Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

She gave the Finikian something to drink and rubbed her temples with fresh scented oil. Finally Za-Asht, moving slowly, brought some warm water, bathed and rubbed Thais down, finally waking completely. A servant from the temple brought some food, fortunately of the simplest kind: honey, milk, bread, dry grapes, none of which could be mixed with poison.

Thais felt stronger after she ate, so she went down to the grove to visit her soldiers, who were settled outside of the temple boundaries. She sped up, feeling her energy returning, and finally ran, rejoicing with her entire body.

Around the bend in the road the hetaera almost ended up under the hooves of the horses. Five riders rode toward her, leading two saddled horses. One of them reared up with a loud whinny. Thais recognized Salmaakh only after the mare greeted her mistress, and was astonished at her own absentmindedness. She blamed it on the poison. Boanergos, who was running next to Salmaakh, neighed quietly, as if embarrassed to express his feelings. Salmaakh pressed her ears back and tried to kick him to prevent his approaching the mistress. The pacer let the mare go forward, then suddenly bit her on the croup. Salmaakh dashed forward and missed her, while Boanergos stopped right in front of the Athenian.

Without further ado, Thais hopped onto his back and yanked the reins away from the stableman. Boanergos touched off at such a pace that he quickly left everyone else behind. Thais rode for nearly a skhen, going deeper into the grove, until she finally stopped the chestnut pacer. She squeezed him firmly with her knees and patted his broad neck.

The captain, lokhagos, had caught up with her. He noted sternly that she oughtn’t walk or ride alone here in the strange country, though he admitted he admired her courage.

“Why?” Thais exclaimed.

“Because you’ll be kidnapped or killed. Then all I’ll have left is to ask my comrades to kill me and spare me the disgrace, because I was unable to take care of you. I don’t even want to think of the punishment Ptolemy might come up with, or even our divine Alexander himself.”

The old soldier’s sincerity shamed the hetaera. She swore by the waters of Styx that she would be obedient. She would not stray far from the temple, even on horseback.

“In that case, one soldier is sufficient,” the captain decided. “He can cover your retreat, while you go get help, if needed.” Thais noticed that the young hestiotus, Lykophon, was as handsome as Ganymede. He swapped his horse for Salmaakh, who was compliant with her new rider, then rushed to the Macedonian’s house to get his weapons. His four remaining comrades waited for his return, wished their beautiful charge the best of health, then rode to reunite with the other seven Macedonians who were busy exercising the horses to the south from the temple.

Thais knew her companion from their trip to Hierapolis and frequently caught his admiring gazes. Smiling at him, she directed the pacer to the east, where the pine trees grew thinner and faded into the sand hills covered with bunches of tamarix. A few stadiums ahead, the waves of sand dunes surrounded a large grove of trees that looked like poplars. Thais suddenly wanted to peek into this cozy grove, which seemed as if it hid something forbidden.

The horses continued on, their hooves sinking in the sand, until they came to a particularly tall hill. As soon as the riders reached its top, both exclaimed in delight. A small, crystal clear lake glittered at the foot of the hill like a blue sickle. Where the lake was deeper and shadows of tall trees fell over the water, the eye was charmed by a deep turquoise color. The eastern wind did not reach here, and the green semicircle of reeds hugging the blue water barely moved their slender tips.

The visitors saw no sign of any other people, and Thais decided she simply had to bathe in this beautiful place. The plants indicated this to be fresh water, and springs bubbled up near the northeast tip of the “sickle”.

“Go on down to feed the horses, but not too far,” Thais said to Lykophon. “I’ll go for a swim then join you.”

The young Thessalian shook his head. “Hippophont, the horse-killing herb, grows there. I should warn my friends not to let the horses graze there.”

Pale green, thin-stemmed grass fluttered beyond the hills on the flat plane, interspersed by strips of wormwood and tall bunches of needle grass. The growth stretched to the edge of a distant pine forest, which marked the boundary of the oak-covered hills.

“Then watch the horses and don’t let them go down to the lake. We don’t know what sort of water is there.”

“What about you, Mistress Thais?”

The Athenian lifted her hand to calm him. “I’ll test it before diving. Perhaps you should tie the horses to a tree.”

Thais slipped down the steep, sandy slope, barely managing to stop at water’s edge. She threw off her sandals, tested the water, then splashed some onto her face. It was clear, cool spring water. It had been a long time since Thais had seen such water, so completely different from the cloudy Nile and the Euphrates. Like any true Helenian, she highly valued good water.

With a joyous squeal, the hetaera dove into the glassy turquoise depths and crossed the narrow lake. She jumped out to a white sand bank, splashed around some more, then swam to the northern tip. Here the ascending current of the warm underground springs tossed her up, then dragged her down, as if rolling her in huge, soft waves. Thais wasn’t afraid. She swam up, rolling onto her back and sweeping wide circles with her arms. Thais played in their bubbling domes until she grew tired and returned to the deeper waters, where she floated on her back. She swam, dove and splashed, washing away all the terrors of Anteros, until the impatient whinny of the pacer reminded her of the time.

Refreshed and happy, Thais climbed the hill to where the horses and her companion waited under a tree. By his flushed cheeks and obvious signs of embarrassment, Thais realized that the young warrior was admiring her.

“You were enjoying the water as one would fine wine, Mistress,” Lykophon said. “I found I wanted some, too.”

“Go, and you’ll see how much better it is than any wine. I’ll watch the horses.” The hetaera scratched Boanergos’ neck and patted Salmaakh’s face, while the latter threw jealous glances at the former.

The Thessalian parted with his weapons and his military belt only when he reached the bank. Thais gazed approvingly at his wonderfully built, muscular form, which complimented the beauty of his face.

“Are you married?” she asked Lykophon after the soldier had enough of swimming and climbed back to the top of the hill.

“Not yet. Our people don’t marry before twenty-five. I couldn’t marry before the war, and now I don’t know when I’ll make it home, if I make it at all …”

“Everything is in the hands of gods, but I think they ought to be merciful to you. You will make good children.”

The soldier blushed like a young boy.

“But I don’t wish to invite trouble,” the Athenian said, then caught herself. “Gods can be jealous. Shall we go?”

Salmaakh and Boanergos dashed forward at full speed as soon as they made it out of the sands. In order to exercise the horses, Thais turned to the north when they reached the road and, having ridden almost a parsang, rode up to the ridge above the valley of one of the Euphrates’ tributaries. Gnarled, sprawling oak trees surrounded a moss-covered portico with four pillars, hiding a statue of Ishtar Kutitum, which was made of smoothly polished gray stone. Greenish gold chrysolite eyes glittered in the shadow. The Scythian face had slightly high cheekbones framed by shoulder length, cropped hair, and bore a disdainful expression.