Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

The Spartan silently opened the box and pulled out a sheet of papyrus, covered on both sides with Nearchus’ small, tidy handwriting.

“Nearchus, the son of Merion, sends wishes of health to Egesikhora and encloses all this.” The Spartan poured a handful of precious stones onto the bed, as well as two bottles of sparkly tiger’s eye set in gold.

High class hetaerae knew as much about precious stones as would a professional jeweler. Thais pulled one of the lanterns out of the onyx shade and the friends leaned over the gift. There were fiery red pyropes (“flaming eyes”), a huge ruby with a six point star inside, deep blue “royal” beryllium, several bright violet hyacinths, two large pink pearls, a flat pale purple stone with metallic sheen with which the hetaerae were not familiar, and the golden chrysolites of the Eritrean Sea. Nearchus knew his gems well and had made a truly royal gift to his lover, from whom he had been separated for so long.

Egesikhora, flushed with pride, lifted the jewels in her hand, reveling in their sparkle. Thais hugged and kissed her with congratulations.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Forgive me, I lose myself at the sight of the gift.”

The Spartan unrolled a piece of red leather and handed Thais a tiny statuette of Anaitis or Anachita, skillfully carved out of a large sapphire. It was approximately the size of a pinky finger. The goddess stood in a lifelike pose, different from the usual solemn, motionless one, with one arm behind her head and the other supporting a heavy spherical breast. The dark blue stone shimmered like silk around her curves.

“Nearchus sent this to you and asked to remember him.”

The Athenian picked up the precious knickknack with mixed feelings of irritation and relief. Ptolemy also could have sent something as a sign of remembrance, but considering he hadn’t sent anything, she thought he must have forgotten her. Thank Migonitida. If Alexander and his captains showed up here, she wouldn’t have to solve a problem of getting rid of a former lover who was now an army leader of a mighty conqueror.

“Are you thinking about Ptolemy?” the Spartan asked. She pressed a warm hand to her friend’s cheek, perceptive like all women are.

“No.” Thais shook her head, dismissing the subject. “What are you going to do?”

“Wait for Nearchus,” Egesikhora replied with certainty.

“What about Eositeus?”

“Let him go to Sparta, to Macedonia, even to Erebus itself.”

“Are you not afraid of his jealousy?”

“I am afraid of nothing.”

“I know you are timoleaina, as courageous as a lioness, but take my advice. Keep this box at my house.”

“Your advice is sound.”

At the end of the last Attica spring month, Skyrophorion, the entire land of Egypt became unusually restless. Alexander’s mechanics built a huge pier and finally took the invincible Tyre after a seven month siege. Eight thousand defenders of the city were killed, thirty thousand citizens were sold into slavery. Three thousand of them were now building a slope of sand at the walls of Gaza, suffering greatly from a lack of water, an abundance of beatings and the cruel sun. The city decided to resist, despite the lesson of the mighty Tyre. They had been deceived by the assurances of Darius’ messengers that the king of Persia was coming with an innumerable army.

Darius didn’t come to the walls of Gaza, rather they met with a wall of sand taller than its towers. From this wall the Macedonians struck the defenders as if they were in a valley. The cleverness of the mechanics didn’t stop there. Protected by the sand walls, the Macedonians dug under the walls of Gaza, causing them to crumble.

In the last cruel battle, Alexander was badly wounded. Aristander the seer warned the king that he would be in grave danger if he decided to participate in the battle, but Alexander’s hot blood kept him from heeding the warning. A boulder from an “apparatus”, as they called the war machines for throwing stones, pierced his shield and struck his left shoulder, breaking a rib and a collar bone. As he was carried away from the battlefield, accompanied by the dismayed cries of his army, Alexander smiled and greeted his soldiers by raising his right hand.

All male defenders of Gaza were slaughtered, all women and children were sold into slavery. Alexander ordered his men to destroy all temples. In Tyre he stopped and placed a military siege machine at the main temple of Bel, and left Nearchus’ ship in the main square of the city.

The way to Egypt lay open before him, and Alexander was expected in Memphis by the end of summer. In Boedromion, in fact, as soon as he recovered from the wound. Many wealthy people escaped across the sea. Beautiful houses with large gardens in the northern part of Memphis were sold at half price.

The Spartans were getting ready to leave. Two ships of the strategist Eositeus arrived from Naucratis. They waited at the pier, ready to take on a hundred goplits of the guards, the strategist’s possessions and Egesikhora’s horses.

The Spartan hetaera walked around as if lost, having learned of her friend’s decision to return to Hellas. After two sleepless nights, Thais came up with a job for her Spartan in Athens. Thais’ house was still intact with all the furnishings. She invited Egesikhora to stay with her. The term of punishment for crippling Aristotle’s philosophers had ended in Megateynion of the same year.

The Lacedemonian begged Thais and Menedem not to abandon her in Memphis.

“Why do you want to stay?” the Athenian asked. “Let us sail with Eositeus on the Spartan ships.”

“I can’t. Your clarity of mind has abandoned you because of your love for Menedem,” Egesikhora objected. “Once we are in Sparta, I shall never break free of Eositeus. And he has plans for a big war.”

“Again? Haven’t your compatriots had enough? I am so sick of their war mongering cruelty. Young Spartans learn how to hunt slaves since a tender age.”

“What is so bad about that? They are taught manly toughness in handling the slaves in order to suppress the mere thought of freedom in them.”

“A slave owner is a slave himself, even worse than his servants.”

Egesikhora shrugged her shoulders. “I have long since gotten used to the Athenian frivolity in such things, but you shall pay for it.”

“Sparta will fall sooner, like an elderly lion that becomes food for vile hyenas.”

“We are arguing about superficial things, as if we were men,” Egesikhora said impatiently. “You are avoiding my request. Why won’t you and Menedem stay with me until the Macedonians arrive. They won’t harm your lover, I swear.”

“I can protect him myself.”

“Then do it for me.”

“Very well, I’ll talk to Menedem.”

The Lacedemonian clasped her friend in her arms and covered her dark cheeks with kisses of gratitude.

But disaster fell upon them, unexpectedly as always, akin to a lightning strike. Both friends were walking along the pier, already accustomed to the shouts of admiration of the passing citizens both male and female. They were enjoying the river during the gentle Egyptian late summer evening.

At the height of its water level, the Nile flows faster. Its darkened waters carry fewer boats than during the shallow water period.

Menedem was on duty at the Spartan camp. Instead of him, Hesiona followed Thais, always walking a step behind, hiding her face behind a silk scarf from overly inviting glances. The endless procession of pedestrians moved slowly in both directions as they watched the Memphis celebrities. People here dressed much more modestly than in Athens, and especially more in wealthy cities of Asia Minor and Syrian coast. Further behind the two friends came Eositeus who attracted everyone’s attention with his height, which was over four elbows, and three enormous lokhagosi, or detachment captains. The Spartans, wearing battle sashes, capes and helms crowned by tall brushlike crests of horse hair, towered over the crowd like menacing gods. The Egyptian and Persian soldiers were nowhere to be seen.