry with the living Thais … But what did she, the virginal huntress, have in common with a hetaera, a servant of Aphrodite?

Thais calmly resumed her examination of the statuette. There was nothing childish left in the face or figure of the watchful girl. More than ever before, Thais was moved by her tragic mouth and fearless gaze. This girl knew what was coming. Her life was to be short, having been dedicated to the deadly game, the dance with the long-horned spotted bulls, which were considered to be the embodiments of Poseidon the Earth Shaker.

The tauropola girls were the main participants in the sacred ritual. The ancient meaning had nearly been lost, but remained in the victory of the feminine beginning of the masculine one, of the earth mother over her temporary spouse. The might of the awesome beast was spent during the dance, which was a duel between it and the quick young girls and boys who were specially trained as jumpers and prepared for this deadly ballet by the connoisseurs of the complex ritual. Cretans believed that this was a way to dissipate the god’s anger as it matured slowly and inevitably in the depths of earth and sea.

It was as if the dwellers of ancient Crete had sensed their sophisticated culture would perish from terrible earthquakes and tidal waves. Where had they come from, those distant ancestors of hers? Where had they come from, and where had they gone? Based on what she knew from the myths, and from what Nearchus had told his two enraptured listeners, she believed the beautiful, sophisticated people — the artists, seamen, and travelers — already lived on Crete when the surrounding lands were still inhabited by the savage ancestors of the Helenians. It was as if a magnolia tree, full of spicy, fragrant flowers, suddenly grew among the wind-beaten pines and poisonous oleanders. Such was the inexplicably delicate, poetic beauty of the Cretan culture among the coarse, war-loving nomads from the shores of the Inner Sea [9] Mediterranean , which were only comparable to that of Egypt.

Her slave, Clonaria came in, shaking her coarse-haired, closely cropped head.

“That man is here,” the girl said, and her voice shook from her deeply ingrained hatred toward the trader of human merchandise.

Thais returned to reality. “Take the money box, count out three minas worth of owls and give it to him.”

The slave laughed. Thais smiled and gestured her to come closer. “Let’s count together. Three minas are a hundred and eighty drachmas. Each owl is four drachmas, for the total of forty-five owls. Got it?”

“Yes, kiria. Is that for the Theban? It’s not much,” the girl said, giving a disdainful chuckle.

“Yes, you cost me more,” Thais agreed. “But do not judge quality based on price. Everyone is different, and just because you cost much, you can be sold cheaper.”

Before Thais had even finished speaking, Clonaria had pressed her face to her knees.

“Kiria, don’t sell me when you leave. Take me with you!”

“What are you talking about? Where am I going?” Thais asked, brushing the girl’s hair off her forehead.

“We, your servants, are afraid you are going somewhere. You don’t know how terrible it would be to end up with someone else, after you’ve been so kind and beautiful.”

“Are there so few good people in the world?”

“Few people like you, Mistress. Do not sell me.”

“Very well, I promise you. I’ll take you with me, even though I am not going anywhere. How is the Theban girl?”

“After we gave her something to eat she washed for so long that she used up all the water in the kitchen. She is sleeping now, sleeping as if she hasn’t had any sleep in a month.”

Thais nodded her approval. “Now off with you. The trader is waiting. And don’t bother me anymore. I want to sleep.”

Clonaria quickly counted off the silver and ran out of the bedroom, a smile on her face. Thais rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. She was too wide awake after the nighttime trip and the emotional discussions with her friend.

When they docked in the Pyrean harbor, the port was already full of people. Leaving their boat in the care of their two friends, Thais and Egesikhora decided to take advantage of the relative coolness of Leuconot, the “white” southern wind, and strolled along the large market, where trade was already going at full speed. The minor slave market was located at the intersection of the Faleron and Mid-wall Pyrean roads. The well packed, dusty square was bordered on one side by long low barracks that had been rented out to the slave traders. This market consisted of coarse slabs of stone and boards of the platforms, polished by the feet of countless visitors. This was in contrast to the large raised platform of pale marble which stood in the shade of a roofed colonnade within the walled-in porticos ornamenting the major slave market in Athens, fifteen stadiums from here.

Both hetaerae headed around, following the side path. Thais’ attention was attracted by a group of emaciated people displayed at the edge of the market, huddled pathetically on a separate wood platform. The group included two women, barely covered by their tattered clothes. Without a doubt, they were Helenians, most likely Thebans. Most of the citizens from the decimated Thebes had been sent to the distant harbors and long since sold. This group of four men and two women had probably been brought here, to the port market, by some rich landowner with the intent of simply getting rid of them. Thais was appalled by the sight of free citizens of what had once been a famous city, dumped here with so little respect.

A tall man paused before the platform. His face was powdered and framed by a thick beard in large curls. Thais thought he was possibly a Syrian. With a careless flick of one finger, he ordered the trader to push forth the younger of the two women. She was an attractive girl of about eighteen, not tall in height as was typical for Helenian women. Her cropped hair sat at the back of her head in a thick punch, held by a narrow blue ribbon. Judging by the thickness of her hair, Thais could see what splendid braids the Theban girl would have once had.