Glory and the Lightning

by Taylor Caldwell

  Silence stood all about them, the silence which inevitably followed the departure of the mighty and the illustrious, who are not as other men, and the desert wind blew fiercely into the valley. Aspasia was awed. She said, “He was an Achaemenian?”

  “Yes,” replied Al Taliph, gazing at the gigantic pillar. “He was also only a petty tribal chieftain, until he met the proud Median king, Astyages, and defeated him here.”

  Aspasia looked at her lord curiously. “You do not hate him?”

  He returned her look with mingled amusement and exasperation. “How is that possible? He was godlike, King Cyrus, and though only the poor tributary ruler of Anshan he accomplished the incredible, the impossible, and made of Persians and the Medes, together, the jeweled and invincible crown of the world. We Medes reverence his memory, for he was a noble hero, and was merciful and just, honoring the women who had observed the battle.” He smiled down at Aspasia. “Ponder. He was like one of your Greeks, who met Xerxes at Thermopylae and Salamis, with only crude weapons. He resembled your Spartan Leonidas—”

  “I am an Ionian,” said Aspasia, “not a Spartan or an Athenian.”

  He ignored this remark. He lifted his head and mused on the vast pillar. “The greatest of all virtues is courage, the most heroic. In the halls of courage even a petty chieftain is at one with an emperor, and they bear the same banner. I have seen the tomb of Cyrus, the mausoleum where his golden vault lies, on an ascending terrace of white blocks of stone which resembles the pyramids of Egypt. His wife was an Egyptian. I have read the inscription on the tomb:

  “‘O man, whosoever thou art and from whencesoever thou comest (for that thou wilt come I know) I am Cyrus, who founded the empire of the Persians. Grudge not me then this little earth which covers my body.’”

  His voice, in the profound stillness, was sonorous and commanding and even moving and Aspasia listened and was deeply stirred. He then turned away from her and went, in his usual baffling manner, towards his chariot, and Aspasia followed him in silence. Once in the chariot, with a slave protecting her from the sun with a scarlet umbrella, she said to Al Taliph, “‘A little earth.’ To that do kings and slaves return, and it is the end of glory and of slavery.”

  “It is also the end of a pariah dog,” he answered, as one answers a child, and Aspasia flushed. “You think me ridiculous,” she said.

  “Alas. You are only a woman,” he said and then seeing her affronted face and her mortification he lifted her hand and kissed it. “But are you women not the supreme conquerors, and we men only your slaves, even the mightiest among us?”

  Had any other man of her own race, and of the west, said that to her she would have been placated. Now she could only think, in the heat of the garden: He mocks me, even with his kisses, his arcane smiles, and his gallant words. All men are strange, it is true, but he is the strangest of all. That was one of the times when I was afraid of him, for I do not understand him. He is capricious, at once tender and cruel, as a child is cruel, and then at other times he is lofty and grand and even more civilized than the Athenians. Sometimes he is as simple and direct as clear water, and sometimes he is as unsolvable as the ivory ball he gave me. Why did he desire me, in the house of Thargelia? I do not even know if he truly has affection for me. I believe that it is not my beauty, which he extols, which charms this most peculiar eastern man, yet I often fear he is not entranced by my intelligence and my learning and my arts, which he praises, for when I am most earnest and sincere he becomes hilarious. Would he grieve if I departed? I fear he would not, and I believe he would forget me the moment I was gone. Would I, in turn, mourn him? O gods, I fear I would!

  She put her hands over her eyes and forbade herself to weep, for tears were smarting the rims of her eyes.

  She had a hideous thought. Was it possible that she only diverted him, as a novelty would divert him for a time, and for that he cultivated her company and endured her presence? Did he display her to his guests as one would display an unusual but not human pet who had entertaining tricks, and charming ones, simulating humanity? Did she amuse those guests, as she amused her lord, and for the same reasons?

  Mortification overcame her again. She vowed that at the next feast she would sit in silence, not even smiling, affecting stupidity. If Al Taliph became annoyed with her let him so be annoyed!

  She began to think of her last visit to the tumultuous markets, and the booths where slaves were sold.

  She always tried to avoid them and returned to the chariot, there to sit in melancholy under the white and red striped awnings, fanning herself with a jeweled and feathered fan, while Al Taliph bargained with the clamorous and gesticulating dealers. She had been surrounded in Thargelia’s house by slaves, but since early girlhood she had secretly protested against this degradation of human beings whom Greece considered only “things.” Moreover, she had sedulously studied the laws of Solon and his hope that slavery would eventually be banished by civilized nations. Slaves, however, were regarded as valuable property in Greece and her subject states, and had a measure of appreciation from their masters and were frequently loved and indulged, often educated if intelligent, and consulted.

  This was not true of the east. Lords had the power of life and death over their slaves and could order their destruction at will, and with no more compunction than if those slaves had been rabid dogs or criminals. (In Greece there were some laws which protected the lives of slaves, and assured them some immunity from monstrous punishments.)

  Only once or twice, seeing her reluctance, had Al Taliph demanded that Aspasia be present when considering the purchase of slaves. There, in large and shaded tents, and standing on a platform, were all conditions and ages of men, women and children, of many races from the blackest of Ethiopians and Arabs to the pale ivory of people from India and Cathay, and from barbaric nations as yet unnamed, with blue eyes and fair hair. They stood in mute resignation, like tethered animals, women with cookpots before them, signifying they were cooks and kitchen servants, naked little boys and girls with faces covered with cosmetics to guard against the vehement sun, old women who could sew deftly, castrated boys conspicuously displayed in their mutilations and with faces like young girls, old men whose worn hands attested that they were gardeners and hewers of wood and drawers of water; beautiful maidens whose placards avowed their virginity, and without the smallest garments, their pubic hair plucked or shaven, their nipples tinted with henna; infants clasped desperately to their mothers’ breasts, young strong men in chains, ready for the hardest labor, and middle-aged men carrying tablets and scrolls and styluses and pens who were obviously educated scribes; dancing girls with tambourines and as pretty as statues, and midwives with their stools and instruments.

  All, without exception, bore that touching expression of resignation to fate, though sometimes, seeing one like Al Taliph, a distinguished lord of refinement, they would show a gleam of hope in their veiled eyes. He went from one to the other, considering, his dark finger against his lips. He would examine young girls as one would examine animals, parting their thighs and touching their parts expertly, and feeling the texture and firmness of their small breasts, or he would press the muscles of a sturdy young man, or contemplate the castrated boys shrewdly and eye their scars to be certain they bore no permanent disabilities or infection. He never spoke to the slaves but only to their dealers, questioning, bargaining, shrugging.

  Aspasia had never been to a slave market before, and she was appalled. Al Taliph, so discriminating and fastidious in his house, here displayed a callousness which Aspasia could hardly believe. His handling of the slaves was not delicate; it was rough and expert. Worst of all, to Aspasia, the slaves did not wince or shrink from the indignities visited on them, some of which were intimate and ruthless. He did not refrain from examining some maidens to be certain of their virginity, and Aspasia closed her eyes and was sickened at the sight of the thrusting index finger. Often he would bring to the market some slaves he had found incompetent, or som
e girls of whom he had tired, and would sell them as one would sell cattle.

  Then one day she had said to him, “Lord, you must not take me to the slave markets again. It is unendurable to me.” He had raised his eyebrows with amusement and had studied her as one would study a curiosity. “Would you buy a horse or a cow without examining them for health and soundness?”

  She had said, “They are human, even as you and I.” He had laughed at her incredulously and then had turned away in displeasure. She said, “Even if I vex you, lord, or even if you should exile me, I can come here no more.” To her surprise, after a glance at her pale fixed face, he had shrugged. She was never forced to accompany him to the slave markets again.

  She had decided, that night, that she hated and loathed him. She had not responded to his passion but had lain in his arms as mute as any slave and as unresisting. He had looked down into her face by the light of the gilt and crystal lamps, and had seen her revulsion and her averted face. A subtle and intuitive man, he had understood. He had turned away from her, and finally she had arisen and had gone to her chamber, her heart as cold as the winter snow on the mountains. He had taken no notice of her departure.

  She had lain in her bed, sleepless, and dryly weeping, but whether in disgust or sadness she did not know. He did not call for her for a number of days, and each day was marked with suffering for her. When, one night, he had summoned her through one of his eunuchs, she had risen from her bed and had clad herself like a bride, trembling with joy. She felt shame also, but her delight finally overcame it and she went swiftly to his chamber with a smile so beautiful that he was struck once more by her marvelous loveliness and sat up in his bed and held out his arms to her. She ran to him. He removed the garment from her shoulders, reached into a bowl of fresh rose petals and sprinkled her breast with them, his swarthy face tender and pleased.

  He had said, “You are very foolish, my white-breasted dove, my adorable one, but I have forgiven you. Come. Give me your lips, which are softer and sweeter than these roses.”

  She had given him passion before but tonight she excelled, half-sobbing under her breath, her snowy arms holding him as if with desperation. But when she returned to her chamber, and remembered, her face had become crimson both with remembrance and embarrassment.

  She was thinking of these perplexing and devastating things today, in the garden, under the malignant eye of Kurda who watched her from the bronze doors of the palace. Seeing her bent head and saddened face with the acuteness of hatred he said to himself, “Ah, the foreign woman is sorrowful today. Has she offended my lord? Mithras grant it so, for then she will be banished!”

  Feeling his gaze, Aspasia lifted her head and saw the gloating evil on his huge face, and a coldness, even in that heat, moved over her flesh and she felt alone as never she had felt alone before.

  CHAPTER 10

  Aspasia had considered the plight of Greek women evil enough but in Persia it was far more terrible. Free or slave, daughter or sister or matron, concubine or courtesan, sultana or mother or starveling whore: They were less than the dust before men, despised, ridiculed, hidden as shameful objects, suspected of the lowest instincts, as fickle as monkeys, as mindless as toads, as sexually virtueless as dogs, as stupidly vain as peacocks, treacherous as wild beasts, unclean, corrupt, soulless, sly, greedy as geese, quarrelsome, and instinctively malevolent and without true human qualities. They were also incapable of reasoning, and were mere prattlers and pretentious. They owned nothing, not even their own bodies. As Persia was a despotism, and did not possess even the dubious aspects of corrupt democracy, women had no appeal against the laws which considered them distinctly lower than a valuable animal. They had but one function, or parts of functions: to bring a dowry to husbands, to bear sons for husbands or masters, to work, to amuse, to give pleasure. If they possessed none of these attributes the law did not even protect their lives. If a female infant was unwanted she was not exposed for either death or adoption by some merciful childless matron, or taken by a slave-dealer. She was simply strangled and thrown upon a dung heap, to be eaten by wild dogs or jackals. As women were unclean, even as infants, the act of strangling was left to midwives, for not even a male slave would be expected to do this.

  In Greece, if a matron was of a noble house or a wealthy or distinguished one, and if she possessed brothers and a father, she had much authority in her household and husbands sometimes feared her. Her dowry, though given to her husband, had to be accounted for to bankers and male members of her family, and if she were divorced or widowed it was returned to her with appropriate interest and any gains accrued by it. The mother of sons received considerable honor from a husband, and though she was relegated to the women’s quarters and was not permitted to be seen by male strangers nor allowed beyond the portals except in the company of women attendants, nor suffered at the table with her husband, she still had a certain status and respect. Then there was the hetaira, beautiful, educated and desired, and often extremely powerful, adored by men if hated by virtuous matrons.

  Though legally under Greek law a woman was presumed to be incapable of managing personal affairs, she could, under dire provocation from her husband, such as cruelty or violence, send a written account of this to the Archon, the protector of such incapables as herself, who judged whether or not she was entitled to a divorce or separation from her husband, and the return of her dowry. Even the poorest and most humble of women had this privilege; the rich employed lawyers of eloquence, paid for by the family of the wife. In many cases the Archon agreed with the allegations and freed the woman from her marriage.

  Indeed, in Minoan and Homeric times women had almost as much importance and weight with the law as did their men. It was not until Athens and her subordinate cities came under the rule of the Tyrants, and democracy, that women lost their status in public affairs. There had been, before this time, women who voted in elections and who chose the husbands for their daughters and held property in their own right, and divorced their husbands at will, or decided on the man they would marry. They had authority over their sons also, and selected their wives. They had the right of inheritance from father or husband, and this was protected.

  It was women like Aspasia, the hetairai, and wives of considerable intelligence, wealth and education, who were striving to raise the status of women throughout Greece and to return to them the old rights and privileges they had once possessed, and for which many were now clamoring.

  But Persia had no such history as this, and Aspasia was revolted and in rebellion. It was true that she reigned over the household as not even the wives of Al Taliph reigned, and that all deferred to her wishes, with the exception of Al Taliph. However, she knew this was granted her not out of her inherent rights as a human being but as an indulged mistress whose privileges were tenuous and could be abrogated instantly at the command of her lord. Such had been the case with Narcissa, and Aspasia believed today that Narcissa’s ultimate fate would very possibly be her own, when Al Taliph tired of her. She had dismally come to the conclusion, and this very recently, that Al Taliph had no real regard for either her or her mind, and was merely entertained by her, and secretly hilarious at her “presumptions” of being totally human, and that he enjoyed her lovemaking and the arts of love, including perversions, which she had been taught.

  In this Aspasia was wrong, but she had no way to disprove it. For her lord complimented her only on her beauty or taste or dress or perfumes, and her seductions, and rarely if ever openly admired her aphorisms or opinions. It was not until much later that she realized that men, even such as Al Taliph, had an ancient and primordial fear of women. Thargelia had stated this often but Aspasia as yet had seen no evidence of it. That fear, Thargelia had taught, could be subtly used and manipulated by a woman to her advantage. Aspasia now did not believe it. It might be true of western men, but certainly it was not true in the east!

  It did not occur to her, at eighteen, that men everywhere used punitive measures against wome
n, and restrained and denigrated them and passed laws to contain and dehumanize and humiliate them, out of this primal fear.

  Though knowing she was unwelcome in the harem, and that the women there regarded her as a suspected foreign woman and were envious of her and resented her and longed for her ultimate rejection, she went every morning to the quarters assigned to the women. The four wives would graciously visit the harem and sit among the concubines and slaves, listening to songs and harps and zithers and lutes and cymbals and tambourines and watch erotic dances, while munching on sweetmeats and pastries and drinking wine. They reclined on thick soft and silken cushions while slaves dressed their hair and the other women amused them. There was much gossip here also, and laughter and general happy contentment, and many lewd stories, and young children were brought to them by attendant slaves, and the wives and the concubines, who had also borne children to Al Taliph, played with the little ones and admired their beauty. Some erudite slaves, all women, would read their compositions in poetry to the fat and yawning beauties of the harem, and there would be a flow of delicious tears at some telling phrase concerning love and moonlight and golden rivers and the eternal partings of lovers.

  Had Aspasia been older and wiser she would have understood that the women of the harem, and the wives, were quite complacent and contented in the harem, and longed for nothing but ease and comfort and the delights of the table and wine and music. They had known nothing else. They never bewailed their degraded state, for what more could a woman desire than this: protection and the favors of the lord, and joy in life? They accepted everything with serenity.

  To Aspasia, this was incredible. She could not believe that none of these women ever secretly longed for dignity, for freedom, for the stature of humanity. Even the Greek women were stirring restively now, and the Archons were reluctantly listening. If the Greek women were nurturing increasing fire in their hearts at subordinations and masculine contempt, then surely these women of Al Taliph’s household must possess such burnings also, for were not women of one breed and one desire, however suppressed? It was Aspasia’s determination, especially lately, to increase this fire, this incipient rebellion, of her sex. She was inspired both by an instinctive fear for herself and by indignation, and, above all, by pride.