Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

“We too have desire: Pothos. That is also creation. Desperate desire either brings forth the necessary form or ends in anoya, or madness. We shall see when the time comes. Give me the letter.”

Ptolemy sent his greetings and asked her to remember him. He instructed Thais absolutely not to travel further until he sent a detachment of soldiers to get her, commanded by his friend. If the news were bad, Thais should not stay at the temple, but take her soldiers and make a dash to the Issus bay. That was only fifteen parsangs away to the west, over the mountains. Three ships would be waiting there. The captain would pick up Thais and wait another half a month. If Ptolemy and Alexander did not appear by then, they should sail back to Hellas.

Thais kissed the letter tenderly. She thought Ptolemy was more noble at heart than he wanted to show among the crass Macedonian army leaders. Ptolemy wrote about the march across the hot plain, how the sea of tall grass had already faded from the summer drought. He said they rode and rode, day after day, going further beyond the horizon.

Vague premonitions had bothered everyone, even Alexander. Ptolemy could see lanterns burning late into the night in Alexander’s tent. The king had consulted with his spies and read their reports. Gradually Alexander had directed the army to the left, further to the north. The guides had warned him about the greater heat yet to come. The grass would fade, and the small rivers and creeks which supplied the army with water would dry out.

Thirty-five thousand people were now following Alexander, but there in the limitless plains of Asia, the king felt for the first time that his army wasn’t all that big. Hot winds blew at them with the breath of the deadly deserts which sprawled beyond the plains. Dust swirled like demons, and hot air at the horizon seemed to lift the earth above the blue lakes of ghostly water.

Ptolemy went on to say that when they turned north, the grass became taller and thicker, and yellowish rivers turned gray. There was a full Lunar eclipse.

“How did I miss that?” Thais wondered, then continued reading.

Knowledgeable people said the army was now in the country governed by the Mistress of Beasts, including those of heaven, earth and subterranean. She was called Ashtoreth, Kibela or Rhea. Helenians called her Artemis or Hecate. If she appeared riding a lion, everyone would perish.

Alexander had addressed his soldiers in a speech, asking them not to be afraid. He knew their destiny, and led them to the end of war, as well as countless treasures.

Thais read between Ptolemy’s lines, realizing he was a born writer. She discovered that the Macedonians had encountered a new feeling: fear.

For the first time, the hetaera thought about how insanely brave was Alexander’s mission. What divine courage one must possess in order to walk away from the sea and plunge into the depths of a strange country where they would meet the countless troops of the King of Kings. If they were defeated, Thais realized, the Macedonian army would be wiped off the face of earth. The divine army leader, Ptolemy, and Leontiscus would all cease to exist. Nearchus alone might possibly manage to save his fleet and return to his native shores. Their countless enemies, both large and small, must be waiting for this with such wicked impatience, burning with justified revenge and the cowardly triumph of hyenas.

Her friends could not possibly rely on the mercy of others. Ptolemy was wise to leave behind two possibilities for saving Alexander and himself. The first was with Nearchus’ fleet, waiting near the delta of the Euphrates in case they met Darius in the south. Ptolemy wrote about the rumors that Darius had assembled all his troops, including countless horsemen ranging from the famous Persian Immortal guards to Bactrians and Sogdians.

It was strange, but despite glimpses of anxiety she read in Ptolemy’s letter, Thais was filled with the certainty of victory soon to come. She would wait for more news with even greater impatience.

The next day, instead of Lykophon, the lokhagos sent a pockmarked Macedonian with fresh scars on his shoulder and neck.

“I am here instead of the hestiotus,” the soldier said, smiling. He was clearly pleased at the prospect of a ride with a famous beauty of Athens, the city of legendary elegance and wisdom.

“Where is Lykophon?”

When he said nothing, Thais clapped her hands, summoning Za-Asht, then sent the soldier to get his horse. The Finikian hopped on Salmaakh, whom she had ridden many times during the trip from the Egyptian border, and her sad face lit up with childlike joy. The two women started racing each other, leaving their guard behind and pausing only after he shouted angrily.

Having arrived at the edge of the deserted plane, both women stopped, enchanted. The plain was blooming with incredibly bright flowers unseen in Hellas. Globes the size of apples painted in a divine sky blue color fluttered on tall bare stems. They were scattered everywhere, along with the tall plants blooming with round yellow, almost gold flower clusters and sparse narrow leaves. The gold and blue pattern spread out as far as the eye could see, glorious against the background of dusty green in the transparent morning air.

“It’s a miracle!” the Macedonian exclaimed, struck by the fairytale colors. They decided not to ride through, because it would be a shame to ruin all that beauty with the hooves of horses.

They turned right to go around, but were forced to stop again before the growth of even more incredible flowers. Coarse tipped plants, tall enough to reach the riders’ feet, grew around them, covered with large crimson flowers and shaped like five point stars. Their petals had wide bases and sharp tips.

Thais couldn’t stand it. She hopped off the pacer and picked an armful of purple flowers while the Finikian gathered gold and blue globes. The stems of the latter turned out to be much like regular chive with a sharp onion scent.

Thais rode back at full speed, ascending the northern range and heading toward the small temple of the mocking, alien Ishtar. Trying not to look at the goddess’ slanted green gold eyes, Thais spread the flowers on the altar, stood for a minute, then snuck into the sanctuary with the high relief tile of the menacing Lilith. There she pulled out a hairpin and stuck it into a finger on her left hand. She smudged blood onto the altar, then walked away, licking the scratch. On the way back, her good humor deserted her. She suddenly felt sad, the way the young Thessalian had the day before. Was it the magic of the Persian goddess?

Soon Thais discovered the reason for her pensive mood. For some reason, after visiting Ishtar, she had felt concern for the handsome warrior. What if the young man decided to ask for the love of the black priestess, not knowing anything about Kibela’s laws? Would they warn the neophyte about what he was up against? If they did not, it would be not only cruel, but disgusting as well. Without waiting for an invitation, Thais decided to go and ask the high priestess; however, getting to see her turned out to be a difficult matter.

After the evening meal, the hetaera opened the inner door of her apartment. It led into the long hallway, which ascended to the sanctuary. She reached the locked grate and knocked, summoning the chained guard. The fallen priestess peeked out of her niche, pressed her finger to her lips and shook her head. Thais smiled and turned back obediently, remembering the hungry glint in the eyes of the punished woman, her hollow cheeks and belly. Thais sent the Finikian with some food for the woman, and Za-Asht was gone a long time. The guard had taken awhile to accept the food, since she had to ensure she was being neither bribed nor betrayed. After that, the Finikian or Thais herself fed the woman twice a day, having discovered a good time when there was no risk of getting caught by the servants of the temple.