Oracles of Delphi

by Marie Savage

  After a few moments, Theron broke the silence. “I wonder what the priestesses said when Nikos delivered his news about the autopsia this morning.”

  “I was just thinking of that,” Praxis lied and forced his thoughts back to the events of the last few days.

  “I’d have thought we’d heard from him—or from Thea—by now. Perhaps Nikos is still with them. I can’t imagine his mother being satisfied with his news.”

  Praxis nodded. “There’s probably a message waiting at Menandros’s.”

  “I told Zenon to find us at Heraklios’s if a message came….” He trailed off and they drank in silence, leaving the plate of food untouched. Praxis stared into the fire and Theron watched the doorway as if he were expecting an unwelcome visitor to barge through at any moment.

  There was something wrong. Praxis could feel it, but he couldn’t put his finger on what was nagging at him. Lysandros’s last wishes, Charis’s murder, Theron’s sister, the way Althaia and Nikos looked at each other, Nephthys, the old lady in the ravine—he turned it all over in his mind, examining everything from this way and that, just as the flames danced this way and that, licking the walls of the blackened fireplace. The day closed in about them and they sat, hunched over their mugs of wine as if a heavy blanket of dread hung over their heads.

  “Dammit,” he said said abruptly, slamming his cup on the table.

  “We should have gone with Heraklios’s men,” Theron said. “You’re thinking about the old woman in the ravine.”

  “Another body, another woman, so soon after Charis. We should have at least checked to make certain they were unrelated, especially with all the priestesses of Gaia in Delphi for the pythia’s naming ceremony.”

  “That was my first reaction, too, but as Heraklios said, falls are not uncommon. And Nephthys was very nearly a victim of the steep pathways herself. Besides, the boy found the body down toward Krissa where the roads are—” Theron stood suddenly, sending the chair toppling backward. “Thea. That’s what’s been preying on my mind.” He gripped the table. “She said she was staying with a ‘family whose farmhouse sits north of the Delphi-Krissa road.’”

  Praxis stood and grabbed his cloak, following Theron who was already striding toward the door.

  “How could I have been so stupid?” Theron muttered as he threw open the door only to find Zenon running toward them.

  “Master Theron!” Zenon called out.

  “Please,” Theron thought, “do not let it be Thea.”

  “A message came to the house,” Zenon started, but Theron and Praxis were already running down the street, and it was all Zenon could do to keep up with them.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Nephthys and Menandros watched as Althaia paced back and forth, biting her lip and rolling the scroll between her fingertips. Finally, Theron, with Praxis and Zenon behind him, barged into the room and Althaia rushed to meet them.

  “A boy brought it and then left again right away,” she said, handing him the scroll. “He wouldn’t give his name. All he said was that it was urgent.”

  Theron stood near a lamp, ripped the twine, and unfurled the scroll. It was written in a rushed hand and the ink was smudged from being rolled too soon, but there was no mistaking the message. He let out an audible sigh, cleared his throat, and began:

  Melanippe is missing. Nikos came to us this morning, told us little, and left after he and his mother argued. Shortly after, a messenger came and Melanippe went out. At first she insisted on going alone, but her handmaid would not hear of it. Several hours later, Kalliope returned alone—wet and bleeding. She says Melanippe would not tell her where they were going, but that they were quickly set upon by roadside bandits. Melanippe is not well. Her sight is poor and we fear the worst. Nikos does not know about his mother. Find him and bring him to us. Take the road toward Athens and at the turnoff for Krissa, go north instead. There is a path leading up toward the ridge. You will see a grove of plane trees around a spring. The house is there. We will be waiting.

  -Thea

  “There’s still time to catch up to Heraklios’s men.” Praxis said. “They hadn’t started out yet when we left him and we were not long at the Cove.”

  “Get the horses ready,” Theron said.

  Praxis started out the door and then stopped and turned to Nephthys, “Get a bladder of oil and two torches and meet me in the stable. It will be full dark by the time we get to the ravine.”

  “Wait, why are you looking for Heraklios’s men?” Althaia asked.

  “A young shepherd found an old woman’s body in a ravine south of Delphi, near the road to Krissa,” Theron answered. “Praxis and I were still at Heraklios’s office when the boy and his father came in to report it, and the boy is leading a couple of soldiers to the body now. They were pulling a cart, so we can probably overtake them. If we catch up to them, we may be able to identify the body.”

  “Nikos’s mother,” she whispered and grasped Theron’s arm. “I’m going,” she said. “If I go with Praxis, you can find Nikos.”

  “All right,” Theron said, “but hurry, and dress warmly, the weather will only get worse as night falls.” Theron handed the scroll to Menandros. “You and Nephthys keep the note in case Nikos returns here. Give it to him, but make sure you tell him nothing more. There is hope yet we may be wrong in our suspicions. Send him on to the farmhouse.”

  “You can count on me,” Menandros said.

  Althaia ran to her room, grabbed her gloves and heavy traveling cloak, then followed Theron out into the street. Before he turned back toward Delphi to search for Nikos, he took her hand. “If it is the priestess of Dodona, you and Praxis must convince Heraklios’s men to take the body to the house where my sister is staying. We don’t want news of her death to get out until we’re sure how she died, and this time, I want to make sure you can examine the body without having to crawl through the bowels of a temple. Tell them it is Heraklios’s instructions, if need be. I’ll take care of any repercussions later. I will meet you at the farmhouse as soon as I can. You remember the directions?”

  “At the turnoff for Krissa, go north on a path up toward the ridge. There’s a spring and a grove of plane trees,” she repeated. “I am sure Heraklios’s men will know it.”

  “Be careful. Slippery roads are dangerous enough, but Praxis and I fear more than a slick path is to blame for the old woman’s fall.”

  “But we cannot know until we get there,” Althaia said.

  “And maybe not even then. But our soldier’s bones tell us something more dangerous than bad weather is loose in Delphi.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  As the invisible sun sank lower behind them, a deepening gloom crept across the sky. Clouds heavy with the promise of still more rain pressed down into the mountain passes where drizzle gave way to a thick fog. Death is in the air. Althaia shuddered. The road was muddy and slick with patches of ice covering rain-filled ruts, and though they were anxious to overtake Heraklios’s men, they dared not urge their horses into a canter or even a fast trot, so slick was the path.

  She kept her eyes ahead, but every once in a while stole a glance sideways and was comforted when Praxis returned her glance with a reassuring smile. More than once, she thanked the gods her father had found Praxis and brought him home to Athens. Had they answered her prayers for a perfect brother, the gods could not have done better than the man riding next to her. He had been her friend, confident, and protector, and her childish infatuation had deepened into something that she could not even name. Someday she would have to face the prospect of manumission. She owed him that. If any man deserved his freedom, it was Praxis.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  Her cheeks flushed and she was glad for the gray mist. “I’m thinking about us. About how you’ve always looked after me and how I probably don’t tell you enough how much I depend on you.”

  He was silent, and she didn’t know whether she should give voice to her thoughts or not. Th
ey rode on for a while and finally she said, “I used to imagine you were as strong as Herakles. I’d make up all sorts of horrible tasks for you to undertake before you could come back home and claim me for your bride.” She laughed softly. “Little girls….”

  “I would have gladly undertaken those tasks, but I would never have been allowed to claim my prize. That’s not the world we live in.”

  “I know that now. They were foolish daydreams.”

  Praxis sighed and said nothing.

  ****

  The path grew wider as Althaia and Praxis approached where the road to Athens intersected the road to Krissa and on down to the port town of Kirra. It wasn’t long before they overtook Heraklios’ men. A slender, well-scrubbed young lieutenant led the group, followed by an older, heavy-set soldier with half of his ear missing and a thick, jagged scar running down the side of his neck. Another soldier, barely more than a boy, with eager eyes, long, stringy curls, and pockmarked skin drove a donkey pulling a small cart in which the shepherd and his son sat. The group had already turned south toward Krissa and had just left the road to cut across the field toward the small shepherd’s hut in the distance.

  Praxis made the appropriate introductions, invoked Heraklios’ name and insisted he and Althaia had instructions to help identify the body. After a heated discussion, and over the angry objections of the old soldier—“Half-an-ear,” Althaia named him—the lieutenant decided to allow them to ride along. Few, male or female, were immune to Praxis’s powers of persuasion.

  The lieutenant rode beside the wagon, getting directions from the boy, while Half-an-ear brought up the rear. As they rode, Althaia felt the man’s eyes boring into her back. It made her skin crawl. It was only a little farther, she told herself, and she must keep her mind on the task ahead.

  “There’s my brother,” the boy said excitedly. “And the body is down there,” he pointed toward the bottom of the small cliff. “She’s right below that overhang. See? At the bottom of the ravine.”

  “I think I see where you mean,” the lieutenant said. He turned to the boy’s father. “You should take your boys home now. Rest assured, we will let you know if there is any reward.”

  “Thank you.” The boy jumped out of the wagon and ran over to his brother. “There might even be a reward! We could be rich!”

  Althaia smiled in the darkness as the boy began helping his brother gather the flock and, with their father beside them, guide them toward home.

  “Here!” The lieutenant called to the skinny, pockmarked soldier. “Get these torches lit. And you,” he turned to Half-an-ear, “take that blanket in the back of the wagon. You can carry the body back up. Let’s go.”

  Praxis lit a torch for himself and another for Althaia. “The lieutenant insists you stay up here with the horses,” he said. She shot him a that’s ridiculous look and he sighed. “Be patient, Althaia.”

  “I will not be patient, Praxis. You must convince him. Seeing the body where it fell can give us important clues. I’m going with you,” she insisted as she dismounted.

  Praxis sighed. “Okay, but remember, if it is the priestess, we need to convince the lieutenant to take the body to Thea, and that means we do not want him angry at you and unwilling to cooperate.” He tied their horses to the back of the cart, lit both torches, and handed one to her. “Come. I’ll make the case again, but do not challenge the lieutenant. If he relents, fine. If not, you must stay up here and trust me to do my best to report what we find back to you. We can always return tomorrow in the daylight and you can poke around in the rocks as much as you want.”

  “But—”

  “Before you start arguing with me, let’s talk to the lieutenant.”

  They made it to the edge of the ravine when the lieutenant, who was figuring out the best way to climb down the muddy slope into the deep rock-filled ditch, turned around, took one look at Althaia, and said, “No.”

  “But—” she started.

  “This is no place for a woman, and I’m certainly not going to be responsible for your safety down there in the dark,” he waved his torch and flames danced and sputtered in the damp air. “One slip and I’d have two bodies to deal with.”

  “But I may be able to identify her.”

  “You can identify her when we bring the body back up. You’re staying up here, and that’s final.” He glared at her and turned to Praxis. “Tell her to stay or I won’t let you go down, either.”

  “I’ll stay,” Althaia relented. “But I’m staying right here so I can watch what you’re doing.”

  The lieutenant ignored her and began climbing down into the ravine with Praxis behind him.

  Althaia then raised her torch and surveyed the landscape around her. Bells tinkled in the distance. Probably the flock the boys and their father were shepherding home. She studied the outcropping looming above the far side of the ravine. Tufts of brush clung to otherwise exposed rock where the relentless march of time had sent crumbling earth and stone into the ancient stream bed below. The road to Krissa was up there, back a ways from the edge. But close enough for a traveler to see her torch. She hoped there were no bandits working the mountain paths tonight.

  It wasn’t long before she heard grunting and swearing. The two soldiers scrambled back up the slope with the body wrapped in a woolen blanket and slung over The Skinny One’s shoulder. Half-an-ear had obviously pulled rank.

  “Is Praxis coming up soon?” Althaia asked as she climbed out of the wagon. The evening was closing in around her and she was suddenly uneasy about being in the company of the two soldiers.

  “Your friend is scouring the rocks for something,” The Skinny One said as he flopped the body down in the bed of the wagon. “And the lieutenant is helping him.”

  “Blood and brains. That’s all they’re gonna find down there.” Half-an-ear said. He reached out and unceremoniously unfurled the blanket, rolling the old woman over and up against the side of the wagon. “Head’s bashed in pretty good. Don’t look like a fall did that,” he said as he rolled her over so she lay face up.

  Althaia bent down and touched the battered face of Melanippe, priestess of Dodona. She ran her fingertip along the thin, blue lips that had once uttered the words that connected men to the gods and said her own silent prayer for the woman’s soul. News of her death would spread quickly among the priests and priestesses throughout Greece, into Epirus, Illyria, Makedon and even Egypt. Dodona, along with Siwa in the Egyptian desert, was the oldest and most mysterious of all the oracles. Anything other than an accidental death would be devastating news for those who served the gods.

  Althaia prayed Melanippe met her death peacefully; a slip of the foot on the slick path or a wrong turn in the fog and mist. Although her only meeting with the priestess had been a disaster, she did not wish her ill. She was, after all, Nikos’s mother. She pictured his green eyes and a jolt shot through her chest.

  She wedged the end of her torch in the corner of the wagon and looked at the priestess. Her straggly gray hair was wet and matted with rain and blood and the side of her face had been crushed and lacerated by the jagged rocks. Althaia gently rolled her head to one side and found that the back of her skull had been crushed as well and was still sticky with blood. Althaia wiped her fingers on the blanket and looked back across the ravine to the outcrop above it; was it high enough for the fall to have done such damage? It was surely no more than a twenty-five or thirty foot drop. But, the priestess was ill and frail. Her bones, weakened by age, may have been more easily broken from such a fall. Althaia pulled back her bloodied cloak and looked at her bare arms. There were scratches but no significant bruises. Melanippe must have been dead before she landed in the ravine. Half-an-ear was probably right. The fall didn’t cause her death. One thing was certain; she was not the victim of a robbery. Althaia ran her fingers over the thick gold necklace Melanippe wore and looked closely at the gnarled fingers still adorned by rings set with the precious stones befitting a priestess of Zeus.

 
She carefully covered Melanippe’s face and tucked the blanket back around her body. She turned to face Half-an-ear, who stood much too close to her, arms crossed, staring. “I know this woman,” she said. “We have instructions to take her body to her nearest kin.”

  “You related?”

  “No. She is not from here, but we know where her people are staying.”

  “If you’re not a relative, she goes back to Delphi.”

  “What is your name?” Althaia asked, sharply. Maybe it was time for her to pull rank. “Heraklios would be interested to know you’re being uncooperative.”

  “My name don’t matter. I asked if you was family, you said no. So she goes back to Delphi. Standard procedure.”

  Maybe a more measured approach would work better, she thought. “We expect you to accompany us, to escort the body up to where she’s been staying. It’s not far. We’ll find her son—in fact, someone is looking for him right now.”