Glory and the Lightning (11 page)

She whispered, “Do not ask me any questions. But you must flee at once. Do not wait for the night, when the guards are most attentive and pursue even shadows. Stroll down the road idly. They will not suspect, for are you not the pampered darling of Thargelia? I can only tell you that you are in the most desperate danger, and must not delay even another hour. You have much gold. Go to the harbor and take the first ship leaving the port, no matter its destination. You have not been branded as a slave, and gold answers all questions. Be at ease and haughty. In the city purchase a chest and fill it with garments, and induce a beggar to carry it for you to the vessel. It will be thought he is your slave.”

His face was contorted with terror. She pushed his arm. “Array yourself in your finest tunic and sandals, and a cloak. Go at once. There is not a moment to be lost.”

“We have been discovered,” he said through his dry lips.

“Yes,” she said with wild impatience.

Then he said, “But what of you, my sweet nymph?”

In spite of the extremity of her own fear she was touched, and she gazed at him. “Naught will be inflicted on me if you have fled,” she answered.

With an oath he took the bow from her hands and threw it on the ground and the gardeners were more amused. He walked from her as if deeply outraged, muttering to himself. Aspasia looked after him with an air of anger and mortification. Then she stamped her foot and ran back into the house, shaking her hair off her neck and shoulders. It was a cloud of gold in the sunlight.

She returned to her chamber and again sank on her bed. She covered her face with her hands. She did not believe in the gods but she prayed to Aphrodite for Thalias’ and Cleo’s preservation. She had seduced both. They must not suffer for her. Cleo was in less danger now, and would be subjected only to Echion’s rough examinations, which would reveal her virginity. Aspasia sighed out of the extremity of her emotions.

Later, after she had forced herself to attend her classes, she went to the gardens to join the other maidens who were chattering with excitement. Thalias had not appeared. One of the girls wished to run for the overseer of the hall to inform him. Aspasia, knowing that every moment was precious, said with contempt, “He is a mighty eater and drinker. No doubt he is lying in his chamber, drunk.”

“Or in Thargelia’s arms,” one of the girls said, slyly.

The others tittered. ‘Then, of a surety, we must not disturb him,” said Aspasia. “Come, let us practice our archery.”

She had authority, and the girls obeyed her. Cleo was among them, with her innocent child’s face. Seeing her, Aspasia was newly distressed. Nothing must hurt this little one.

The overseer of the hall, wandering out to the portico to watch the delectable sight of the young hetairai romping, noticed the absence of Thalias. He came to the maidens and asked, “Where is that rascal of a Thalias?”

“Thalias?” Aspasia asked, as if in wonder. “Was he not here a moment ago?”

To her dismay one of the maidens answered, “He has not been here at all.”

“Then he is with Thargelia,” said Aspasia. “Come. Let us toss and catch the ball.”

The overseer became enchanted by all this young grace and the joyous laughter of the girls. He watched for a long time. He caught glimpses of their round young legs as they ran and as their long tunics lifted, and he saw delightful young bosoms heaving. He was certain that not even in Arcadia were the nymphs so beauteous and so perfect in face and form. He kept licking his lips as he watched. Then he remembered that Thalias had never been absent before. He went back to the house and Aspasia saw him go with anxiety.

When the maidens returned to the house they found everything in confusion. Slaves excitedly ran everywhere, and the house was filled with vehement babbling. Thargelia stood with the overseer of the hall in the atrium. Discerning Aspasia, her favorite, she exclaimed, “Have you seen Thalias?”

Aspasia halted and seemed to think, frowning. “But an hour ago,” she said. The other maidens raised a chorus of fluting voices and declared he had not been seen at all today.

“Where did you see him, Aspasia?” asked the mistress, and Aspasia knew she had made a foolish mistake. She put her finger to her lips and considered. “It was after history class. He passed us in the hall.”

“No!” cried the maidens, shaking their hair.

“Yes,” said Aspasia. “He seemed intent on some errand and did not speak.”

“I have heard,” said Thargelia, “that he gave you a lesson in archery this morning.”

“He did. I requested it.”

Thargelia’s eyes narrowed. “You, who are so proficient with the bow, Aspasia? You desired a lesson alone?”

“I desire to excell in all things. I am yet no Amazon.”

Thargelia continued to regard her. “He has not been seen since one of the overseers saw him walking idly along the road to the city.”

Aspasia shrugged. “He will return.”

“Perhaps,” said Thargelia, still watching. “He has no money. He has only jeweled trinkets which I have given him. They are gone.” She pursed her lips. “I have sent slaves to the port, but none had seen him there. Nevertheless, he has run away.”

“Alas,” said Aspasia. “But I do not believe it. Why should he flee?”

“That is the question,” said Thargelia in a grim voice. Her eyes went to Cleo, who returned her regard innocently and Thargelia made a gesture of frustration. But she was a clever woman. Her gaze reverted to Aspasia. She bit her lip. The maiden had been very evasive.

Runaway slaves were not usual in Miletus, for all the punishments were dire and often resulted in death. But Thalias had been an indulged slave and the lover of Thargelia, who had adored him, and he had been given many privileges. Thargelia did not appear in the dining hall that night, and the maidens chattered discreetly among themselves, and laughed and winked. They knew that a wide search was being conducted for Thalias, and in the city itself, where officials had been informed. Thalias had been caught up into the air and had disappeared like a cloud of mist. Aspasia, listening, began to feel relieved. A gentleman, with a slave and a chest, richly attired, and arrogant of demeanor, would not be suspected as a fleeing slave. Moreover, Miletus was a busy port and multitudes of passengers boarded the vessels for many destinations.

Thargelia was beside herself. She loved Thalias, and he had been treated, in her house, as a free man, given gifts and tenderness and had dined with Thargelia and had slept in her bed. At no time had he appeared restive. Therefore, thought Thargelia, something extraordinary had occurred. Slaves like Thalias did not flee from delights and pamperings and all that they desired. He had shown his contentment and happiness. He was one who lived for the hour, and all his hours in this house had been filled with pleasure. He had been all laughter and gaiety and had come eagerly to Thargelia’s bed. It was not possible that he had been seized by a desire for liberty—not such a man as Thalias! Thargelia was an authority on the ways of humanity, and so she knew that Thalias had not fled for freedom but from fear. Of what had he been afraid? There was but one answer: He had feared discovery.

Suddenly she thought of Aspasia, who had been so indifferent and had hastened to assure Thargelia that Thalias had not fled, and had seemed intent on persuading Thargelia that she had encountered Thalias in the hall. Thargelia felt a deep grief. Aspasia had never attempted to deceive her before. Why had she engaged in deception today?

The answer was terrible and devastating.

Thargelia began to think of what the guardians and the guards had reported of the night before, and she almost wept. Aspasia! Aspasia, who was the bright jewel of this house, loved and protected, with a great destiny—it was not possible. But Thargelia knew that all things were possible in this world.

Later, she discreetly sent a slave to summon Cleo to her. In the meantime she bathed her eyes in water of roses and composed herself. Cleo entered the chamber shyly, looking about her, for she had never been here before. She was awed at the beautiful mosaics on the wall, which seemed to move, so brilliant and precise were they, and at the painted statues in the corners of Hera and Artemis and Athene and Aphrodite. Persian rugs of intricate colors lay on the marble floor and there were many dainty tables of lemonwood and ebony and ivory and gilded chairs covered with cushions. Egyptian lamps of glass and silver and smooth gold hung from the ceiling or stood on the tables. They gave out the odor of roses and lilies and sandalwood. There were also delicate vases of exquisitely wrought glass near the walls, and a parrot in a golden cage hummed a ribald ditty to himself. In a small room beyond stood Thargelia’s opulent bed with silken sheets and soft pillows, and woollen coverlets as fine as silk, itself. Everything glowed and sparkled voluptuously. The windows were open to the evening air and wind and through them came the tinkling soliloquies of fountains and the rustling murmur of the sea.

“Come, child,” said Thargelia, touched unwillingly at the sight of this little one hardly out of childhood and in appearance as fresh as an almond blossom. The girl approached her timidly and lifted her dark eyes questioningly. All at once Thargelia knew with bitter certainty that Cleo had never left the house the night before. She said, in a voice she tried to make kind, “Cleo, you must answer me in truth or I shall be very displeased with you and my displeasure is not to be despised. Did you sleep well last night?”

Cleo looked at her and then suddenly her face was deeply flushed and Thargelia had a momentary hope that it had been Cleo who had gone to Thalias under the moon and not Aspasia. Cleo was nodding now, unable to speak.

Her hope made Thargelia say almost tenderly, “Do not be afraid. I want only the truth. Did you leave this house at any time after you retired for the night?”

The girl shook her head with quick denial, and Thargelia knew that she was not lying and her own heart was again filled with grief, and also with formidable anger.

“I have heard from the guardians that your bed was empty at midnight, and that a maiden was seen in the gardens.” She looked at Cleo and now her eyes had changed and had become relentless. Her hands clenched on her embroidered knees. “Was it you?”

Cleo uttered a faint dying cry and then dropped on her knees before the mistress of the courtesans, and she beat her forehead on the floor in abject terror. Her black hair fell over her shoulders and covered her back. She wore the simple tunic of the hetairai with a girdle of ribbons, and the garment flowed over her child’s body and every frail bone was outlined. Thargelia was rarely moved to pity, but now she pitied Cleo. However, she touched the girl as if spurning her with her foot. She repeated, “Was it you? Ah, you shake your hidden head. Where were you last night, Cleo?”

The girl whispered, “In Aspasia’s bed.”

Thargelia breathed deeply, and hope lived with her again. Was it possible that Aspasia had not deceived her after all and had told her the truth?

“Why?” she asked of Cleo. She had a disgusting thought concerning Aspasia and Cleo, then rejected it. She looked down at the trembling child who had begun to weep, her shoulders and back heaving. “Cleo,” said Thargelia, “there is nothing reprehensible in that you crept into Aspasia’s bed, for consolation or because of an evil dream.”

Cleo crouched in stillness for a moment, then she sat up abruptly on her heels, throwing back her hair and her round wet face was bright with sudden relief and her eyes shone with the joy of one who had been delivered out of danger. “Yes, yes, Lady, that is what I did, and Aspasia comforted me!”

Thargelia studied her for a long moment and her experience told her that the child was lying, and she was sick with anger and sorrow. She clapped her hands for a servant and a slave woman moved aside a curtain and entered the chamber. Now a distant sound of lutes and girlish singing could be heard under the moon and in the outdoor portico. “Summon Aspasia to me at once,” she said to the slave. The slave bowed and retreated. Thargelia gave her attention to Cleo again. The girl was as white as new bone, even to her lips, and she stared at Thargelia with utter dread between the long lengths of her black hair. She is as one who gazes upon a Gorgon, thought Thargelia, so fixedly does she gaze at me and with so intense a horror and fear. Thargelia could not bear the sight, for she was not a cruel woman. Cleo had been used by Aspasia without regard for the mortal fright Cleo was now enduring. Thargelia looked aside. All was silent in the chamber, except for the raucous parrot and the music and singing in the portico which had invaded the room. Thargelia did not know what emotion was the more overwhelming, her grief or the hot hatred she felt for Aspasia, who had not only deceived her wantonly but had seduced Thalias. She had no doubt that the seduction had taken place, for Aspasia was no soft maiden and Thalias was too cautious to make an overt approach. Now Thargelia hated him also and was filled with humiliation. Had he been in this house she would have ordered him flogged to death, or tortured to the same end. She vowed in her torn heart to find him if it cost her all her fortune. She would post a reward in all of Miletus, and at the port.

The curtain was moved aside and Aspasia entered, her face calm but rigid. She had dressed her hair in the Greek fashion, bound up in ribbons, and Thargelia, looking at her, was conscious, with tremendous fury, of the maiden’s extraordinary beauty and youth and grace and regal air. These had seduced Thalias. Thargelia felt old and withered and undone and repulsive, and this increased her wrath. She was like a harpy in the presence of a nymph, a harpy who must buy love and not receive it ardently, and in truth.

Aspasia bowed, and then saw Thargelia’s face and the child kneeling on the floor, and her heart clenched with terror. I am undone, she thought. But she was proud. In her stately fashion she approached Thargelia closer and looked down in silence into those eyes raised to hers, and she saw that Thargelia’s eyes were vivid with hatred. I am to die, she said to herself. She had never been a slave, but this would not protect her from Thargelia’s vengeance, for Thargelia knew too many powerful men in Miletus who were in her debt.