by Marie Savage
The humming grew louder and louder until her body throbbed with the rhythm of it. She feared her ears would burst, that skin could no longer contain her. That she would fracture the frail envelope that separated her soul from the world. She threw back her head and her cloak fell to the ground as the morning sun streaked across the sky to embrace her. Like a lover’s fingers, the golden rays ran along her neck, down between her breasts and then lower. His presence loomed over her as the sun god blinded her with the brilliant heat of his desire. Of her desire. Her body flushed as he caressed her and she arched back to meet him in his need. She could see his outline and trace his form on her flesh with her own fingers. Like a nameless fear in the dark, he consumed her body and soul and she welcomed him. Despite herself, she welcomed Apollon.
She shuddered with release and knew her face was wet with tears. She closed her eyes tight and rocked back and forth as if Grandmother Earth held her to her breast, arms swaddling her to protect and comfort her. She swayed with the rhythm of Gaia’s voice as it flooded her body. It was a familiar tune, Gaia’s lullaby, but the words were not right.
My time has passed. It is over. You are the last. The words were whispered with love but they hung in the air like a curse. They were full of death and sorrow and suddenly all Phoibe could see were Charis’s eyes staring into hers. They were not frightened or pleading. They were not reassuring. They were simply dead.
She opened her eyes. He stood before her as if he were flesh and blood. And then he was gone. Just like his father. As Zeus had laid claim to Leda, Apollon now laid claim to Phoibe. Disguised as the rays of morning sun, Apollon had violated the sacred bond with Gaia and had taken Phoibe as his lover. And she had surrendered to him. Willingly.
There was no question—Phoibe now knew the Oracle’s very existence was in danger. In her vision, she had seen it, felt it. She knew it was by Apollon’s hand that Charis had died. And it would be by his hand that Gaia herself would be vanquished. Once and for all. And his instrument of destruction would be Phoibe herself. She had seen it. She did not understand it. And she would fight it. But she would lose. She knew that now.
Chapter Fourteen
Theron felt his sister’s presence before he saw her. He took a deep breath, rounded the last corner, and looked up toward where he knew the mouth of the cave was hidden. Forty-five years old or not, travel worn and battle-hardened or not, the memories of their last days together threatened to sweep his feet from under him like a riptide. In the distance, Theodora stood in the bright morning sun but all he could see was his sixteen-year-old twin framed against the moonlight as he turned his back one last time and rode away from everything he had ever known or loved.
As he drew near, he reached into his belt and pulled out a sprig of olive. He was seldom at a loss for words, but when he finally spoke, his voice was rough, barely a whisper. “Thea.” He held out his hand to his sister. “For you.”
Theodora’s face tightened, and her eyes shone with tears. “Like the ones we used to award each other.”
“With great ceremony,” Theron smiled. “Winning an Olympic event is no laughing matter.”
“Especially if getting caught avoiding our chores meant another whipping.” Theodora pressed it to her breast and then stuck it in her embroidered headband. The sheen on the leaves highlighted her dark hair where age had begun to paint it silver. She took her brother’s hand and raised it to her lips.
“Thank you. For this,” she touched the sprig again “and for coming. I wasn’t certain you would.”
“It was time.”
Theron took his sister’s measure. Even after all these years, the similarities were clear, especially in their build, in the angles and shadows of their faces, and in their eyes. But the passage of time had been kinder to Thea than to him. She was tall and thin like he was, but where age had hardened him, it had softened her, rounded the edges.
He turned and motioned to Althaia. “This is—”
“As a son of Gaia, you are expected and welcome,” the young woman beside Thea interrupted. Theron noted that, whoever she was, she certainly did not seem welcoming. “Now, if your touching reunion is over, follow me,” she demanded. “The others are waiting.” She turned on her heel and started back toward the cave. Then she stopped and her eyes flickered over Althaia. “Your friend will wait outside with the rest of the servants.”
“I would have her accompany me,” Theron said. “She is to me as a second set of eyes and ears. At my age, I find her assistance invaluable.”
“But she was not invited to this gathering; you were,” the woman said, a stubborn edge in her voice.
Theron noted that even though his sister held her tongue, she couldn’t possibly look more uncomfortable, and he guessed that the impertinent young woman with the welcoming attitude was none other than the newly named pythia herself. “Then I will wait outside with the servants as well,” Theron replied. He took off his hat and hoisted the pack over his shoulders as though he intended to settle in right where he stood. “Sister, would you please be so kind as to inform the pythia that I have come when called. I will await an audience with her at her earliest convenience.” He looked around and nodded toward tree on the wide ledge below the cave’s mouth. “She can find me down there, in the shade.”
“Theron, I will wait—” Althaia started.
“No, no.” Theron put his hand up to silence her. “I did not ask you trudge all the way up here from Delphi to have you loiter on the mountainside alone. You will accompany me inside, or I will accompany you outside.” He smiled and turned to Thea. “After your gathering, perhaps you will join us for lunch.”
Her cheeks flushed blood red, but the young woman kept her voice even as she turned to Thea. “You are responsible for them both.” Then she walked away and ducked into the cave.
“And that was our new pythia,” Theodora said quietly. “Phoibe of Arachova. She is a different sort than my dear friend Sofia, and I thought it best that I not interrupt so you could see for yourself. It was her handmaiden who was murdered, and she thirsts for vengeance. After she learned that a mercenary with ties to Gaia was in Delphi, she sent for you with the expectation that you will see to it that her thirst is quenched.”
“I did not answer her summons with that aim. I seek only to uncover the truth.”
“She will be sorely disappointed.” Thea said. “Come, let’s not keep her waiting.”
“First let me introduce Althaia of Athens, my friend and employer,” Theron said as he followed his sister toward the mouth of the cave. “Who else is here?”
Theodora acknowledged Althaia with a nod and then said, “We are all here—all the priestesses of Gaia left in Hellas. We hail from Dodona, Athens, Sparta, Elis, Corinth, Tegea, Argos, and me, of course, from Thessaly. Please remove your boots.” Theodora waited. “The ground upon which we walk is sacred and must not be polluted with the soles of one’s shoes,” she said to Althaia. “You must feel the earth beneath your feet. Here, nothing separates the mother from the child.”
Chapter Fifteen
Althaia untied and slipped off her boots, waited for Theron to do the same, and then followed him into the dim of the cave. She shivered as her eyes adjusted. She had entered another realm. Tiny dust motes hung in the shafts of sunlight and she breathed in deeply. The air smelled of moist earth and ancient stone.
The cavern was huge. The vault of the walls and ceiling arched over her like the dome of the moonless night. A few steps in from the mouth, the ground fell away in a grand sweep until it flattened out to a large level area. There, settled in a circle around a small fire, the priestesses waited. Beyond them, the floor climbed up again toward the back of the cave, a shiny, moss-covered tumble of rocks that shimmered in the firelight with an eerie green glow. Where the ceiling and wall met, another opening led to what she guessed was the cave’s inner chamber. Black as the abyss, surrounded with stalactites and stalagmites, it gaped like the ravenous mouth of a monster. There was no
way Althaia was going near there.
How long had people worshiped here, she wondered. Figures and designs scratched into the walls looked like nothing she had ever seen. Lyrical, but crude, primitive. Old. She had been in awe of the pyramids of Giza and the ancient Egyptian temples in Thebes, but this was different. This was the womb of Mother Earth, a place to commune with the goddess. And it was full of power. She could almost see the maenads dancing and singing around cloven-hoofed Pan while he played his pipes and beckoned them to slake his most animalistic desires. The hair on her arms stood up at the thought.
“We must be careful as it can be slippery,” Theodora smiled as she pointed to the steep slope. “Otherwise, we might all end up sliding down this hill and landing in a pile of priestesses. And that would not be very dignified.”
So Theodora and Theron shared more than looks. They shared a sense of humor. Althaia smiled back into the dark before she stepped gingerly down the carpeted slope.
Once they reached the bottom, Theron lowered himself to the ground next to his sister and Althaia sat beside him. The priestesses and their attendants, girls dressed in simple white chitons, sat on thick carpets and pillows spread upon the cave floor. Althaia was thankful the “nothing separates the mother from the child” rule didn’t include the damp earthen floor and her own backside.
When they had all settled in, Phoibe leaned forward and poured a libation of oil onto the fire. Sparks flew and flames danced and stretched orange tendrils toward the ceiling. When the fire had settled again, she began “When the gods walked the earth, Gaia suffered a grievous injustice. Apollon came from the east and claimed the power of the sacred pneuma of Delphi as his own. Today we also suffer. And we mourn. But we will not mourn for long, for soon our tears of sorrow will be replaced by the joy of vengeance. We will have justice from the priests of Apollon for Charis’s death.”
“You speak of justice, but what proofs of the priests’ guilt do you offer us?” Althaia startled when Theodora interrupted Phoibe’s speech. Although Phoibe’s hands rested easily in her lap, Althaia could see that her body tensed, she seemed as taut and stretched as a sail straining in a raging storm.
“We all know the vapors in the adyton beneath the temple are weak and inconstant—they come and go as they will and yield little of their ancient power. If the vapors continue to diminish, the power invested in the priests of Apollon will fade, too. How long can they get away with drugging the Pythia of Apollon just so supplicants can hear incoherent babbling from behind the curtain?”
“She speaks the truth.”
Althaia turned toward the voice. On the other side of the fire pit, she could see the filmy opacity of old eyes staring into the glowing embers.
“I have seen it,” the old woman said.
“We know the Sacred Wars have taken their toll,” Phoibe went on. “Some have hailed Philip II of Makedon as savior of Delphi. He seeks to force my fellow Phokians to restore the treasures used during the last Sacred War, and is repairing the temple. This endears him to many, but in truth he seeks only to placate his allies while he prepares his armies to conquer Athens, to conquer all Greece, and then to challenge Persia. He cares nothing for Delphi. He cares only for empire.”
“Philip is only the latest in a long line of men who seek to control our destiny,” the old woman added.
“Yes,” Phoibe continued, “and Philon and Kleomon must know Philip will only support Delphi as long as Delphi supports Phillip—or serves his purposes. The priests are besieged on all sides, so they must consolidate their power and reassert their control of the Sacred Precinct and all the wealth it represents. The easiest way to do that is to eliminate the people’s goddess once and for all and claim sole sovereignty over the Sacred Precinct for Apollon.”
“But we will not let them take what is ours by right,” the old woman chimed in, like the refrain in a chorus.
“I aim to reinstate the Oracle of Gaia in the Sacred Precinct, to reclaim our place at the Spring of Ge. To claim Apollon’s temple as our own.”
“That is a grand speech, Phoibe,” Theodora spoke again. “Full of political intrigue and danger. But, as I have asked you before, if the cleft below the temple no longer retains the power of the gods, why do you seek to reclaim it?”
“Two gods cannot lay claim to the same sacred ground. There cannot be two oracles in Delphi.”
“There have always been two oracles in Delphi. And what about the prophecy? One oracle falls, the other falls with it.”
The old woman spoke up again. “Theodora, what would your mother say? I begin to wonder if you even hold to our most basic beliefs. Perhaps the reunion with your impious brother has affected your faith.”
Theodora leaned forward. “Melanippe”—Melanippe! Althaia peered through the flames at the priestess she presumed was Nikos’s mother—“I hold to the same beliefs my mother and my mother before her held toThat you now question me is testament to your desire to influence Phoibe, not my impiety.”
“Quiet!” Phoibe looked at each of the priestess in turn and then settled on Theodora. “I have the gift of sight. You do not. I am the pythia. You are not. I have seen the danger facing us. I have seen this crime. I know who killed Charis, and I know who seeks to eliminate Gaia’s cult once and for all. I swear on Gaia’s eternal name, the most sacred oath in all Greece, if Philon and Kleomon seek to destroy the Oracle of Gaia to protect the Oracle of Apollon, they will find a worthy opponent in me. Even if I pay the ultimate price, the fraud, deceit and corruption of Apollon and his priests will be exposed once and for all. I swear it!”
Phoibe’s words hung in the air as ominously as the craggy stalactites looming above them. No Greek swore an oath in Gaia’s name lightly.
“Beyond a history lesson and a political dialectic, you have yet to offer a single proof.” Althaia jumped as Theron’ smooth voice sliced through the tension. “I must tell you that the priests have asserted that you killed Charis yourselves. A sort of a Dionysian sacrifice. Kleomon, even went so far as to suggest I might have done it for you.”
“Kleomon,” Melanippe spat his name, “would like nothing more than to extinguish our faith once and for all. He is a man of little imagination and even littler intelligence.”
“Ignorance alone does not make one a murderer,” Theron replied coolly. “In fact, having seen the body, I would wager that this murderer was quite intelligent. There was hardly a mark on her.”
“Then Philon’s your man,” Melanippe croaked. Althaia saw the old priestess’s attendant, lean toward her then hesitate, as if she wanted to shush the old woman but was afraid of getting bitten.
“Philon has every reason to fear me, to fear us,” Phoibe cut in. “He has been skimming money from the pilgrim’s offerings for years. Our resurgence and the failing power of the Oracle of Apollon threaten not only his power, but his wealth as well.”
“But why would Philon not kill you, the new pythia? If he was so afraid of you, why kill a mere attendant?” Theron pressed.
“Charis was no mere attendant! She was my … my closest confidant and adviser.” Phoibe took a breath and tried to regain her composure. “Philon is a learned man who can read and write in a dozen tongues and yet has spent the better part of his life composing obtuse verse for young and old seeking guidance for their love lives, or asking whether or not they should buy this horse or that, or purchase this estate or that, or take this woman or that to bed. It is only when a tyrant or king seeks the oracle that Philon believes his true worth is known. To the powerful, he is at once a wise adviser and a manipulative schemer. His verse, like the Gordion knot, cannot be cut through or unraveled by mere mortals. He has a stunning mind, a silken tongue and a shrunken heart, and his deceit of the protectors of Delphi, the Amphiktyonic League, is testament to all three.”
“And that proves what?”
Phoibe could not believe Theodora’s brother, son and sister of priestesses, was speaking to her in such a way. “It proves he has everything to
gain from eliminating the threat we pose!”
In one movement, Theron stood and towered over the group of women. “Honored Pythia. You have characterized the priests of Apollon as nothing more than craven, ignorant, greedy, power hungry men. Yesterday morning at the theater, what Kleomon had to say about you was equally flattering. Your opinions of each other do not matter, and for all I know—or care—you both may be right. Distaste and distrust, however, do not necessarily a murderer make. If you know who killed her, and if you want my help in pursuing her killer, then you must give me more convincing evidence than what you have presented thus far. And you must think. Could there be no other motive? No other guilty party?”
“None,” Phoibe said flatly. “It was the priests. I knew Charis like no other. There can be no other reason.”
“You may have known Charis, but I know men. I assure you there could be many of other reasons.”
“Are not the priests of Apollon men?” Melanippe screeched, her voice sawing into the cool damp air like a dull blade as her filmy eyes sought Theron in the firelight. “The minds of men are easily corrupted, their hearts easily seduced. Priests are no different from soldiers or politicians or, even, philosophers.” Althaia could almost hear the old woman’s spittle pop and sizzle as it hit the glowing coals.
“Indeed.” Theron said, his voice cool and composed. “Which is why it is premature to rule out as suspects soldiers, politicians, or, even, philosophers. Perhaps Kleomon was right as well. Perhaps I killed the young woman.”
Water dripped deep within the cave, and a cloaked figure—a bodyguard?—shifted in the shadows. Althaia could barely sit still. Theron looked around the circle at the priestesses, several of whom put their heads together and whispered while their young attendants kept their wide eyes focused on him as if he were a shade from Hades sent to snatch them across the River Styx without so much as a coin for safe passage.