Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

“They really are,” Lysippus agreed.

“They’ll listen to you, after all. You know how to order, teacher.”

The Athenian’s sweet tone made the sculptor suspicious. “What do you want from me, restless child?” he asked.

“I have never ridden an elephant. How do they do it? You can’t just sit astride such a huge thing.”

“The battle elephants are ridden in a little gazebo saddle. The same goes for the everyday riding, except the walls are lower and have large side cutouts. I watched them from the distance. I have never ridden an elephant either.”

Thais hopped up and put her arms around the artist’s neck. “Let’s go. We’ll take Hesiona and Eris. We’ll only travel one or two parsangs.”

Lysippus agreed. They chose the biggest elephant, one with long tusks and hostile eyes. A yellow fringe danced around his forehead and around the roof of the colorfully painted gazebo saddle. Thais settled triumphantly on a cross bench with Eris, facing Lysippus. Hesiona stayed home, having flatly refused to participate. The caretaker made the giant rise, and the elephant started down the road. His thick skin slipped and moved oddly over his ribs, making the gazebo tilt, rock and dive. Thais and Eris found the rhythm of the elephant’s walk, but Lysippus was barely able to stay on his bench. He wiped sweat continuously from his brow and cursed the overly long promenade. Being unfamiliar with the inconveniences of riding an elephant and also being unaccustomed to it, they had chosen a too-distant destination for their ride. The great sculptor bore it bravely, like a true Helenian, but in the end was only too glad to climb off the elephant, grunting and stretching as he did so.

“I don’t envy Roxanne,” Thais said, jumping straight down from the gazebo.

Hesiona was waiting for them. “Amazing news!” she shouted from the doorway. “Garpal escaped with a mass of gold from the king’s treasury!”

Garpal was Alexander’s designated treasurer in Ecbatana. He had recently arrived in Babylon in order to meet his ruler.

“Where did he go, and what for?” Lysippus exclaimed.

“To Hellas, to Cassander, with a detachment of Helenian mercenaries left behind in Babylon.”

“What about Alexander?” Thais asked.

Hesiona flapped her hand dismissively. “He probably doesn’t know yet. More news: in Susa, Alexander decided to get married and also to marry all his officers to Asian women. The king himself took Darius’ eldest daughter, who was named Stateira, like her mother. Crateros became related to Alexander by marrying Roxanne’s sister. Hephaestion married Dripetis, Darius’ daughter and a sister of his former wife. Seleucus took Apama, the daughter of the late envoy Spitamenus. Ptolemy married Sirita, who was nicknamed Atacama, the Persian princess from Darius’ family. Nearchus was supposed to have a bride, too, the daughter of Barsina of Damascus and Mentor; however, he is still at sea and will not be able to attend the celebration. As far as I know my Cretan, he’ll dodge this marriage. Eighty officers and getaerosi are marrying girls of noble origins, and ten thousand Macedonian soldiers are entering lawful marriage with their slave girls, who are Persians, Bactrians, and Sogdians. There will be a celebration worthy of the feast of the titans, with three thousand actors, musicians and dancers.”

“Alexander wishes to create stronger ties between Macedonia, Hellas and Asia,” Lysippus said thoughtfully. “But must he be in such a hurry? They will marry and abandon these wives. The king is in a great rush. Thousands and thousands of unattended matters are waiting for him in Babylon.”

“I have to go home to Ecbatana. My son is missing me,” Thais said suddenly. “I shall leave the day after tomorrow if I can pack that fast. This place will become very hot soon.”

“Will you not stop by Susa?” Hesiona asked.

“No. The direct route through Garmal and the Sacred Fires is shorter and more convenient. You will stay here to wait for Nearchus. I know that, which is why I am not even asking. But what about our teacher?”

“I shall wait for Alexander here, though at first he probably won’t have time either for me or for the arts,” Lysippus replied.

A few hours before the departure, a messenger on horseback found Thais through Hesiona and the city overseer. He brought her a sealed letter from Ptolemy, who begged her not to be angry at him for the mandatory marriage with the Persian girl. He assured her that Alexander had forced them all to the speedy marriages and that they had done it only for the king’s sake. With his usual conviction, Ptolemy spoke of this marriage as a simple, meaningless favor to Alexander. He promised to tell Thais some kind of a secret that would be important for them both, once they met. Ptolemy mentioned the uncommonly lovely precious stones he had collected for her, but kept the words casual, because he knew what her reaction would be had he tried to bribe her openly.

Thais took a pin, stuck the letter to the table, cut it into small pieces with a sharp dagger, and scattered them in the wind.

She said a sweet but brief goodbye to Hesiona and Lysippus, not knowing that she was seeing them for the last time. Her small party traveled through the Ishtar gates and vanished down the northern road.

Thais spent the fateful third year of the hundred and fourteenth Olympiad in Ecbatana. Thais remembered every month of it well, down to the dark days of Targelion, during which Alexander died by a strange coincidence. The terrible battle of Hydaspes which had broken the spirits of the Macedonian army had also taken place at the end of Targelion, the third year of the prior Olympiad. Perhaps Aristander could have warned him, had the old man still been alive. But no. Alexander had long since stopped listening to him.

Some time passed before Ptolemy appeared in town. At first Thais enjoyed her grown Leontiscus, who became deeply attached to his mother. But then she felt lonely without the company of Lysippus.

One time she ascended to the cemetery in the hills and gazed for a long time upon the dazzling white tile on Cleophrades’ tomb. The wind moved the lacy shadow of juniper over it, making it look like script. Kneeling in the searing silence, she remembered the splendid inscription on the tomb of Anacreontus.

“Anacreontus’ tomb! Beneath it the swan of Teoss is asleep, and the passion of fiery youth is asleep.” Thais found herself composing the verses of the epitaph she had decided to carve on this blank white tile. It was already partially covered with ivy, the favorite graveside plants of Helenians. “Here lies Cleophrades,” she said aloud, “the sculptor of Athens, who molded the beauty of the feminine body with the eternal light of the goddess.”

After the new year, in the midst of summer heat, Hephaestion came to Ecbatana and brought a letter from Ptolemy, as well as an enormous quantity of jewels. Thais was also given an unexpected gift from Alexander: a gold statuette of a woman that looked like Thais, dressed like a maenadae. She was the companion of Dionysus, and was covered in ivy from head to waist with a few tendrils descending below her waist. Thais was delighted by the workmanship of the sculpture, but understood its meaning only after she saw the king one last time.

Hephaestion visited the Athenian at her house and told her about their adventures during the campaign. Thais peered at the merry giant’s long-familiar face with anxiety, finding in him traces of immeasurable fatigue and a strange emptiness. Sometimes Hephaestion’s gaze rested on something invisible and life itself seemed to leave his eyes.

In honor of Alexander’s closest friend and chiliarchus, the citizens of Ecbatana organized a great celebration. Judging by the number of actors, it almost equaled the marriage celebration in Susa.