| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
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| Written by Stelios Touchtidis / Artwork by Marge Simon |
| A Mother's Gift |
Melissa's scream ripped through the wooden panels like a sword through linen.
"Get out! You stink!"
Eleni smoothed red ochre on her cheeks, and put down her silver mirror. She lifted the latch and flung her
door open, blinking at the brightness of the afternoon sun.
"But beautiful pearl of Miletus, I have money!" Standing in the middle of the courtyard like a stage actor,
wiggling a bony palm, Anaximander held out a small copper coin toward a raven-haired girl. His other arm
hung limp at his side, tendons cut by some Medean blade long ago.
Melissa lifted quivering nostrils. "Money! I spit on your offering! I don't share my favors without silver, but you
couldn't tempt me with a gold stater!"
Eleni suppressed a snicker. As if anyone would offer you a month's wages for a tumble. In all Astypeia, Eleni
alone could command this.
"Ah, you can't get it up anyway!" Across the yard, Eudokia stopped polishing the bronze brazier and giggled.
Her brown hair had a touch of honey, and mirth made plump cheeks even rounder.
"Quiet." Eleni's imperious tone drew all eyes to her. "Eudokia, if you're too distracted, polish inside your room.
Melissa, you are supposed to get us customers, not lose them."
"But Eleni...." Melissa's voice reverted to her usual whine.
"Quiet!" Everybody froze. Her gaze settled on Anaximander. "You. How many times have I told you to leave
my girls alone? Have the gods addled your mind?"
"But, divine one, I...." Anaximander wavered in the breeze. His mud-stained chiton hadn't been washed in
months. Still, a spark smoldered in his eye. "What can I do? I'm still a man."
A man? Once perhaps. Memory fleshed him in brawn, darkened his hair, thickened his beard, gave his voice
timbre. Yes, he'd been a man. And not unkind.
"I'd toss you on your ass, but your bones would crack." Eleni took two quick steps and shoved the emaciated
man towards the door. She glared at the wide-eyed girls. "Don't you have things to do?" Without waiting for
a reply, she dragged him towards the entrance. "Out, I said."
As they reached the door, she whispered next to his ear, "Come at full moon, when my girls will be at Miletus
for the festival. And say not a word."
Her voice rose. "And if I ever catch you loitering around, Eudokia will spank you with the pan." She winked as
he stumbled away.
"Yes, Eleni. Thank you wise Eleni, princess of distant Ephesus, most merciful of women. Eleni, more beautiful
than the dawn!"
"Go, Anaximander." A princess indeed. Eleni checked the water urn. At least some errands were getting done.
She stepped to the wood columns flanking the outside entrance. On the street milled mostly women in drab
tunics and high-necked peploses, eyes studiously averted other than the occasional dirty look. Eleni ignored
them. Too early for any business.
"Make way!" Heavy footsteps mixed with men's voices. Dust swirled as several soldiers turned the corner,
corded leather sandals thumping, dragging a figure with elbows bound around a wooden staff. With each
step, harnessed swords slapped on beefy thighs. Their leader wore a helmet, clasped with leather under his
thick brown beard.
As they neared, Eleni saw the captive was a woman with olive-brown skin and short black hair. Eleni waved
at the helmet-wearer. "Thales! What's she done?"
Thales smiled down at her, leathery skin crinkling. "Greetings, Eleni." He shook his head. "Long story." The
soldiers kept their rapid pace. The young woman cast Eleni a glance. Fear, hurt...
And something else, icy and distant. Eleni ran after the soldiers. "Oh, Thales, what story? Tell me. Surely no
lowly thief merits such an escort? Come, I'll walk with you."
"No, she's no thief." Thales cast an appreciative look at Eleni. She'd fastened her white chiton loose, every
step revealing more than any chaste town woman would allow. "Yesterday she was wearing the long peplos
of a Hestian priestess, veiling her face from lascivious looks, when she slipped on some overripe fruit,
stumbled and hit her head on a rock, knocking herself out."
"And someone called the guards for that?"
"No, but two other priestesses, following her to the spring, saw her fall and ran to help. The tumble had cast
her veil back. With her face uncovered, they saw something was wrong."
Eleni raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised they knew her. The Veiled Virgins rarely reveal their visages—even to
each other."
"They didn't. But though they hadn't seen the face, they knew this priestess. She's been living and begging
and lighting the hearth fires for at least twenty years—since before the other two joined the revered
sisterhood."
Eleni's gaze shot back to the bound girl. "Twenty years? But..."
"Yes. That would make this woman at least forty years old. You don't think she's forty, do you?" Thales took a
big stride and grabbed the captive's face in his hand, twisting it towards Eleni. The face he squeezed, unlined
and unblemished, could not have seen more than nineteen summers.
Thales released her with a sneer. "She must've killed the old priestess and taken her garb. When she woke
and was confronted, she ran. The priestesses called for help, and we finally caught her. Wiry little thing
fought like a bobcat—no holy virgin I ever saw." Thales spat. "Anyway, this is a major offense, murder of a
priestess and worse, impersonation of a holy virgin. The vice-satrap of Miletus himself is coming to Astypeia
tomorrow morning, for the public execution outside Hestia's temple."
"So you're guarding her tonight."
"Yes, parading her through the streets and then guarding her until tomorrow."
"Guarding her all night? But won't you men be lonely and cold and bored?" Eleni angled her head and flashed
an impious smile. "Wouldn't you want hot roasted meat to eat, some spiced wine to drink, and perhaps
something soft to lie against?"
"Something soft...." Thales extended an arm, drew Eleni against him, then grimaced and loosened his grip. "I
so wish. But we can't afford your girls, let alone you, Eleni. We don't get paid till new moon."
"Your word is good for me, Thales. That," Eleni pointed to the thin golden snake twisted around his corded
forearm, "and your armlet, yours again when moon starts waxing."
Thales didn't hesitate. "Deal."
"I'll make sure you remember this night." Eleni swirled past him to face his men. "And what about you, brave
warriors? I have two girls with fuller curves than the bow of Eros, lips sweeter than Athenian honey and skin
softer than the fleece of the Bactrian goat..."
* * *
Thick rope bound her wrists tight, spreading her arms high like an impotent praying mantis. Arete rotated her
neck, trying to ease the strain on her back. Muscles supple as a dancer's rippled in her limbs. I must not be
stiff tonight.
Straight ahead, a crimson sunset layered a curtain of gold over the water. Arete had seen the sight a
thousand times from between the central columns of Hestia's temple, now the scaffolds that held her
prisoner. Would the Mede satrap believe her tomorrow? She knew the holy rites, the names of other Virgins,
the—but it would matter little, once he beheld her face. No, the only hope she had was the night.
A small group was ascending the path from Astypeia. Three women led a grey donkey, one big ear up and
another to the side, struggling under two large wine amphorae. Ah, the pretty blonde whore and her
companions, come for evening's entertainment. Get the soldiers drunk and sleepy for me.
The two dark-haired women started unloading the animal near the soldiers' fire, a good stone's throw away.
The blonde and the tall guard, Thales, walked her way, his eyes on the whore's bosom and hers on Arete.
The whore's stare lingered. "Hard to believe she'd fool the other priestesses for long, veil or no."
Thales snorted. "Oh, she prepared well. She wore a wig of grey under her veil, which the fall knocked loose,
and she had painted age wrinkles on her face, but they washed off..."
Arete scowled. Yes, they washed off when Erato, may she swim in a sea of her own blood, scrubbed her face,
and started to scream.
"But why?" The whore raised her voice. "Might as well tell us, girl. Were you planning to rob the other Holy
Virgins? Or some nobleman when lighting his hearth?"
"I didn't rob anyone." It was useless, but she must take every chance for doubt. "I am Arete, priestess of
Hestia. I have lived in these parts almost all my life."
Thales guffawed. "So you're what, fifty years old and a virgin, is that it?" He slapped his thigh. "As for the
second, the Veiled Ones say otherwise..."
Yes, curse them, and may the demons of Sekhmet eat their flesh as they waste to nothingness.
"...and as for the first..." He pointed a damning finger.
Arete lowered her eyes. "I was ashamed of how young I look, so I wore the wig." And it would have sufficed,
had the stone not hit right above her ear. "No man has had me, but long ago I had to flee the Medes on a
horse, and..."
The blonde doubled over with laughter, eyes tearing. She leaned against Thales and said, through gasps,
"Now I know why I'm no virgin."
Thales and the whore began kissing and headed for the bushes. Arete turned away. They were nothing. She
had to gather her strength.
Tonight I will scrape and bleed and wear the skin off my hand so it slides through the rope. Tonight I will bend and
turn and lift with my legs to reach my teeth to the strands and bite them through.
I will pick the knots with my toes till they loosen. Bast will send a cat to gnaw my bonds.
I will be free.
* * *
Arete rested a single knee on the floor, all that the slack from the ropes would allow. Stars dotted the sky as
the guard and the whore came back. Thales started to where his men's fire burned warm, but the blonde
swerved her hips towards Arete and he followed.
"C'mon, Arete, or whatever your name." The whore's voice was pleasant. "Don't you want to tell your story?
If it's a good one, I'll even bring you something to eat. Where are you from? What drove you to this mad
scheme?"
Go away. "Why won't you believe me? I have no story. Veiled virgins live a simple life of poverty."
The blonde's eyes hardened. "All your lies will do is make you go hungry on the last night of your life." She
shrugged. "The vice satrap will be here tomorrow. His time is valuable. Whatever you are, you'll burn."
Arete pushed up and stood as straight as she could. Anger steeled her voice. "And if it be my last night, I
should invent a tale to please a whore for scraps of food?"
Mouth clenched, the whore grabbed the knife from the guard's belt and rushed, pressing cold steel on Arete's
throat. "A whore with a knife, who can cut your throat."
What matter when death comes? Arete's nostrils flared. "A whore with a knife is just a whore." The tip of the
blade pricked into her neck.
"Eleni, don't. It's what she wants." Thales pulled the knife away from Arete's throat. "A quick death tonight,
rather than the fire tomorrow."
"Yes. Yes, you're right." Eleni lowered her arm. "But lend me your blade, good Thales. I have a use for it that'll
please her less." Her arm rose in a long arc; the blade tore across Arete's forehead. More in shock than pain,
Arete screamed, blood trickling warm on her brow.
"Young like the gods, are you?" the whore spat. "Worse are your lies than the truth of your murder. Ageless
are you? I will age you tonight."
"Come, Eleni." Thales lifted a placating arm. "Lamb's cooking by the fire. Let's have fun."
"Of course." Eleni's smile was honey as she rose on her toes to kiss him. "I promised you fun, and you'll have
your fill." Arms about each other, they had started downhill, when the whore spun and hissed Arete's way,
"But you won't."
* * *
Dried blood itched on Arete's forehead. The darkness was pierced by the fire where the whores and the
soldiers had been drinking and frolicking. The smell of cooking lamb reached her nostrils. Arete kept her head
down, letting her thoughts go blank.
The light footsteps of the blonde whore, Eleni, made her raise her eyes. Eleni hefted the guard's knife in her
right arm.
"Remember this?" With a long stroke, Eleni slashed Arete's cheek, then jumped back as blood spurted. Pain
raked her face like a strand of fire, but Arete stifled her cry.
"Where's your immortal youth now?" In the firelight the face paint round the whore's eyes and on her cheeks
glinted like brushed copper.
Arete met her torturer's gaze. "Vain creature who envies my youth so, is your own beauty faded under your
paint? Mark me all you want. For each cut you make, a hundred scars time will repay you. For each time I
kneel, a thousand stooped steps of agony await you."
The whore's face tightened. "Tell the truth and I'll show you mercy."
Arete spat, and the knife answered with another cut.
"May Sekhmet rend you limb from limb!" This time Arete couldn't control the scream, nor the mumbled curse
that rose to her lips in the language of her birth.
Eleni stared. Then she said, in the same tongue, "Does a daughter of the Nile have no fear of death by fire?"
Arete recoiled. How could a Greek whore know the speech of Egypt—but no, it was only the coarse dialect of
the ports and slaves, no doubt learned under some fat exile or while enjoyed by a gang of soldiers in some
Phoenician port. "Ignorant fool. You profane the language of the Two Lands with your unclean mouth."
The whore wavered, knife held aloft, when a voice reached from the camp. "Eleni! Come have some wine!"
Thales raised a wine cup.
"Yes," Arete muttered under her breath. "Earn your pay."
"Coming!" Eleni turned back. Loudly she said, "The night's young, spawn of Egypt."
* * *
The stars had moved a quarter of their way across the dome of Nut. The night had become a show, with the
whore taking breaks from her drunken debauchery for trips uphill to slash at Arete's face, while her
companions and the soldiers laughed and cheered. The cuts crisscrossing her face burned like a mask of
flame, but Arete answered taunt with taunt. No whore will master me.
By now the others were asleep, limbs entangled, drained amphorae resting on their sides. Even the donkey
hung its head. A single log still glowed golden.
One last time Eleni rose to her feet. Wobbly steps brought her uphill, the blade of her knife a russet red. She
lifted it in a wide arc. Arete braced herself, but the blade passed more than an inch from her face.
A vicious smile thinned Arete's lips. "Too drunk to aim, whore?"
"My aim is perfect." Eleni's whisper was barely audible. "I've cut enough of your bonds, a bit with each slash,
for you to free yourself, weak as you are. Wait till I go back. Climb uphill till the rock masks your trail then turn
some distance down and head to shore. Steal a boat."
All muscles in Arete drew taut in shock and disbelief. "Why?"
"That's my business." Eleni made her way back, steps uncertain. She lay down against Thales and slipped
under his arm. A soldier stirred, but didn't waken. Faint snoring drifted all the way up.
Arete tried her bonds. Sure enough, most of the fibers were cut. She hadn't felt it, the pain on her face
dominating everything, but it didn't take more than a sharp pull to free one arm. As she worked on the other,
confusion swirled inside her. Why? Why had the whore done this?
She would find out. Someday. Like a still sea, calm came. Once more, Arete had time. Silent as the night she
moved over the temple floor towards the back, where the huts of the priestesses lay. The whore's advice was
sound, but Arete had a better plan, and a score to settle. Each step she felt stronger. How could she have
doubted the destiny inside her? Her gods would not betray her. Arete hefted a sharp stone. The feral smile
on her face made her cuts come alive; the jolt of pain raced down her veins like fine wine.
* * *
Eleni was being led to a stake, pyres and screams everywhere, the city burning, flames dancing over the
topless towers. Fire licked her flesh and Eleni woke, and let out a real scream. The grass at her feet was afire.
Hestia's temple was ablaze, like two of the small houses behind, and the flames had spread to the trees.
"Thales! Wake up!" Eleni shook him and jumped up, kicking and screaming at the others. The donkey joined
its bleat, and soon Melissa and Eudokia's yelling and coughing amplified the cacophony. Cursing soldiers
shook off drunken sleep. Garment held over her nose, eyes tearing from the smoke, Eleni used Thales's knife
to cut the donkey free. The sky glowed red over the temple as the soldiers grabbed their swords and backed
away from the flames and the searing heat.
The last of the fire faded only when dawn had gilded the east with gold. Thank Athena, it had rained two
days past, and the flames did not spread towards Astypeia. Eleni and the girls had retreated to a rocky
clearing, and villagers alerted to the fire were hastening up the road from Astypeia.
Thales, who had gone up to the temple tight-lipped, came running back. "The gods themselves sent this fire."
Melissa shivered in the morning breeze. "Why would the gods burn Hestia's temple?"
"Because it had been profaned. Come and see."
The women followed uphill. Smoke still lingered, although the wind was dispersing it, and there was another
smell, one Eleni could not purge from memory—the odor of charred flesh.
Thales pointed between the blackened stubs of the central columns, where a carbon shape looked like ash
compacted into human form. "There the gods punished the defiler. Since she had been a servant of the virgin
goddess in this very temple, even though in an unholy masquerade, the temple itself had to be purified by
fire."
"But how did the fire start? Was it our fire?" Eudokia's voice sounded thin among the desolation.
"No, the blaze started in one of the huts behind the temple." Thales bowed his head. "Probably one of the
elderly sisters built a small fire in worship, and the gods sent her a divine daze and guided the flames for their
holy work."
Eleni's stare fixed behind the remnants of the temple. "What about the other burnt hut?"
"Empty, thank the Goddess. The veiled one who lived there must have started her rounds early."
Eleni nodded. "Thank Hestia." And bless Thales and his imagination. The burnt body did resemble Arete. But
burnt bodies shrink. Questions swirled in Eleni's head like angry bees.
Were the veiled virgins in the two huts behind the temple the same ones who had betrayed their unnaturally
young sister? Was one of them left in her home, and the other placed between the columns, throats already
cut? Who knew better than a priestess of Hestia, true virgin or not, how to start a fire and keep it lit long and
hot enough to consume those who could no longer scream?
And what surer way than death, to shake off and sate relentless pursuers. No, no gods were at work here,
only a mistake.
Her own.
"Yes, Thales. It was the will of the gods." Eleni brushed back golden hair with her palm. "Stop by my home
tonight and you can have your armlet back. This was a dark night, and I want no gold from it."
* * *
Under the small tent, Eleni unrolled the thick linen mattress. Already the home she'd enjoyed for fourteen
years in Astypeia was a fading memory. Eudokia would tend it well. The two years since the temple fire had
shown her an able manager, more suited to running a big house than spreading her legs.
Eudokia would keep waiting for her mistress to return from Sardis, but even under the rule of the Great King
travel was not without its dangers. She'd begged Eleni to take more guards, but money was tighter since
Eleni stopped taking customers.
Outside, her two slaves would be alternating watches. She would free them tomorrow, at the fork to
Ephesus. One after another, the layers of her life peeling away.
She raised her small silver mirror. There, reflected by the light from her oil lamp, was the next thing to leave
behind. Tomorrow night, she would clean the paint from her face, applied every single morning for the last five
years. Her long hair would be shorn halfway, and braided into pigtails. She would trade her gold-trimmed
white chiton for the coarse peplos of a merchant's daughter—a terrified daughter, waylaid by brigands.
Eleni pinched the wick, casting the tent into darkness, and closed her eyes.
* * *
A sharp pain woke Eleni. The tip of a pointed blade pressed into her throat. The tent flaps had been flung
open, and a small shape crouched over her.
"Your guards will not wake, whore." A strong hand gripped her chin, while the other held the knife. "I'll make
you an offer such as you gave me—tell me why, and your death will be swift. Lie, and you'll find my skills with
pain second to none. I learned a lot in Egypt and Babylon, on both sides of the blade."
Is this how it all ends? Panic clawed within Eleni's breast, then subsided. A good time. No more pretending, no
more lies. She'd made a mistake, and she would pay. She'd paid for none of her countless errors of cruelty
and indifference; how fitting to be punished for one of mercy.
She searched in memory for her real voice. Muscles use to pretense relaxed. Clear as a harp's melody came
her words. "I thought you might be my daughter."
Powerful fingers dug deeper into her cheeks. "What stupid lie is this? Why should I be your daughter, even if
you believed me even younger than I look?" Arete snorted, the knife making a small cut that made Eleni
wince. "Do you see your lost daughter in every girl?"
"I believed you old, not young." Eleni strained to see the features through the dark, but all that was visible
was a shadow. She lifted her eyes higher, to the starry sky. A good sight to take with her to Hades, if that
was her destination. "I believed you to be the old priestess, and before then a woman of Egypt and perhaps
other places as well."
"You mock the blasphemy you accused me of?" The voice was laced by fury. "That would make you over a
hundred. Fading old whore, you hope to win my pity with foolish lies and drunken dreams?"
Fire swept through Eleni, but the blade on her throat was relentless. "A whore I've been, and commoner and
princess too, and many other things as well. But never old or faded." Eleni moved her left arm.
"Stop or I'll cut your throat!"
"Then reach for it yourself. There's an alabastron in my pack, with a solution from Sardis, and a cloth of white
linen. Wipe my face with it."
Arete's small figure moved to the side and grabbed Eleni by the hair, knife now pressing on the neck from a
different angle. "You do it. One false move, and it will be your last."
Eleni found the little bottle with dark-accustomed eyes, and poured a small amount on the cloth. She rubbed
the edges to spread the solution; then wiped her face, following the hairline, and then her cheeks and all
around the eyes.
She felt a tug on her hair. "Move outside. The moon is not yet gone."
Eleni let herself be led. From the corner of her eye she saw the crumpled figures of her two guards. Had she
made their brief lives even briefer? Another yank at her hair forced her to face the moon, about to hide behind
the Prienean mountains.
"Ah." Arete's voice held traces of amusement. "A sad day when one needs to hide not wrinkles, but beauty.
So you thought me your daughter?" Anger colored her words again. "When were you born?"
"It was before your time."
"Speak truth, or taste my knife."
"It was seven hundred years ago!" The words, never before spoken, lifted a Sisyphean stone of lies,
inventions, abandonments, betrayals, long and heavy as memory. Eleni took a deep breath of night air,
scented with pine, flowers and blood. "In Sparta, before the time of the two kings, before the Sons of
Heracles ravaged Greece."
The grip on her hair did not slacken. "Seven hundred? Exactly? Or has age blurred your memory?"
"Seven hundred and seventy three." Eleni drew her head up. The knife bit into her flesh, but she didn't care.
Memories cascaded. "They said I was a gift from the gods, that my mother bore me already a year old. That
my father was Zeus, taking the form of a swan. I believed it for a long time, but if I am his daughter, he's had
no time for me."
The knife wavered and Eleni realized Arete was shaking. With amazement she saw it was laughter. It grew
stronger; Arete moved back, letting go of her hair, and almost doubled over.
"So you're that whelp of mine!"
In the moonlight Arete's face looked as young as Eleni's own, faint scars almost faded, but the cackle was an
old hag's. Is that how I am? A harridan cloaked in smooth skin?
Arete's convulsions eased. "Daughter of Zeus indeed! You pompous Greeks, what a story to hide a daughter
from a slave girl caught in a raid on the Hittite coast." She started laughing again. "And you! What trouble you
caused!"
Eleni found the corners of her own mouth curving upward. "That, I did." Moments passed as the two women
regarded each other, then Eleni's brow furrowed. "You say you're my mother?"
"Who can lie better than those who fear no witness? But our stories match well. I had a golden-haired
daughter, seven hundred and seventy three years ago, on the slopes of Taygetos. She took after her father,
tall and fair. All it seems but in one thing. My gift. My curse."
"When were you born? Is Arete your real name?"
Arete stood straight, the shadows about her forming cloaks of ebony. "I graced the land of the Nile at the end
of the reign of King Neferkare, more than sixteen centuries ago. Nitiqret was one of my Five Names, and I was
First Queen."
The small woman blinked, and the shadows blended again, formless. "Now I wander far, but in me lives the
immortal Hawk, and one day I'll reclaim my destiny." Nitiqret moved like a whip, her knife flashing, and Eleni
screamed and fell back, hot blood running down her face.
"A parting gift from your mother." Nitiqret's teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "You'll make an ugly whore in
your next life." She laughed, that rasping sound again. "Don't try to follow me." With quick steps, she
vanished into the night.
Eleni rushed to her guards, but the blood from their cut throats stained the ground in pools of black. Pity and
remorse clawed at her, but so many deaths, so much cruelty, so much pointlessness had coated her heart
with steel.
She licked at her cheek where the blood was still trickling. It tasted warm and salty. The scars would make
the brigand attack even more believable. Eleni found a dropped blade, started cutting her hair. Sixteen
centuries. Was it mere bragging? What was it like to see civilizations rise and fall, perhaps even the
mountains come and go? As she contemplated the new life before her, for the first time in a long while, Eleni
felt young.
"Get out! You stink!"
Eleni smoothed red ochre on her cheeks, and put down her silver mirror. She lifted the latch and flung her
door open, blinking at the brightness of the afternoon sun.
"But beautiful pearl of Miletus, I have money!" Standing in the middle of the courtyard like a stage actor,
wiggling a bony palm, Anaximander held out a small copper coin toward a raven-haired girl. His other arm
hung limp at his side, tendons cut by some Medean blade long ago.
Melissa lifted quivering nostrils. "Money! I spit on your offering! I don't share my favors without silver, but you
couldn't tempt me with a gold stater!"
Eleni suppressed a snicker. As if anyone would offer you a month's wages for a tumble. In all Astypeia, Eleni
alone could command this.
"Ah, you can't get it up anyway!" Across the yard, Eudokia stopped polishing the bronze brazier and giggled.
Her brown hair had a touch of honey, and mirth made plump cheeks even rounder.
"Quiet." Eleni's imperious tone drew all eyes to her. "Eudokia, if you're too distracted, polish inside your room.
Melissa, you are supposed to get us customers, not lose them."
"But Eleni...." Melissa's voice reverted to her usual whine.
"Quiet!" Everybody froze. Her gaze settled on Anaximander. "You. How many times have I told you to leave
my girls alone? Have the gods addled your mind?"
"But, divine one, I...." Anaximander wavered in the breeze. His mud-stained chiton hadn't been washed in
months. Still, a spark smoldered in his eye. "What can I do? I'm still a man."
A man? Once perhaps. Memory fleshed him in brawn, darkened his hair, thickened his beard, gave his voice
timbre. Yes, he'd been a man. And not unkind.
"I'd toss you on your ass, but your bones would crack." Eleni took two quick steps and shoved the emaciated
man towards the door. She glared at the wide-eyed girls. "Don't you have things to do?" Without waiting for
a reply, she dragged him towards the entrance. "Out, I said."
As they reached the door, she whispered next to his ear, "Come at full moon, when my girls will be at Miletus
for the festival. And say not a word."
Her voice rose. "And if I ever catch you loitering around, Eudokia will spank you with the pan." She winked as
he stumbled away.
"Yes, Eleni. Thank you wise Eleni, princess of distant Ephesus, most merciful of women. Eleni, more beautiful
than the dawn!"
"Go, Anaximander." A princess indeed. Eleni checked the water urn. At least some errands were getting done.
She stepped to the wood columns flanking the outside entrance. On the street milled mostly women in drab
tunics and high-necked peploses, eyes studiously averted other than the occasional dirty look. Eleni ignored
them. Too early for any business.
"Make way!" Heavy footsteps mixed with men's voices. Dust swirled as several soldiers turned the corner,
corded leather sandals thumping, dragging a figure with elbows bound around a wooden staff. With each
step, harnessed swords slapped on beefy thighs. Their leader wore a helmet, clasped with leather under his
thick brown beard.
As they neared, Eleni saw the captive was a woman with olive-brown skin and short black hair. Eleni waved
at the helmet-wearer. "Thales! What's she done?"
Thales smiled down at her, leathery skin crinkling. "Greetings, Eleni." He shook his head. "Long story." The
soldiers kept their rapid pace. The young woman cast Eleni a glance. Fear, hurt...
And something else, icy and distant. Eleni ran after the soldiers. "Oh, Thales, what story? Tell me. Surely no
lowly thief merits such an escort? Come, I'll walk with you."
"No, she's no thief." Thales cast an appreciative look at Eleni. She'd fastened her white chiton loose, every
step revealing more than any chaste town woman would allow. "Yesterday she was wearing the long peplos
of a Hestian priestess, veiling her face from lascivious looks, when she slipped on some overripe fruit,
stumbled and hit her head on a rock, knocking herself out."
"And someone called the guards for that?"
"No, but two other priestesses, following her to the spring, saw her fall and ran to help. The tumble had cast
her veil back. With her face uncovered, they saw something was wrong."
Eleni raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised they knew her. The Veiled Virgins rarely reveal their visages—even to
each other."
"They didn't. But though they hadn't seen the face, they knew this priestess. She's been living and begging
and lighting the hearth fires for at least twenty years—since before the other two joined the revered
sisterhood."
Eleni's gaze shot back to the bound girl. "Twenty years? But..."
"Yes. That would make this woman at least forty years old. You don't think she's forty, do you?" Thales took a
big stride and grabbed the captive's face in his hand, twisting it towards Eleni. The face he squeezed, unlined
and unblemished, could not have seen more than nineteen summers.
Thales released her with a sneer. "She must've killed the old priestess and taken her garb. When she woke
and was confronted, she ran. The priestesses called for help, and we finally caught her. Wiry little thing
fought like a bobcat—no holy virgin I ever saw." Thales spat. "Anyway, this is a major offense, murder of a
priestess and worse, impersonation of a holy virgin. The vice-satrap of Miletus himself is coming to Astypeia
tomorrow morning, for the public execution outside Hestia's temple."
"So you're guarding her tonight."
"Yes, parading her through the streets and then guarding her until tomorrow."
"Guarding her all night? But won't you men be lonely and cold and bored?" Eleni angled her head and flashed
an impious smile. "Wouldn't you want hot roasted meat to eat, some spiced wine to drink, and perhaps
something soft to lie against?"
"Something soft...." Thales extended an arm, drew Eleni against him, then grimaced and loosened his grip. "I
so wish. But we can't afford your girls, let alone you, Eleni. We don't get paid till new moon."
"Your word is good for me, Thales. That," Eleni pointed to the thin golden snake twisted around his corded
forearm, "and your armlet, yours again when moon starts waxing."
Thales didn't hesitate. "Deal."
"I'll make sure you remember this night." Eleni swirled past him to face his men. "And what about you, brave
warriors? I have two girls with fuller curves than the bow of Eros, lips sweeter than Athenian honey and skin
softer than the fleece of the Bactrian goat..."
* * *
Thick rope bound her wrists tight, spreading her arms high like an impotent praying mantis. Arete rotated her
neck, trying to ease the strain on her back. Muscles supple as a dancer's rippled in her limbs. I must not be
stiff tonight.
Straight ahead, a crimson sunset layered a curtain of gold over the water. Arete had seen the sight a
thousand times from between the central columns of Hestia's temple, now the scaffolds that held her
prisoner. Would the Mede satrap believe her tomorrow? She knew the holy rites, the names of other Virgins,
the—but it would matter little, once he beheld her face. No, the only hope she had was the night.
A small group was ascending the path from Astypeia. Three women led a grey donkey, one big ear up and
another to the side, struggling under two large wine amphorae. Ah, the pretty blonde whore and her
companions, come for evening's entertainment. Get the soldiers drunk and sleepy for me.
The two dark-haired women started unloading the animal near the soldiers' fire, a good stone's throw away.
The blonde and the tall guard, Thales, walked her way, his eyes on the whore's bosom and hers on Arete.
The whore's stare lingered. "Hard to believe she'd fool the other priestesses for long, veil or no."
Thales snorted. "Oh, she prepared well. She wore a wig of grey under her veil, which the fall knocked loose,
and she had painted age wrinkles on her face, but they washed off..."
Arete scowled. Yes, they washed off when Erato, may she swim in a sea of her own blood, scrubbed her face,
and started to scream.
"But why?" The whore raised her voice. "Might as well tell us, girl. Were you planning to rob the other Holy
Virgins? Or some nobleman when lighting his hearth?"
"I didn't rob anyone." It was useless, but she must take every chance for doubt. "I am Arete, priestess of
Hestia. I have lived in these parts almost all my life."
Thales guffawed. "So you're what, fifty years old and a virgin, is that it?" He slapped his thigh. "As for the
second, the Veiled Ones say otherwise..."
Yes, curse them, and may the demons of Sekhmet eat their flesh as they waste to nothingness.
"...and as for the first..." He pointed a damning finger.
Arete lowered her eyes. "I was ashamed of how young I look, so I wore the wig." And it would have sufficed,
had the stone not hit right above her ear. "No man has had me, but long ago I had to flee the Medes on a
horse, and..."
The blonde doubled over with laughter, eyes tearing. She leaned against Thales and said, through gasps,
"Now I know why I'm no virgin."
Thales and the whore began kissing and headed for the bushes. Arete turned away. They were nothing. She
had to gather her strength.
Tonight I will scrape and bleed and wear the skin off my hand so it slides through the rope. Tonight I will bend and
turn and lift with my legs to reach my teeth to the strands and bite them through.
I will pick the knots with my toes till they loosen. Bast will send a cat to gnaw my bonds.
I will be free.
* * *
Arete rested a single knee on the floor, all that the slack from the ropes would allow. Stars dotted the sky as
the guard and the whore came back. Thales started to where his men's fire burned warm, but the blonde
swerved her hips towards Arete and he followed.
"C'mon, Arete, or whatever your name." The whore's voice was pleasant. "Don't you want to tell your story?
If it's a good one, I'll even bring you something to eat. Where are you from? What drove you to this mad
scheme?"
Go away. "Why won't you believe me? I have no story. Veiled virgins live a simple life of poverty."
The blonde's eyes hardened. "All your lies will do is make you go hungry on the last night of your life." She
shrugged. "The vice satrap will be here tomorrow. His time is valuable. Whatever you are, you'll burn."
Arete pushed up and stood as straight as she could. Anger steeled her voice. "And if it be my last night, I
should invent a tale to please a whore for scraps of food?"
Mouth clenched, the whore grabbed the knife from the guard's belt and rushed, pressing cold steel on Arete's
throat. "A whore with a knife, who can cut your throat."
What matter when death comes? Arete's nostrils flared. "A whore with a knife is just a whore." The tip of the
blade pricked into her neck.
"Eleni, don't. It's what she wants." Thales pulled the knife away from Arete's throat. "A quick death tonight,
rather than the fire tomorrow."
"Yes. Yes, you're right." Eleni lowered her arm. "But lend me your blade, good Thales. I have a use for it that'll
please her less." Her arm rose in a long arc; the blade tore across Arete's forehead. More in shock than pain,
Arete screamed, blood trickling warm on her brow.
"Young like the gods, are you?" the whore spat. "Worse are your lies than the truth of your murder. Ageless
are you? I will age you tonight."
"Come, Eleni." Thales lifted a placating arm. "Lamb's cooking by the fire. Let's have fun."
"Of course." Eleni's smile was honey as she rose on her toes to kiss him. "I promised you fun, and you'll have
your fill." Arms about each other, they had started downhill, when the whore spun and hissed Arete's way,
"But you won't."
* * *
Dried blood itched on Arete's forehead. The darkness was pierced by the fire where the whores and the
soldiers had been drinking and frolicking. The smell of cooking lamb reached her nostrils. Arete kept her head
down, letting her thoughts go blank.
The light footsteps of the blonde whore, Eleni, made her raise her eyes. Eleni hefted the guard's knife in her
right arm.
"Remember this?" With a long stroke, Eleni slashed Arete's cheek, then jumped back as blood spurted. Pain
raked her face like a strand of fire, but Arete stifled her cry.
"Where's your immortal youth now?" In the firelight the face paint round the whore's eyes and on her cheeks
glinted like brushed copper.
Arete met her torturer's gaze. "Vain creature who envies my youth so, is your own beauty faded under your
paint? Mark me all you want. For each cut you make, a hundred scars time will repay you. For each time I
kneel, a thousand stooped steps of agony await you."
The whore's face tightened. "Tell the truth and I'll show you mercy."
Arete spat, and the knife answered with another cut.
"May Sekhmet rend you limb from limb!" This time Arete couldn't control the scream, nor the mumbled curse
that rose to her lips in the language of her birth.
Eleni stared. Then she said, in the same tongue, "Does a daughter of the Nile have no fear of death by fire?"
Arete recoiled. How could a Greek whore know the speech of Egypt—but no, it was only the coarse dialect of
the ports and slaves, no doubt learned under some fat exile or while enjoyed by a gang of soldiers in some
Phoenician port. "Ignorant fool. You profane the language of the Two Lands with your unclean mouth."
The whore wavered, knife held aloft, when a voice reached from the camp. "Eleni! Come have some wine!"
Thales raised a wine cup.
"Yes," Arete muttered under her breath. "Earn your pay."
"Coming!" Eleni turned back. Loudly she said, "The night's young, spawn of Egypt."
* * *
The stars had moved a quarter of their way across the dome of Nut. The night had become a show, with the
whore taking breaks from her drunken debauchery for trips uphill to slash at Arete's face, while her
companions and the soldiers laughed and cheered. The cuts crisscrossing her face burned like a mask of
flame, but Arete answered taunt with taunt. No whore will master me.
By now the others were asleep, limbs entangled, drained amphorae resting on their sides. Even the donkey
hung its head. A single log still glowed golden.
One last time Eleni rose to her feet. Wobbly steps brought her uphill, the blade of her knife a russet red. She
lifted it in a wide arc. Arete braced herself, but the blade passed more than an inch from her face.
A vicious smile thinned Arete's lips. "Too drunk to aim, whore?"
"My aim is perfect." Eleni's whisper was barely audible. "I've cut enough of your bonds, a bit with each slash,
for you to free yourself, weak as you are. Wait till I go back. Climb uphill till the rock masks your trail then turn
some distance down and head to shore. Steal a boat."
All muscles in Arete drew taut in shock and disbelief. "Why?"
"That's my business." Eleni made her way back, steps uncertain. She lay down against Thales and slipped
under his arm. A soldier stirred, but didn't waken. Faint snoring drifted all the way up.
Arete tried her bonds. Sure enough, most of the fibers were cut. She hadn't felt it, the pain on her face
dominating everything, but it didn't take more than a sharp pull to free one arm. As she worked on the other,
confusion swirled inside her. Why? Why had the whore done this?
She would find out. Someday. Like a still sea, calm came. Once more, Arete had time. Silent as the night she
moved over the temple floor towards the back, where the huts of the priestesses lay. The whore's advice was
sound, but Arete had a better plan, and a score to settle. Each step she felt stronger. How could she have
doubted the destiny inside her? Her gods would not betray her. Arete hefted a sharp stone. The feral smile
on her face made her cuts come alive; the jolt of pain raced down her veins like fine wine.
* * *
Eleni was being led to a stake, pyres and screams everywhere, the city burning, flames dancing over the
topless towers. Fire licked her flesh and Eleni woke, and let out a real scream. The grass at her feet was afire.
Hestia's temple was ablaze, like two of the small houses behind, and the flames had spread to the trees.
"Thales! Wake up!" Eleni shook him and jumped up, kicking and screaming at the others. The donkey joined
its bleat, and soon Melissa and Eudokia's yelling and coughing amplified the cacophony. Cursing soldiers
shook off drunken sleep. Garment held over her nose, eyes tearing from the smoke, Eleni used Thales's knife
to cut the donkey free. The sky glowed red over the temple as the soldiers grabbed their swords and backed
away from the flames and the searing heat.
The last of the fire faded only when dawn had gilded the east with gold. Thank Athena, it had rained two
days past, and the flames did not spread towards Astypeia. Eleni and the girls had retreated to a rocky
clearing, and villagers alerted to the fire were hastening up the road from Astypeia.
Thales, who had gone up to the temple tight-lipped, came running back. "The gods themselves sent this fire."
Melissa shivered in the morning breeze. "Why would the gods burn Hestia's temple?"
"Because it had been profaned. Come and see."
The women followed uphill. Smoke still lingered, although the wind was dispersing it, and there was another
smell, one Eleni could not purge from memory—the odor of charred flesh.
Thales pointed between the blackened stubs of the central columns, where a carbon shape looked like ash
compacted into human form. "There the gods punished the defiler. Since she had been a servant of the virgin
goddess in this very temple, even though in an unholy masquerade, the temple itself had to be purified by
fire."
"But how did the fire start? Was it our fire?" Eudokia's voice sounded thin among the desolation.
"No, the blaze started in one of the huts behind the temple." Thales bowed his head. "Probably one of the
elderly sisters built a small fire in worship, and the gods sent her a divine daze and guided the flames for their
holy work."
Eleni's stare fixed behind the remnants of the temple. "What about the other burnt hut?"
"Empty, thank the Goddess. The veiled one who lived there must have started her rounds early."
Eleni nodded. "Thank Hestia." And bless Thales and his imagination. The burnt body did resemble Arete. But
burnt bodies shrink. Questions swirled in Eleni's head like angry bees.
Were the veiled virgins in the two huts behind the temple the same ones who had betrayed their unnaturally
young sister? Was one of them left in her home, and the other placed between the columns, throats already
cut? Who knew better than a priestess of Hestia, true virgin or not, how to start a fire and keep it lit long and
hot enough to consume those who could no longer scream?
And what surer way than death, to shake off and sate relentless pursuers. No, no gods were at work here,
only a mistake.
Her own.
"Yes, Thales. It was the will of the gods." Eleni brushed back golden hair with her palm. "Stop by my home
tonight and you can have your armlet back. This was a dark night, and I want no gold from it."
* * *
Under the small tent, Eleni unrolled the thick linen mattress. Already the home she'd enjoyed for fourteen
years in Astypeia was a fading memory. Eudokia would tend it well. The two years since the temple fire had
shown her an able manager, more suited to running a big house than spreading her legs.
Eudokia would keep waiting for her mistress to return from Sardis, but even under the rule of the Great King
travel was not without its dangers. She'd begged Eleni to take more guards, but money was tighter since
Eleni stopped taking customers.
Outside, her two slaves would be alternating watches. She would free them tomorrow, at the fork to
Ephesus. One after another, the layers of her life peeling away.
She raised her small silver mirror. There, reflected by the light from her oil lamp, was the next thing to leave
behind. Tomorrow night, she would clean the paint from her face, applied every single morning for the last five
years. Her long hair would be shorn halfway, and braided into pigtails. She would trade her gold-trimmed
white chiton for the coarse peplos of a merchant's daughter—a terrified daughter, waylaid by brigands.
Eleni pinched the wick, casting the tent into darkness, and closed her eyes.
* * *
A sharp pain woke Eleni. The tip of a pointed blade pressed into her throat. The tent flaps had been flung
open, and a small shape crouched over her.
"Your guards will not wake, whore." A strong hand gripped her chin, while the other held the knife. "I'll make
you an offer such as you gave me—tell me why, and your death will be swift. Lie, and you'll find my skills with
pain second to none. I learned a lot in Egypt and Babylon, on both sides of the blade."
Is this how it all ends? Panic clawed within Eleni's breast, then subsided. A good time. No more pretending, no
more lies. She'd made a mistake, and she would pay. She'd paid for none of her countless errors of cruelty
and indifference; how fitting to be punished for one of mercy.
She searched in memory for her real voice. Muscles use to pretense relaxed. Clear as a harp's melody came
her words. "I thought you might be my daughter."
Powerful fingers dug deeper into her cheeks. "What stupid lie is this? Why should I be your daughter, even if
you believed me even younger than I look?" Arete snorted, the knife making a small cut that made Eleni
wince. "Do you see your lost daughter in every girl?"
"I believed you old, not young." Eleni strained to see the features through the dark, but all that was visible
was a shadow. She lifted her eyes higher, to the starry sky. A good sight to take with her to Hades, if that
was her destination. "I believed you to be the old priestess, and before then a woman of Egypt and perhaps
other places as well."
"You mock the blasphemy you accused me of?" The voice was laced by fury. "That would make you over a
hundred. Fading old whore, you hope to win my pity with foolish lies and drunken dreams?"
Fire swept through Eleni, but the blade on her throat was relentless. "A whore I've been, and commoner and
princess too, and many other things as well. But never old or faded." Eleni moved her left arm.
"Stop or I'll cut your throat!"
"Then reach for it yourself. There's an alabastron in my pack, with a solution from Sardis, and a cloth of white
linen. Wipe my face with it."
Arete's small figure moved to the side and grabbed Eleni by the hair, knife now pressing on the neck from a
different angle. "You do it. One false move, and it will be your last."
Eleni found the little bottle with dark-accustomed eyes, and poured a small amount on the cloth. She rubbed
the edges to spread the solution; then wiped her face, following the hairline, and then her cheeks and all
around the eyes.
She felt a tug on her hair. "Move outside. The moon is not yet gone."
Eleni let herself be led. From the corner of her eye she saw the crumpled figures of her two guards. Had she
made their brief lives even briefer? Another yank at her hair forced her to face the moon, about to hide behind
the Prienean mountains.
"Ah." Arete's voice held traces of amusement. "A sad day when one needs to hide not wrinkles, but beauty.
So you thought me your daughter?" Anger colored her words again. "When were you born?"
"It was before your time."
"Speak truth, or taste my knife."
"It was seven hundred years ago!" The words, never before spoken, lifted a Sisyphean stone of lies,
inventions, abandonments, betrayals, long and heavy as memory. Eleni took a deep breath of night air,
scented with pine, flowers and blood. "In Sparta, before the time of the two kings, before the Sons of
Heracles ravaged Greece."
The grip on her hair did not slacken. "Seven hundred? Exactly? Or has age blurred your memory?"
"Seven hundred and seventy three." Eleni drew her head up. The knife bit into her flesh, but she didn't care.
Memories cascaded. "They said I was a gift from the gods, that my mother bore me already a year old. That
my father was Zeus, taking the form of a swan. I believed it for a long time, but if I am his daughter, he's had
no time for me."
The knife wavered and Eleni realized Arete was shaking. With amazement she saw it was laughter. It grew
stronger; Arete moved back, letting go of her hair, and almost doubled over.
"So you're that whelp of mine!"
In the moonlight Arete's face looked as young as Eleni's own, faint scars almost faded, but the cackle was an
old hag's. Is that how I am? A harridan cloaked in smooth skin?
Arete's convulsions eased. "Daughter of Zeus indeed! You pompous Greeks, what a story to hide a daughter
from a slave girl caught in a raid on the Hittite coast." She started laughing again. "And you! What trouble you
caused!"
Eleni found the corners of her own mouth curving upward. "That, I did." Moments passed as the two women
regarded each other, then Eleni's brow furrowed. "You say you're my mother?"
"Who can lie better than those who fear no witness? But our stories match well. I had a golden-haired
daughter, seven hundred and seventy three years ago, on the slopes of Taygetos. She took after her father,
tall and fair. All it seems but in one thing. My gift. My curse."
"When were you born? Is Arete your real name?"
Arete stood straight, the shadows about her forming cloaks of ebony. "I graced the land of the Nile at the end
of the reign of King Neferkare, more than sixteen centuries ago. Nitiqret was one of my Five Names, and I was
First Queen."
The small woman blinked, and the shadows blended again, formless. "Now I wander far, but in me lives the
immortal Hawk, and one day I'll reclaim my destiny." Nitiqret moved like a whip, her knife flashing, and Eleni
screamed and fell back, hot blood running down her face.
"A parting gift from your mother." Nitiqret's teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "You'll make an ugly whore in
your next life." She laughed, that rasping sound again. "Don't try to follow me." With quick steps, she
vanished into the night.
Eleni rushed to her guards, but the blood from their cut throats stained the ground in pools of black. Pity and
remorse clawed at her, but so many deaths, so much cruelty, so much pointlessness had coated her heart
with steel.
She licked at her cheek where the blood was still trickling. It tasted warm and salty. The scars would make
the brigand attack even more believable. Eleni found a dropped blade, started cutting her hair. Sixteen
centuries. Was it mere bragging? What was it like to see civilizations rise and fall, perhaps even the
mountains come and go? As she contemplated the new life before her, for the first time in a long while, Eleni
felt young.
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Stelios Touchtidis is a transplanted Greek happily married to a
Russian and living in sunny Southern California. A software
developer by day, he’s become increasingly involved with his
love of writing. He frequently draws inspiration for his tales from
his hobbies of history, art and astronomy.
His previous publications include:
Silky Taste of Gunmetal in Short-Story.Me! (December 2009)
Tumbling Parasol in Mindflights (April 2010)
Shadow in the Haystacks in Writing Shift (April 2010)
Visit his infrequent blog at: http://stelios-t.blogspot.com/
Russian and living in sunny Southern California. A software
developer by day, he’s become increasingly involved with his
love of writing. He frequently draws inspiration for his tales from
his hobbies of history, art and astronomy.
His previous publications include:
Silky Taste of Gunmetal in Short-Story.Me! (December 2009)
Tumbling Parasol in Mindflights (April 2010)
Shadow in the Haystacks in Writing Shift (April 2010)
Visit his infrequent blog at: http://stelios-t.blogspot.com/