Reincarnation (9 page)

"I suppose you're right." She was eager to change the subject, realizing that she had

sounded shallow and probably stupid to him. "Tell me what you have learned about ancient

Egypt."

Artem sat beside her on a flat rock and unrolled the scroll. "I'll point to the words as I read,"

he said. "That way you'll get the sense of how the written words and the spoken words line

up. It's how I began to learn," he said.

Hyacinth was fascinated as he read the words of Herodotus to her. According to the Greek

historian, many of the customs the Greeks thought of as their own had actually been

brought back to Greece by travelers to Egypt. He claimed that even their gods and

goddesses were simply versions of the Egyptian gods, that the Greek goddess of fertility,

Demeter, was the same as the Egyptian goddess Isis, but only by another name, and

Dionysus was known in Egypt

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as Osiris. "Do you know that they had gods and goddesses who were half animal and half

human, like Anubis the dog-headed god? They had two goddesses who were both half cat,

half woman. They were named Bast and Sempket," he told her. "It's similar to our Pan, and the other centaurs."

"I heard that they worshipped cats. I have recently been given an African wildcat," she

mentioned. "My father received it from a merchant sailor who brought it on a ship from

Egypt. I've named it Baby and love it so much."

"Herodotus mentions the wildcats," Artem told her, finding it in his text. "The first ones were brought here when Alexander the Great conquered Egypt."

Herodotus described so much: the clothing, the ceremonies, the daily life of the average

Egyptian, as well as the ways of the pharaohs. Artem paused in his reading and looked up

from the scroll. "He writes so well. Somehow I can just see it all so clearly."

Hyacinth nodded enthusiastically. "I feel as if I am right there."

"It's true," he agreed.

"You read well," she added. "Do you really aspire to no position in life?"

"Maybe one thing, though it sounds so foolish, you'll laugh."

"Tell," she urged. She enjoyed seeing him less than sure about something.

"I have started a few poems," he admitted sheepishly.

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"Not an epic like that told by Homer, telling of war and heroism, gods and monsters. My

poems are about nature and its beauty. Sometimes I write about Artemis, the goddess of

the hunt, whom I was named for."

"Who named you?" she asked.

"I was found with a note pinned to me," he revealed. "A slave woman who had been freed by her dead master found me and raised me until she died five years later. I don't mind

being named for the goddess, since she was the greatest archer."

"Just like you," Hyacinth noted.

"I've always had skill with a bow," he admitted.

His upper lip quirked into the slightest smile. It reminded her of the way he'd smiled at her

that day in the fish market. She could see he was pleased that she'd remarked on his skill.

He seemed proud of it, which meant
something
mattered to him, at least. So she continued.

"You could compete in the Olympic Games with skill such as yours. I believe there's some

sort of prize. It might improve your ... situation."

"Archery seems a blessing Artemis has bestowed on me as her namesake," he mused aloud.

"I have been able to shoot with great accuracy since I was quite small and have never really

had an instructor. You've given me an interesting idea, though. Perhaps the Olympic Games

are something I should look into. After all, they give honor to the gods of Olympus and it

might please Artemis."

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"Plus, you could use the prize to better your station in life," she repeated. "You must want some comforts."

He laughed. "The Spartans don't believe in comforts. They think it weakens the mind and

soul."

"Yes, but we are not Spartans," she replied.

"No, and nor would I want to be. You're right. I wouldn't mind the funds to buy a few of

life's good things," he admitted. He looked up at her, realizing something. "What's
your
name? You haven't told me."

"Hyacinth."

"Ah, a lovely flower," he said softly, looking at her hard as if trying to really see her. She wanted him to see her, longed to reveal to him all that was beneath her surface. And in

the same way, she wanted to dig behind his exterior to the person she could sense was

there beneath.

She felt engulfed by his gaze and was seized with the idea that their faces, their skins, were

disguises. If they could only pull them off somehow, the real people inside would be

revealed and these two souls would recognize each other instantly and love each other

deeply.

It was crazy, maybe, but she was sure it was true.

The scroll rolled from his lap, breaking the tension of their gazes.

"Once you have learned to read," he said, bending to retrieve the scroll, "they'll all wonder how you know so much. I'd love to see their astonished faces when you know

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everything books can teach you." He laughed at the idea, and his eyes shone. "Don't worry.

I'll make sure you learn."

His promise had been to teach her to read but she felt that it meant so much more. "I'll

teach you to read" meant he would cherish her, want the best for her, be her companion as

she came to know the world. Hyacinth was as sure of this as if he had sworn it to her. She

heard it in his warm tone, saw it in the smile on his face when he looked at her. And it filled

her with love for him.

He was the one for her. She just knew.

There was nothing to it, now, but to confess what she had been thinking. Until this moment,

the thought had stayed hidden in the back of her mind. Only now did she realize it had

been there all along. She angled herself away so she would not have to look at him directly.

"I'll be fourteen soon," she began, "and my father is holding a contest of athletic skill in order to choose a husband for me."

"Do you desire a husband?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "If I could choose my destiny, I would go serve Athena in her temple as a priestess. A priestess of Athena is taught to read the sacred stories of the gods and

goddesses. She serves a higher purpose than catering to her husband, as I will be forced to

do if I marry."

"Then I would never want to compete for your hand in marriage," he said.

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"But my father will not hear of me becoming a priestess," she clarified quickly. "And since I
must
marry, I would rather it be to someone with whom I am companionable. Marriage

could be an agreeable thing, perhaps, if one found a soul mate."

"A what?"

"I, too, heard the philosopher Socrates speak in the square once. He believes we are part

physical and mortal, and part soul, the part which lives on after death. I started thinking: If

one could find a mate with whom one might travel companionably through all time in love

and understanding, then ..."

She cut herself off, feeling foolish.

"Then what?" he prompted.

"Then a person might really find happiness."

"And you think this can happen through marriage?" he asked.

"With the right mate. If one is lucky."

Once again, their eyes met and something passed between them that she could not name.

It was attraction, yes, but also recognition. There was something in him that made her want

to stay beside him, to curl her head onto his chest with never the thought of leaving.

She stepped toward him but he broke the connection, tossing it away with a harsh laugh. "I

am a homeless scrounger," he reminded her.

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"I have a large dowry. My father is a wealthy importer and exporter of goods."

She could hardly believe these words were coming from her. How shameful to be begging a

complete stranger to vie for her hand in marriage! But all the young men who would come

to compete for her would be strangers as well, and some much older and not nearly as

good-looking. If she would be wed to a stranger, then let it be Artem -- Artem, whom she

barely knew but who did not feel like a stranger to her. She knew she'd be happy married to

this person she had felt she knew on that very first day when she'd spied him in the fish

market. Of course, it made no sense -- but there it was, just

the same.

He stood and waved her away. "No, I could never wed a siren."

"A what?"

He turned toward her. There was mischief in his eyes though his face was serious. "I have

heard you down by the ocean rocks, singing into the crashing surf."

"You have?"

"Yes," he replied. "And I believe you must be a siren, one of the magical half-fish women who drive sailors mad with their song. Surely you've read of it in the work of the poet

Homer?"

She had heard the tale told. She lifted her long, tan, linen skirt to reveal two sturdy legs. "No fish tail here," she said.

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"I see. Those are most assuredly legs," he said as he smiled and his eyes ran appreciatively up and down the length of her body. "Then, tell me, how do you come to sing so

enchantingly?"

Hyacinth was proud of her voice and it pleased her that she'd been overheard. Singing was

the only thing she had ever been allowed to study despite the fact that her two older

brothers were schooled in many subjects.

"I have a teacher," she told him. "He assigns me to sing over the crashing of the waves in order to strengthen my voice."

Artem pulled a scroll from under his roll of blankets beside the ashen remains of a fire. Then

he took out a flute. "Sing this," he suggested. "It's a poem I wrote. I want to put music to accompany it. I have a plan that perhaps I can earn my keep playing and reciting my work in

the homes of the wealthy."

"I can't read it," she reminded him.

"I'll recite it to you. Maybe you can remember it." He began to recite from memory. It was a poem telling of a trip up the Nile River taken by a slave being transported to Thebes, the

city that had once been called Luxor before the Greeks renamed it.

Hyacinth was awestruck by the beauty of the language. It described the majesty of the

pyramids and the slave's amazement in passing the great Sphinx for the first time.

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He told of the slave wishing he could lift into the sky like a graceful crane and return to his

homeland.

The pain and loneliness in the verses caused tears to well in Hyacinth's eyes. "How do you

know such ancient things?" she asked when he was finished. "You are not singing of the

Egypt that we Greeks rule. It is a much older Egypt that you sing of. Your words are so clear

that I see it in my mind's eye. Why would you write of the life of a slave, you who are not

tethered to anything?"

"I do not know why these images come to me. Sometimes the muses send pictures to me

by day and other times Morpheus appears in my dreams and leads me to wondrous visions

I cannot explain."

"Perhaps I have traveled there with you," she suggested.

He smiled, a bit bemused but not scornful. "Perhaps it is a thing akin to the Myth of Er that Plato refers to in his work
The Republic?

Hyacinth had heard Plato's name discussed in the evenings when her father, brothers, and

friends sat drinking their wine and debating issues she did not fully understand. But she had

no idea about
The Republic
or the Myth of Er. Still, she could not bear for him to think her a fool. "Perhaps it
is
like the Myth of Er," she agreed.

"You'll read it for yourself someday," he said. "Can you remember the words to the poem?"

"Tell it to me again and this time I will listen closely

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with a mind to recall it," she suggested, closing her eyes to concentrate.

Macar glanced around the gymnasium, checking that he was clear to throw, and then drew

back his arm, hurling the javelin with all the force at his command.

Under his breath, he hissed a curse. The javelin had landed a full yard short of the farthest

javelin thrown by Elpinor.

He rubbed his jaw. It was aching, as it often did when something worried him. Perhaps he'd

been grinding his teeth in his sleep again, fretting about the upcoming tournament for

Hyacinth's hand in marriage.

Elpinor slapped him on the back. "Have no worries.
I'm
not about to vie for my sister's hand in marriage, so you'll get no competition from me," he said, laughing. "Though why you

would want her at all confounds me."

"I can't resist a contest," Macar joked glibly. "Besides, I hear she comes with an impressive dowry."

"That she does," Elpinor confirmed. "But is it worth putting up with such a sour disposition?

Somehow she has no concept of the rightful place of a woman. She is forever listening in on

the dialogues among the men, forever having to be shooed away like an intrusive hen."

Macar laughed even more loudly as he and Elpinor retrieved their javelins. "Perhaps it's

simply that she's so disinterested in me," he pondered. "I relish the challenge.

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Other girls are forever flirting with me. I'm considered quite a good catch. But your sister

simply turns away when she sees me, almost as though I've done something to her."

"Your sin is being male," Elpinor told him. "If she had her way she'd join the priestesses in the temple and devote her life to Athena."

"That would be a waste of beauty," Macar commented, thinking of Hyacinth's attractive

curves.

"My father forbids it, so there will be no waste of her beauty," Elpinor said. "But, I tell you, she will try your patience."