Glory and the Lightning

by Taylor Caldwell

  Aspasia could not speak for a moment. Then she said, “I would be free to make my own fate, to live or to die.”

  “You speak like one born an imbecile,” said Thargelia. “Go to your chamber. You have not interested me. I may set you, penniless and without even a cloak, on the streets of Miletus tomorrow. There you may use the arts you have been taught for a crust of bread.”

  “I may go to my father, for my mother told me his name,” said Aspasia, who was quaking with an internal coldness. “For pity’s sake, he may harbor me.”

  Thargelia laughed long and scornfully, throwing back her head so that the cords in her throat were prominent and ugly in the lamplight. “Audacious fool!” she cried. “He wished to destroy you, for you were female, and your mother saved you! You have known this. He would deny he is your father, for what man likes to confess that he has begotten a girl? He would do this—if he were alive.”

  “He is dead?” said Aspasia, her voice shaking.

  “Go to. You never knew him. Certainly he is dead. He died but four months ago, of a fever. But you need not believe me. You will discover this tomorrow, perhaps, when I put you on the streets of Miletus.”

  She made an imperious gesture of dismissal, and Aspasia, still holding high her incomparable head, retired. Thargelia threw herself upon the bed and gave herself up to weeping, for her own anguish, for Thalias and Aspasia.

  CHAPTER 7

  In spite of the thick black kohl Thargelia’s eyes were swollen and red in the morning, when she consulted Echion, who had listened with deep interest to the story she had told him. His mouth watered and he had to keep swallowing and his eyes had glistened. He wanted to say to Thargelia, “Give me the maiden, as a servant in my small house, or the tender of my garden, or my cook.” But discretion warned him. So he shrugged.

  He said, “Having lost her virginity she is now worthless.”

  Thargelia thought. She said, “We know the arts of deception so that even a wanton can simulate virginity.”

  “With the aid of a chicken’s blood,” laughed Echion, “and some clever simulations and cries of pain.”

  “It is true that men are fools and believe what they wish to believe,” said Thargelia. “They always believe women, which is not perspicacious of them. They think women are too stupid to deceive effectually.”

  “Ah,” said Echion, with an arch look.

  He added, “The maiden is young and helpless. You can do with her what you will.”

  Being a cynic, he did not know that Thargelia had spent the night in pain pondering this very matter and that she had been desperately seeking for a way not to destroy Aspasia, but to save her. But it must be done with expedition. She could not remain in this house, under Thargelia’s eye, to be a reminder of betrayal and shame. So this morning she had sent a slave to discover what foreign men of distinction had come from the vessels on affairs in Miletus, or on their way to Greece. The slave had not as yet returned.

  “There is a possibility that she is still a virgin,” said Echion, as if seriously considering. “After all, it is not easy to violate a virgin, and the man was a slave and may have been frightened, or, at the last, she may have struggled. Let me examine her in discreet privacy.”

  Thargelia narrowed her eyes at him. “I am certain she is no longer a virgin. I am experienced in these things.” She laughed abruptly. “If Aspasia were still virgin she would not be after leaving you, Echion. Let us understand each other.” They laughed together.

  There had been many Greek and Ionian men who had been allowed to glimpse Aspasia in this house, without her knowledge. They also trusted Thargelia. To give them a violated hetaira, when they desired only a virgin, would be reprehensible and dangerous. (Many had ardently desired Aspasia and had offered Thargelia the most enormous sums, but she had been too loath, like a mother, to part with the girl as yet, and Aspasia had not completed her schooling.) Worst of all, Aspasia had been deflowered by a mean slave, a thing, and that was unpardonable.

  Thargelia gave orders that Aspasia was to be enlightened in the art of simulating virginity, and at once and with all dispatch. Even foreign men, men from the East, were entitled to a kind deception, for they were notable for riches and extolled virginity in women more even than did the Ionians and the Greeks.

  Aspasia at first resisted the information and the instructions. Then, as she was not a fool, she acceded. She was still pale and listless and full of pain for herself, and even for Thargelia, who had been as a mother to her. To her joy, however, she was permitted to resume her classes, for Thargelia wanted no scandal in her house, and Aspasia saw that little Cleo was not to be punished in any manner. For that Aspasia was deeply grateful, and she loved Thargelia again, if with reluctance and resentment. She, herself, was not to be punished severely, it would seem, though she understood that she could not long remain in this house, her home, suddenly dear to her. She wondered about her fate, and shrank from the unknown.

  Thalias had not been caught, and again Aspasia was overjoyed. He was a rascal and would contrive to exist. She had no doubt of that. He knew the ways of the world, and was dexterous in many fashions. Aspasia envied him and again thought of the cruel restrictions on women which made them dependent on the whims of men. They had no status except as virtuous matrons or whores and to Aspasia each was undesirable. She said to herself, We have no position except as slaves, and she was angrily rebellious again and in revolt.

  The slave Thargelia had sent to the port returned in a state of excitement. A Persian gentleman, accompanied by a rich retinue, had arrived that morning, and was now the guest of a famous man in Miletus, one Cadmus, who had long desired Aspasia. Thargelia was both elated and troubled. She could not offend Cadmus, but the Persian gentleman, Al Taliph, must be engaged. It was reputed that he was a familiar of Xerxes, himself, and enormously wealthy, so Aspasia would bring a great price. Cadmus, though rich, could not meet the price, as he had discovered to his regret a few months ago. Thargelia did not love the Persians, but a satrap like Al Taliph could be endured, and it was stupid to remember the Persian assaults on Greece. Xerxes, she thought, had been a noble gentleman after all.

  Thargelia thought of Cleo. Once Cadmus had complained—the object being a reduction in price—that Aspasia was no longer young, being fifteen years of age, and so the price should be lowered. He preferred little girls and little boys. So Thargelia wrote a message to her dear friend, Cadmus, informing him that she had a young girl in her house, only twelve years old, though in fact Cleo was thirteen. She described Cleo, so like an almond blossom in the spring. The girl, she wrote, had not yet reached puberty, and that would be most desirable to Cadmus. Then, as if it were an afterthought, she invited Cadmus to bring his foreign guest to her house for dinner and revelry and music. Her dinners were famous, her maidens gifted in dance and song. Cadmus had always infinitely enjoyed these occasions and had always brought Thargelia lavish gifts in gratitude. He already had two of her hetairai in his house, as well as an assortment of beautiful female slaves. Yes, he would adore Cleo, in her innocence and virginity and, thought Thargelia, her stupidity. She had not as yet been taught all the subtle arts of seduction, but that would only enhance her in the eyes of Cadmus.

  Certain that Cadmus would eagerly accept her invitation, she prepared her house, for the invitation was for this night. She sent orders to both Cleo and Aspasia that they must retire to their chambers for sleep, and then must elaborately array and dress themselves and perfume and oil their bodies.

  Ah, thought Aspasia, then she will dispose of me. She was almost overcome with grief. Her vermillion complexion had paled during the events of the past days, and she was exhausted with her emotions. She hoped that the unknown man would find her undesirable and reject her. But the slaves were cunning in the arts of beauty. As for Cleo, she was elated, and Aspasia looked on her with pity, and listened to her excited babblings. Cleo had no doubts. She would enter the house of a rich man and there be pampered and adored and in many w
ays a mistress. What all this entailed was unknown to the child, and Aspasia sighed. The stupid were satisfied with any comfortable fate, where they would not be abused, and Cleo would be a happy concubine, unaware that she had a woman’s soul. But many of the Greeks asserted that a woman had no soul and was therefore of the status of a dog or a slave.

  The most colorful and perfect and fragrant of flowers were chosen for the house, and long garlands of ivy and ferns and laurel and myrtle branches. Pots of ambergris perfumed with attar of roses and sandalwood and other delightful odors were stood against the walls, later to be ignited to diffuse the aromas. Thargelia ordered the dinner herself. There would be artichoke hearts in oil and vinegar, the softest and whitest of breads, to be served on fresh green leaves, anchovies and sardines swimming in olive oil and spices, eels from Lake Copais, imported, shellfish and mussels in butter, squid in a pungent sauce, pickled and smoked meats, beef hearts stuffed with barley and liver, fowl, including a peacock roasted and dressed in its feathers, nightingale tongues broiled and seasoned with more exotic spices, suckling pigs, legs of lamb also roasted, game birds stewed in olive oil and garlic and thyme and mint, young goats’ meat seethed in their mothers’ milk, famous black broths filled with bits of pork and blood and salt and vinegar, many varieties of fresh fish, briny cabbage, kykeon seasoned with pennyroyal, baked onions, cheeses of many kinds, green and black olives, maza—delicate pancakes flooded with honey—red and purple berries also sweetened with honey, lentils and beans prepared in many ways and flavored with smoked pork, grapes, figs, raisins, citrons and apples, and above all, Syrian whiskey and the finest of wines, and fragile pastries filled with ground nuts and poppy seeds and soft goat’s cheese.

  This feast was only for distinguished and noble guests, but what remained was given to the young hetairai over several days. Their own diet was simple and frugal, Thargelia detesting fat though a dainty plumpness was not disdained. When the maidens heard, through the gossip of slaves, that Aspasia and Cleo were to be at the banquet they were filled with envy, for they knew that they had been chosen for the consideration of illustrious visitors. They embraced the two girls and Cleo laughed with glee but Aspasia’s pale face was somber. She said nothing but only submitted when her eyes were enhanced by black kohl and her cheeks tinted with vermillion and her lovely mouth reddened with an oily paste. She was mute while slaves bathed her and rubbed her rosy body with scented oils and put golden sandals on her feet. Her hair was dressed with flowers and colored ribbons. The slaves threw a new peplos over her, green as a lake and girdled with silver set with precious stones. A veil, as transparent as moonlight, was drawn modestly about her bare shoulders and arms, and the living flesh shone through it enticingly.

  “A veritable Artemis!” cried the girls in extreme admiration, and clasping and clapping their hands, but Aspasia said nothing. “Let us pray a Paris chooses you,” said the maidens, “for surely you are more beautiful than Helen of Troy.” But Aspasia said nothing. She was filled with a stony agony of despair. She desired to flee but there was nowhere to flee, no habitation which would give her shelter, no compassionate friend who would harbor her. She thought of killing herself, but her youth revolted.

  Cleo was in no wise of her mind. Clad in yellow with a gilt girdle, her long black hair braided with ribbons and left hanging down her back in a childish fashion, and with a string of small pearls at her amber throat, she was enchanted with herself and laughed and jumped with elation. Her terror of the night before was completely forgotten. Her black eyes were like black glass, shining and dancing. Her full lips were a blooming rose. Her young body might have been that of a boy, so small were her budding breasts and so narrow still her hips and her thighs. This had all been carefully considered by Thargelia, knowing Cadmus’ preference for young males, though he was not averse to females who had not reached puberty.

  The girls most skillful in dancing and playing lutes and flutes were chosen to evoke soft music during the feast, and they were attired as woodland nymphs, with ivy in their hair and their feet naked. They wore translucent peploses the color of laurel leaves, and their varicolored tresses flowed unrestrained over shoulders and breasts. Their virgin breasts gleamed through the fabric of the peploses, and the nipples had been stained a fragile pink. They had been chosen not only for their skill in music but also because, though lovely, they were less so than Cleo and Aspasia, and thus would not dim the beauty of the damsels to be offered.

  The dining hall was the largest room in the house and decorated with small perfumed fountains, the finest of statues and Persian rugs, the most costly of lamps, and mosaics beyond compare. Baskets of roses hung from the ceiling, and roses were scattered in heaps on the table, which was covered with cloth of silver. The plates and platters were of silver also, and so were the spoons and knives, and the goblets, wreathed in ivy, were of the most expensive Egyptian glass and enameled with gold and set with amethysts and opals.

  The windows were opened to the warm night, the green curtains undrawn, and so the rattle of palm trees and the sighing of sycamores and oaks and myrtle and cypresses, and the surging of the ever-present sea, could be heard clearly.

  Thargelia greeted her guests in the atrium. She was attired in crimson and yellow with an enormous Egyptian necklace falling over her bosom, and she exhaled exotic perfumes with every movement of her slender body. Jewels glittered in her dyed yellow hair and on her arms and fingers. She was splendid and even heroic, and her white teeth flashed and her eyes glinted amiably. “Welcome to my poor house,” she said to Cadmus and the Persian satrap, Al Taliph, and bowed deeply.

  “It is hardly a poor house, dear Thargelia,” said Cadmus, who had a voice like a squeaking mouse and effeminate gestures. He looked about him with pride and then at Al Taliph and was pleased that the other was visibly impressed. What! Had he expected a mean brothel? thought Cadmus. We may not be as opulent as Persia, but we are not peasants in Miletus! They repaired to the dining hall where the girls were already singing and playing and posturing in a slow dance at a farther wall. Al Taliph and Cadmus sat on a soft couch covered with brocaded silk, and Thargelia seated herself in an ivory chair opposite them. Two chairs awaited Cleo and Aspasia. Slaves, dressed like fauns, poured whiskey into small glasses and wine into the goblets, and Cadmus offered a libation to the gods. Al Taliph looked about him curiously. This house of courtesans was far more lavish than the house of Cadmus, who was himself a rich man, and everything was in the most perfect taste. If the damsel to be presented him was as fair as her surroundings and as exquisite, then she was greatly to be desired. Al Taliph, a man not in the least garrulous, listened smiling to the light chatter of his hostess and Cadmus, and sipped his whiskey and listened to the music and idly watched the slow dance of the maidens in the distance. He would have been pleased to have had all of them in his harem, especially those of white skin and light hair. His favorite concubine was from the island of Cos, and she had hair the color of silver touched with gold and eyes as blue as the legendary blue rose. But, alas, there were few such treasures as his favorite and he doubted that Thargelia’s hetairai could compare with her, though, as promised by Cadmus, they were more seductive.

  Thargelia knew that Cadmus still lusted for Aspasia, though she, at fifteen, was too old for him. So Thargelia said, “My dear Cadmus, I have a jewel for you, as I wrote you today, a mere infant, but like spring just budding into flower, and not yet a woman. Her name is Cleo and she was not born of slaves or mere peasants, but of a distinguished father and his adorable concubine. I warn you, however,” she added with a coquettish smile, “that her price is high.”

  “Your prices are always high,” grumbled Cadmus, motioning to a slave to refill his glass with whiskey. “But then, the maidens are exceptional”

  The hall was permeated with swooning fragrances. The cheeks of the guests began to be flushed both with warmth and whiskey. They sat contentedly on the soft couch and smiled with anticipation.

  Thargelia summoned
Cleo and Aspasia to join her and to be seated one on each side of her. She looked at Al Taliph and liked his appearance. She hoped he would be kind to Aspasia, and she sighed, remembering that the Persians had an even greater contempt for women than did the Greeks.

  The maidens struck up a more lively and louder melody at a gesture from Thargelia, and Aspasia and Cleo entered.

  CHAPTER 8

  Al Taliph, the satrap from Persia, looked at Aspasia as she silently walked to the table with averted eyes, and he thought, Ah, she is far more entrancing than my Narcissa, that lily from Cos, and she is also much younger. He could not believe that any woman could be so fair and so bewitching, and of such perfection of face and form. He stirred on the couch and his face became delicately lustful. As for Cadmus, after a first desiring glance at Aspasia, his eye was caught by the pristine charm of Cleo, who had a young boy’s body and an infant’s face, and who retained the tender awkwardness of childhood. He imagined her in his bed at once, this little virgin. No matter Thargelia’s price, he must have this girl, and tonight. He would be gentle with her deflowering, for roughness might kill her, and then his money would be lost.

  Cleo ate the unusual dishes with open and delighted pleasure. When Cadmus’ hand would steal under her peplos she merely pushed it away so as not to be disturbed in her enjoyment. To her it had no more significance than a vexation. She was too engrossed to consider herself as his mistress as yet. He rubbed the palm of his hand over her breasts and said to Thargelia with satisfaction, “She is like a boy, still.” Thargelia frowned. “I beg of you, Cadmus, not to annoy the child.”

  Aspasia ate almost nothing and sipped a glass of wine. She became more and more withdrawn in herself. From under her long silken lashes she had scrutinized both Cadmus and Al Taliph. She had seen Cadmus once at a distance and her first impression of him as a gigantic toad had not changed. He was very short and very wide with a great round head and bulging eyes and no hair. Everything about him was florid and oily and coarse, including his high fat ears and his lips. (He also sweated even in cold weather when the winter winds roared from the sea.) He constantly wiped his face and his short neck and big splayed hands, and he drank copiously of the chilled wine at the table as if it were water. His face thickened, his distended eyes reddened. He could not look away from Cleo. He was splendidly arrayed in scarlet and blue, and his hands wore as many rings as did the hands of Thargelia. He reeked of sweat and attar of roses. His wide heavy thighs sprawled as his desire for Cleo increased.