CHAPTER 12: Epilepsy
Myrrhine saw her daughter fall as if struck by an arrow loosed from some angry god's bow. She was quickly at the scene, hiding her daughter within the confines of her own cloak, shoving a corner of it between Melaina's teeth to prevent her tongue from suffering more damage. Already the foamy phlegm was shaded crimson.
Kleito was at Myrrhine's side, helping shield the bundle of quaking limbs from the eyes of the curious. Little Euripides came with her, bounding about, shouting, "Is she dead, mamma? Is she dead?"
When Melaina's spasms stopped, the two of them, along with a couple of handmaids, hailed a wagon and took Melaina back to Kleito's home, which was now deserted and hauntingly quiet. Such were the numbers who'd gone to the beach to witness the sea battle.
The two women put Melaina to bed, covered her with warm blankets, and stood over her, both afraid to speak. Euripides darted to and fro, now on this side, now that. His mother kept a constant vigil restraining him.
Finally, Kleito broke the silence. "It's the sacred sickness."
Myrrhine responded slowly, her voice crushed by heavy sobs. "It's rarely called 'sacred,' mostly known as the 'falling sickness.'
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"The stigma. Even Melaina doesn't know. She had it after her father died, but it seemed to cure itself. Her recent attacks came while sleeping. She's never had one while awake."
"Do you want help? I can cure her."
"Oh, could you Kleito? The uncertainty fills me with such terror."
"Come! I know a plant, hellebore. It can help."
"You have it?"
"It's dangerous. Can't keep it in the house with little Euripides into everything. For a child, it can be fatal. We'll have to go up the mountain."
"Will it be safe?"
"Certainly. I use it frequently to evacuate the bowels."
"She might wake while we're gone."
"She's resting peacefully. Leave her with the handmaids. I'll need you to help with the harvest." She turned to the two girls standing by the door. "Remain with the little priestess, and tell no one what you've seen. If you do, I'll slit both your throats and throw you to the dogs." Then she turned to Euripides. "Stay with the girls. We'll return shortly. While the men are off killing each other, we'll restore a life."
With that, Kleito grabbed a basket into which she placed a many-cloved garlic bulb, a cup of olive oil, another of thick wine, and a small two-edged sword. "I gather hellebore in the daylight for curing seizures; otherwise it's gathered at night." The two exited through the backyard, which was overgrown with cultivated plants, both medicinal and dietary, but trudged beyond, up the rocky slope and then down into a shrub-covered ravine.
Myrrhine wondered what the marvelous plant would look like that would save her daughter from the dreaded seizures. She asked, "How dangerous is it, the plant I mean."
Kleito stopped and looked at her directly. "Do you trust me?"
Myrrhine realized that this was the heart of the matter. Did she trust her friend with her daughter's life?
"You don't," said Kleito. "Your hesitation tells all. We haven't time to argue this. She should receive the treatment as soon as she wakes from the stupor. I'll harvest the plant and prepare the posset. If you trust me enough to allow me to administer it, I will. Otherwise, I'll dilute it for the goats. I haven't purged them in a while."
Kleito glanced back over the bay. "Look!"
In her concern for her daughter, Myrrhine had all but forgotten the sea battle raging in the distant strip of water separating them from Attica. From their vantage point on the slope, she saw the narrows littered with wreckage and corpses drifting away from the dense body of engaged ships, but she had no way of telling the sway of battle. A shudder went through her. If they lost, how little the hellebore would matter. The Persians would be upon them before the plant was broth.
"Look for a leaf with long, broad divisions," said Kleito. "It creeps along the ground. Grows everywhere. I have to pull it from the grapes or the wine becomes a purge." No sooner had she spoken than she stooped at a plant with pale-pink flowers and lobed deep-green leaves. "Black hellebore," she said. "Stand back!"
She took the two-edged sword from the basket, drew a circle round the plant and shoved the blade into the ground next to it. She motioned to Myrrhine, "Further, to the windward side. Put the basket on the ground."
Myrrhine did as requested and wondered at all the precautions for harvesting a plant the essence of which Melaina would have to drink.
Kleito took the garlic bulb from the basket and broke off several cloves, peeled and shoved them into her mouth, and handed two to Myrrhine. "Eat," Kleito said.
Myrrhine chewed the crunchy pulp, her mouth hot and eyes watering.
Kleito took a draught of wine and handed the small bottle to Myrrhine. "Chew it well and wash it down." She poured a puddle of olive oil into her own palm and handed the cup to Myrrhine. "I need the oil because I'll handle the plant. You may also if you wish, otherwise, stand upwind or your body will swell." Kleito anointed her face and arms, then bent to the task of digging up the plant with the sword while standing on its east side. "Say a prayer while I unearth it."
Myrrhine was caught off guard but quickly formulated a prayer.
Before the words came, Kleito spoke again. "Keep watch both right and left. Danger to Melaina's life will be revealed by the flight of an eagle."
Myrrhine prayed, "Wide-bosomed Earth, ever-sure foundation of all, old one who nourishes all things…"
"No, no, no!" said Kleito. "Asklepios, god of herbal craft. I need his guidance. Earth has already done her work. I could say it myself but figured since I had an expert with me…"
Myrrhine's mind raced, wondering if she'd actually let Kleito administer the concoction to her daughter. She prayed. "O mortal one turned immortal by your father Phoebus Apollon, Lord Paian, healer of sick and injured, blessed spirit of growth and blossoming, bring your divine guidance to Kleito that she may work your wonders on my sick offspring, as you would your own daughter, Hygieia, health herself, your blameless consort. Deliver this small hellebore into our hands that we might end this savagery afflicting Melaina. Ever we'll sacrifice mighty roosters in your name."
"That's better," said Kleito. "You start slow but redeem yourself well."
Myrrhine kept watch, not just left and right, but in all directions, turning rapidly lest she miss the winged creature that would foretell Melaina's doom.
Once the plant was fully exposed and lifted free, Kleito, skin glistening with oil, cleaned the dark earth from it and, cutting the slender lower roots from its base, stuffed the irregular nodular pieces in a leather bag, cinched it tight. Then she replanted the remaining foliage, said a few words in defense of her actions, and that she'd wished the plant no harm.
Back down the hill they went, Myrrhine keeping her eyes glued to the battle still raging in the channel. She noticed ships moving south, away from the action. Had the Persians already defeated the Greeks and were now sending ships in search of new prey? Myrrhine, though appreciative of Kleito's efforts, had made up her mind. None of the concoction would ever touch Melaina's lips.
Inside, they found her resting peacefully, though little Euripides maintained a vigil so closely bent over Melaina it was a wonder she could breathe. Kleito immediately fell to work at her craft in the next room, telling everyone to stay out. Soon she returned with a half cup of steaming liquid. She handed it to Myrrhine saying, "Your choice."
Myrrhine raised the cup to her nose. A faint odor, not immediately recognizable, lofted about the cup. She touched it to her lips. A bitter and slightly acrid taste spread to the back of her tongue. She'd expected a thick rich brew, perhaps with bits of root making it hard to swallow. This thin bitter-flavored decoction looked harmless enough. She wouldn't mind having some herself. And if it could cure Melaina…
"I've used two ingredients," advised Kleito, walking around straightening first the sofa, then Melaina's covers, as if
disinterested in the whole affair. "The hellebore, of course, but also a little poppy called Herakleia, an emetic. The hellebore purges downwards, Herakleia upwards. The phlegm is the problem. We have to rid her of it."
Myrrhine thought how silly she'd been. Surely this simple mixture couldn't be a threat to Melaina, no matter Kleito's histrionics during harvesting.
Melaina stirred. They waited until she was on the verge of waking. Myrrhine then sat on the edge of her daughter's bed and, with Kleito's help, raised Melaina's head. Her eyelids opened a little, not enough to indicate awareness. Myrrhine put the cup to her daughter's lips and Melaina reflexively emptied it, smacked twice, then settled back to sleep.
"No!" said Kleito. "Get her up, keep her moving. Rest kills the action of hellebore." Then she quickly left the room to investigate a flurry of activity in the courtyard, which escalated from a clamor to screams.
Myrrhine scanned the voices for those of the barbarians. She helped her daughter from bed, as Melaina regained consciousness, asking, "What happened to me? Why am I back here? What's happened to the fleet?"
A series of shouts and screams from the courtyard sent Myrrhine scurrying from the room and into the courtyard. What stretched before her appeared to be the battlefield itself. The injured and dying lined the courtyard walls, and more were being carried in. The groans of the injured were eclipsed only by the shrieks of women as they found their husbands and sons among the casualties, some having gone hysterical before the body of a loved one.
Kleito wasn't among them.
Myrrhine stood before a man shot through by an arrow, a young woman bent over him. The arrow had thrust squarely in his chest beside the nipple, piercing him through the lung. The bronze point issued by the shoulder blade. Another spear, having passed through, opened his midsection. He tenderly held his own entrails in his hands as though cradling a child, breathing his last breaths as the mists of death seeped across his eyes. The young woman spoke to him. "Oh Attikus, most dear to me. How grievous that you've returned dying. Woe be the day you left my side! Now evil will follow evil for our three sons." He was a large man, a great smooth-trunked poplar felled among the forest where he lay now like a timber.
Myrrhine passed through the gate to peer into the channel at the battle, but found it hidden by a eucalyptus grove. Through the trees came a shouting woman and two men dragging a third. The woman was Kleito, the man dragged, Mnesarchides.
Through the gate they came, Kleito in hot control of the situation, through the courtyard and into their home, Kleito shouting orders to slave women to prepare a pallet where she could tend her husband. Myrrhine ran to gather rags, a bowl of steaming water.
With all the dead and injured, Myrrhine had forgotten Melaina. When she'd left to find Kleito, Melaina seemed fine, cloudy headed but walking. Now she'd slumped on the bed, eyes bugged with urgency.
"Vomit!" Melaina said.
Myrrhine retrieved one of the two pots placed at her daughter's bedside, and quickly Melaina emptied stomach bile, a sour stench hovering about them. No sooner had the forceful stomach cramps subsided than she sounded another alarm.
"Toilet!"
Myrrhine found the other pot, and Melaina quickly emptied her bowels accompanied by great flatulence and many groans. She never left the sitting position, although a handmaid quickly replaced the pot. Melaina cradled a bowl in her lap and continued filling it with black stomach contents, issuing great belches. The stench grew, and Myrrhine recognized the greatly magnified smell of bitter hellebore.
Throughout the afternoon the din in the courtyard increased, and along with it, the sounds of Melaina's evacuation of the body from both ends. Just when Myrrhine thought the poor girl was really in danger, all stopped. Melaina settled back on the bed, slept a while, and toward evening ingested a little gruel, then began to tend the injured herself.
Myrrhine assisted Kleito with Mnesarchides. A spear point had pierced his left arm, leaving it inert, and a sword had sliced the muscle of his right leg. Once the bleeding stopped, his life out of danger, Kleito calmed, though she wouldn't leave his side. Myrrhine tended others in the courtyard where earth ran black with blood.
As a pink glow settled into the horizon, the halls of Kleito's home turned dark. The truth of the matter began to dawn on them: no Persians were coming. A great chorus erupted from shore with the fleet's return, while a full moon rose in the east over smoldering Athens. The strait was littered with war wreckage. Moonlight set an eerie glow to the landscape as the Queen of the Dark World illuminated Hermes' labor of shepherding shades to her bosom.
Myrrhine was inside talking to Melaina about her seizure, trying to explain the inexplicable, that she'd had the illness since she was a child, when the men returned. Sophocles stood in the doorway, a startled look on his face, speechless. Aeschylus came charging past Sophocles as a great lion might, eyes flashing, roaring his words. "Brace yourself for the miraculous!" he said. "We've held our own. Never in my life have I seen anything like it! I knew we could win at Marathon on land, but this battle was at sea. The strait runs red with Persian blood, the waves a soup of Asian bodies."
Myrrhine slinked back. Aeschylus was drunk with death, murder seemingly still at the edge of his actions. Men went for each other like wolves, whirling upon one another with ferocious hugging.
"Hellas is still alive!" Aeschylus shouted. "Tomorrow we'll finish the job." He brandished a magnificent Persian sword, jewels sparkling along the hilt.
Sophocles, a great terror still in his eyes, turned and vanished.
The Mysteries, A Novel of Ancient Eleusis Page 25