Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

“My poor girl. You make a bad priestess. We’ll have to save you.”

“Oh Mistress!” The Finikian’s voice was even more pleading now than when she had asked to let her stay at the temple.

Not wishing to delay the priests any longer, Thais walked on. The high priestess and priest met her on the lower veranda, not inside the temple. This was a new sign of respect. Leontiscus bowed to the priestess and, following Thais’ example, accepted a smudge of fragrant oil on his forehead. He then untied a large leather sack he had carried carefully the entire way, and beckoned to a spear-bearer who carried another one. Together they poured a pile of gold and silver necklaces and bracelets, large precious stones, and skillfully-made tiaras onto the wide pedestal in front of the temple. Gold ingots fell with a heavy thud from the second sack.

“This is only a part of it,” Leontiscus said. “They are bringing four more talants soon. The priests are not used to carrying such heavy loads.”

The high priestess sighed deeply and her eyes flashed with greed. Alexander’s gift was truly royal.

“We took good care of our beautiful guest,” she said gently. “I hope she is pleased?”

“I am pleased and grateful, thank the Great Mother,” the hetaera replied.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“There is, Mistress of the temple. Give me back my slave, the Finikian Za-Asht.”

“But you have traded her.”

“Yes. But I just saw her chained at the gate. She doesn’t fit in at the temple.”

“That is why she is being punished.”

Thais glanced at Leontiscus and he understood her without words. “Perhaps I shall call back those carrying the gold,” he said, as if pondering.

“Don’t,” the high priestess said quickly, raising her hand. “The disobedient Finikian isn’t worth even a hundredth of this. You may have your stubborn slave back.”

“I thank you.” Thais bowed again and, hiding a smile, said goodbye to the mistress of the famous temple.

Za-Asht, forgetting about everything else, dashed to Salmaakh with a yell. “Here you are, my beautiful girl,” she cried, shedding tears all over the horse’s neck. One of the soldiers gave her a beautiful robe and set her behind him. The Thessalians left the courtyard in the same formation in which they had arrived, and Thais left the dwelling of Kibela, the Great Mother and Mistress of Beasts, forever.

Dusty sky hung over the scorched plain like an enormous, hot copper pot. The cavalry detachment, led by Leontiscus, crossed to the left bank of the Euphrates. They headed south across a large river valley, parallel to the ancient “royal road” from Ephesus to Susa. Eight hundred stadiums separated them from the mouth of the river which fed the Euphrates from the east. There they transferred onto large boats.

The Euphrates could carry entire ships. The only drawback of sailing there was the frequent bends in the river. This more than doubled the distance to Babylon, but they could sail without stopping for days on end, conserving the energy of the horses, who were also loaded onto the boats. Even such passionate horsemen as Thessalians agreed with their captain’s plan.

Lykophon was still too weak to ride. His comrades decided to transport him all the way to Babylon and procured a cart for doing just that. Thais ordered Za-Asht to accompany the Thessalian. The Finikian glared at Eris, who had seemingly pushed her out of the mistress’ heart. But Thais pulled the upset Finikian to her and whispered a few words. The girl blushed, dropped her eyes, and obligingly went to arrange a comfortable bed for the young man’s transportation.

Thais was mostly worried about Eris, as she could see Kibela’s priestess was a poor rider. Eris frowned at her concern and swore not to let her mistress down. After some hesitation, Thais decided to let her slave girl have Boanergos. She would take Salmaakh for herself. She advised Eris to keep her legs bent with the help of a belt slung over the shoulders and attached to both ankles. A Persian sweat blanket was covered with thin textured fabric to protect the rider’s skin should it get inflamed. Athenian, cone-shaped sun hats did not work in this climate because of the wind, so the women decided to take Leontiscus’ soldiers’ advice and cover their heads with turbans of black cloth. The soldiers were accustomed to the heat of Mesopotamian plains.

The heat was oppressive even to the sun-loving Helenians and war-hardened Macedonians. As usual, their departure was postponed due to the extra time it took to gather troops and minor issues. The detachment started when the sun was already high in the sky, the great celestial body trying to bend the restless humans into slave-like obedience like an angered ruler.

Thais rode Salmaakh side by side with Leontiscus on his snow white Song. The hetaera’s nostrils fluttered, breathing in the hot and bitter dry air.

Thais was overflowing with joy and daring, like a prisoner who had been set free. Victory! Alexander had crushed more of Darius’ hordes at Gaugamela. She wanted to sing, make Salmaakh rear up and dance on her rear hooves, or do some other kind of mischief. She listened to Leontiscus, barely able to contain her laughter. The captain of cavalry started by telling her various funny adventures that had taken place during the march to Gaugamela. Then he became carried away with describing the great battle.

Initially, the Macedonian army marched across dead country. The valleys to the north of Mesopotamia were nearly deserted. The handful of shepherds who traveled this way either ran away or had already left for the mountains before the coming of summer heat.

The spies reported a gathering of the enemy troops beyond the Tigris. True to his strategy, Alexander hurried to cross the river. They passed the semi-ruined Nineveh, one of the most ancient cities in the entire Ecumene, and were observed by a small group of people from atop its tall walls. Priests of ancient gods stood among them, dressed in colorful garments.

Alexander ordered his men not to touch the city. Its minuscule population did not pose any danger, and the worst enemy was ahead. The Macedonians turned more to the north after passing Nineveh in order to be closer to the hills with good grass and creeks of fresh water. Alexander wanted to reach a river flowing from the north which would provide enough water for the entire army. The small river fed a tributary of the Tigris, which flowed from northeast. Darius had assembled his enormous army near that tributary.

The Macedonian army moved at a slow pace, since the great army leader didn’t want to wear out the soldiers. When they arrived at the river near the small settlement of Gaugamela, Ptolemy noticed that the arch of low hills to the north looked like the front of a carriage, or arbila. This nickname was recorded in the chronicles of the war, and went on to confuse historians for thousands of years. Two hundred stadiums away from Gaugamela, along the southern road, stood a fortress which was also called Arbila, settled between an empty plain and rocks.

Alexander gave his army three days of rest after they’d covered several thousand stadiums. They would need the rest. Spies reported a huge gathering of the enemy cavalry only a few parsangs away, converging like a cloud. Alexander didn’t rush. He wanted to deal a final blow to the entire Persian army rather than chase separate divisions around endless plains. If Darius did not understand that a decisive battle should have taken place at the Euphrates, if he were following the example of his ancestors and hoping for the multitude of his hordes, all the better for the Macedonians. Their fates would be decided in that battle. Or that was, at least, the case for the Macedonians, because defeat meant death for the entire army.