*
Many days later, Melaina was in the temple with several others, overseeing the cleaning of the columns, when she overheard a loud conversation from the courtyard. Thinking she recognized the voices, she walked to the entrance and saw young Sophocles arguing with her Uncle Aeschylus. Although it wasn't a heated argument, she saw belligerence chiseled into Sophocles' face, and it wasn't over the finer points of poetry, as one might expect from a student and teacher. It was about politics, Sophocles taking the side of the radical democrats and her uncle that of the aristocratic conservatives.
Ever since she'd seen the two men locked in embrace at the Isthmus, Melaina had been stalking Sophocles. Now she walked straight to her chamber to carry forth her scheme.
First, she had to correct all her imagined physical flaws. She supposed she was too tall, and put on a thin slipper, planning to cock her head to one side while in conversation to decrease her altitude. I have no hips, she criticized, and warned herself to wear garments beneath her skirt. Her blond eyebrows were too light, and painted them with lamp-black, then, thinking they were too dark, plastered them over with white lead. She thought her teeth were pretty and wished to remember to laugh, but realized she wasn't much disposed toward mirth.
She searched through her wardrobe and selected a finely woven chiton buttoned along the top of the arm to form sleeves, leaving a little flesh showing, each button radiating rippling pleats. It had green stars within red circles, and a green edge at the neck with a wandering red motif. She adorned her left arm with a green spiral bracelet, wore a green necklace and earrings of red rosettes.
She gathered the front of her skirt in a vertical column to pull it in and up at the ankles. She didn't want to look like a country wench, though she wouldn't mind the sensuousness of a courtesan. As she fretted in the mirror, she felt dressed as one of those tuneful decoy-birds of the coin, Aphrodite's trained strumpets.
She fretted with her hair and finally contented herself with four tightly curled locks falling over each breast, and she adorned her forehead with a congregation of curls. Sixteen wavy locks fell at the back of her neck. She remembered a line from Sappho, something about blondes with torch-yellow hair needing fresh garlands and a fashionable headband, so she donned a green and bronze diadem with a red lotus and palmette.
She selected a fine Egyptian perfume, stolen from her mother's gold-inlaid box, with which she anointed her feet and legs. Her cheeks and nipples she touched with palm oil, arms with bergamot-mint, knee and neck with tufted thyme. She put a little marjoram between her breasts, where the heart is. For breath, she chewed two wine-flavored myrtle berries.
While perfuming, she kept repeating, "O Artemis, please forgive me," and "Aphrodite, stay your ground."
Wishing for something to do with her hands, she grabbed a basket, stuffed it with green cheese, slice of tripe, dried figs, and stole a honey-cake on the way out.
Down the alley, she twice caught sight of Kallias, and guilt caused her to wonder if he tracked her. Sophocles, she found outside the walls, a waxed writing tablet and stylus hanging from his belt. She motioned him to follow and headed for the sacred myrtle grove, realm of Aphrodite, where initiates wandered during the Mysteries.
As she'd earlier spun the thread, woven the intricate fabric at the loom, so now she twisted her plot among the bushes. Melaina laid Sophocles back beneath the tender stalks of myrtle onto beds of basil. Radiant and magnificent, Melaina's white skin shone, yet a blush moderated its color. Her long tresses tossed about in the humming breeze. The two youngsters nibbled the repast as Melaina noticed her own appetite of the flesh awaken. But Sophocles was still disturbed, his long face casting a shadow she'd have to dispel. She questioned him concerning it.
"A lingering effect of battle," he said, then told of being at sea but out of the action until going ashore on the island of Psyttaleia. "There we ringed the Persians round with warriors, and from our high vantage point, hurled stones, shot arrows, and battered them with clubs until all were dead. I sent a begging man to his grave." His talk brought more sadness. "I was caught up in Ares' murdering madness, but after committing the crime, my conscience wouldn't have it. The man's pleading face still haunts me. I can't believe I committed murder."
Such a frail man, she thought, so deliciously vulnerable.
"But that isn't the worst of it. After committing the murder, a Persian escaped our trap and came for me. I ran like a coward. And then later, I found out that two of my uncles died in the sea battle." The telling brought tears to his eyes. "Better to have never been born," he said.
Melaina held him, cradled his head in her lap and stroked away the pain. She wished to divert him from this worrisome discourse and placed her hands where she shouldn't. "Tell me again where you live, Sophocles," Melaina quizzed, making conversation while they traded gifts, each allowing the other entrance to private folds. His breath was short; his hands trembled.
"Kolonus," he replied with a quivering voice, "Earth's fairest home, where the nightingale trills her clear note even as she does now in this myrtle grove. It's the abode of great Demeter, her daughter, and Poseidon, Demeter's consort and divine lord of horses. Earth's great doorsill of brass is there, an entrance to the Underworld."
"You're a devotee of the two goddesses?"
"I follow Dionysus, god of indestructible life."
Since men wore no undergarments, this was her baptisia, her first view of that tiny unfettered member she'd seen dance at the Isthmus, only now turned rigid, obedient military marvel.
"Have you been initiated in the Mysteries?" she asked, fighting back her own desire.
"No," he said. "Not yet,"
Melaina's chiton slipped from her shoulder, leaving the left breast bared to the evening's eyes. Its color, so white, shone in shadowy darkness. She clasped the strong neck of her companion, brought him to her and kissed him, showing a glimpse of thigh from beneath its hold.
Melaina saw desire within his smile, and felt her own yearning blossom as she knew it mustn't. She found herself defenseless, caught within the weavings of her own romantic cloth. She wanted him. Forget life-long virginity, she thought. She found the swelled member, stroked it.
But from among the myrtle came a crack as from someone creeping, and sharp-edged fear pierced her. Kallias was her immediate thought. Or is it the divine huntress, Artemis, come to prevent my destruction?
Sophocles also stirred. Spooked, he lofted from the ground to standing.
Again, the rustle of bushes.
Each turned away from the other, took one look back.
Off they sped, each in a different direction. Out of the woods and through the alley went Melaina. She saw darkness encroaching, Erebos gathering the blackness of Hades, inking out stars. She panted through the gate, caught two dogs copulating in the alley, caught another glimpse of Kallias disappearing into the night and Palaemon peering from his smithy.
She slammed the door to her sanctum, but had never seen her chamber so dark. She stumbled about refusing to light an oil lamp, stripped and fell amongst the blankets, quilts and rugs. The coarse, pubic feel of animal fur, the sour smell.
Quick guilt plunged in upon her. What have I done? she wondered. She felt drained. She wished dark sleep to cover the memory.
Slowly night's black slumber crept at last, and she dreamt of that which hadn't been. Sophocles, firm, full, erect. Yes! His light touch, gusts of breath. Her dream was so deep and vivid, that she felt a presence was with her. Now, all was possible within her sanctuary. She woke realizing that someone really was with her. A man, full-bearded, powerful, yet ethereal, dream-like. Was it Sophocles? A buzz within her head seemed to singe her thoughts. No, she thought, no, no!
But he was no longer timid, his weight crushing down on her, separating, driving, matching her yearning. Instantly, she thought she knew him, his smell. His massive chest raised, lifted her pelvis to enter her more deeply. She sensed his full size as a sharp shaft of pain split the darkness in
a blinding flash, heat threatening to consume her. She seemed in some strange twilight realm between life and death, heard a roar of great ecstasy, felt touched by fire.
The Mysteries, A Novel of Ancient Eleusis Page 37