CHAPTER 2: Night Horseman at Eleusis
On the far side of the Aegean in a quiet bay lay the small town of Eleusis, an ancient city, sacred, known for worship of the two goddesses: Demeter and her daughter, who was referred to as Kore, the Maiden. So feared was the divine daughter that her name, Persephone, was never spoken in public for she was Mistress of the Underworld.
Within the stone walls of the semi-sacred quarter where the priests of the Mysteries made their homes, slept the priestess of Demeter, her dreams tainted with worry over her own daughter. The clap of a horse's hooves on cobblestone and the bark of dogs roused her. She recognized the booming voice of her brother-in-law, Aeschylus, who'd been away to the north with the Greek army. His presence at Eleusis could only mean that something decisive had happened.
Myrrhine's handmaid stood in the stone doorway, vestiges of sleep casting a blank expression upon her face. Myrrhine dismissed the woman back to bed and, slipping into her robe by herself, hurried from the room and down the hall, now populated by sleepy-eyed children and scolding mothers. A hungry puppy whined at her feet. She entered the large chamber built around the hearth of Hestia, the flickering sacred fire.
Aeschylus already stood before the flames rubbing his hands, his booming voice addressed to the Hierophant, Myrrhine's aged father. She wondered if her father ever slept anymore. The room had filled with the acrid smell of a man who'd been long on the move.
She hurried to Aeschylus, feeling a renewed safety in his presence, but restrained herself from embracing him, as was the custom. She kept her eyes averted. "I hope it's good news that brings you home so unexpectedly," she said to the man who reminded her so much of her late husband.
Aeschylus' eyes glowed coal-like beneath a bushy bank of eyebrows. He shook his head. "Myrrhine, my brother's wife and he in Hades now ten years, I wish I could say something to console you, but you'd see through me. I'll speak nothing but plain truth. The Athenians have decided against opposing Xerxes at the Vale of Tempe and have dropped back to Thermopylae. They'll force Xerxes' hand at the Hot Gates."
The priestess looked questioningly at the Hierophant, but could read nothing in that wrinkled face. He'd seemed distant the last few years, as if only matters of the other world, the Underworld, concerned him. He creaked about the house like an old ghost. She turned back to Aeschylus. "That's still a good way north. Is Eleusis in danger?"
Aeschylus' face filled with a disillusionment she'd never witnessed in this man who'd fought at Marathon, where her husband had died. He stared into the fire. But he didn't respond to her, instead turning again to her father. "Listen, Zakorus," he said, using the Hierophant's name instead of his title, "I was born and raised at Eleusis. My line of descent here goes back as far as yours. I'll not see all these women, children, and old men slaughtered like so many sacrificial goats. I've seen Xerxes' forces with my own eyes, stood on a mountaintop and first thought them the very grasses of the earth, Demeter's gift. The locust horde of Persian warriors filled the valleys and overran hills. Xerxes has forced into service all those conquered on his way here. His army has swelled to five million. We have but five-hundred thousand."
"But the same was true at Marathon, and we killed them like flies." Myrrhine turned away as she spoke, remembering it was also Aeschylus who'd returned from battle bringing Kynegeiros' body.
Philokleia, Aeschylus' wife, rushed into the room, fell into her husband's arms, and sobbed softly. Myrrhine knew well the woman's gloomy disposition. Philokleia whispered that their two boys, Euphorion and Euaion, had taken ill.
"Myrrhine is right, Aeschylus," the Hierophant said, ignoring Philokleia's presence. "The odds were heavily against us at Marathon, but the great god Pan took our side and spread terror through the Persian ranks. Even Theseus, though dead eight-hundred years, was seen leading the charge. The gods won't allow Persia to destroy Hellas."
"Not true," said Aeschylus. "The gods have decided against us. Xerxes has many Hellene allies, not only Ionia, but also Karia and the rest of Phrygia. Our neighbors, Thessaly and Thebes, have gone over to him. You must evacuate. Themistocles has given the word for Athens. Persians will descend on us here like the waters of Deucalion's Flood."
Aeschylus then held Philokleia at arms' length and quietly questioned her about the children. He told her they'd best prepare to evacuate. "Everything and everyone," he said. "We have little time for such a large task." Then Philokleia left the room, nodding to Myrrhine as she passed.
The Hierophant relaxed. "We'll never abandon Eleusis," he said. "We didn't evacuate before Marathon. We have sentinels at Oak Heads pass to the north, and our own army mans our walls. If the Persians don't use the route through the mountains, they'll come at Eleusis from the east and have Athens to contend with first."
"Their forces will be brushed aside with a single stroke."
"You don't understand the significance of Demeter's sacred temple. To abandon Eleusis is to abandon mankind. The gods will never forsake Eleusis, nor will we."
"My ignorance isn't the point!" Aeschylus shouted. "This new Persian threat, I tell you, it's not like Marathon." He turned his back on the Hierophant and looked at Myrrhine, warmed his hands over the fire again.
His shouting scared Myrrhine, but she could say nothing to arbitrate between men.
The Hierophant continued. "I'm not concerned about Xerxes. He knows nothing of war strategy. As long as he's in command, Hellas will survive. It's that cousin of his, Mardonius, who scares me. He was defeated and wounded in Thrace a year before Marathon. Ever he covets a power base, and he's vowed to govern Hellas some day because of his humiliation. His strategy drives Xerxes invasion."
Myrrhine let silence lie between them before she spoke. "At the very least we might retrieve Melaina from Brauron. I've been uneasy with her away from home lately, and several women in labor have asked for her. She has such a gift for comforting during delivery."
The Hierophant glared at her, and his voice hardened. "You protested me sending her. She'd never leave your side if it were up to you. She must stay at Artemis' temple until the ritual of the Bear. Her education, so important to Eleusis, is at stake. I won't disobey the will of the gods because of the Persians. They've been here before."
Aeschylus raised his hands to the sides of his head. "You've left Melaina at Brauron? You old fool! Your miscalculation could cost her life. At the very least, send a soldier to Brauron to protect her, stand guard over her day and night. I've heard rumors of Persian raiders on horseback penetrating far into Attica. And with Brauron on the coast, one ship could sack the entire sanctuary."
The old Hierophant seemed to lose confidence. "We're that vulnerable?" he said to himself, then looked up at Aeschylus. "Myrrhine can see to it tomorrow. But when you rejoin the troops, remember our greatest strength." He looked away, quiet in thought. When he spoke again some of the tension had left his voice. Myrrhine thought perhaps he even smiled. "We're a free people, Aeschylus. Every man who takes up arms against Persia does so to defend his own home. Persians go to war under the lash."
Aeschylus calmed. "I know you speak from the heart, and I don't deny the importance of the Mysteries. For a thousand years they've influenced our institutions, over-influenced to my mind. Their emphasis on the worth of the individual was undoubtedly the seed that put political power into the hands of the people, but you haven't seen Xerxes' army. We're but a handful of city-states against the entire Persian Empire."
Myrrhine was accustomed to their arguments. Aeschylus had steadfastly refused to be initiated into the Mysteries though he was born and raised in the sacred city. His presence was a constant provocation to the Hierophant. And now this matter of evacuating stood between them. She left the room but didn't return to her chamber. Concern for her daughter's safety flared like a mania. She walked the stone corridor to the back of the house, stopped by the kitchen to draw a cup of wine, then passed through the courtyard to another stone enclosure, a small one with no door. An oil lamp flickered on a square stone
beside a mound, the tomb of her late husband. She breathed the cold, thick air.
"Dear Earth, born of Chaos, mother of all mortals and immortals, hear me and call forth my dear husband, entrusted to your care. Call him from the magnificent Elysian Fields deep within your womb so he might listen to my words." She poured half of the cup of red wine into the recess of the burial mound, prayed again, louder and with greater confidence. "Beloved Kynegeiros, husband ten years dead, I beg forgiveness for this intrusion into your new life among the gods and know how my beauty pales beside that of the goddesses who now share you, but come, Kynegeiros, listen to me. A great storm stirs to the north."
She poured the remaining half-cup of wine, listened as if for footsteps of the dead, then continued. "The enemy who slew you has returned, vowing to waste all Hellas. And our daughter, Melaina… O Kynegeiros! How can I tell you what a beauty she's become? Only a goddess' flashing eyes and smile could be more radiant. Now she's on the east coast of Attica at Brauron, the temple of Artemis, to dance the Bear. I have such great fear Persians will take her. If you could speak to Artemis, virgin goddess, protectress of children, about Melaina, such great comfort would come from it."
She stopped for a moment searching for some further enticement for her husband's help. "Through the great solitude since your departure, I've remained faithful though I've not been without suitors. I take heart remembering the chasteness of Penelope during her long years of waiting for Odysseus. I have no hope for your return, still I remain yours, and so I shall be though I live an eternity. O how I long for thy gentle touch! Fare thee well, Kynegeiros, fare thee well, fare thee well. May earth rest lightly upon thee."
After leaving his tomb, she considered returning to bed, but thought of one more way to voice her desperation. She entered the walkway between stone buildings, the sparkle of stellar constellations spread above. At the wall around the sanctuary, she greeted the guard standing below a burning torch and entered through the back gate. The altars of Demeter and Kore stood before the Telesterion, marble statues glistening with the half moon. She supplicated herself on the cold steps before Demeter, then came to her feet, touched a hand to her lips and with outstretched arms prayed aloud.
"Divine mother, august but gentle goddess, Demeter. You alone can understand the grief of my daughter's absence, you who suffered so when Kore was ripped from your bosom. Send Melaina to me, O Divine One. Cure this desperation, and deliver us from Persia. Around your throne, whirl and howl with ecstasy, filling the enemy with terror if he knocks upon your gates. Preserve your glorious sanctuary, so we may ever celebrate your sacred rites."
She hurried home, accompanied by roughhousing dogs. Reentering her chamber, she slipped from her robe, pulled back the bearskin blanket, and as she lay down, gathered her breasts in her arms and fell asleep.
The Mysteries, A Novel of Ancient Eleusis Page 3