Ivan Yefremov: Thais of Athens

No, of course she was not a goddess or a priestess, this small, young girl. In Attica, as in most of Hellas, priestesses were chosen from the tallest, fair-haired beauties. But from where did this girl’s calm assurance come? She stood regally, as if she were in a temple and not standing naked before him on an empty shore. He wondered vaguely if she, too, had left her clothing at the distant Phoont Cape. Kharitas, who bestowed magical allure upon women, frequently appeared as girls, but they were an inseparable threesome. This girl was alone.

Before Ptolemy could guess any longer, a female slave in a red chiton [1] A garment worn by men and women consisting of a rectangle of cloth, wrapped around and pinned or sewn at the shoulders. A woman’s chiton was ankle length, whereas a man could wear either a full length or a knee length chiton. appeared, emerging from behind a rock. She deftly wrapped the girl in a sheet of coarse fabric and started drying her body and hair.

Ptolemy shivered. He had warmed up while struggling against the waves, but now he had cooled off. The wind was brisk even for a Macedonian who was hardened by stern physical upbringing.

The girl tossed the hair away from her face and suddenly whistled through her teeth as if she were a boy. The whistle surprised Ptolemy and he frowned. The sound appeared both disdainful and obnoxious, completely unfit for her feminine beauty.

Apparently in response to the whistle, a small boy appeared and glanced cautiously at Ptolemy. The Macedonian, who was observant by nature and had developed this ability further while studying under Aristotle, returned his inquiring stare. He noticed the boy’s fingers clutched the hilt of a short dagger which was hidden in the folds of his clothing.

The girl said something in a voice too quiet for Ptolemy to hear over the splash of the waves, and the boy ran off. He returned and approached Ptolemy with greater trust this time, handing him a short cape. Ptolemy wrapped it around himself, then, obeying the girl’s silent request, turned so he faced the sea.

As he turned, he heard the farewell “Haire!” called from behind his back. Ptolemy spun on his heel and rushed toward the stranger, who was fastening her sash after a Cretan fashion, around her waist instead of beneath her breasts. The cinched waist was just as impossibly slender as those of the ancient women of the legendary island.

He shouted, “Who are you?”

The merry gray eyes squinted with restrained laughter. “I recognized you right away, even though you looked like a wet bird. You are a servant of the Macedonian prince. Where did you lose him and the other companions?”

“I am not his servant, but his friend,” Ptolemy said proudly, but held back from revealing anything more and possibly giving away a dangerous secret. “But how could you have seen us?”

“I saw the four of you standing in front of the wall, reading meeting requests at Ceramic. You didn’t even notice me. I am Thais.”

Ptolemy caught his breath. “Thais? You?”

“That surprises you so?”

“I read that one Philopatros offered Thais a talant, a cost of an entire trireme, and she still didn’t inscribe the time for their meeting. I started looking for this goddess …”

She chuckled. “Tall, golden-haired, with blue eyes of a Tritonid [2] A sea nymph — daughter of Triton. , she who takes away one’s heart …”

“Yes, yes. How did you know?”

“You are not the first, not at all. But farewell again, my horses are anxious to go.”

“Wait!” Ptolemy exclaimed, feeling suddenly that he couldn’t stand to part with the girl. “Where do you live? Can I come to you? Can I bring my friends?”

Thais studied the Macedonian. Her eyes lost their twinkle and grew darker.

“Come,” she said after a pause. “You said that you know Ceramic and the Royal Market. There are big gardens between Ceramic and the Hill of Nymphs, to the east of Gamaxitos. You’ll find my house at the outskirts, clearly marked by two olive trees and two cypresses.” She stopped speaking abruptly and gave him a farewell nod. Then, just as suddenly, she disappeared among the rocks, following a well-defined path that wove its way to the top.

Ptolemy leaned forward, shook sand out of his hair and slowly made his way to the road. He shortly found himself not far from the Long Walls of Munikhion. The long trail of dust from Thais’ carriage floated toward the tree-covered mountain slopes, already blue with twilight. Her two-horse equipage traveled quickly; the young hetaera must have had splendid horses.

A rude exclamation from behind made Ptolemy leap to the side. Another carriage rushed past him, driven by a huge Boeotian. A fashionably dressed young man with long strands of curled hair stood next to the driver, grinning unpleasantly. He lashed Ptolemy with a long handled whip, scorching the Macedonian’s barely clad body.

The offender obviously didn’t know he was dealing with an experienced warrior. In a flash, Ptolemy grabbed one stone from the many on both sides of the road and tossed it after the carriage. The stone hit the Athenian in the neck just below the back of his head, and it was only the speed of the departing carriage that allowed the impact to soften. Still, the man fell and would have rolled out had his driver not grabbed him and slowed the horses.

The driver showered Ptolemy with curses, yelling that he had killed the wealthy citizen, Philopatros, and ought to be executed. The enraged Macedonian tossed away his cape and reached for a boulder. The one he chose weighed at least a talant, and he lifted it over his head and started toward the carriage. The driver, taking stock of the Macedonian’s powerful muscles, lost his desire to fight and drove away, still supporting his master, who was coming around. While he drove he yelled back at Ptolemy, cursing and threatening as loudly as his booming voice would allow.

Ptolemy calmed down and tossed the boulder away. With an exasperated sigh, he picked up the cape and resumed walking along the shore path. He followed it up an overhang where it took a shortcut across a wide loop of the carriage road. As he walked, he thought about the man on the carriage. Something in his memory kept bringing back the name ‘Philopatros’. That was what the driver had shouted out. Was Philopatros the one who had written an offer to Thais at Ceramic? Ptolemy grinned. Apparently he had acquired a rival in his offender.

The Macedonian could not offer a talant of silver to the hetaera for a brief liaison, that much was true. A few minas, perhaps. He had heard too much about Thais to simply give her up. Despite her seventeen years of age, Thais was considered to be an Athenian celebrity. For her skill as a dancer, her superior education and particular attractiveness, she was nicknamed ‘a fourth Kharita’.

The proud Macedonian would never have asked for money from relatives. Alexander, being the son of King Philip’s rejected wife, couldn’t help his friend either. The trophies after the battle at Chaeronea hadn’t amounted to much. Philip, who took great care of his soldiers, had split everything in such a manner that the prince’s friends got no more than the last infantryman. Then Philip had sent Ptolemy and Nearchus into exile, separating them from his son. The three had only managed to meet here, in Athens, when Alexander had called them. That was after Philip dispatched him and Hephaestion to explore Athens and establish themselves there. And while the Athenian wits said “a wolf can only produce a cub”, Alexander’s true Hellenic beauty and remarkable intelligence made an impression with the experienced citizens of Athens, “The Eye of Hellas”, “The Mother of Arts and Eloquence”.