Glory and the Lightning (14 page)

On his head he bore the first turban Aspasia had ever seen, of cloth of gold sprinkled with jewels. It was like a crown, high and wide, and gave him a look of majesty, lifting above his fine spare ears and his broad dark brow, which was also high and as unlined as brown marble.

But it was his face that engaged Aspasia’s attention. Like his body his countenance was narrow and very attenuated, if nearly as black as an Ethiopian’s. He had strange eyes which at one moment appeared brown and at another gray, and they were almost as large as Aspasia’s, and glimmered and shone and changed with his thoughts. He had long black and silken lashes, and his eyebrows were like the wings of a bird, swooping upwards to his forehead; giving him a barbaric expression, and a delicately cruel one. His nose was short but beaked. His mouth was extremely mobile and satirical, and only faintly colored with red cosmetics. He had the hidden sneering air of the Persian aristocracy, and his whole face was subtle and occult beyond the comprehension of the western people. There was an aura of secret obscurity about him which, to her reluctance, exacted Aspasia’s attention. She thought, Here is a man who reveals nothing of his thoughts or passions, and rules himself.

Those, she remembered from her lessons, who were in command of themselves were inevitably powerful and potent, beyond the hysteria and disastrous emotions of lesser men. Al Taliph, she thought with growing respect, would never permit vulgar vehemences in himself.

Despite her fear, Aspasia began to admire such a man, who had elegance and composure and spoke very little. At times a flicker of amusement flashed through his eyes and his lips curled as he listened to the conversation between Thargelia and Cadmus, which was becoming lewd. To him, Aspasia concluded, open coarseness was for the barnyard and not for cultivated men. When he glanced at Aspasia that glance was inscrutable and aloof; she thought he was weighing her and had found her of little importance. In this she was wrong, for Al Taliph was thinking, to his confusion, that here was a damsel of intelligence and subtlety. He did not know whether to be displeased or gratified. She had not spoken a word as yet, but he saw the planes of her face and the expression of her eyes. He was a man wise in the way of women, and Aspasia was unique to him, and he desired her. In contrast, Narcissa was a mere pretty animal. She would be a marvelous addition to his harem: A woman who possessed a mind, with whom he could converse. He laughed inwardly and remembered that he who debases himself and converses with a woman converses with a soulless creature, who merely babbles and does not know of what she babbles, and her conversation is madness.

Al Taliph had several wives and a huge harem. A man went to other men for intellectual understanding. He looked at Aspasia, to ponder, again, with conflicting thoughts, on her intelligence or her lack of intelligence. Could anything of consequence come from that adorable mouth? If so, it would be infinitely exciting.

He spoke to her for the first time and his voice, Aspasia thought, was not coarse and loud like Cadmus’ but low and quiet and pleasing to the ear, almost like the sound of the sea. “I have heard that in this house the women are taught many things which other Ionian and Grecian women are not, and that their minds are respected.”

“Yes, it is true,” said Aspasia, and out of her bitterness she spoke loudly and clearly and the Persian was surprised at the resonance and fascination of her voice, though he deplored the strength of it. Women in Persia had soft whispering voices and when they spoke they meekly bent their heads and let their lashes fall. But Aspasia looked at him straightly, and he saw her eyes and marvelled, for liquid lights increased and shifted in them, as if they contained crystal waters in themselves. “But that does not help us. We are despised.” In Persia men did not address women as they addressed men; they kept their eyes averted so as not to contaminate them by looking too long at a woman. However, he found himself, to his amused vexation, returning her regard. Then his gaze wandered once more over her body, at the swelling young breast, at the dainty waist and virginal hips.

She did not like that slow scrutiny of her person, to which she had never before been subjected; it was as if he were reflecting on the aspects of a slave he was considering purchasing. So in turn, flushing, she scrutinized him also, and he saw it and wanted to laugh. A fine young mare, he thought. It will be pleasurable to tame her.

A slave girl with a soft musical voice began to sing a ditty of the streets, and accompanied herself on a small harp:

“Do not try to make me love you,

For I swear by stars above you

That love like mine will always be untrue.

The moon was my undoing

When you seduced me—wooing,

But never was my heart possessed by you.

“The soul can love one only,

And after that is lonely,

For love can come but once to any heart.

When fled, life’s but for grieving,

All else is but deceiving,

Desire remains, yet always lives apart.”

Aspasia had laughed at the ditty when first she had heard it, but now she said to herself, I will never love any man. I find this one not repulsive, and if he wishes me I shall have to obey. She saw that he had been listening, too, over the laughter and conversation of Thargelia and Cadmus, and she saw him smiling a little. “Tell me,” he said, “would you like to live in my country?”

She shrugged. “Does it matter where I live? I have no choice.” Then she added, “Are you going to Greece, sire?”

He coughed slightly as if she had asked him a bold and embarrassing question. “In the midst of all these wars and turbulences, Aspasia? I doubt I would live long in Greece, if I were discovered. I do my affairs from this sanctuary in Miletus, where I meet with Greek merchants, lapidaries, manufacturers, weapon-makers, dealers in oils and excellent works of art, and many other things. Here we are pragmatic men and not enemies. Merchants are not emotional; it is gold, only,” and he rubbed the fingers of his right hand together. “Is that not sensible?”

She considered this, and sipped her wine. “But is gold not the ultimate end of all wars?”

“The Greeks did not think so when we invaded their small country. But then, they who fought were not merchants. They loved freedom, it is said. That, too, is another delusion.”

Aspasia looked at him, her face averted, and only her eyes shining with hostility, for always she had believed that freedom was the only thing for which men should fight. Seeing that he was scrutinizing her endowments again as if she were an animal, her thoughts became confused. She looked at his fine dark hands and thought of them on her body; to her surprise she did not shiver nor did she feel revulsion and dread. She had heard that in Persia women slept at the feet of their husbands or possessors, like cats, and she told herself that never would this happen to her even if he killed her for disobedience.

There was a sudden exclamation from Thargelia of annoyance mingled with drunken mirth. Cadmus had dexterously divested Geo of her peplos and had swung the child onto his knees. He began to explore her little tawny body with rough hard fingers and Cleo started to cry, though she had drunk too much wine, herself. Without thinking Aspasia sprang from her chair and put her arms about Cleo, seeking to lift her from the huge knees on which she struggled in fear. Cadmus’ hand reached out swiftly and he caught Aspasia by one of her breasts and squeezed it, laughing up in her face with a salacious light in his eyes. She cried out, strove to push away that gripping hand, but he held her breast tighter and his thumb rubbed her nipple painfully.

Later Al Taliph thought that he himself had behaved in a ridiculous fashion, for what was a woman and especially such as the hetairai? Aspasia, he was to think, had been presumptuous and forward in attempting to rescue that worthless little creature who had taken the fancy of a man, and who should have been grateful for it. It was probably Aspasia’s cry which caused him to rise quickly, for he had already, in his mind, declared her his and it was intolerable to see another man touch his property.

So Aspasia saw a long lean hand dart like a striking snake at Cadmus’ hand, which held her breast, and Cadmus uttered a short howl of pain and released the girl. Cleo fell from his knees and sprawled on the soft carpet and whimpered like a puppy.

Cadmus grasped his wrist and shrieked like a woman, half-rising. He looked up at Al Taliph’s smiling face and he shouted, “You have broken my wrist, may the Furies seize you!”

Al Taliph spoke gently. “I do not think it is broken, though I struck it with the side of my palm, a Persian lesson from Cathay. Had I struck your throat so you would now be dead, my friend.” He shook his head as if in reproof of his own impetuousness.

Aspasia fell on her knees beside the wailing Cleo and held her in her arms against her breast and she regarded Cadmus fiercely. Thargelia, amazed, stood up and was no longer drunk. She was filled with dismay.

Never had this happened in her house before, no matter how intoxicated her clients. But above all she feared that this episode would result in the two men rejecting her hetairai for boldness, on Aspasia’s part, and Cleo’s absurd objections to Cadmus’ caresses. She exclaimed to Cadmus, “I will send for unguents at once!” To Al Taliph, standing near her, she said, “I am humiliated at the actions of Aspasia. But she has the effrontery of youth. I implore you to forgive her, Cadmus,” and she turned to the other man.

He said, through clenched yellow teeth, still holding his wrist, “Give her to me and I promise that every morning she will be flogged, as a punishment. What other man would have such a wench?” He looked at Aspasia with mingled hatred and desire, and sharply kicked her in the side with his sandaled foot.

Al Taliph caught his injured wrist and stared down into his eyes, smiling, and said, “Do not kick what is mine, dearest of friends.” His voice was soft.

Cadmus shrank. He whimpered with pain, remembering that he had dealings to do with Al Taliph and extremely profitable ones, and he was jeopardizing them. He swallowed his hatred, and said, “Shall men quarrel for such as these? No. I am ashamed.”

Cleo was clinging to Aspasia, weeping into the older girl’s shoulder, and Aspasia was filled with despair. Thargelia’s bosom rose on a deep breath of relief. She said to Cadmus, “You will take Cleo with you tonight?”

He scowled at her, biting one of his thick lips and his eyes narrowed shrewdly. “I have discerned that she is close to puberty. Her price must be lowered, for in less than a year she will be worthless to me.”

“She is not a slave,” said Thargelia, suddenly touched with pity at the sight of the two girls sitting on the carpet. Moreover, Cadmus had dared spurn her darling, Aspasia, with his foot as if she were a canine bitch. The singing and dancing and playing maidens and the serving slaves had become still and silent, watching. “Cleo,” Thargelia continued in a cold voice, “was born free and is still free. When you have had your pleasure and your fill of her return her to me.” She looked inflexibly at Cadmus who began to fear that never again would he be invited to this house of joys and luxuries.

“You will also treat the child with care and gentleness,” said Thargelia. “If ill comes to her, Cadmus, not all your wealth will protect you from my wrath and the justice of the authorities.”

“You are insolent,” he muttered. His wrist was swelling and he was in pain, and he rubbed the wrist with the fingers of his other hand. “Am I a heathen barbarian, a murderer? The girl will be treated well in my house.”

Thargelia clapped her hands and two male slaves came obediently to her, and she said, “A bowl of hot water and unguents and linen.” Al Taliph had returned to his chair. He looked down at Aspasia, saw her golden locks mingling with the black locks of the child she held like a mother, heard her murmurs of consolation. She was not weeping, as was Cleo. Her face was like marble.

All at once Al Taliph was taken by a deep tenderness for Aspasia, and he was so astonished by this unique emotion for a woman that he almost burst out laughing in ridicule of himself. Yet, when he looked down into her eyes and saw the suffering in them he was moved in an unfamiliar fashion, for he was not a man of pity and mercy was almost unknown to him.

He touched her shoulder lightly, bending down to do so, and she lifted her head and regarded him in a white silence. She saw his swarthy face and something curiously arcane in his subtle eyes. His reddened lips curled with incomprehensible thoughts. There were bronze lights on his cheeks, as hard as metal, which increased his appearance of virility.

I do not fear him, Aspasia thought in wonder. I will go with him and gladly, for I feel in my heart that he is not as other men. She said, “I pray you to take Cleo also.” But he shook his head and removed his hand and turned away in grave rebuke. His burnished hooped earrings caught the lamplight.

“She is not mine to take,” he replied, and glanced at Cadmus, whose wrist was being bound up by Echion, himself. Though Aspasia was again filled with despair she understood. Al Taliph was a man of honor.

CHAPTER 9

Kurda, the master of the eunuchs, and a eunuch himself, stared after the golden-haired woman with hatred. For three years now she, a detestable female, had ruled this household, this palace, with more power than a lawful queen, with certainly more power than the four noble wives of the lord—the ruler of the province. Not for this creature the confines of the harem, where lived two hundred young concubines and slaves! Not for her the cymbals and the flutes and the zithers and the dance, to please the lord, Al Taliph, during his weary relaxation after affairs of state! It was even rumored that she did not sleep at his feet, like a pampered dog or a silken cat. (Kurda was inclined not to believe this, for certainly no female would be permitted to confront her lord face to face in sleep on the same cushions! That was blasphemy, obscenity, unspeakable, disgusting—the Lord Al Taliph would never have permitted such. Never would he be guilty of defiling himself so.)

Kurda stood at the bronze gates leading into the hall of the palace and watched Aspasia’s queenly and stately passage across the blue and white tiles of the courtyard, which was lighted by the ardent sun. She is not even young, he thought, with malevolence. It is said that she is eighteen years old, a withered leaf. She was as old as the oldest wife of the lord, who had already given birth to five children, all sons—for which the lady was honored. She was far older than the concubines of the harem, most of whom were not over fourteen years, for women began to fade at that age and the lord could not endure old women. Yet, he endured and suffered this one! Incredible! Shameful! Had she cast a western spell on him, to so derange his wits? If so, none in the palace was safe. Her golden hair was a web of evil, disastrous, in which the entire establishment was caught and helpless. Kurda, devoted to his master, for all Al Taliph was a Zoroastrian and not truly a Persian by descent, but a Mede, could have wept with fear and rage on every occasion when he encountered this daughter of Ahriman, the spirit of immortal wickedness, at war eternally with Mithras and man. Surely Mithras would soon visit calamity not only upon this household but on the whole Valley of the Polvar.