Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

Only then did Thais remember the guard in the passage. She realize that had the guard not felt pity for the soldier, Lykophon would have bled to death near the locked grate and never made it to Thais’ door.

Back in the dusk of the passage, one of the priestesses held the guilty woman by the hair. She was free of her chain, but her hands were tied behind her back. The eldest went back into the passage after casting an evil smile at the blood-covered, ashen young man on the bed, and an indifferent glance at the other Macedonians.

“Wait, Kera!” Thais exclaimed, having memorized the menacing name of this still-young woman. She pointed at the tied-up guard. “Give her to me.”

“No. She is twice guilty and must not live.”

“I will pay a ransom for her! Set the price!”

“One cannot set a price for life and death,” the eldest priestess said flatly, then paused. “However, you may give one life for another,” she said.

“I do not understand.”

“Pity. It is simple. I shall give you Eris, and you shall give me your Finikian girl.”

“Impossible. You’ll kill her!”

“What for? She is not guilty of anything. I see it this way: if we are losing a priestess who fell too low to tolerate, we are acquiring another who will be suitable to begin with.”

“But if you kill her, you’d lose her, even if you get another to replace her,” Thais objected.

“Death and life are equal before the Great Mother.”

Thais looked back at her slave, hesitating. The girl stood as pale as a whitewashed wall, leaning forward and listening to their conversation.

“Look, Za-Asht, you wanted to serve at the temple. Here is your chance, and I am letting you go. I am not exchanging you and not giving you away. You must follow only your own desires.”

The Finikian dropped to her knees before Thais and kissed her hand. “Thank you, Mistress!”

Za-Asht straightened, tall and proud, then added, “I am going.”

“Take your things and clothes,” Thais reminded her gently.

“No need,” the eldest priestess said, and nudged the Finikian toward Adrastea.

Za-Asht held back a little, but the black priestess put an arm around her waist and led her into the dark passageway. The priestesses made way and the one who was holding the tied-up girl by the hair kicked her in the back. The guard flew into Thais’ room and fell facedown onto the bloodstained carpet. The door slammed shut behind her, and all became quiet.

The puzzled soldiers hesitated, then one of them picked up the fallen girl, cut the bonds around her wrists and smoothed her hair back from her face.

“Sit down, Eris,” Thais said gently. “Give her some wine.”

“They have such strange names,” the lokhagos exclaimed. “Trouble, revenge, discourse …”

“I heard the other two addressed as Nalia and Ata: demon and madness,” Thais said. “Apparently all black priestesses have frightening Helenian names. Is that so, Eris?”

The guard nodded silently.

“Let’s make a stretcher so we can carry Lykophon,” the lokhagos said, breaking the silence.

“Leave him here,” Thais suggested.

“No. Their patroness might change her mind. The Thessalian must be moved. But how are we to leave you alone, Mistress Thais?”

“I have a new servant girl.”

“She’ll stab you to death, like Lykophon, and run away.”

“She has nowhere to run to. She has already saved two lives while risking her own.”

“So that is how it is. Good girl. Still, I’ll leave two guards on the veranda,” the captain insisted, then ordered the soldiers out.

Thais locked the temple door and put both bars across, then started cleaning up the room, wiping up all the blood. Eris snapped out of her shock and helped scrub and clean.

“Clean yourself,” Thais told her.

Caring nothing about her nudity, Eris ran a few times to the water cistern and furiously scrubbed off the dirt. It was layers thick since she had lived in that dirty niche near the grate.

When the dawn came, the tired hetaera closed the outside door and pulled a heavy curtain over it. She pointed Eris toward the second bed in her room, because the Finikian’s bed was covered in blood.

Thais settled down and stretched out, glancing at Eris. The girl sat motionless on the edge of the bed, looking into the distance with wide open eyes. The hetaera took the chance to examine her new “acquisition”.

“She appears to be a melaskhroma, black — skinned,” she thought, then changed her mind. “No, she is a melena, dark bronze with a touch of African blood.”

Without her net, bracelets, belt and dagger, the black priestess was revealed as a young woman with enormous blue eyes. Those eyes were filled with the same dark stubbornness as was in the eyes of the other priestesses. Her hair fell in tight curls, and her round cheeks looked to be as delicate as a child’s. Only her full, half-open lips, as well as an unspoken sensuality controlling her young, but already powerful womanly body, spoke of the fact that this young girl was actually a black servant of the Night and Great Mother.

Eris’ colouring reminded Thais of Ethiopian women, who were highly valued in Egypt. They came from a distant country, beyond the origins of the Nile. The freed guard could have been a daughter of such a woman and a pale-skinned man.

The Athenian rose, then approached Eris and stroked her shoulders. The black priestess shuddered, then suddenly clung to Thais with such force that she almost fell over. She was forced to put an arm around Eris to keep her balance.

“You seem to be made of stone,” Thais exclaimed in surprise. “Are you all like that?”

“Yes. Body of stone and heart of copper,” the girl said in broken Coyne.

“Oh, good. You can speak. But you have the heart of a woman, not that of a Lamia,” Thais said and kissed Eris.

The latter shook and sobbed. Thais whispered soothingly to her and told her to go to bed, but the girl pointed at the door and pressed a finger to her lips. It appeared the girl had to return to the grate for something important, and she had to do it before a new guard was chained there.

The hetaera and the black priestess opened the door noiselessly, and Eris slipped into the dark. She returned and carefully locked the door behind her, now holding a sacred knife of the Night priestesses. Its gold hilt glittered in her hand. Eris dropped to her knees and put the dagger at Thais’ feet, then touched it to her eyes, lips and heart.

A few moments later, Eris was asleep, spread out over the coverlet with her mouth half open. Thais watched her for a bit longer, then went to sleep herself.

The captain of Thais’ soldiers turned out to be right. Lykophon didn’t die. The priestess’ dagger had not been poisoned, as the lokhagos had feared. The deep wound was healing quickly; however, due to a great loss of blood, the soldier was weaker than a kitten.

She heard no more from her hostesses. The high priestess did not send for Thais and did not demand the soldier back so they could finish him off.

The entire town and the temple of the Great Goddess seemed to be on guard, waiting for news of Alexander. Thais ordered her detachment to get ready to march.

“Where to?” the lokhagos asked cautiously.

“To Alexander.”

Everything changed in less than three days. Late one evening, when Thais was getting ready for bed and Eris was brushing out her thick, wavy hair, shouts were heard from the temple town. Torches were lit. Thais ran out to the veranda wearing only her short chiton despite the north wind, which had been blowing for several day.

A rush of hoofbeats sounded through the pine grove and a veritable avalanche of horsemen on tall Parthenian horses rode up to Thais’ house, holding torches high above their heads. The Macedonians of her detachment were among them. They looked much cleaner, albeit sleepier, than the dust-covered, sun-scorched visitors.