CHAPTER 22: The War Machine
The priest at Epidaurus had been correct. After returning to Eleusis, the Hierophant complained of a constant stream of nightmares in which he again underwent the trial of the irons. Melaina had garnered all Theognotus' ministering instructions before they left Epidaurus, and when she heard her grandfather's late-night groaning, took his care upon herself, having, it would seem, unusual sympathy for his condition.
Seven days after he had suffered the irons, she cut a soft sponge six-fingers wide on a side and very thin, covered it with fine linen cut the same size, smeared it with honey and, placing the sweet-covered sponge over her index finger, shoved it up his anus as far as it would go and inserted a woollen plug. To apply a holding pressure, she tied a band round his flanks, ran two strips down the back, drew up the ends between the legs and tied it all at the navel. The contraption stayed in place for twenty days, being removed periodically for an excruciating evacuation followed by washing with hot water and new honey application. Once a day she fed him barley-meal gruel.
His appreciation of the pain she thus inflicted came in a stream of strained warblings, realizing that her soft touch was infinitely kinder than would be a rough slave's. His questioning of the circumstances surrounding her pregnancy weakened as his gratitude strengthened. At times, he muttered words such as "divine conception" and "consumed by fire," having achieved, it would seem, a little sympathy for her condition as well. When he again appeared in public, it was with a new zest for life. He'd given up walking with his staff. Never had anyone seen him hop about so.
Melaina's condition also improved, her abdomen gradually growing, her epilepsy again pronounced cured. She had no seizures, and since few knew she'd ever had the affliction, speculation turned solely to her divine pregnancy, word of which spread like wind waves across Demeter's wheat fields. Occasionally she heard snickers, but accepted the humiliation with the fame, since some came to Eleusis braving the hazards of Persian raiders solely for a glimpse of the maiden blessed beyond common mortals.
Melaina's condition reignited her mother's interest. She wouldn't leave Melaina alone, wishing to do this and that for her and filling Melaina with women's lore of a proper diet of neutral character. "Avoid garlic, onions, and leeks," her mother said, "and be wary of excesses, fright, or sudden joy. The child could become misshapen and of ignoble soul."
Not long after arriving home, Melaina wrote a letter to Keladeine at the Isthmus. She had to tell her about the baby. Would Keladeine understand? She wiped tears from the papyrus, smudging the lampblack.
Melaina developed an unusually powerful taste for pomegranates and frequently made her midday meal entirely of apples and pomegranate seeds, while sitting under the pomegranate tree in the courtyard outback and mulling over one of her grandfather's scrolls. She'd remembered her mother's words while telling the story of Asklepios at Epidaurus, that "all mortals who have a divine father also have a mortal one," and was still trying to reconcile the fact that she didn't believe she'd been visited by a mortal. She confirmed what Perseus' mother had said concerning the god's seed, that it was like the warm flow of liquid gold. But she just simply could not believe she was carrying a divine child.
Melaina remembered her promise to her father and became overly sensitive to the Persian menace. She stood atop the hill for hours, staring north along the road to Eleutherai and the shadowy slopes of Kithaeron, expecting to see the dust cloud and ant trail of troops spelling their doom. She heard her own fear in the frantic cry of birds, croak of frogs, and in the wind's rustling of oak leaves, the gentle tingle of pine needles. She felt more helpless than ever, but watched for a time when she'd be able to avenge her father. She felt the covenant grow stronger.
She seized on her grandfather's convalescence as an opportunity to again request he build a temple for Artemis. She talked to him in the library. "Artemis must have it because of the burning of Brauron. I'll need it to conduct my own graduation ceremonies here at Eleusis. We can't allow our girls to miss the rites of the virgin goddess."
"Wisely spoken," her grandfather said, "but how about the Mysteries? Have you totally abandoned them?"
"Oh, Grandfather, no! Demeter and Kore will always be dear to me. They are the soul of my existence. I was brought up on them. As a matter of fact, I've wanted to ask a question. Of late, I've experienced a need to be alone with my thoughts, yet have a powerful love for those around me, all Hellas for that matter. My teachings in the Mysteries spoke of a divine force holding Hellas together, and I've wondered about it and my remoteness. What binds us?"
"That force not only holds Hellas together but makes civilized life on earth possible. You've achieved what some never achieve, and those who do only in life's later years. Most mortals are witless, with their souls in the purse. You're destined for a different path. This fall, you must be initiated into the next level of the Mysteries. I can't divulge its significance now. This can only be revealed in the ceremony, but I will tell you that the soul has come from elsewhere and is always a fugitive, wandering by gods' decrees. You've uncovered your soul's detachment."
"Why can't you tell me more? No one will hear."
"Some things can't be spoken, not because they're forbidden, but because understanding isn't always achieved with words. Sometimes it comes through witnessing. So it is with the deepening mysteries of love, not those of the body, but the beauty of the soul and its longing for reunion with the gods. To experience this eternal oneness is to reach perfect virtue and be a friend of the divine."
Melaina let it go at that. She'd taken to watching the heavens of late, the stars wheeling above. Her stubborn insomnia, unprofitable sleep, and troubled dreams granted her time to relish the rising of the Pleiades, that fuzzy patch of stars embodying the seven daughters of Atlas. She liked to count the six visible and try to find the seventh, Merope, the nymph who married a mere mortal, and blushing from shame, paled from sight. With the rebirth of the Pleiades came the harvesting and threshing of Demeter's grain, slaves rustling about the well-rounded threshing floor. Shortly, following the first real heat, blustery winds brought the picking of peas, beans and lentils, the shearing of sheep.
Melaina, just at the time she first felt the baby move, heard that the king of Thessaly, Alexander, had come to Athens with an appeal to join Persia against Sparta and avoid a second invasion. She realized that this was a result of Mys's efforts. She hadn't discouraged him. Melaina listened quietly in the halls while her grandfather's deep voice wondered over these affairs and which direction the Athenian generals would take. Aeschylus came and went without speaking to her or her mother. Melaina wondered if he felt disappointment over her pregnancy. She heard Hipparete, her uncle's wife, complaining about Melaina's indiscretion and dismissing the rapidly expanding stories of a divine conception.
Kallias, however, spent more time than ever in Eleusis, and not all of it preparing for the Mysteries. He'd been snooping about the family home of late, and a problem had developed between him and the Hierophant. She'd never heard Kallias argue so heatedly, and wondered about her grandfather. Even with his newfound strength, he'd certainly be no match for the younger man if they came to blows. Kallias had won the pancratium in the Olympic Games a few years before. She'd caught her mother trying to overhear their arguments because they had something to do with Melaina's father.
Word finally came that Alexander had returned from Athens empty handed; this was followed by even more worrisome news. Mardonius had finally put the Persian forces on the move south out of Thessaly. When he reached Boeotia, the Athenians again evacuated to Salamis and Troezen, as they had the previous year. Melaina remembered her own frantic chariot ride with Kallias and worried at the poor souls again fleeing Attica with their belongings. Soon, Persians were again camped out in Athens.
Eleusis, in the stout grip of a rejuvenated Hierophant, stood firmly against evacuation, but Aeschylus was there to help those who were willing. This time he smiled when he confronted the Hierophant. "Evacu
ate! You're putting people's lives in jeopardy."
Melaina was in the room when Aeschylus arrived. The Hierophant had called her because, as he put it, her closeness to the Mistress of the Underworld bothered him. He'd just told her that he'd noticed several parallels between her life and that of the goddess. She'd listened, then thinking he was through, started to leave when Aeschylus arrived, but her grandfather stopped her with a touch of the arm. She stayed.
"No need for evacuation," the Hierophant replied to Aeschylus. "We'll whip the Persians before they get here. I was right last time. Besides, the Spartans are coming to our aid. Their army is on the march as we speak."
Kallias, who'd come with Aeschylus and had stood quietly by, finally spoke. "Not so, I'm afraid. They're celebrating the Hyakinthia and thinking of nothing but the god. The Sacred Objects must be evacuated. We can't allow them to fall into the hands of Persia."
The Hierophant shook him off. "I'll protect them with my own life, and won't allow them out where their sanctity could be violated. Rumors say Mardonius is repairing the damage done to Athens by Xerxes. Perhaps I was wrong about him. He seemed the evil force behind Xerxes. But when Mys, Mardonius' agent, captured us outside Epidaurus, he could have killed us. He showed great respect for us as sacred officials."
Melaina's thoughts were ever on the tip of her tongue. She'd had strong visions of the world in flames lately. "Would it not be an arrogance, grandfather, to imagine Eleusis immune to worldly dangers?" As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she wished she could retract them. The hurt in his eyes was unbearable. And fear, yes, she saw some of that too. She'd overstepped his trust of her, questioning his judgment in front of these men. Oh, if she'd only left when they'd arrived!
She departed her grandfather's chamber, feeling worse about herself than ever. She remembered her indiscretion at the Isthmus, how she'd embarrassed her uncle. Her habit of introspection had turned on her. She had too much time for it, and now thought she had the answer for everything.
She went immediately to the blacksmith. She'd been avoiding him the last couple of months, not wanting to see his disappointment at her pregnancy. But she knew Palaemon's disposition wasn't toward judgment.
The sun had already set, but a dull yellow glow clung to the sides of stone buildings. Eleusis had again filled with refugees, narrow streets and alleyways clogged with lean-tos and makeshift tents. The desperation in their drawn faces left a sense of hopelessness in Melaina.
She expected to see the smith shutting down for the evening, find him putting away his tongs, cooling fires. Instead the smithy was a volcano, spewing sparks and rumbling, flames of the tortured furnace rising to singe the air white-hot. Hissing clouds of steam billowed from the quenching trough.
Some believed that the fireballs of metal that occasionally fell from the sky were tears of the gods, that all metal was divine. She believed it now herself with what she knew of fire, it being the passage between the worlds of mortals and immortals. The smelter seemed a great birthing chamber of the gods, molten metals pouring there from Heaven's streams.
She heard the grumble of the blacksmith ordering about his two slaves, Akmon and Damnameneus, as they stoked the fire, their shadowed shapes eclipsing the glowing metal. Huge hammers flashed like lightning, rang like thunder. They seemed primordial beings beating a din to drown the birth screams of some great metallic demon taking shape in the flames, the breaths of bellows giving life to a glowing fire-beast. These brothers Melaina feared greatly. Rumor said they'd murdered a third brother years ago, wrapped his head in a purple robe and buried it at the foot of Mt. Olympus.
But the virility of the shop, the masculine, barely-controlled violence, struck flame to Melaina's feminine heart. Around the shop stood the smith's customers: warriors, farmers, and derelicts in rags who'd come to feel the great rhythm of the place, witness the dance of fire. Melaina started to turn back, thinking Palaemon too busy, but he caught sight of her and quickly brought her into his chamber. He made a soft place for her by throwing pillows over the stone couch.
"I've heard the gods have gotten more personal with you," he said.
"They've given me another trial alright. While at Epidaurus, I heard that the gods give two trials for every blessing."
Palaemon chuckled. "If we knew more of the gods' motives, I think we'd find only blessings. But tell me, are you happy?"
Melaina hadn't thought much about happiness. She had to smile, and a tear formed. "I've learned to love being pregnant," she said. "I'd thought all along that virginity and following Artemis was the most glorious path. But I've found great affection for the child growing inside me. How could I ever want anything else?" She fell silent. "Still, I don't have a husband. My baby will have no father."
"A trifle. None are deserving, or the gods would have given you to a man. Zeus himself would be proud. Many the mortal woman hath raised Hera's jealousy."
She felt so womanly in his presence, none of the little girl she'd been. She lowered her head, saw the brooch he'd given her on her breast. "I keep the golden eagle with me always. Arrogance flames forth so frequently, I feel unworthy of it."
"All human beings have arrogance. You've recognized yours very young. 'Tis the power of the words marked on the back."
"Though I view them frequently, I can make none of the sounds."
"The etchings work on the mind even with no comprehension."
"My greatest arrogance is belief that I can see the future."
"And well you might! Remember, Prometheus, Forethought himself, gave mortals the writing craft. The words scrawled on the brooch may have the power to unleash his gift of prophecy."
"But in a woman?"
"All prophets were once women. Even Prometheus received the gift from his mother, Themis."
"Is god-given prophecy an arrogance?"
"Prometheus wraps all his gifts in arrogance. When Zeus discovered Prometheus had such great love for mortals that he stole fire for us, Zeus roared with laughter, realizing the trail of new misery it would bring. Beware Prometheus' gifts!"
A commotion out front cut off their conversation. The squeal of children's voices broke the spell. Palaemon grabbed her hand, squeezed it. She loved his rough-stone hands, his smell of ashes.
They walked from his chamber into the smithy. A new horde had descended on Eleusis and drifted like moths to the strongest source of light, the glow of furnace fire. They were children, wide-eyed little boys and girls of eight, nine years, rushing about screaming like wild animals. Their near-naked bodies were dark with dirt and sun. She heard the rattle of shackles.
"Slave children from the silver miles of Laurium," the smith said.
"I'd not known. We have children in chains?"
"Yes. I saw them while there buying ore for the smelter. Themistocles used the silver of Laurium to finance the building of the fleet that defeated the Persians at Salamis. These kids descend into the depths, crawl through knee-high tunnels to retrieve the ore. They work day and night by light of oil lamps."
"Our salvation at Salamis came from the labor of children?" Melaina couldn't bear gazing upon the desperate cherub faces. "The hands and knees of these dirty, branded children have delivered Hellas from Persia?"
"They call themselves 'worms' because they tunnel the earth."
"They're divine then," she said. "They exist in both worlds, as does Asklepios."
Melaina turned from Palaemon to seek out the owner of the children, but they disappeared as quickly as they'd come, quicksilver before the eyes. They were off west to Megara, the Isthmus. Perhaps Keladeine will help them, she thought. She returned home, but with a stricken conscience. What price will the gods demand for this outrage? she wondered. And a new fear entered her heart. How perilous Greece's safety seemed, perched on the knife-edge of child slavery.
The Mysteries, A Novel of Ancient Eleusis Page 54