Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

The starry sky seemed to have gone out. Nobody had ever seen a blacker night than the one surrounding the blinding heat of the gigantic fire. People gazed upon it with a superstitious dread, as if it hadn’t been started by the hands of Alexander and the small Athenian woman, but by the powers of the underworld and Titans, who were trapped there and now burst to the surface of Gaea. Citizens of Persepolis fell to their knees anticipating greater perils. As expected, Alexander and his officers made no attempt to restrain their soldiers who took the fire as a signal to pillage. The crowd of shocked citizens scattered, hoping to save some of their possessions from the enraged Macedonians.

Supports crashed with deafening noise, throwing upward vortices of sparks. Alexander shuddered, came back to reality and finally let go of Thais’ hand, which had grown numb in the king’s strong palm. He leveled a careful gaze at the hetaera, the way he had after her speech, then yelled, “Leave.”

Thais raised an arm in front of her face, as if defending herself.

“No,” the king said firmly. “Not forever. I shall call you.”

“No, you shall not,” Thais replied.

“How can you know?”

“You know your weaknesses, you overcome them, and that gives you strength and power over people.”

“Are women my weakness then? Nobody has ever said that to me.”

“It is not surprising. Your heart is not about women, but about the divine insanity of reaching for all things unattainable. There is nothing in the world more elusive than feminine beauty. And you flee from this hopeless struggle, to which poets and artists are doomed. Beauty slips away, like the horizon. You have chosen your horizon and there you shall go.”

“And when I return?”

“Only Moiras [32] Goddesses of fate. knows that. Geliaine, great king.”

“I ask you to stay here for now. I am leaving Black Cleitus behind, as he is sick and would like…”

“I understand.”

“But be careful. Do not go out without guards. The news of she who burned down Persepolis will spread faster and wider than the fairytale about the Amazons.”

Thais did not reply, only turned and walked slowly into the darkness. Eris followed silently a few steps behind, keeping a watchful eye.

Mountain wind, cool even at summer’s dazzling midday, picked up the parchment lying in front of Thais. She pressed it back down with the golden hilt of her dagger. The mental image of her friend faded, then vanished somewhere in the scorched valley that spread to the east from the seven walls of Ecbatana.

After two years of silence, Hesiona had sent a long letter. Nearchus’ faithful lover had been forced to go through a lot in order to be with her beloved. One could only envy the Cretan who found such love and patience in the Theban. Unfortunately, Alexander’s grand plans required a large fleet. The ships were built at the Euphrates delta and at the Tigris. The second site was run by Nearchus’ new assistant, half-Cretan, half-Finikian Onesikrit.

Cedars, black pine, oaks and elms were floated down the Euphrates and Tigris to Nearchus’ docks. Hesiona wrote in a typical Theban epic style, describing her wanderings between Babylon and small shipbuilding towns, various palm oases, lonely temples and poor fishing villages lost among the reeds. Flies, the bane of Babylon and Susa that hovered in black swarms over markets, homes and even in the temples, looked harmless in comparison to the billions of stinging bloodsuckers that gathered in clouds above the still waters. Fortunately, the frequent winds brought on some relief. People spent the rest of the time surrounded by smoke, and Hesiona assured her friend that she was now completely smoked through and indestructible as an Egyptian mummy.

Thais looked around and sighed. Flies were never a problem in the clear air of Ecbatana. Hesiona would have been happier in this city that resembled her native, destroyed Thebes.

A child’s footsteps rang loudly over the marble tiles of the high terrace. Ptolemy’s son looked more like his mother than his father. The strategist had convinced Thais to enter into an official marriage with him as soon as the Macedonians returned from their chase after Darius.

A crippled Thessalian appeared at the end of the terrace, limping and grumbling. He had stayed with Thais in Ecbatana as a housekeeper and a stable master after the Thessalian riders and the rest of the Helenian soldiers were allowed to go home. Now Roykos also looked after the boy, who needed a man’s hand and a warrior’s skill. After he’d gone east with Alexander, the captain of riders, Leontiscus, had not returned. Thais did not like to think about that. The wound was still too fresh.

The boy was begging for permission to ride Boanergos. Roykos was convinced that they should wait until a smaller horse from beyond the mountains of Iberia, one who had been sent by Ptolemy, was completely tame. Thais made peace between the two by promising to take her son riding in the evening. It was a habit she observed religiously in order to stay in shape in case of a sudden departure.

Little Leontiscus hopped down the broad steps toward a pavilion of rough gray stone, Eris’ favorite sanctuary. No one dared violate her seclusion during those hours, when the former black priestess sat and dreamed about the unknown with her eyes open. Thais’ son was allowed to run up to the pavilion and call out to Eris, inviting her to wrestle or to race. His mother frequently participated in the wild scrambling, delighting in the rush around the wide yard in front of the house.

Za-Asht went to Thessaly with her Lykophon. She was replaced by Okiale, a sad, kind and shy girl from northern Syria. As far as Okiale was concerned, there was nothing above little Leontiscus. She spoiled the boy beyond belief, not listening even to Eris, of whom she was terrified. The only child was surrounded by childless women, and couldn’t help but be a favorite. Especially because he was just as lively, smart and pretty as Thais. The main danger lay with the cook, who was always eager to overfeed the boy somewhere in a secluded corner.

Only now had Thais come to appreciate the meaning of the tradition common in all of Hellas: to give one’s son to be fostered with relatives who had many children. That way, the boys formed groups and learned under the guidance of experienced instructors. In any case, they were to be away from their mother’s household, especially if it were a wealthy household with multitudes of slave girls and servants. The Spartans believed that children could only grow into soldiers if they were brought up separately from their families, living in special military dormitories. The more enlightened Athenians, Boeotians and Thessalians used the military upbringing in combination with the necessary education.

As she observed her growing son, seeing how he possessed the energy and liveliness of both his parents, Thais couldn’t wait for Ptolemy to return and arrange for the boy’s upbringing among other boys of the same age and skilled teachers. For some reason, it never occurred to her that Ptolemy could die in the unknown faraway, at the edge of the Earth, at the Roof of the World.

The immeasurably courageous, modest and romantic Thessalian, Leontiscus, was gone from her life. He had died from a wound on the third day after the battle, wearing a smile as was expected from a Helenian. He called Hephaestion and left Thais his last greeting and all his possessions, which he had left in Ecbatana, including great quantities of gold and jewels. A year later Thais ordered the men to locate the relatives of the cavalry captain. They lived in a village near Phtia and the Athenian sent them everything except a few mementos.