Sappho's Leap (22 page)

So they had been caught!

“And what of the maidens?” I asked.

“We will wait and see if they are pregnant, and if not, they will be put to death,” said Artemisia with great satisfaction.

“I cannot bear that,” I said. “Tell the queen I will not permit it.”

“I cannot tell the queen that,” Penthesilea said. “No one has ever told the queen that. She will be furious. The goddess alone knows what she will do!”

“I am not afraid of her,” I said. “If my words are immortal, perhaps
I
am immortal.”

“Lady Sappho, I cannot give your message. You must face the queen yourself. I would, however, advise you to come to the queen bearing an epic and an anthem.”

“Then I must get busy,” I said, bending down to write.

I wrote incessantly for ten days and ten nights. Good or bad, I would finish this epic to spare the maidens' lives. Inspiration often arrives when life hangs in the balance. I had my motivation now and I was fast. I scarcely stopped to drink water or eat a bite of bread. The cave was littered with papyrus scraps—all out of order.

When I thought I had done all I could, I summoned the priestesses to help me recopy the epic on papyrus scrolls. That took another week. The queen kept sending Penthesilea to check on our progress. Meanwhile, they had rounded up the offending virgins and most of the sailors and were interrogating them—for all the good that did. Apparently some sailors and virgins had escaped and were preparing to set sail. Time was short.

Her pure delight in holding the branch of myrtle

And the flower of the rosetree,

Moved me as she sang,

Tossing her long hair

Over her bare shoulders

And beautiful back….

—A
RCHILOCHUS

I
T WAS EARLY EVENING.
The amazons were assembled in the same ominous apple grove where Praxinoa had her breast cut. Invisible cicadas sang and birds chirped on the low-hanging boughs. From time to time a heavy apple fell from a weighted bough. The queen had called this convocation so I could read my epic to the assembled throng. Even the ravished maidens were there, with bound ankles and wrists. The sailors who had been caught ravishing them were also prisoners and had been dragged out of the prison caves wearing their wooden and bronze shackles.

Praxinoa was there, sitting among the priestesses who had attended me in my writing cave. She held hands with our guide Penthesilea. On her face was the most beatific expression I had ever seen her wear. She was happy. Why, then, was I so uneasy?

The whole floor of the grove was littered with rotting apples, which gave a deep but not unpleasant aroma. To this was added the perfume of applewood fires and incense. The air was heavy and so was my heart. Yes, I was happy that Praxinoa seemed so happy, but I still had my misgivings about her conversion to the amazon cause and I wondered how I would ever weather the loss of still another loved one. As the sun set below the horizon, as oil lamps were lit and tended, I wished Alcaeus were here to guide me and I wished my darling Cleis were in my arms. The amazons did not believe in clinging motherhood, but what I wouldn't have given for a bit of clinging now!

I began to recite the history of the amazons from earliest times. The words poured out as if I believed them—and of course, in many ways, I did. I believed in the power of women to make their own lives. I believed in women's strength and ingenuity. So I recited with deep conviction. But as I read from the papyrus the priestesses had prepared, I realized that not all the lines were mine. Where I had attempted humor, it had been deleted. Where I had attempted wordplay, it had been changed to literal statement. Where I had joked, there was only seriousness. Everything was so heavy-handed! Nevertheless, the queen appeared delighted. She laughed and sighed and clapped her hands. She repeated several lines after me. The convocation and reading appeared to be a great success.

When I came to relate the visitation of Pegasus to the land of the amazons, there was a noise overhead. The sky was so cloudy that at first it was not possible to see what was happening. The sounds might have been thunder or the rumbling of a far-off volcano. I went on with my presentation without daring to look up. I described the immense iridescent wings of Pegasus, his golden hooves and his wild fire-colored eyes, his mane and tail of stars. I described his origins in the wise blood of the moon goddess, his sacred mating with the white mare Aganippe, “
the mare who destroys mercifully
,” and his digging with his crescent-shaped hoof the famous Hippocrene—the well of poetic inspiration. On Mount Helicon, the home of the muses, was the sacred spring from which all poetic inspiration was fed, and Pegasus had opened it up for all the singers of the world. It was said that whoever could ride Pegasus through the skies would possess forever the key to poetic power. I longed to gallop on his back and hold the secret reins of the muses in my hands. My longing fueled my performance and I entranced the audience with the rise and fall of my voice, so like the galloping of this mythic steed.

Then, all at once, looking up, I seemed to see golden hooves flashing and a tumult of two immense wings parting the clouds! Was I dreaming? Had I gone mad? Was I the only one who saw this? No. All the heads of the spectators were thrown back in wonder.

Pegasus himself flew low over the gathering, snorted mightily, nearly knocked us all over with the hurricane generated by his huge varicolored wings, alighted momentarily on the ground in a thunder of metallic hooves, and flew off again in the direction of the mares' quarters. We all fell silent with awe. The cicadas stopped singing, as did the birds, as if there were a hole in time.

Then I began to read again. I read about the good and beautiful amazons, about their conquests, their achievements, their art, their architecture, their goddesses, their revolutions in child-rearing, horse-breeding, warfare. We could all hear the neighing of mares in the distance. When I came almost to the end of my epic and the listeners were hanging on each word, I took a long pause.

“Go on!” the amazons cried. “Go on!”

I stood very still and silent, knowing that I had to take this opportunity or forever regret it.

“I command you to continue,” the queen said.

I did not move. I did not speak.

The amazons looked frightened. They had never seen anyone defy their queen before.

“We have been sent a sign,” I said very softly, so softly that everyone had to strain to hear.

“What sign?” asked the queen.

“The return of Pegasus.”

“That is because of your epic,” said the queen. “That is why we plan to keep you here to compose for us.”

“With all due respect, great Queen Antiope, I disagree with you,” I said.

Praxinoa put her hand over her mouth in shock. There was a common intake of breath from the amazon priestesses.

“How dare you disagree with me?” Antiope roared.

“I dare,” I said softly, “because I hate to see winged horses with withered wings.”

“Let me worry about that!” said the queen. “Our wisest advisors are studying the mares even as we speak!”

In the distance, the mares were whinnying softly. They almost sounded like Aphrodite's doves cooing.

“Your Majesty, I think Pegasus has returned not because of my epic but because of the joy and happiness of these amazon maidens.”

“You mean the prisoners?”

“I mean the lovers among us, Queen Antiope. The lovers have brought Pegasus back with their pure joy and delight. When Aphrodite inspires us, flowers bloom and maidens laugh and mares give birth to winged foals. This is not my doing—it is Aphrodite's. Banish Aphrodite and your horses will all be born with stunted wings. It was Aphrodite who sent me here—and even the sailors who seduced the maidens. Without her mischief, nothing flies!”

“Heresy!” said the queen. “Aphrodite makes us weak, makes us succumb to the blandishments of men. We do not need her! And we do not need men!”

“But you
do
! Pegasus was drawn back by Aphrodite's laughter. It is Aphrodite who gives us wings. Without lust, life has no juice! Without lust, we cannot fly! Unless you release the sailors and the maidens, I will not finish reciting my epic of the amazons.”

“Defy me and you die!” screamed Queen Antiope.

The amazons gasped. The queen summoned her guards to bind me.

“Bind me if you wish, but you cannot bind Aphrodite—she comes and departs when she will. Even the gods obey her!”

“Finish the poem! Finish the poem!” the amazons chanted.

“Queen Antiope, will you agree to liberate the maidens and the sailors and to let me go? I cannot be a poet in captivity.”

The queen hesitated. She furrowed her brow, balancing absolute power with the need to please the populace.

“Sappho should be our queen!” Penthesilea declared, coming forward. “She is in closer touch with the gods and goddesses than you are. She can give us winged horses. You cannot.” The crowd of amazons began to cheer, “
Sappho, Sappho, Sappho
!”

The queen directed that Penthesilea also be taken prisoner. This was a moment when even apples stopped falling from the gnarled branches.

“I can guarantee nothing,” I said. “I can only try to lure the gods with words. Poetry is not a science. Winged horses cannot be broken to the bridle.”

As I argued with the queen of the amazons, I was sure I was digging my own grave but somehow I did not care. Why should she tolerate my defiance? Where had I found the courage to question her power? Well, if I was to die, I might as well die here and now in the midst of a performance. If I died defending Aphrodite, wouldn't she take pity on my tortured soul?

“Perhaps it is time to bend the rules a little,” the queen finally said. She knew her power was in peril. “Perhaps Sappho should complete her epic and be on her way.”

“Not without the maidens and sailors, and not without Aesop! And not unless you agree not to punish Penthesilea!” I said.

“Stay, Sappho, stay!” the amazons pleaded. “Stay and rule us as our queen!”

Now Queen Antiope was truly alarmed. “When Sappho finishes reciting her epic, I shall decide.”

This was plainly a mistake. The amazons were restless. They were gathering around Penthesilea to ask her advice. Some were chanting my name over and over. The happy neighing of the mares formed a background to their chants.

I proposed a compromise, for the sake of my amazon admirers if not the queen. “I shall leave you Praxinoa as my emissary. She knows everything I know and she is wise beyond her years and loyal to your cause. If Queen Antiope agrees to share her power with Praxinoa and Penthesilea, I can leave you in their capable hands.”

The queen hesitated again, and I hesitated myself, imagining myself queen of the amazons, with Praxinoa and Penthesilea as my highest ministers and Pegasus as my steed. I saw myself as the amazon queen, dispensing justice and song in equal measure and galloping through the skies. I even saw myself giving up poetry for power. I would make a far better queen than Antiope! I nearly seduced myself with my own vision, but I pulled myself back from the brink. My nature was too restless for ruling a nation and I needed to find my daughter. I loved the adulation and applause, but administration bored me. Besides, I would have to kill the queen—I who had never killed anything in my life. Did I have the courage to kill the queen? I disliked her heartily, but was that a reason to kill? Poets prefer to kill with words instead of knives.

“Unbind the prisoners!” said the queen. “Continue with the epic!”

“Do you vow to share your power with the populace and with your wise advisors?”

“I solemnly swear,” said the queen.

So I performed the last stanzas of my epic with tears in my eyes and heresy in my heart. The audience was weeping as well. The epic was hardly as subtle as my lyrics, but it certainly set the amazons to roaring.

There is nothing like flattery to please the crowd. There is nothing like telling people what they want to hear. People love it when you say that they are good and true and beautiful. They love it even if they don't believe it.

When my recitation was complete, crowds of young amazons led us down to the shore, carrying both me and an exhausted, flower-bedecked Aesop on their broad shoulders.

We were just in time. The sailors still on board were making ready to sail at dawn. The just-released sailors and their unbound amazon mistresses swam to the ship as fast as their arms could carry them, but even the loyal amazons who were staying celebrated all night on the deck. Everyone reveled except Aesop, who collapsed in exhaustion the moment we came aboard.

The sky was orange and lavender as we bade farewell to the land of the amazons at dawn. Praxinoa and Penthesilea were waving from a small boat bearing the farewell party. The queen sat in it, pretending to weep over my departure. As we hoisted our sails, the farewell party threw flowers and streamers.

All at once, above us there was a hurricane of wind. Our sails bellied out and our ship sped on. There was whinnying and the flash of golden hooves. Pegasus was overseeing our departure.

The little boat with Queen Antiope, Penthesilea, and Praxinoa nearly foundered in the tossing waves. But soon they bobbed up again and began to row back toward shore against the tide.

They struggled with the oars. The waves rose and fell around them. Then a barge full of younger amazon maidens came to their aid. The two boats went up and down in the waves as they made the perilous transfer. Queen Antiope nearly fell into the sea, but Penthesilea caught her. I couldn't help but wonder what might have been if she had not.

I blew kisses to Praxinoa, whose chest was still bandaged, and who was waving and waving until she seemed a tiny speck on the water. I knew how much I missed her already.