Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

Eris found her there when she brought an urgent letter from Ptolemy. Everything had unfolded as Thais foresaw back in Babylon, when she had explained to Eris the uncertain fate of royal children.

Cassander arrested Alexander’s mother, Olympias and accused her of treason. He also captured Alexander’s widow Roxanne and his twelve year old son, Alexander the Fourth, the heir of Macedonia, Hellas and Asia. The cruel tyrant ordered the great king’s mother and the former high priestess of Pella to be stoned and his widow and son executed. The soldiers did not dare raise their hands against Alexander’s own flesh, so Cassander himself tied up the mother and son and drowned them. All of Hellas, all diadochs, and all of Alexander’s soldiers who were still living were outraged by the disgusting deed. But, as it often happened, the culprit went unpunished. None of those with power or military force rose against him. For Cassander’s crimes were not limited to the slaughter of Alexander’s family. The tyrant of Macedonia had carried out many more atrocities.

Eris bitterly regretted that she was not living in Macedonia and had no access to Cassander’s inner circle. She would have killed him without delay, she said, although she had no doubt that gods would eventually punish the scoundrel. Her prophecy about Cassander’s approaching end turned out to be correct.

The news of the despicable crime resonated deeply with Thais. It caused a spiritual crisis, perhaps because it coincided with the realization of her departing youth. It was now Eris’ turn to entertain her by taking her to secret female dances in the moonlight in honor of Hecate, and gathering colorful pigments to the east from the Golden Bay, where green and blue malachite and azurite veins came to the surface of the mountain slopes in bright and pure hues.

In the fall Thais decided she’d spent enough time in country seclusion and decided to go to Pathos. The bustling city was a trade center for copper, cedar and particularly the special fibers for lamp wicks that did not burn away. It was famous the world over for its temple of Aphrodite Anadiomena. There, at Pathos, the goddess appeared from sea foam and starlight, which was why she bore the nickname of Patia or Cypredae, which meant ‘born at Cyprus’.

The sacred road led from the temple to a section of the shore separated from the rest of the bay by a wall. Nine marble columns honoring Aphrodite’s nine qualities framed the open portico of the pier, which was made of cube-shaped slabs of dense dark stone brought from the Trident Olympus. Two steps led to a water-covered landing made of the same stone. Transparent green waves rolled in from the sea and scattered at the sand bank. Long strips of white foam twirled fancifully over the smooth surface of the landing. Based on these curlicues, the priestesses of the goddess tried to divine the future, for according to the most ancient legends, this was the same spot where the gold-footed Aphrodite, the joy of people and gods, had emerged from the sea.

The beauties of the island: women from noble families, hetaerae, and daughters of farmers and shepherds bathed here after praying at the temple, believing the goddess would bestow upon them a fraction of her irresistible power of attraction. On the fifth day of each week, which was dedicated to Aphrodite, the place was crowded by curious bachelors in search of brides, artists with drawing paraphernalia, and sailors from ships arriving from all Helenian islands, from Finikia, Ionia, Egypt, Sicily and even from Carthage.

After some hesitation, Thais decided to participate in the ritual. Eris examined her friend and assured her that she still looked well enough to bathe during the date. Thais objected and went bathing at night, an hour before midnight, the time dedicated to Eros. Full moon shone over the knee-deep water at the first step, when both friends, having offered a bloodless sacrifice at the temple, entered the sea.

Focused and solemn, Thais stood in the moonlit sea, small waves splashing around and caressing her shoulders as if Thetis were trying to console her. Following a sudden urge, the Athenian raised her arms to the sky, whispering, “Foam-born, here I am at the place where you appeared in the world. Give me a sign. Tell me what to do next. A brief time shall pass and I will no longer bring joy to people or experience their power and yearning for beauty. I will no longer be able to serve you. Life is short. By the time you gather bits of knowledge and realize how to live, you are no longer able to go on. I beg you, oh gold-footed one, show me the way or kill me. Add gentle death to all your prior priceless gifts so that your divine will would see me across the River.”

Thais stood for a long time, watching the dark glimmering mirror of the sea, sometimes lifting her head to peer into the delicately-veiled sky. There was no sign or word surrounding Thais, nothing but the whispering of waves.

Delighted shouts, the ringing of small tambourines, and splashing of water startled the two women. They found themselves surrounded by young girls and men, drawing them in a merry dance to the second step of the landing where water was above their shoulders. Not letting the two friends cover up with capes after emerging from the sea, the young people, who were artists and poets as well as their models and lovers, wrapped Thais and Eris in garlands of white flowers that shone like silver in the moonlight. Ignoring their protests, they took them to a symposium as guests of honor.

Thais managed to get their clothes and appeared at the feast fully dressed, much to the disappointment of the sculptors, who had heard a lot about the beautiful bodies of the Athenian and the Ethiopian princess. During the symposium, Thais secretly observed who attracted more admiring glances. What it she, with her simple hairdo with three silver ribbons, wearing a gryph talon necklace and laughing openly and merrily, or was it Eris, always imperious, with her proudly raised head wearing a crown of menacing serpents, and the necklace of blue beryls sparkling against the dark skin of her long neck.

“They are looking at Eris more. No, at me. No, at Eris.” Failing to establish supremacy, Thais became absorbed in singing and dancing. This was the first real symposium of Helenian poets and artists she had attended in many years. Even Eris succumbed to the atmosphere of merriment and youthful love, earning insane admiration of the guests with her dancing.

The Athenian’s involvement did not last long. Thais settled off to the side, resting her face on one hand, and watched the young people with pleasure while sensing a strange sort of alienation at the same time.

Several times she caught the careful gaze of her host, a tall Ionian with much gray in his thick mane of wavy hair. It was as if he were trying to understand and weigh all that was happening in Thais’ heart. His wife, formerly a famous singer, led the symposium like an experienced hetaera. Following a barely noticeable sign from her husband, she stepped between the tables into the middle of the hall. She whispered to the musicians, they took the first few chords of the halting accompaniment, and the hostess’ voice rose amid the silence like a bird freed from its cage.

Thais shivered as the melody reached her heart. This was the song of the Great Threshold that rose inevitably in the path of each man and woman, in the middle of all roads of life. It was erected by Chronos after a number of years, designated by Ananka-Destiny. For the more fortunate ones, the Threshold was merely a small rise. Peaceful farmers stepped over it without noticing. Old warriors did not see the Threshold in their last battle. But people with changeful, event-filled lives, the creators of beauty, travelers and seekers of new lands, they often ran into a kind of wall, with the future beyond that was dark even for the most perceptive. They either chose not to cross the Great Threshold and wait for the end of their days by its side, or they threw themselves bravely into the unknown future, leaving everything behind: love and hate, happiness and peril.