Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

Eositeus listened and frowned, glancing at Egesikhora for direction. The Spartan hetaera laughed and clapped her hands in delight.

“Thais’ hair,” the poet continued, “is deca oymon melanos kianoyo, ten strips of black steel on Agamemnon’s armor. Oh, sphayropigeon telkterion, she who is full of charm, Kikloterezone …”

“Oh, my chrisocoma Egesikhora,” Eositeus interrupted in a mighty bass. “Leukopoloa, she who rides the white horses! Oh, Filethor eunekhis, beloved of the beautiful shoulders. Meliboa, the sweetness of life.”

Thunderous applause, laughter and encouraging exclamations drowned them both out. The dismayed rhapsodian froze, letting his mouth hang open. Thais jumped up, laughing, and held out her arms both to the poet and to his accompanist, then kissed each one.

The bearded lyre player held her hand and pointed at the ring given to her by the Delos philosopher. “You will be at the Neit temple tomorrow night.”

“How do you know?”

“I shall accompany you. When shall I come for you, and where?”

“We can speak later. I must dance for them now.”

“No, you mustn’t,” the bearded accompanist stated firmly.

“You speak nonsense. How can I not? I must thank them for the rhapsody and show the poets and the guests that they didn’t sing in vain. They’ll make me dance, anyway.”

“I can spare you. Nobody will ask or force you.”

She grinned. “I’d like to see the impossible.”

“Then step outside, as if to change and wait in the garden. Don’t bother changing your dress, though. Nobody will want you to dance. I’ll call you.”

Persistent cries of “Thais! Thais!” grew louder. Mad with curiosity, the Athenian ran out through the side door, which was covered by a heavy curtain. Against the bearded man’s advice she didn’t take the steps into the garden but stayed to watch, shifting the heavy fabric off to the side a little.

The bearded man handed his lyre off to someone and made a sign to his assistants.

“While Thais is getting ready, I will show you some miracles from the eastern lands,” he announced.

Two glass globes were placed near the tables and round mirrors reflected beams of light upon them from the bright luminaries. Glowing with golden light, the globes began revolving, helped along by leather straps that were moved by the assistants. Light striking at the metal mirrors filled the hall with long, even vibrations, ringing as if from afar.

The bearded man spread his arms, and his assistants placed two enormous censers to his left and right. He gazed upon the guests with his bright eyes. “Those who wish to see Tihe, the goddess of happiness, and ask her to fulfill their dreams,” he said, “must look into either of the globes and repeat her name in rhythm with the sound of the mirrors.”

Soon the entire room was chanting “Tihe! Tihe!” in unison. The globes revolved faster. Suddenly the bearded man stuck both hands into his leather sash and poured two handfuls of herbs over the coals. Sharply scented smoke, picked up by a light draft, spread rapidly through the hall. The bearded man stepped back, examined the crowd of partygoers and exclaimed, “Tihe is before you in her silver dress, wearing a sharp golden crown over her red hair. Do you see her?”

“We do!”

The powerful choir of voices indicated that all guests were now participating in the strange game.

“What would you rather have?” he asked. “Thais’ dance or Tihe’s mercy?”

“Tihe, Tihe!” the guests roared as one, reaching for something Thais couldn’t see.

The bearded man tossed more herbs over the coals, made a few strange gestures and people suddenly appeared to freeze on the spot. Then he turned and stepped behind the curtain. Thais barely managed to step aside in time.

The bearded man said briskly, “Let’s go.”

“What about them?” she whispered to the mysterious stranger.

“They will soon come back to their senses. And those who watched from the distance will testify that you were rejected in favor of Tihe.”

“Did she really appear to them?”

“They saw what I told them to see.”

“Where did you learn the art of ruling the crowd like that?”

“Satep-sa has been known in Egypt for a long time, and I have also been to India, where people are even more skilled at this art.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend of the one who waits for you tomorrow after sunset. Come, I shall escort you home. It is improper for Thais to walk around alone at night.”

“What am I to be afraid of next to such a ruler over people?”

“It is not as you think, but you won’t understand it now. My power is in my well-developed lema (will), and it can be used only at appropriate and carefully prepared moments.”

“Now I understand. Your magic is but an art that is unknown to us. And here I thought you were a son of Hecate, the goddess of night illusions.”

The bearded man chuckled. Without another word, he escorted Thais to her house. Once they arrived, they arranged a meeting time and place for the next day, left.

All the servants were asleep except Hesiona, who sat next to a lantern with her sewing and waited for her mistress. She had fully expected Thais to show up at dawn, accompanied by torch bearers and a noisy crowd of admirers. Hearing her voice in the silence of the night, Hesiona ran out to meet her, concerned and dismayed. Thais reassured her voluntary slave, had some honey drink and went to bed. Then she called Hesiona, informed her that she would be going away for ten days, and gave the Theban instructions for the duration of her absence. The girl begged to come with Thais, and her mistress’ refusal caused Hesiona to despair.

“You reject me, Mistress, and leave me alone. I don’t have anyone else in the world except you, and now you don’t need me. What am I to do if I love you more than life? I will kill myself.”

Hesiona had cried rarely till now. Reserved and somewhat stern, she absolutely refused to participate in dances or symposiums and rejected the men who attempted to pursue her.

Thais told Hesiona to climb into bed with her, patted her head and face and when her sobs subsided, explained to the Theban the reason why she couldn’t take her along either the previous time or this one. Hesiona calmed down and sat up on the bed, looking at her mistress with admiration and a bit of fear.

“Do not be afraid. I shall not change,” Thais said with a laugh. “And you will be with me, as before. But not forever. Your turn will come, and the one will appear for whom you’ll follow to the ends of the world. You will know the sweetness and the bitterness of a man’s love.”

“Never! I hate them!”

“Perhaps, but only until you recover from the war-induced trauma. Love will take what’s due. You are healthy, beautiful, and courageous. You cannot avoid Aphrodite’s traps.”

“I shall love only you, Mistress.”

Thais laughed and kissed her. “I am not a tribada. The goddess did not bestow the gift of double love upon me, or upon you. That is why the Eros of male love is unavoidable for both of us. It divides women, and fate pulls them apart. Be ready for it. However, both our names mean servants of Isis. Perhaps we are destined to be together.”

Hesiona slipped to the floor, frowning stubbornly, but relieved in the knowledge that Thais was not rejecting her. Her mistress fell asleep almost immediately, tired by the many events of a long day.

Thais and the poet-magician from the day before sat on the steps of the Neit temple in the twilight, above the dark river, waiting for the Sky Sentinel to rise.

The bearded poet said that the Delos philosopher forbade her to ask his name. He was a great scholar, but was only known to those who were initiated in the ways of the Orphics, Pythagoreans and gymnosophists. For several years he had lived in the west of the Libyan desert, where he discovered the empty ruins of ancient Cretan sanctuaries.