*
As the days passed, the moon waned and renewed itself, the Pleiads set, and the weather turned. A cold, blustery wind blew from the north. But gradually the storms lifted, and warm days of sunshine returned, if only for a while. The rains had turned the fields and hillsides green.
Even as a child, Melaina's favorite place to be alone was in the courtyard beneath the pomegranate tree. She frequently fell asleep there, and her mother would find her and carry her indoors. Next to the pomegranate tree, Melaina's favorite haunt was the hill overlooking Eleusis and the bay. There she'd go with or without her companions and watch the activity of the entire area. Ships brought evacuated goods back into Eleusis, and to the northeast, teams of great oxen pulled carts to and from the verdant valley of the nearby Thriasian Plain, clouds of dust rising from the loose soil. Triptolemus, prince of Eleusis and the first to sow grain, had planted his field there centuries ago. Demeter had given him three laws: honor parents, harm no animal, and glorify the gods with earth's first fruits.
Eleusis, as the ancient abode of Demeter, received annual first fruits from all states, not just nearby farms, as it had for the last three hundred years, ever since a festival and sacrifice to Demeter had ended a great famine. The festival was repeated each year as the plowing and sowing began. Looking over the land, Melaina heard the ring of hammer and anvil as Palaemon forged plows for tilling. She knew how he enjoyed this time of year because of his love for green fields. The planting of wheat, barley, peas, beans and lentils had already begun.
South of Mt. Olympus, a half million Persians occupied Thessaly under Mardonius, the general Melaina's grandfather deathly feared. Yet, Eleusis developed a decidedly festive atmosphere. The grain fields left unburned by the Persians had been rapidly harvested and threshed. Figs, almonds, and chickpeas, picked before the invasion, had been pulled from storage and taken to Salamis. But the pears had rotted on the trees, and the grapes rapidly turned brown and wrinkled on the vines, although laborers had worked hard to salvage them.
To this perch on top of the Eleusinian world, Melaina came one afternoon, and this time brought her little troop: stately Anaktoria and smiling Agido, after some fast talking with their mothers; but also quiet Euphemia and ever-yapping Dorothea, sisters whose mother had practically thrown the girls at Melaina to be rid of them for the afternoon. Melaina was thrilled to have four in her group, and took along her lyre to sing from Sappho and recite her own poetry when she could squeeze it in, entwining it with soft rhythms and sweet melodies.
This had always been Melaina's way. As a child she took to wearing a stephane about her hair, sometimes of myrtle, glimmering olive at others. And always she was in the presence of children, telling a story, guiding them through a dance. Sometimes she even slumbered herself with the children asleep in her arms.
On this day, after having sung a few verses of her own poetry, Melaina was in the midst of questioning its rhythmic quality when her Uncle Aeschylus appeared, coming up the hill. She'd been trying to correct her attitude toward him since witnessing his affection for Sophocles, and once again realized that she was quite fond of him. Surely his appearance is a favorable sign, she thought. I can ask if he'll help improve my verse.
Aeschylus had taken to wearing the sparkling Persian sword he'd captured during the sea battle and looked very smart in it. But he pulled Melaina aside before she could speak and spoke quite sternly to her. "If you're going to do this, do it indoors, where you can't be seen. Don't make a spectacle of yourself."
Melaina took her reprimand gracefully but was secretly devastated. He acted as if they were at their toilet. She saw that he'd frightened the girls. But she was still determined to ask his help. She'd been concentrating on her eyes' arrogance and consciously lowered them. Were his knees far enough? Perhaps the feet?
He stood impatiently.
"I've decided to follow Artemis, become a poetess, and run a school for girls, in the tradition of Sappho. But I'll need training. I know you're the greatest poet in all the world and wonder if you'd mind helping me. I'm so clumsy at rhythm."
"Teach a girl?" He looked incredulous, walked away from her, then turned back. "Years ago, when I was but a boy of the fields caring for a vineyard, I fell asleep in the warm afternoon sun, and Dionysus came to me in a dream. He told me to write tragedies. I didn't have a particular inclination for the craft but didn't want to disobey a god, so I tried, and found that I was good at it. I suggest you spend less time indulging in your own desires and more searching for the will of the gods."
"I've been told I have the Muses' gift. If you'd just..." She held up a small scroll.
Her uncle had appeared disinterested until he saw the papyrus. Melaina knew his curiosity had been piqued. He held the unrolled sheet out from him, as the eyes require of those his age.
Melaina felt vulnerable. Her uncle was used to arguing the finer points of line construction with the best in Greece. How could she possibly measure up? He stared for a long while, eyes darting back and forth beneath his massive brows. Her fractured confidence faded further. Finally, he spoke with a thin voice, barely a murmur.
"I can't imagine the gods wasting such a gift on a girl."
"You like it?"
"The cohesion and smoothness is shocking for one so young. Nothing wrong with your meter. It's simply original. Though you could benefit from a little… Great Zeus! What metaphors."
"Then you'll teach me?"
"Find a poetess," he said, flinging back the roll. "Korinna perhaps. She defeated Pindar five times. Myrtis may be too old, though she taught Pindar and Korinna. Either would suffice."
Melaina stooped to pick up the scroll, indignant. "Those poets were both from hated Thebes." How could he suggest such a thing? she wondered. "Korinna is so… so parochial," she said, shocked at the outrage in her own voice, but her mouth kept going. "Her language and subject matter are inferior."
"You can't expect to be taught as a man. Understand your station."
"But I'm your brother's daughter. You won't help me?" She felt humiliated in front of her students.
"You seem more suited to Sparta where worshipping Artemis is required of girls, and they're educated the same as boys."
"But the Muses!" Anger flashed in her eyes as she stared him down.
He walked off, throwing a last remark over his shoulder. "When hastening to your own undoing, the gods take part with you."
She was confused, felt cheated, abused. She stamped her foot, and her cheeks again flushed, whether from rage or embarrassment at her own presumptuousness, she didn't know. She scanned her four bug-eyed students. Melaina had never been dismissed like this. She fought the urge to call him back.
The Mysteries, A Novel of Ancient Eleusis Page 35