Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

“You could say caution,” Thais suggested, laughing.

“Exactly. I am not afraid of the dagger in her hair or the elegant little knife she hides behind her bracelet which I know is used for cutting bellies open. It is not her weapons. I am afraid of her.”

Thais shook her head. “I am only afraid that she will get tired on horseback, because she is not used to it.”

“You always fuss over your slaves more than they fuss over you.”

“How can I not? I do not want them to be strangers to me. Why would I want to be touched by evil fingers, or looked at by eyes that hate me? That would only bring illness and misfortune. After all, these people live in my house and know every hour of my life.”

“You call them people. Many other Helenian women would call them barbarians and use a pin, a stick or even a whip to interact with them.”

“Would you have tried a whip on Hesiona?”

“Of course not. Hesiona is a noble Helenian and very beautiful. So much so that a mistress less beautiful than you would torture her mercilessly.”

“Then what do you know of the virtues of others? Eris, for example.”

“She will bruise Boanergos’ back, and then…”

“No, she won’t. She promised to sit properly.”

“She’ll get tired. It’s a long way.”

Thais waved a dismissive hand at him. “I am watching her. But tell me more of the battle. If I understand this right, Darius’ mistake was to throw all of his forces at you at once. The Persian army became so crowded that people couldn’t fight properly. What if he hadn’t done it? What would have happened then?”

“It probably would have been worse for us. But I am not Alexander. He would have found a way out of any situation. Although …” Leontiscus paused.

“Were you going to say something?”

“I remembered an incident. Captive tribe leaders and army captains were always brought before Alexander. He spoke to them through translators, asking primarily about how they viewed their defeat. A young Massaget, a leader of Scythian cavalry, who was tied despite his wound, had given Alexander a short answer: the Persians paid for their inability to fight.”

The conversation, he said, went like this:

“’Would you have done better?’ the victor asked the Massaget curiously.

“’It would be laughable to think of that with my forces of five hundred horsemen. But if I had at least a half of the royal army, I would have finished you off in two or three months.’

“’How so?’

“’I would have armed my cavalry with heavy bows. I would have showered your infantry with arrows, never letting them close enough to use spears. Reserve forces would have deflected your cavalry, which is seven times smaller than Darius’. I know that is the number because I counted.

“’What would you have done with the shield-bearing infantry?’ Alexander asked, at once serious and stern.

“’Nothing, as long as they held rank. They could be whittled at little by little, day by day, month after month. They can’t hold formation forever. I don’t know whether your infantry could even retreat beyond the Euphrates, never getting a chance at a major decisive battle.’

“Alexander paused. Then he became angry and asked, ‘Was that how you battled the Persians two hundred years ago, when their king Cyrus was killed?’

“’I do not know. If you think that way yourself, all the better,’ the Massaget replied proudly.

“Alexander looked at the Scythian carefully then said, addressing his captains, ‘He is intelligent and brave, which makes him dangerous. But he is a child. Who tells an important military secret, while standing tied up before the victor? Kill him without delay.’”

“Did they?” Thais asked quietly.

“On the spot,” Leontiscus replied.

They rode in silence for a long time. Thais occasionally glanced at Eris, rocking steadily atop the pacer and keeping her distance from the soldiers, of whom she was wary. Nature was benevolent to Aphrodite’s favorite. By noon the sky became covered with dusky fog, too thin to threaten rain, but thick enough to keep the sun from raging and punishing the travelers for their delayed departure.

They stopped in a small grassy valley, thirteen parsangs from the river crossing, where Thais received her own light tent. The soldiers, having unsaddled and tied the horses, set up haphazardly, spreading their capes on the ground. They clearly didn’t mind the scorpions or the tarantulas, which were big jumping spiders Thais had found disgusting even back in Hellas, where they were much smaller.

Taking refuge in her tent, the hetaera went to stretch after the long ride. Her legs were sore and strained after Salmaakh’s shaky trot.

Eris entered, bringing water for a bath. She walked so straight that Thais was reminded of the girls at the Amphorae Celebration, held in Athens on the second day of Antesterion, the Holiday of Flowers. From the posture of the girl, the sensitive Athenian suspected something was wrong, and ordered Eris to undress. She gasped at what she saw.

The delicate skin on her inner thighs was inflamed and covered with bruises, her calves and knees were swollen and her big toes bled from rubbing against the sweat blanket. The girl could barely stand. Only after a stern order from her mistress did she give up the jug of water and stretched out on a rug.

“Do not fear, Mistress. The horse’s back is undamaged.”

“But you are hurt,” Thais said angrily. She left to find medicine and bandages among her possessions. Healing Egyptian ointment subdued the pain and Eris fell asleep almost instantly. Thais bathed and, refreshed, went to a small fire where Leontiscus, a lokhagos, and the eldest of the ten unit captains waited for the meat sizzling on the coals.

At her request, someone brought Boanergos. The Thessalians examined the steed’s back carefully and saw that Eris had been right, the horse was fine. But Thais realized the girl would not be able to stand the second half of the journey. Or, considering her enormous physical and spiritual strength, she would make it but damage the precious horse. The hetaera decided to put Eris onto one of the carts that were going to catch up with the detachment at night.

When the Athenian entered her tent, Eris woke up. Thais announced that she would ride from there on a cart, along with Za-Asht. The black priestess said nothing, but declined food. The hetaera fell asleep without a care, falling into slumber as if she haven’t slept in a long time. Leontiscus woke her up to invite her to breakfast: a piece of salty Syrian cheese and a handful of tasty, almost black dates.

Horses stood in the distance, already harnessed and covered by sweat blankets. People still slept near the cart, and Thais decided not to wake her Finikian. When she glanced around, looking for Eris, she was disappointed not to find her either near the horses, or the carts. She asked Leontiscus whether he had seen her slave girl, but instead of chief of cavalry, it was the lokhagos who replied, and he was smiling for some reason.

“The black one told me not to disturb you. She asked you to forgive her, but she could not tolerate the shame of having to ride in a cart with the Finikian”

“Then what did she do?” Thais asked, becoming alarmed.

“Do not worry about her, Mistress. Nothing can happen to a pharmakis, a sorceress, like her. She simply ran forward and must be some ways away by now.”

“When did she tell you this?”

“Half a shift from the first night guard change. About six hours ago.”

“Artemis argotera! Alone at night, on a deserted path among jackals and hyenas. Also, she was completely exhausted from the day’s ride.”

“Nothing will happen to your black one. How she ran! I watched her. She ran like a good horse.”