Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

Several days passed and Thais heard nothing of her hosts. The people of the temple seemed to have forgotten about their guest. Thais figured the high priestess must have been disappointed, since she had failed to captivate the hetaera and attract her into the service to Kibela-Ashtoreth, and into the mysteries of the Mother of Gods. Darkness, cruelty and torture inspired nothing but unyielding resistance in Thais’ soul.

She went riding either with the old pockmarked soldier, or with the lokhagos himself. The soldier was, for some reason, nicknamed Onophorbos, or “shepherd of donkeys”, by his comrades. Despite great temptation, Thais dared to swim in the wonderful little lake of the Waxing Moon only once. It was not out of fear of being caught — Boanergos’ speed would have saved her from that — but because she did not wish to offend the servants of Rhea. Za-Asht always asked to accompany her mistress and grew quieter each day. Thais decided to let her slave go.

Days passed, but there was no news from the east. Alexander’s army appeared to be lost somewhere in the vast planes and labyrinths of the hills. Thais consoled herself by reasoning that there simply hadn’t been an opportunity to send a letter. Still, not even the rumors that had reached her before from beyond the Euphrates, had come. Thais stopped riding, didn’t go to the temple and hardly ate. At night she frequently lay awake, falling asleep only at dawn.

Such strong anxiety was completely unlike the strong, healthy Athenian. She blamed it on the sinister atmosphere of Kibela’s sanctuary. Had it not been for Ptolemy’s warning, Thais would have long since left this “safe haven”, especially considering that Rhea’s temple was not really a haven for anyone. One only needed to meet her servants to realize what would be the fate of their “noble guest” should Alexander’s army lose and perish. Her handful of soldiers would be killed in their sleep by the mighty guards, and Thais herself would be sent to the lower temple to earn money for the Mother of Gods. Should she resist — well, there were many places here requiring a chained guard. And that would be the better option. At worst … Thais shuddered as she remembered the mysteries of Anaitis.

As if in response to her thoughts, there was a weak, desperate knock at her door from the temple passage. Thais jumped up and listened. She called Za-Asht, then carefully approached the door and asked, “Who is it?”

“Mistress … open up … in the name of …” the voice broke off.

Thais and her slave girl recognized Lykophon. The hetaera grabbed a lantern, while the Finikian opened the door. The young warrior lay just beyond the threshold, covered in blood and too weak to lift his head. Thais dragged Lykophon into the room, and Za-Asht locked the door. On Thais’ orders she took the external entrance and ran after the Macedonians as fast as she could.

Lykophon opened his eyes and smiled weakly. His dying smile cut her deeply, bringing back the pain of Menedem’s death.

The familiar dagger of a night priestess stuck out of the soldier’s left shoulder, having been shoved in all the way to the hilt by a firm and merciless hand. Along with his clothes, the dagger went through a wide gold necklace, becoming stuck between the links.

Like any Helenian woman, Thais knew a thing or two about wounds, and this one felt wrong. Lykophon could not possibly have survived with such a wound, let alone crawled along the long passageway, even though it sloped down. Something was different. Despite the blood still seeping from under the dagger, Thais didn’t dare pull out the weapon until the arrival of the lokhagos. He was not only an experienced officer, but also a surgeon and the veterinarian of his detachment.

The soldiers didn’t make her wait long. An entire decade of soldiers burst in after the Finikian, all ten with their swords and spears at the ready. The soldiers lifted the Thessalian and transferred him onto the bed. The lokhagos shook his head glumly at the sight of the wound and started examining Lykophon’s shoulders. To Thais’ amazement, Lykophon moaned, though his eyes remained closed. The veteran suddenly smiled.

“What? It isn’t deadly?” Thais asked, gasping with shock.

The lokhagos grinned, and shrugged. “A handsome warrior is always Aphrodite’s favorite. See? The dagger struck here and it would have pierced his heart, had it gone straight. But Lykophon had dressed up and put on the heavy necklace. The dagger pushed through one of the links, making it go between his ribs and his left shoulder blade. But the boy has lost too much blood. Prepare as much wine as you can, mixed with warm water. Give me some clean linen.”

Without further ado, the lokhagos ordered two soldiers to hold Lykophon’s shoulders down securely. He wiped the blood from the handle of the dagger, then wrapped his right hand around it so he had a good grip. While the others held Lykophon in place, the lokhagos pressed his left hand against the shoulder and pulled the weapon out in one powerful motion. The young man screamed. Despite the men holding him down, he sat straight up, his eyes bulging. Then he collapsed again on the blood-soaked bed, losing consciousness again. The lokhagos soaked his fingers in vinegar, then used them to pull the edges of the wound together. He wiped the blood from around it and bandaged it tightly with strips of linen stola, tying his comrade’s arm to his torso.

The Thessalian lay quietly and indifferently, barely moving his dry, blackened lips. At the lokhagos’ instruction, Za-Asht gave Lykophon water mixed with wine, which he drank one cup after another. When he had finished repairing Lykophon, the captain of the soldiers straightened up, wiped sweat from his face and accepted a goblet of wine offered by Thais.

“Who did this to him?” one of the soldiers demanded, voicing the question everyone else was thinking.

Thais tried explaining the temple rules, then told them of Lykophon’s meeting with the black priestess and the young man apparently having insufficient strength. It was possible that the Thessalian had forgotten that he was only just recovering from a previous wound.

“Well, both sides are guilty, and nobody is guilty. A condition is a condition,” the lokhagos said. “If you take something on, then do it. If you can’t, then don’t try. He is lucky to be alive, the young fool. I am glad. Lykophon is a good soldier, but has a bit of a weakness toward women. And here I thought the boy was going after her,” he said, pointing at Za-Asht.

“No, no, no!” The Finikian jumped up, her eyes flashing.

He frowned at her. “Leave it be, wildcat. We all know you are into him, so be quiet,” the captain said.

Za-Asht wanted to respond but was interrupted by a sharp knock from the temple door.

“Here come the pursuers,” the lokhagos said. He was grinning for some reason. “Open the door, Pilemenos.”

The soldier nearest to the door obeyed. An entire group of black priestesses with lit torches burst into the room, led by the high priestess, who was identifiable by her golden tiara. She was followed by the weeping black priestess who had originally come to get Thais and ended up captivating Lykophon.

“See, Kera, how much blood? I did not pity him. I struck correctly. I know not what saved him.”

“You did strike correctly,” the Macedonian’s captain replied. “The gold necklace the young idiot put on for you is what saved him.”

“I see that,” the eldest agreed. “You are acquitted, Adrastea. We cannot finish him off,” she said, then nodded at the Macedonians, who had grabbed their swords. “Let the great priestess be the judge of that. But Eris must be put to death for her second crime. Or, if you wish, we can send her to perform rituals in the temple of Anachita.”