Nearchus raised his eyebrows, thought about it, then nodded decisively in agreement.
“Tell me, have you tried talking to Alexander about this?” Thais asked.
“I have. He listened to me at first because he knew that I rarely speak, and when I do it is only about things that are important.”
“And?”
“And he forgot everything in yet another fit of Achillean rage. He is not as much like Philip as his mother, Olympias.”
“What was she like?”
“Why ‘was’? She is still alive. She is not much older than forty, and she is still beautiful, with a peculiar, slightly wild kind of beauty. Do you know that she is a princess of an ancient line from the mountainous Timphea, an orphan dedicated to Dionysus who became his priestess? And, of course, she is a maenad.”
“So she is subject to enraged ecstasy. Alexander must have inherited that ability. Now I understand his inexplicable behavior a little better.”
“It is possible. He becomes enraged when he runs into any resistance, be it a clash with an enemy or a dispute with his friends. He tries to overcome obstacles with a savage shove, not sparing his own life or those of others. During those times he thinks nothing of human dignity, that of which he speaks so frequently during his calm moments, when he disagrees with his teacher, Aristotle.”
“This happens to very fortunate people, the favorites of Tihe, the fate,” Thais said thoughtfully.
The companions remained silent for a long time, listening to the bubbling of water under the steering oars. The ship moved under sails. The steady east wind shortened their voyage. The mournful shouts of the livestock herders and roaring of donkeys could be heard from the distance. Thickets of donax, or reeds, spread as far as the eye could see, rippling in the wind like a brownish green sea. More reeds with fluffy tips, fluttering in rhythm with the current, grew closer to the shores of rivers and channels.
“Have you seen that most beautiful one, Darius’ wife?” the hetaera suddenly asked.
“I have. She is very beautiful.”
“More beautiful than I am? And … Egesikhora?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. Tall, slender. Gloomy black eyes under wide black eyebrows. Large, thin-lipped mouth, slightly hollow cheeks, long neck. I don’t know about her legs. You can’t see them under those heavy long dresses of theirs. Long black braids, thin like snakes. That is all there is to her. In my opinion, she is nothing to you or …” Nearchus paused, then gazed at the Theban, who flushed hotly. “ …or to Hesiona.”
“The Daughter of the Snake” hid her face in her hands, and Thais hopped up, hugged Nearchus and kissed him somewhere under an eye, trying to avoid his prickly beard.
“You deserve a reward. I shall dance for you. Call your musician girl. I think you have a flutist, and Hesiona can manage the sitar.”
Nearchus and his companions were thrilled by the unexpected performance, for there was no greater pleasure for Helenians, Finikians and Egyptians than a dance performed by a beautiful woman.
The quiet “kingfisher” days had ended after winter solstice, but weather still remained calm, even when Nearchus’ ship exited the Nile and turned along the shore to the west, propelled by the steady east wind. Two skillful helmsmen remained constantly at the steering paddles. In this wide band of yellowish water, churned by the rolling surf, sandbanks continuously changed their location. In the liquid sand, mixed with the Nile silt, the ship’s bottom could get stuck so firmly that no effort of the rowers or sails could move the entrapped vessel. That was why the helmsmen didn’t dare sail at night and always stopped in small harbors.
Thais and Hesiona were under Aphrodite’s protection. The goddess made their trip easy and fast. Soon the ship entered clear waters outside of the sands carried by the Nile, and approached the white band of foam beyond the island of Pharos, which was visible from afar. Eight ships carrying lumber and rock were crowded around the strip of land between the Mareotide lagoon and a broad strait where a poor settlement of fishermen Racotis used to be only a month before. In this early morning hour, thick smoke rose above kitchens in the soldier’s camp and in the slaves’ quarters. It was picked up by the wind and carried to the west, along the deserted Libyan coast.
Alexander’s architect, Dinocrates, had accomplished quite a lot. Grooves and rows of boards hammered into the ground ran through the future city, marking the outlines of temples, streets and squares yet to be built. The chief of the city construction, a middle-aged, scar-covered Macedonian, greeted Nearchus with great respect.
Two tents woven of the delicate wool of Pamphilian mountain goats were set under the protection of a wall, still smelling of damp lime. The ship of the fleet commander carried plenty of beds, cushions and curtains. Thais and Hesiona settled quite luxuriously under his omnipotent care.
Meeting with the sea brought on memories of the past for Thais. A little bit sad, she relived the unforgettable moments of her short, yet saturated life to the hum of the sea, the splash of broadly rolling waves, and the constantly changing patterns of foamy bands. There were many seagulls, their rocking flight and piercing, troublesome cries making her think of Ea, the island of tears, and the dwelling of Circe in the midst of the deserted Ionic Sea.
In order to shake off the sudden sadness, Thais asked Nearchus for a boat and some oarsmen. The Cretan volunteered to accompany his guests, and they sailed across the strait to the legendary abode of the old man of the sea Proteus.
It was after noon, and the wind suddenly faded. Heat breathed upon them from above, and sparkling light spots dappled the calm water. The boat approached the island, low, sandy and completely empty. Even the seagulls grew quiet. Nearchus turned left, to the western side of Pharos, and the bow hit the sandy bank. Nearchus jumped into the water and handed both women over to the shore.
Ordering the oarsmen to wait, he led Thais and Hesiona through heat-saturated sand dunes covered with dry brambles. Beyond the dunes the wide band of surf-packed sand was cut off by a straight stone wall. Giant boulders, even larger than those in the Athenian Pelasgicon, were set together with a thoroughness resembling Egyptian and Cretan structures.
“What is this? Who lived here in the ancient times?” Thais asked quietly.
Without a reply, Nearchus led the Athenian to the edge of the wall and pointed at the boulders which had been scattered by an earthquake and were now submerged in the clear water. A pattern in the shape of squares could be seen on the surface of the boulders, marked in regular deep grooves. Some of the squares were carved out, and some had been left even with the surface of the stone. Together they made a net-like pattern of dark and light squares.
Thais immediately remembered where she had seen something like that. “It’s Crete, isn’t it?” she exclaimed, her eyes shining.
Nearchus replied with a wide pleased smile. “There are ruins further down. See? That looks like a column.”
“I want to see that,” Thais said. She looked down at the water, considering. “The water is not cold, despite winter time, unlike in Hellas …”
“The locals wouldn’t be caught dead swimming this time of year,” Nearchus said with a chuckle, then grew suddenly glum.
Thais realized that he remembered Egesikhora and gently patted his arm.
“I’ll go for a dive,” she said, and ran toward the sea.