Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

None of this sat well with the deep faith that was such a huge part of the particular wisdom of Egyptians. The Athenian had dared to express her doubts to the high priest of Ptah during a feast by the Helenian admirers of Serapis. In the heat of argument she hadexpressed her disgust rather harshly toward Sebek, the crocodile god. In Corinth, she had been brought up in the spirit of respect toward religions of eastern countries. But the years of living in Athens had left in her the disdain to all things alien and incomprehensible to Helenians.

Thais had no idea how dearly she would have to pay for the uncharacteristic expression of Athenian supremacy over the rest of Ecumene.

She convinced Egesikhora to go to the White Antelope settlement up the Nile, so that they could see the second wonder of the world described by Herodotus: the Egyptian Labyrinth. Her friend flatly refused, but Thais set off anyway, accompanied by Hesiona and her faithful Menedem, whose captain had given him permission following Egesikhora’s request.

It was a brief trip, only four thousand stadiums up the river, and another hundred up a canal toward the famous lake Merida. During that time of year the canal and that branch of the river filled with silt, and the way became impassable. Thais and her companions had to leave the ship behind and make their way through shallow waters in a light boat, maneuvering between reeds. Fortunately, the true bane of Egyptian rivers and lakes — mosquitoes — were absent in the fall.

The translator they had hired specially for the trip was a Greek man from Memphis. He glanced around nervously, saying there were many zukhoses living in the vicinity of Crocodilopolis since time immemorial. These were the huge, living embodiments of the god Sebek, some of them as long as thirty elbows.

Naïvely, Menedem asked why the dreadful monsters hadn’t been killed off in all that time. This was when he discovered that if crocodiles, especially young ones, get stuck in the silt and die during sudden decreases in water levels, their bodies were embalmed. Scores of crocodile mummies were stored in special rooms of the Sebek temple in Crocodilopolis, in the ancient Hetep-Senusert, and even in the Labyrinth.

Despite the oarsmen’s best efforts to deliver the visitors to the Labyrinth sooner so they could examine it before dark, they arrived there only at midday. Foreigners were not allowed to spend the night here, on sacred land. Instead, they could stay at xenon, an inn eight stadiums to the north, on the same strip of land which connected the river and the swamp housing the Labyrinth and two pyramids.

A learned priest from Herculeopolis told Thais the Labyrinth had been constructed by Amnemkhet the Third as a burial temple for himself. Based on the priest’s calculations, the great pharaoh had died four hundred years before the destruction of Knossos and the reign of Theseus in Athens. That was six centuries before the Trojan war and fifteen hundred years prior to the birth of Thais herself.

The usually bold hetaera entered the endless suite of rooms of the Labyrinth with some trepidation, even though the white pyramid to which it was attached was only half the size of those in Memphis. A huge corridor divided the Labyrinth into two halves. Its walls were decorated with marvelous frescoes whose bright colors hadn’t faded a bit after fifteen centuries. There were no usual canonical figures of gods and pharaohs accepting gifts, killing their enemies or beating their prisoners. Instead there were scenes from everyday life, painted with incredible liveliness and delicacy: hunting, fishing, bathing, grape harvesting, tending livestock, dancing and celebratory gatherings with musicians, acrobats and wrestlers.

It was as if Thais had been transported into the Egypt of that period, captured by a talented artist who was following a request from a wise king.

Though they were weary, Thais, Menedem and Hesiona wandered from one hall to the next, winding between the white columns covered with relief images in the usual Egyptian style. They strolled through ornate corridors, through rooms decorated with friezes and ornaments of incredible beauty: blue zigzags, white and purple patterns that looked like carpets woven of thick threads, and even more complex colorful frescoes. Their tired eyes refused to make out the interconnections of spirals, curlicues of wheels with twelve spokes, miraculous lotus flowers with red petals and long stems. Cleverly made cuts under the stone slabs of the ceiling let enough light into the upper rooms of the Labyrinth that they could do without torches.

According to the interpreter, exactly the same labyrinth of lower rooms corresponded to the upper portion. That was where the sacred crocodile mummies were kept, and that was where the particularly interesting ancient sanctuaries were located, painted with the images of extinct animals such as giant hyenas and unicorns. The attendant who took them around the Labyrinth did not show them the lower portion, explaining that there was an ancient rule against letting foreigners there.

Daylight was fading and the halls and corridors were beginning to darken. It was time to make their way out of the thousand-room structure. The priest led them toward the exit, and the tired visitors happily followed him. Not far from the main northern staircase, where reddish evening light trickled through the broad slots in the walls, Thais paused to examine a relief of a young woman carved in yellowish stone.

It had been done with skill unusual even for Egypt. Dressed in a delicate, transparent garment which was tied in a knot under her bare breasts, the woman held an unknown musical instrument. Her face, surrounded by a thick net of schematically drawn hair, bore unquestionably Ethiopian features as well as a sense of nobility the likes of which Thais had not seen even among the most aristocratic Egyptian women.

While the hetaera pondered to which people the ancient musician might have belonged, her companions walked ahead. A light touch to her bare arm startled her from her reverie. A woman in a common white linen stole, a long dress of sorts, stepped out of a dark portal.

Behind her stood a priest in a necklace of blue ceramic and golden beads. He nodded his closely-cropped head and whispered in broken Greek, “Down, you can go, I’ll lead.”

Thais approached the woman, nodded and turned around to call Menedem and Hesiona because they were already at the end of the gallery. But she wasn’t able to raise her voice before strong hands grabbed her from behind, shoved a rag into her mouth to stifle her shouts, and carried her off. Thais fought desperately, but more hands grabbed at her and tied her with strips of her own torn clothing. Eventually she gave up, letting them drag her along without resistance.

The kidnappers must have known the way well. They ran swiftly into the pitch dark, not needing the torches. Weak light scattered the gloom ahead. She detected the scent of wet grass and water. The kidnappers finally pulled the suffocating rag from her mouth and dragged her to the stone wall. Dark, still water glistened in the last rays of sunset, no further than half a plethor away. Having regained her ability to talk, Thais demanded to know what her kidnappers wanted of her, asking in both Greek and broken Egyptian. But the six male figures, whose faces she couldn’t distinguish in poor light, remained stubbornly silent. The woman who had lured Thais in was gone.

The Athenian was propped against the wall, freed of ropes and whatever had been left of her clothes. Thais tried to defend herself, but when she did, she received a punch in the stomach that left her breathless. The kidnappers untangled the jingling object they’d brought with them: thin but strong belts with buckles similar to horse tack. They tied Thais’ wrists to the rings that were built into the wall at chest level, wound the belts around her waist and ran one of them between her legs to a bracket behind her back.