The Mysteries, A Novel of Ancient Eleusis

by David Sheppard

  *

  The rattle of armor woke Myrrhine well before Auroriana rose to start her prayers to Thesan. Tisamenus also stalked about, rounding up sacrificial victims and grumbling of an apparent shortage. Some had been stolen for food during the night. When Tisamenus took to sacrificing again, the generals, along with thousands from the Spartan army, flocked around the altar, a great herd of humanity, each man weighing his own fate in the outcome of the sacred rite.

  Myrrhine, Auroriana and the rest of Tisamenus' little group fell into place. The beautiful woman brought forward the four white horses, and the sacrificial victims' blood flowed. Cries of dismay erupted when the omens again showed unfavorable. Again and again sacrificial animals were brought forward, black blood flowed upon the slaughter stone, thirsty earth drank life's sap, and all for naught.

  Came the sun, and with a great cry, the Persian infantry finally crossed the Asopus and began mustering for a full assault. Pausanias, desperate that the gods let him repel the attack, pushed the seer mercilessly for favorable omens. Still, the gods forbade the Greeks to fight. Pausanias ordered the army to sit on its shields and offer no resistance. This, the men accepted grudgingly as barbarian horsemen charged their position and whistling arrows decimated their ranks.

  Sacrifices came as fast as Persian horses, with Pausanias in the middle of Tisamenus, and Tisamenus himself struggling, now breaking open a trembling carcass, now standing one foot upon his stone and fingering the shimmering translator of the gods' will, the liver.

  "Perhaps the other entrails," suggested Pausanias. "How about the lungs?"

  Tisamenus, his eyes revealing a mind in a whir, hadn't heard the commander. "We're out of animals," he said, eyes wide with terror.

  Pausanias flew into a frenzy, words but no sense coming from his lips as he raged wildly among the trees, imprecating unholy curses. He stopped all of a sudden having noticed Auroriana's four white horses used in the ceremony.

  "Four hoofed entrails there," he said.

  Auroriana screamed in protest, as if she'd understood him.

  "No!" shouted Tisamenus, "never could we violate the sacred ceremony they serve." He pushed Pausanias back from them.

  "By Zeus! Extract your own then and read them." Pausanias stood before Tisamenus as if he'd filet the seer himself, misfortune had so unhinged him. He spotted an ox yoked to a wagon. "The beast of burden!" he cried, dragging it forward, the ox bellowing protest.

  "The victim must be pure in body and soul, uncorrupted. Next you'll have me read entrails of rats and lizards." But Tisamenus relented, tried to feed the ox a handful of grain, but it bellowed and took no notice. "The animal is not healthy!" he shouted.

  But Pausanias wouldn't take no for an answer. Soon, the gigantic liver was laid out on the table, and when the seer positioned himself, eyes feasting as if never having seen so much victual for scrutiny, he had to use both hands to lift it.

  Pausanias loomed over him, helping along the reading.

  "Stand back!" Tisamenus said. "You're a disruption."

  Pausanias didn't budge. "There, the hue is deepest next the gallbladder," he said.

  "The broad lobe carries the greatest import," countered Tisamenus. "Zeus' influence is there. But look! The liver's head is wanting. The answer is 'no.' The omens taunt us still."

  Over Tisamenus' protest, they brought another ox, felling it without bothering to remove the yoke. As the seer leaned forward to read the new behemoth liver, the roar of Persian menace rose among them. Enemy horses entered the sacred glen, and Myrrhine fell back inside the temple as Aeschylus and Sophocles rushed into the fray. Auroriana abandoned her horses to stand behind her. Myrrhine watched as Persians on horseback scattered the sacrifice and neared the temple entrance. Pausanias and the other generals, even without actual weapons, drove the horsemen off with staves and whips.

  But the chaos had rousted a sacred swine refuged amongst the bushes. Tisamenus, his little group scattered and the four horses nowhere to be seen, fell upon it and dragged it to the slaughter stone, threw a little holy water at it, slit its throat.

  "This is indeed a good omen," said Myrrhine. "You've been sacrificing to the wrong god. Swine is the proper sacrifice for Demeter. It's she who'll save Hellas."

  "But Hera's area of the liver overlaps that of Demeter. Who can tell the difference?" Tisamenus appeared disillusioned himself.

  "Perhaps Hera's jealousy is interfering. Ever she bemoans Zeus siring Kore by Demeter," suggested Myrrhine.

  "Yes!" shouted Pausanias, "the mother of us all is against us. 'Tis hopeless!" While Tisamenus remained bent over the liver, young Pausanias turned his back on the whole affair. Greatly depressed, he looked towards Kithaeron with tears in his eyes and shouted a prayer.

  "Glorious Hera, greatest of all goddesses, high upon the tip of Kithaeron's darksome hollows where you and almighty Zeus were married, peer down upon us here on its slopes where Greeks now die at the hands of Persians. Listen to this prayer of desperation. If it's not our fate to win victory, at least let us not perish to Persian might without performing some great act. Let the enemy know they've waged war with courageous warriors and not cowards. Come to us in this hour of doom, rescue us from disgrace and forever we'll sacrifice glistening fat and succulent thigh pieces in your honor."

  While Pausanias prayed, so Tisamenus read the last entrails, ignoring the portents of Zeus and relying exclusively on those from Demeter. Thus the soothsayer called out, "Yes! Victory is at hand! Loose the troops upon the battlefield."

  Pausanias charged from the shady glen into the bright sunlight, his face relaxed and joy in his voice as he shouted the news. Aeschylus followed, but Myrrhine and Sophocles went only a short distance beyond the temple gate. Auroriana, having abandoned her horses, trailed along behind them. The Persian cavalry had broken off contact, but the enemy army, now fully mustered for a full frontal assault, began to move forward. Pausanias drew himself upon a wagon, and Myrrhine heard him address the troops of the phalanx as they donned battle garb.

  "Mardonius hastens toward two evils, loss of valor and death. Therefore, welcome Persia! Bring your arrows, swords! Harness your steeds. Fill the plain with the clangor of shields. Great warriors of Sparta! Finally, we go to battle and grave danger. Even the most gallant feels fear, so if you see someone faint of heart, bethink you this: we are all that stands between Hellas and ruin. Summon to glory one another by name. Pursuit creates courage even in cowards. Sweet are the memories of a gallant victory."

  Myrrhine watched heavily armed hoplites slip on bronze helmets and tighten their bony cuirasses about their chests, fasten greaves about their shins. Each lightly armed assistant nervously performed the motions of dressing his hoplite, holding his master's shield with its large 'A' in the center, the Spartans their 'L,' handing him his long spear as the trumpets sounded for all to fall into phalanx formation. Officers ran down the ranks shouting for a tighter formation. Soldiers, eight rows deep, stretched into the distance as far as Myrrhine could see.

  Aeschylus ran off to join the phalanx, and as she watched him leave, she couldn't help wishing some Persian would kill him. She stopped her vengeful thoughts and chidden herself. "Forgive me, Kynegeiros," she said softly. "Don't punish me for the runaway anger."

  Sophocles had stayed behind, and now he climbed to the top of the temple wall and called to Myrrhine. "Stretch out your hand," he said. "I'll help you mount the stairs. Look before us! We've a fortunate position here. The Persian host is clearly visible." Myrrhine helped Auroriana up the wall. Once there, Myrrhine saw the field ablaze with bronze, the fiery glint of polished iron, shield blazons.

  "Look, priestess, a white horse," said Sophocles.

  "It's the cousin of King Xerxes, Mardonius himself, come to lead the charge. I spoke with him only a few days ago."

  Pausanias, at the right corner of the phalanx, shouted the order to march as long lines of red-and-blue plumes began to nod rhythmically. He cued the corps of auletes, the pipers, to to
ot the beat, and it moved forward, increasing the rhythm to move quickly past the zone of arrows as the rumble of their feet shook the ground. The unerring marksmen finally let loose their deadly darts. At that range, any man could die without encountering the enemy and without the opportunity of at least winning a glorious death.

  With the Persian war cry, the Greeks broke out in song and struck up the paean, the great chorus of tuned voices raising the battle shout. Warriors couched their spears, the song heating every faint heart's blood to battle fever. As they marched, so they came closer to the Persian line and the louder they sang.

  "Hie! Hie! Paean! To him we cry! Oh joy! Oh joy! May you never leave us. Cast out pestilence and bring valor and victory! Oh joy! Paean. Oh joy! Hie! Hie! Paean!" The force of their voices charged them forward, with the aulete piping the rhythm and melody.

  "The crowd of Persians comes in full panoply," said Myrrhine. "It's my place to brace the temple gate. Eleusis was the last of Demeter's temples they'll desecrate."

  Myrrhine descended the stairs, heart racing with fear. Did she have the courage? She assumed her station with young Sophocles at her side. She heard the unearthly clash of steel as the two forces collided, shrill cries telling of the wounded and maimed, the dying. The paean dissipated in the thud of battle. Spear met javelin, sword rung against dagger, as the two phalanxes thrust and writhed together in a grotesque deadlock dance. Desperate Persians took to catching Greek spears with their hands and breaking off the tips. Myrrhine was glad the battle raged at a distance.

  Just as it appeared the two forces were headed for mutual annihilation, the formations broke, lines shattered, and warriors fell into lumps of agonizing, cursing humanity. The light-armed troops piled into the fray, and the blood-spilling masses drifted about the battlefield until they came directly before the temple of Demeter. A Persian spear hit the ground flat at Myrrhine's feet and scooted all the way to the temple wall. Arrows whistled overhead.

  Myrrhine took a step back, her courage faltering, and bumped into Sophocles. Where would she muster the spirit to perform her task? She couldn't imagine the courage it took for the men to stand their ground against such odds. Her own husband had died in such a battle. What a man he must have been, the bravest of the brave, everyone called him.

  Myrrhine stood facing the battling forces. Dressed in white, she was a stark presence glowing in sunlight amid the sacred glen's shadows. She raised her left hand to lift a lapel of her mantle, her long curls falling to her shoulders. About her head was a stephane of myrtle. To find strength, she prayed, her words cascading over the battlefield.

  "O great goddess Demeter, bringer of seasons, she who causes seed to sprout from fertile fields so the whole of broad Earth teems with leaves and flowers, she whose holy rites bless those who have seen them, terrorize these barbarians, send your maelstrom of malevolent ecstasy, bring holy horror upon those who defiled your temple at Eleusis, punish…"

  In the midst of her prayer, Auroriana came up behind her, using Myrrhine as her own human shield. Auroriana pointed off to the right. So it was that the man on the white horse came screaming into battle: Mardonius surrounded by his best thousand troops, flower of the Persian army. At the edge of a crag, a lone Greek crawled to its summit, raised a stone. As horse and rider passed beneath, he smote the general square upon the skull.

  Myrrhine's prayer echoed among the din of war as the force knocked Mardonius from the white charger, laid bare the warm brain steaming. Mardonius crumpled into dust, flung wide his arms and panted away his life.

  Still the battle raged, a victor nowhere in sight.