Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

The horse jogged sideways from one pillar to the other in a graceful cross-step, then reared up, tipping her small head and swinging her front hooves in a greeting. From there Salmaakh moved in the opposite direction, following the beat of the tambourine, alternately tossing her front and hind quarters while Thais sat firmly, never moving a shoulder.

Having danced three rounds, the Athenian suddenly sent Salmaakh into a gallop. Hesiona beat the tambourine madly, while the Macedonians, all excellent horsemen, yelled in rhythm with the gait.

Imitating the legendary stiganorae [20] Literally — man-haters. This was an epithet frequently used for the Amazons. , Thais braced herself on one knee at full speed, then turned to face the horse’s tail and spread back over her back, hugging the mare’s broad curvy neck. After she turned back to sit properly, she made the horse rear up again, and Salmaakh spun around swiftly and gracefully, making two full turns in each direction. Urged by the thrilled shouts of the spectators, Thais slowed the horse to a moderate trot and stood up on her back, holding on by one strand of the long mane, and balancing perfectly.

No one had noticed the slaves as they quietly covered the courtyard with heavy, palm-tree boards. Thais settled down and stopped smiling, her face growing serious as she approached the boards. Hesiona’s tambourine, scattering the rhythm of the graceful dance, echoed the beat of the hooves. Obeying the hetaera’s knees, Salmaakh drummed over the resonating wood with all four hooves. Two, then four beats of the front hooves, then steps backward, then more beats of the front hooves. Two, four, eight, twelve, the grouped beats sped up, as the horse either trotted forward or receded to the back. Thais bent backward, arching her back and pointing her breasts toward the dark sky.

Hesiona, unable to stand still, danced on the spot, shaking the tambourine as hard as she could. The excited horse started jumping too, as if she were in a gallop, striking with three hooves at once, tossing her hind quarters and shaking her head.

Suddenly Thais hopped off Salmaakh’s back. Holding onto the horse with her right hand, she began an old ritual dance. Rising onto her right toes, the hetaera lifted her left leg high and grabbed its ankle with her outstretched left hand. Thais’ coppery body, flexed like a bow, formed a triangle that looked like the letter gamma with a bar on top against the horse’s dark gray hide. Then both her arms stretched out, level with her shoulders, in rhythm with the arching of the body. The right went up as the left one came down.

Another triangle appeared for a moment. Salmaakh hopped, moving slowly in a circle, ready to turn her other side. Thais flew up to the horse’s back and slipped down over the other side, repeating the triangle of the strange dance.

The tent was now filled with the roaring of her admiring audience. Leontiscus, unable to control himself, dashed forward but was stopped by Nearchus. Ptolemy appeared outwardly calm. He clutched his hands firmly together, then pressed them against his chest while glancing at the Thessalian. Even Alexander rose from his seat. He almost knocked over a broad shouldered, slightly slouching man who stood next to him, watching Thais’ dance as if his life depended on it.

Salmaakh jumped for the last time. Thais was on horseback again, and the horse reared and bowed to each side. Then Thais lowered the horse to her knees, with her head pointed toward Alexander. She hopped down and greeted him, and the delighted crowd went wild. Salmaakh was startled by the noise and jumped up, pressing her ears back and rolling her eyes. She backed up toward the backdrop of the “stage” and Hesiona caught her by the reins.

Alexander beckoned Thais to him, but the hetaera wrapped herself in a fringed Egyptian cape and ran off. She had to wash off the caustic horse sweat as quickly as possible, and she had to dress properly for the feast.

A few minutes later, Thais appeared under the tent, dressed in an orange chiton with three ribbons: blue, white and red, braided into the black mass of her wavy hair.

Before Ptolemy and Leontiscus had a chance to say anything, the hetaera approached Alexander. The king of the Macedonians took both her hands, kissed her and sat her down at the three legged Greek table between himself and the slouching man. The latter wore a short beard on his thin face, and a tired, intelligent gaze.

“Look at her carefully, Lysippus,” Alexander said.

Thais was startled by the name. This was the first time she had ever seen the famous sculptor who had left Hellas to accompany the conqueror of the Persians. The sculptor took Thais by the shoulders and started examining her face as unceremoniously as would an artist or a doctor. The hetaera saw that he wasn’t slouching at all. It only seemed that way because of his habit of leaning forward when he wanted to look at something carefully.

“Why, Majesty?” Thais could not bring herself to call the Macedonian by name, even though she knew Alexander was only twenty-four, a year older than she. Familiarity was not in her character.

“Alexander,” Lysippus replied, instead of the king, “wants me to create a statue of you as the queen of the Amazons. He’s been dreaming of reliving the story of Theseus and Hippolita since his childhood, and was disappointed to discover that the female riders of Thermodont have long since vanished, leaving behind only a legend. However, you presented yourself today as their true heiress. Look at our Leontiscus devouring you with his eyes.”

Thais bowed before Alexander in an exaggerated plea. “Mercy, Majesty. For the last three hundred years artists have been portraying the brave Helenian warriors conquering the Amazons, killing them or dragging them off as prisoners. Have you noticed that the Amazons are portrayed on foot for the most part, in order to avoid elevating them over the men?”

“What do you mean?” Lysippus asked curiously.

“Any amphorae, either red or black figured ones, dating to the first Olympiad or even earlier. All artists made them, both the famous and the obscure ones: Euphronius, Eukhrides, Andokides, Arkhesilaus. It’s hard to remember them all. But all of their heroes: Theseus, Hercules, Achilles, are portrayed dragging the poor Amazons off by their hair, beating them with huge bats, or piercing them through with swords and spears. I have seen almost no drawings where the Amazons are portrayed on horseback, as they ought to be. And even fewer where they defeated men in battle.”

“But that is the case with the amphorae, and the old ones at that,” Lysippus objected.

“Not at all. Remember the scenes of Antipope’s kidnapping on the bas-reliefs of the temple of Apollo. And what about our

Parthenon? Have you forgotten the huge painting by Micon in the pinacotec of Athens, in the left wing of Propilea, where Helenian warriors are portrayed ruthlessly beating the Amazons? It was only painted a hundred years ago, maybe a bit more.”

“What are you trying to say?” Alexander asked, frowning.

“When male pride is stung, you begin making up stories to justify yourselves. And the artists try to portray these lies as accurately as possible.”

“Why would the artists do that?” Lysippus asked.

“Because they are men, too. And they too cannot tolerate the thought of female supremacy.”

Leontiscus, who had approached without notice, clapped his hands.

“What are you happy about?” Ptolemy growled menacingly.

“The Amazon’s intelligence. And truth.”

“Do you see the truth in this?”

“I see the truth in the fact that all these defeats, portrayed so happily by Athenians, have not taken away the Amazon’s courage, as they did with Boeotians and Athenians. Their capital, Temiskira, had been taken by Hercules, and some of the Amazons died in Athens, but they still came to the walls of Troy to fight against the Helenians. The descendants of those who were defeated by the Amazons cannot forgive them that, or their terror-inducing lack of sensitivity toward wounds.”