The pharaoh was a servant of priests. He departed for Elephantine and his treasury had already hinted to Eositeus that their payments might soon stop. Darius’ envoy hadn’t issued any orders either. Presently, the country was in the hands of priests.
“And so you must go with your people?” Thais asked, feeling panic race through her body.
“It is unavoidable. But how can I part with you? A goblet of coneyon[14] would be better.”
Thais placed her fingers over the warrior’s lips. “Don’t say that. Would you like me to come with you? Come back to Hellas?”
“That would be beyond my greatest dreams. But …” The Spartan hesitated.
“What?”
“Had I been going home after the end of war, but now … Don’t tell anyone, but I think there will be a war.”
“Against the Hellenic union and Alexander?”
“Who else?”
“You, Spartans, are desperately brave and stupidly stubborn. You will end badly. But can’t you stay here with me?”
“As who? Salmaakh’s stableboy? Or to make flower wreaths?”
“Why so harsh? We’ll think about it, we’ll find a way. There is still time. Eositeus is not sailing anytime soon, is he?”
“No sooner than Alexander’s arrival.”
“It is too bad that you cannot join Alexander.”
“Ah, you understand. Yes, being a Spartan, of whom he is not fond … You know, he even rejected Sparta’s name on a trophy.”
“This can be resolved. He is my friend.”
“Your friend? Yes, of course, I forgot about Ptolemy. But I must be with my men either way, both in glory and in death.”
“I understand. This is why I do not think you’ll go into service for the Macedonians.”
Thais spent the entire trip home trying to come up with something for Menedem, but failed. She felt helpless and sadness overcame her more and more.
As soon as Thais appeared among the Persian apple trees of her little garden, Hesiona ran to her with a joyous squeal, then hugged the Theban like a sister. Clonaria ran over too, regarding the “Daughter of the Snake” jealously and trying to push her away from the mistress.
Without further ado, they made Thais lie down on a rough massage bench. Both girls fussed over her, reproaching her for completely letting herself go.
“We’ll have to work all night to get the mistress’ body into proper shape,” the slave girl said, deftly wielding a pair of bronze tweezers and a sponge which had been soaked in a solution of bryony root for eliminating skin hair and restoring the smoothness.
At the same time, Hesiona was preparing a fragrant liquid using Thais’ favorite scent: iris and neuron. Delicately feathered leaves of neuron with their sharp fragrance of slightly bitter freshness were available aplenty here in Egypt. In Hellas they only blossomed for a short time in the month of Elafebolion.
Thais’ transformation into a priestess of Aphrodite, fragrant and smooth as a statue, was interrupted by the arrival of a triumphant Egesikhora. She kissed her friend in greeting, but her horses were waiting so she was forced to rush off after promising to come and spend the night.
That night the friends relaxed in the dimly lit bedroom. The flame of lucnoses[15], subdued by the tiles of yellow onyx, lit the room with a soft golden flickering. A nightlight was set near the bed, and Egesikhora thought that Thais’ clear profile looked carved out of some dark stone against its backdrop. Thais raised her hand and the sparkling ring attracted the Spartan’s attention.
“You started wearing that recently. Tell me, whose gift is it?” Egesikhora asked, examining the carved stone.
“It’s not a gift but a sign,” Thais objected.
The Spartan snorted mockingly. “We all wore such signs as auletridae. It was convenient. If you turn the tip of the triangle away from you everyone knows you are taken. If you turn the tip toward you, you are free. But the rings were bronze and the stone was blue glass.”
“Was the pattern the same as this?” Thais smiled mischievously.
“Yes, the triangle of the great goddess. No, wait. Ours were narrower, sharper. The triangle on your ring has its sides widely spread, like Astarte’s. And the background is a circle. Do you understand the meaning of this sign?”
“Not entirely,” Thais replied reluctantly, but Egesikhora lifted her head, distracted. Faint sounds could be heard from somewhere in the house, as if someone was composing a sad melody.
“It’s Hesiona,” the Athenian explained. “She made a siringa[16] from reeds.”
“She is an odd one. Why don’t you marry her off if you don’t intend to teach her as a hetaera?”
“She needs to recover from all the horror, rape and slavery.”
“How long is she going to be recovering? It’s time.”
“Different people heal differently. What’s the rush? When Hesiona becomes a real woman and falls in love, a new star of beauty will rise. Beware then, gold-haired one.”
Egesikhora chuckled in disdain. “Your miserable Theban is going to compete with me, is she?”
“Anything is possible. Just wait till Alexander’s army gets here.”
Egesikhora’s expression suddenly turned serious. “Lie next to me, cheek to cheek, so that no one can hear us.”
The Spartan told her friend what she already knew: Eositeus was getting ready to leave Egypt. The Spartan strategist had demanded that Egesikhora come with him. He did not wish to part with her, thought he could not do it.
“What about you?” Thais asked.
Egisikhora shook her head. “I am sick of his jealousy. I don’t want to part with you and would rather wait for Nearchus.”
“What if Nearchus has long since forgotten you? Then what?”
“Then …” the Lacedemonian said, then smiled mysteriously. She hopped off the bed and returned with a small basket, woven from the leaves of a date palm.
Wealthy shoppers usually took such baskets to buy cosmetics. Egesikhora sat on the edge of the bed with one leg curled under her (the leg celebrated by the Memphis poets as a “silver-sculpted” one), and pulled out a box made of wood Thais hadn’t seen before.
Interested, she sat up and touched the smooth, grayish cover with her fingertips.
“This is narthex wood in whose trunk Prometheus brought fire from heaven to the people of earth. Alexander has an entire chest made of narthex. He keeps a copy of the Iliad in it, edited by your friend Aristotle.” Egesikhora burst out laughing.
“And who ran away from Athens because of this friend?” Thais replied, flicking an eyebrow at her friend. “But how do you know such details about Alexander?”
The Spartan silently opened the box and pulled out a sheet of papyrus, covered on both sides with Nearchus’ small, tidy handwriting.
“Nearchus, the son of Merion, sends wishes of health to Egesikhora and encloses all this.” The Spartan poured a handful of precious stones onto the bed, as well as two bottles of sparkly tiger’s eye set in gold.
High class hetaerae knew as much about precious stones as would a professional jeweler. Thais pulled one of the lanterns out of the onyx shade and the friends leaned over the gift. There were fiery red pyropes (“flaming eyes”), a huge ruby with a six point star inside, deep blue “royal” beryllium, several bright violet hyacinths, two large pink pearls, a flat pale purple stone with metallic sheen with which the hetaerae were not familiar, and the golden chrysolites of the Eritrean Sea. Nearchus knew his gems well and had made a truly royal gift to his lover, from whom he had been separated for so long.