Sappho's Leap (16 page)

“Grandfather's vines were hardly yours to barter with!” I hissed. “You had no right to trade them for your whore!”

“I did not mean to!” Charaxus said. “I was tricked. Sappho—if you ever loved me, save me!”

“It sounds like the story of the eagle and the arrow,” said a handsome, dark-skinned man who walked up behind us. “Do you know it?”

Charaxus was glad to have the subject changed.

“Please tell,” I urged the stranger, whose huge black eyes met mine as if they would devour me. Praxinoa did not look happy. She never looked happy when I had an admirer.

“An eagle perched on a high rock, watching the movements of a hare he wanted to eat. An archer, who saw the eagle from a hidden place, took an accurate aim and wounded the eagle mortally. The eagle gave one look at the arrow that had entered his heart and saw in that single glance that its feathers had been furnished by himself. ‘It is a double grief to me,' he exclaimed, ‘that I should perish by an arrow feathered from my own wings.' So much for men and their promises. They forever skewer themselves with their own arrows.”

“Who
are
you?” I asked the beautiful man, who was clearly as attracted to me as I was to him.

“I am Aesop, who was born a slave,” said the man, “free now as your brothers are not. Would you rescue them?”

“Of course I would, however self-deceived they were! I have been taught to honor family—however foolish its members are.”

“But should she rescue them at once or let them learn and suffer for a while?” asked Praxinoa. “Perhaps they need to be taught a lesson.”

“Then you must teach them not to be wounded by their own arrows,” Aesop said to me. “All of my fables are about this. Most men have no worse enemies than themselves. A man stumbles and falls not on his sword but on his own phallus. All our heroes prove it—Odysseus was more waylaid by women than by war. A slave is the keenest observer. He has no choice if he is to survive.”

“I have lived your words,” said Praxinoa.

“Rhodopis once had such perspicacity,” Aesop went on. “But she has forgotten her humble origins and this makes her vulnerable. Would you defeat her? With my help you can. I can even help you rescue your foolish brothers.”

“Why would you do this for me?”

“Why not? I would do anything to prove that my fables are true. What better fable can I make than the fall of Rhodopis? I would make an example of Rhodopis for the world to see. She has decided she is a queen and can rule the world. Those who cannot be content with themselves come to a bad end—as in my fables. Every time I prove my fables true, I ensure my immortality. Besides—I like you.” His eyes kissed mine again. Praxinoa now looked disgusted.

“I would like to know the secret of immortality.”

“The secret is memory,” said Aesop. “If people remember and repeat your words, they endure. If they forget them, they do not. As a teller of tales, what I most wish for is to have my stories repeated—even stolen and claimed by others. As a singer, you must wish for your listeners to say: Let me learn that song before I die!”

“Rhodopis is too powerful to be brought down,” I said.

“On the contrary, she is too powerful
not
to be brought down.”

“I don't understand.”

“What would you say her ruling passion is?”

“Vanity. She thinks her beauty is invincible.”

“Exactly. And she has put all her eggs in that basket. But we know that beauty is not invincible, because it fades. There is always another beauty more beautiful. Rhodopis knew that once—now she has forgotten.”

Aesop was tall and tawny—he looked half Thracian, half Nubian, and he had a pointed beard. His eyes were huge. They gleamed like black olives soaked in oil. The brand on his forehead was there for all to see. He never pretended not to have been born a slave.

“How did Rhodopis lose her brand? Some clever Egyptian surgeon?”

“No, the brand is hidden beneath the golden ropes that bind her hair across her forehead, but she has forgotten it is there. She does not know herself. Even the Delphic Oracle would be no use to her.”

“We have seen the oracle!” I exclaimed.

“And what did she tell you?” Aesop asked audaciously.

I hesitated.

“Never mind,” said Aesop, “you will tell me by and by.”

While we'd been talking, the palace had grown darker and darker. The dancing girls had extinguished all the candles and torches. What light remained came from the tips of their incense sticks flickering like fireflies in the gloom. More figures began to mass in the darkness. As they came closer, I could see young women dressed as maenads, bearing thyrsus wands of fennel with ivy looped around their stems. The maenads wore bloody animal skins with ragged edges. Satyrs with grinning faces and huge phalli made of leather flanked them. Unseen musicians began fiercely to play drums and flutes.

The satyrs and the maenads started to dance—first in coy pursuit of each other, then in earnest, their dance turning into rough play, the maenads attempting to rape the satyrs with their wands, the satyrs attempting to rape the maenads with their phalli of leather. At first it was a show, a pantomime, but as the guests became aroused, the dance became violent and uncontrolled. The maenads and satyrs dragged the guests into the dance even against their will. I saw a satyr ravish a female guest—first with his leather
olisbos
, then with his own phallus. I saw a group of maenads bind a male guest with ropes of ivy, rape him with their thyrsus wands, then tear his eyes out with the clasps from their garments. Instead of disgusting the crowd, these bloody rituals excited them. The drums played louder and louder. Blood flowed with the wine. The Babylonian dancing girls aroused the mules with their mouths and fingers.

I watched this scene with astonishment. It was exciting and yet also repellent. My delta throbbed and grew moist, but my mind reeled back. I thought of my brothers in slavery, and when the maenads sought to draw me into their bloody dance, I resisted.

I wanted nothing more than to escape this chaos. Praxinoa took one arm, Aesop took the other.

“Where is Senmut?” I asked. Perhaps I felt safer knowing a healer was near.

“He left long ago,” Aesop said. “Let's follow if we can.”

“And leave my brothers?”

“We will plot their liberation later,” said Aesop. “We cannot free them here and now.”

It was not easy to proceed through the mass of frenzied bodies. At the periphery of the room were the dancing girls and their mulish consorts, blocking the exits. I was terrified that we'd be crushed, but Aesop led us away as if we were tunneling through pulsing flesh. I closed my eyes and followed where he guided us with his firm hand. Bodies flung themselves at me. Wine and blood were offered to my lips in golden cups. I heard screams even from beneath my feet as we struggled across floors inlaid with writhing bodies.

“Sappho—don't go,” muttered one reveler as I was dragged over him. “The feast is just beginning.” I looked down at him. He lay on the floor in a delirium of drugged wine, not even noticing that two dancing girls were pulling the rings from his fingers and the golden clasps from his clothes. They looked at me and winked. Their perfume was overpowering. What did it smell like? Flowers, yes. And incense and amber, but there was also something else more hypnotic still. One of them reached up and put a mushroom cap to my lips.

“Ambrosia of the gods,” she said. “
Taste
.”

I was tempted—if only to know the secrets of Rhodopis and her symposia.

Aesop pushed the girl's hand away, and with it the mushroom. She laughed and devoured it herself. “More for me!” she muttered as if in a dream. Aesop and Praxinoa pulled and pushed and dragged me out into the air. At the last moment, I longed to stay.

Finally we smelled the sea, looked up, and saw the stars. The air was fresh. Had we all died and been transported to another realm?

“Where
are
we?” I asked Aesop.

“In the world of my fables,” he said, “and your songs. The only world there is. Follow me.” Aesop was tall and muscular, with broad shoulders. I let him shepherd Praxinoa and me out of Rhodopis' nightmare.

Even the wildest can be tamed by love.

—
A
ESOP

W
E SLEPT FOR A
long time. I awoke in a fury. Why should I save my brothers when they couldn't save themselves? They had squandered not only their patrimony but mine. They had injured me as much as they had injured themselves. Let them rot in Naucratis! They deserved it!

I told Aesop how I felt. He understood.

“But would you be in Naucratis if it weren't your destiny to save your brothers? Poseidon flung you up on the Nile Delta for some reason.

“First they marry me off to an old sot. Then they gamble away my grandfather's wealth—and mine. Why should I help them?”

“Only to help yourself,” said Aesop. “Anger will not suit your purpose here, but tranquillity will. Teach your brothers a valuable lesson. Later they may be a credit to you.”

We were in Aesop's quarters with Praxinoa. The maenads and satyrs of the night before still danced in my brain. I could still smell their perfume.

“I have a plan,” Aesop said. “Last night I told you about Rhodopis, but I didn't tell you all. She has another secret wish besides the wish to control men with her beauty. She wants honor in the eyes of the gods. She wants to dedicate an altar at Delphi with iron spits for sacrifice. She wants reputation as well as fame. All whores want to be ladies, and all ladies want to be whores. You think you have nothing that she wants, but here you are wrong. She wants what you have—”

“What do I have? Two brothers in slavery, a dead husband, a ruined fortune, a broken heart from having lost my only daughter!”

“You have aristocratic birth and bearing and the power to sing. Rhodopis longs for those things above all. You are much more powerful than you suppose. Now tell me about this daughter.”

“She is like a gold flower. I wouldn't take all of Rhodopis' wealth with the pharaoh's added in exchange for her.”

“Then how did you lose this treasure?”

“My own mother took her.” I began to cry.

Aesop put his strong arms around me. “If I could heal your heart, I would,” he said.

“No one can heal it but Cleis herself, and she is far away in Lesbos, my native isle.”

“Then I will take you there.”

“I cannot go. I am exiled from Lesbos on pain of death!”

“She tells the truth,” said Praxinoa.

“Why were you exiled?” Aesop asked.

“Because I plotted the downfall of the tyrant.”

“Then you are brave,” Aesop said. “I see it in your eyes. If I could, I would restore your child to you. But until that day arrives, we can still be allies. We can restore your fortunes, liberate your brothers, and then go off in search of your child. I can help you with all this. I can be your guide. I know Egypt and all its quirks. I know that the Egyptians long to be Greeks, and the Greeks long to be Egyptians. I am well connected here. Listen well. We can begin by creating a rival symposium in Naucratis. It will be so exclusive and authentic that all the Egyptian nobles will vie to attend—and eventually so will Rhodopis. We will keep guests away rather than bid them come—the secret of success. All men long to go where they are not welcome. Even in Naucratis, we heard of your symposia in Syracuse. We heard you were accompanied by a Lydian nobleman who earned much gold for you. What became of him?”

“The sea swallowed him, as he deserved.”

“But the sea cannot have swallowed what he taught you.”

I thought of poor fat Cyrus with his vulgar flair. He was immense. He had rolls of fat around his middle that jiggled when he walked. All fed to the fishes! He spoke Greek badly, Egyptian badly, even his native Lydian badly, but he had a kind of brilliance.

“Cyrus knew one thing—how to get the rich to part with their money.”

“And what was he selling?”

“He was selling
me
!”

“Not quite. He was selling something else. The dream of nobility. The dream of nobility is also valuable in Egypt. After all, Egypt has fallen from its former glory. This great country invented everything from the names of the immortal gods to sculpture to statecraft, and now it flounders on the banks of its life-giving river. Once the greatest nation on earth, it is now only one among many. The pharaohs once were gods married to sister goddesses—now they are only men. Ever since they displaced the great mother Isis, the supreme life-giver, the goddess from whom all being arose, they have declined in power and sunk to the level of other nations. All countries decline when they debase their female goddesses—this a secret that you, Sappho, must understand.”

Thus it began. Aesop and I became allies. We took over an ancient palace on the edge of the desert and filled it with treasures. We hired and trained the finest flute girls. You might wonder where the money came from—for I could not have bought all this luxury with the remains of my gold from Delphi and from shipboard singing. But Aesop had a secret—the first of many. It turned out he was private advisor to the pharaoh. The pharaoh was willing to pay richly for Aesop's fables about animals with their morals about people.

“It is better to get rich with your brain than with your body,” Aesop said, laughing. “Rhodopis will learn her lesson. It will be good to watch. Meanwhile, I suggest you let your brothers continue in slavery for a while. Only those who have been in slavery appreciate freedom.”

Here Praxinoa sighed and exchanged knowing glances with Aesop.

I was still uncertain of the plan. I had lost Cleis, lost Alcaeus—how could I risk losing my brothers? But I trusted Aesop's wisdom. He had a calmness that I lacked. He was protective as my brothers were not. Perhaps he was also in love with me from the very beginning, but he was too clever to reveal it all at once. He sought, instead, to win me with philosophy. He was wise.