Ivan Yefremov: Thais of Athens

“Why are you called phainomeris? ‘Those who show their hips’?” Ptolemy asked.

“Show him how a Spartan woman is supposed to be dressed in her country,” Thais said to Egesikhora. “Your old peplos has been hanging in my opistocella since we staged a scene from Cadmian folklore.”

Egesikhora quietly went into an inner room of the house. Nearchus watched her until she disappeared behind a curtain.

“Fate sends us many strange gifts,” Hephaestion muttered mischievously, winking at Ptolemy.

He put his arms around the shy Nannion and whispered something to her. The hetaera blushed and obediently offered her lips for a kiss. Ptolemy tried to hug Thais, moving closer to her as soon as Alexander went to the table.

“Wait till you see your goddess,” she said and pushed him away.

Ptolemy obeyed without question, wondering how this young girl was able to charm and rule him at the same time.

Egesikhora did not keep them waiting long. She reappeared in a long white peplos, completely open along the sides, and held in place with a single woven tie at the waist. Strong muscles rippled under the smooth skin. The Lacedemonian’s hair flowed like gold down her back, curling into thick tendrils below her knees, forcing her to lift her head higher, thus opening her strong jaw line and powerful neck. She danced the ‘Hair dance’, ‘Cometike’ for them, accompanying herself with her own singing, rising high on tiptoe and resembling the splendid statues by Callimachus, those of the Spartan dancers who undulated like fire, as if they were about to take off in their ecstasy.

A general sigh of admiration met Egesikhora, who twirled slowly, relishing the power of her own beauty.

“The poet was right,” Hephaestion said, pulling away from Nannion. “There is a lot in common with the beauty and power of a thoroughbred horse.”

“Andrapodysts, the kidnappers of the free people, tried capturing Egesikhora once. There were two of them — big men. But Spartan women are taught to fight and these two thought they were dealing with the delicate daughter of Attica, destined to live in the women’s half of the house,” Thais said. “That was their mistake.”

Egesikhora, not even slightly flushed from her dance, sat next to her and hugged her friend. She paid no attention to Nearchus, who was gazing lustfully at her legs.

Alexander rose reluctantly. “Haire, Cretan. I wish I could love you and talk to you. You are uncommonly smart. But I must go to Kinosargos, the temple of Hercules. My father ordered me to Corinth, where there will be a great gathering. He is about to be elected the main warlord of Hellas, the new union of polices, without the stubborn Sparta, of course.”

“Are they separating again?” Thais exclaimed.

“What do you mean again? It has happened many times.”

“I was thinking about Chaeronea. Had the Spartans united with Athens, then your father …”

“Would have lost the battle and escaped into the Macedonian mountains. And I wouldn’t have met you,” Alexander said with a laugh.

“What did this meeting today give you?” Thais asked.

“The memory of your beauty.”

She smiled. “It’s like bringing an owl to Athens. Are there not enough women in Pella?”

“You did not understand. I was speaking of it as it ought to be. The kind of beauty that brings acceptance in life, comfort and clarity. You Helenians call it ‘astrophaes’, or starlight-like.”

Thais slipped from her chair and knelt on a cushion at Alexander’s feet. “You are young yet, but you said something I shall remember all my life,” she said. She lifted the prince’s large hand and pressed it to her cheek.

Alexander tipped her black-haired head back and said with a tinge of sadness, “I would ask you to come to Pella, but why would you? Here you are known to the entire Attica, even though you are not in eoas, the Lists of Women. I am just a son of a divorced royal wife.”

“You shall be a hero,” she replied. “I can feel it.”

“Well then you shall be my guest whenever you wish.”

“I thank you, and I shall remember that. But you remember also: Ergos and Logos, Action and Word are one, as the wise men say.”

Hephaestion withdrew from Nannion with regret, though he had already set up an evening rendezvous. Nearchus and Egesikhora disappeared. Ptolemy could not and did not wish to delay attending the Kinosargos. Unable to resist, he lifted Thais from the cushion and pulled her to him.

“You and only you have taken over me. Are you free? Do you wish me to come to you again?”

She gave him a small, intimate smile, meant only for him. “One does not settle such things on a doorstep. Come again, then we’ll see. Or are you, too, going to Corinth?”

“I have nothing to do there. Alexander and Hephaestion are the only ones going.”

“And what of the thousand hetaerae of the Corinthian Aphrodite? They serve the goddess and do not charge.”

“I already said and can repeat myself. There is only you for me.”

Thais squinted mischievously, sticking the tip of her tongue between her firm yet still childish lips.

Then the three Macedonians stepped out into the dry wind and blinding whiteness of the streets, leaving the women behind.

Thais and Nannion, left to themselves, sighed and shared their thoughts with each other.

“Such people,” Nannion said. “So young and already so mature. The mighty Hephaestion is only twenty-one, and the prince is only nineteen. But how many people have they already killed?”

“Alexander is handsome,” Thais agreed. “Educated and smart like an Athenian, and hardened like a Spartan, only …” Thais paused and shook her head slightly.

“He is not like the others somehow. I do not know how to say it,” Nannion mused.

“You look at him and feel his power, and yet also sense he is far away from us, thinking about things that would never occur to us. That is why he is lonely even among his close friends, even though they are not small, ordinary people either.”

“Like Ptolemy? I noticed you like him.”

“Yes. He is older than the prince, but closer and can be understood through and through.”

As Ptolemy came around the bend, following the path that circled the Barathron hill, the giant cypresses came into view and his heart filled with an unfamiliar joy. Her house stood before him, seeming simple and plain after ten days spent in Athens. He made his way up the opposite slope so quickly it was as if a gust of wind swept him along. Feeling the need to regain composure appropriate for a warrior, he paused near the rough stone wall and listened to the rustle of silvery green olive leaves over his head.

The outskirts of the city, with its scattering of houses through the gardens, seemed deserted at this hour. Everyone, young and old, went to celebrate at Agora and Acropolis, as well at the temple of Demeter, the goddess of fertility, who was also addressed as Gaea Pandora, the All-bringing Earth.

As usual, Tesmophorias were to take place during the first night of the full moon, at the time of the fall sowing. Today people celebrated the end of plowing, one of the most ancient holidays of the farming ancestors of the Athenians, who were no longer involved in this most honorable of labors, caring for Gaea’s face.

That morning Thais had passed a message to Ptolemy through Egesikhora and Nearchus. The message had stated that he was to come to her at sunset. Realizing what the invitation implied, Ptolemy became so anxious that even Nearchus was surprised, having long since acknowledged his friend’s supremacy in matters of love. Nearchus had also changed since his meeting with the Spartan beauty. Glumness he had so often displayed since childhood had vanished. Playful mischief, so typical for his people, peeked from under the shield of steady self-possession he had adopted so many years before, when he had found himself a child slave in a strange country.