by Marie Savage
To Phoibe’s right, closest to Althaia, the priestesses of Athens, Sparta, Elis, Corinth, and Tegea sat while positioned to her left were Thea, Kalliope and Eumelia of Argos—and, of course, Nikos. Thea had been right. Kalliope insisted Nikos sit beside her, amongst the priestesses. He must feel a fool, Althaia thought. But it was too late to worry about it. The die was cast. To expose Kalliope and Palamedes, Nikos must be exposed as not only a fool, but a thief and rogue as well. It was the only way.
* * *
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Philon began, “distinguished citizens and leaders of Delphi, General Heraklios, Pythia, and our honored guests, the priestesses of Gaia, please allow us to welcome you to the re-dedication of the sacred theater of Delphi.”
The theater wasn’t full, but the crowd, which was bigger than Theron had hoped, roared in approval. The locals usually had to wait for the beginning of the season for a new play. And rarely did a play come with free wine before, during and after the production. Diokles had seen to it that rumors about the play spread like wildfire. Menandros was a popular character in town, and news that his play was to be a totally new kind of production, the first ever of its kind, brought more people than usual out to the ceremony. Several members of the chorus had been buzzing about it since they left their secret rehearsal late the night before and, now, the whole theater was humming with anticipation. First a body on the sacred altar of Dionysos, next a murder and the funeral feast for the priestess of Dodona, and now this. Seldom had Delphi seen such excitement—at least not since the war was over.
Philon quieted the crowd and continued, “It is unfortunate that we must gather here today to cleanse and purify the sacred altar, but it is our duty and our honor to share this ceremony with the great people of Delphi to whom Apollon—and Gaia—” he bowed graciously toward the priestesses—“have entrusted their oracles.” Again he had to quiet the crowd as they clapped and cheered even louder. How is it, he wondered, that such an ignorant bunch could think so highly of themselves? “Our illustrious playwright has written a new play for the occasion. A play in which we are all to have a part in pouring the libations, drinking in honor of Dionysos, and re-sanctifying his sacred altar. Now, let us all raise our cups in honor of Menandros.” He raised his goblet and drank deeply. The crowd followed his example and did the same.
The audience fell silent and Althaia watched as Menandros, wearing the mask of Dionysos, walked onto the stage.
“Lo! I am Dionysos, god of theater, god of wine and fertility, the son of Zeus and his beloved Semele, brother of Apollon, the god of light and sun, of truth and prophecy, and I am come to the land of the Phokians, to Delphi’s Sacred Precinct, to rededicate my sacred thymeli, the altar upon which sacrifices are made. In one hand I brandish my thyrsus, in the other my wine cup, that I may lead you, my worthy attendants, in the rites and rituals of re-sanctification.”
The small chorus—Menandros was only able to use a few of his best singers as the others couldn’t memorize the lines in time—entered from the parodoi on either side of the stage. They stood in the center, like a curtain hiding Menandro’s exit, and began to sing.
“People of Delphi! Why must the god himself come here today to re-sanctify our sacred altar? Do you know? Have you heard the tale? Today all will be revealed and the culprit caught, the villains vilified and the righteous sought. The play you witness will be for naught unless, together, we untie this Gordian knot. Now, raise your cup and take a sip for the time will come when the truth will slip, drip by drip, from the villain’s lip. Now, behold—the leader of the chorus, the coryphaios, held up a cup and took a drink—let us together, Dionysos’s attendants all, drink to a happy ending to a sad story of sin and sacrilege.”
Like ripples across a pond, one by one audience members looked at each other and then followed the coryphaios’s example and tipped their cups to drink as the chorus split into two groups and took their places on either side of the stage. An actor entered from the right. He was wearing the mask of a young man, unbearded. Nikos. He carried a body, Zenon wrapped in a cloak, and lifted it high as if in offering.
“Dionysos forgive me for I carry in my arms the truth of my own unbridled nature, base with unshaken lust and rapacious greed. Unhappy wretch that I am, my need was not sated with pleasure and my desires were not were gratified. I, like Pentheus, am misfortune’s mate, a fool who would not listen to wisdom, but who sought to take what was not mine and slew what would not yield. I leave my unfortunate friend on the temple’s sacred steps and pray that Apollon’s grace will ensure her peace.”
Nikos had blanched and Althaia and Thea had both argued against the dialogue being so graphic, but Menandros threw a tantrum and claimed the whole scheme depended upon the opening scene. “I am the playwright and, believe me, when I say we must have a dramatic hook. Otherwise, the audience will lose interest and our plan will be for nought,” he had said. Now Althaia wrapped her arms about her, holding her elbows tight in her palms. She imagined Nikos carrying Charis thus, leaving the girl’s body to the mercy of the priests, his heart filled with anger, shame, remorse—and worst, fear. The actor bent and placed Zenon on the steps to the skene behind the stage. He turned toward the audience, looked around furtively and ran back through the parodos.
The chorus lifted their voices again and Althaia held her cup at the ready.
“The first offense was thus commissioned. We drink, we drink to its remission.”
Along with the leader of the chorus, Althaia and the rest of the audience drank again and then watched as Menandros, now wearing a satyr’s mask and outlandish phallus, entered from the far parodos and approached the body.
“Who was that shadowed man? Who left this gift upon the temple steps?” The satyr lifted the cloak and gasped. “Now I see! My goals are nearly met and this, a gift from Olympos, will see me home.” Menandros lifted Zenon, heaving a bit which made Althaia and her company smile at his efforts, and carried him to the thymeli. He pulled back the cloak just enough to reveal a woman’s mask. Althaia nearly jumped out of her seat as the crowd gasped.
The satyr turned to the audience and declared, “The gift is given and received. Now I wait and plan and spy and scheme to discover the giver’s identity. Then I will take the news to my patroness and receive my reward in silver and gold—or perhaps with favors—” the satyr pumped his hips forward, his long stiff phallus swaying before him—“more manifold!”
The crowd whooped and cheered and Althaia felt she might be sick. Still, she raised her glass with the rest of the crowd as the chorus sang: “Dare our villain wait and observe the revelation he deserves? We drink, we drink to steel our nerves.”
The fact that she was about to see her part in the tragedy played out before all Delphi began to sink in. This whole production may have been her idea, but that didn’t mean she was enjoying it. She looked over at Nephthys, who returned her gaze. Praxis held Nephthys’s hand tight, and Althaia grabbed Theron’s arm. She needed to be grounded for what came next.
Two actors, both wearing female masks and holding a string between them, tiptoed in from the right and approached the thymeli, the altar where Zenon still lay. “Aha! Here we are! In the holy of holies. Among the riches of righteousness, the crucible of discovery where we reveal just what kind of death befell our maid.”
From behind the altar, the satyr stuck his head out and waved to the audience. “I am hid and hidden bid these brave, foolish souls to reveal what I, too frightened, seek.”
Althaia’s fingers dug into Theron’s arm as the first woman bent over Zenon. After a moment of complete silence, the actor turned to face the crowd. Behold! What have we here? He held up Nikos’s necklace, the very one she’d extracted from Charis’s throat, and let it swing slowly from his fingertips. Time stopped as a collective gasp rose from the audience. Tears clouded Althaia’s eyes and she turned toward Nikos. His face was white as death. He sat unmoving, still as an image carved on a funeral stele. Beside him, an obviously confuse
d Kalliope fidgeted in her seat. How much longer must this go on? Althaia wondered. But she knew the answer. The play was exactly as long as it needed to be. Exactly as long as it took for the drug in Kalliope’s wine to work its magic.
The second actor clasped his hands over his heart and cried. “O! The very instrument of her demise!”
Just then, the satyr poked his head out from behind the altar again and addressed the crowd. “Thank you. Thank you, a thousand times. These unwitting servants of my ambition provide me now the ammunition to see my campaign through.”
Kalliope, her voice already thick from unwatered wine and belladonna, stood up and looked down at Nikos. “Wait!” She said loud enough for everyone to hear. “How did they—what’s going on here? I don’t like this play.”
Nikos and Thea were supposed to have encouraged Kalliope to drink enough for the effects of the drugged wine to be evident to everyone. Apparently they’d done that part of their job well. Althaia watched as Nikos reached up to pull Kalliope down next to him and bent down to whisper in her ear. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. She knew his lines as well as he did; after all, she’d helped write them. “By the gods, Kalliope, I don’t know,” he was to whisper in her ear, letting his warm lips linger on her lobe while his hand slipped around her waist and pulled her toward him. “Someone is out to ruin me, shame me into admitting my guilt. If my part in Charis’s death is revealed, I won’t be able to marry you and return with you to Dodona. Our future will be ruined. But we can still escape! If only we knew who moved Charis’s body from the steps of the Temple to the altar in the theater. We could blame him for Charis’s death and be free to leave Delphi together.”
Kalliope leaned into Nikos. She lifted her face toward him and went to drape her arms around his neck as Thea’s arm shot across Kalliope’s shoulder to rescue the young priestess’s goblet. The goblet’s part in the play had not yet come and everything would be ruined if it missed its cue. Kalliope planted a drunken kiss square on Nikos’s lips and whispered something in his ear that made his face flush red.
Across the stage, Althaia couldn’t drag her eyes away from them. Theron followed her line of sight and gently turned her face back toward the stage. “Don’t watch. Like any actor, he has to play his part.”
Althaia turned back to see the chorus change positions again. Behind their movement, Zenon had jumped down from the altar and disappeared. Now, one of Menandros’s actors hobbled out wearing the mask of an old woman. The actor leaned heavily on a tall walking staff, on the top of which sat, secured by a leather thong, the ruby-eyed serpent from Melanippe’s staff.
Kalliope’s voice cut through the quiet. “Where’d they get that?” And then Nikos and Thea could be heard shushing her. It was not quite time yet. A little more wine … a little more time….
From the other parodos, Menandros, still wearing his satyr mask and giant phallus, entered and danced around, entertaining the crowd with his lewd antics. Behind him an actor wearing the mask of a girl strode out, nearly knocking him over. The old woman looked up: “Hail and well met my dearest friend. What news to share today?”
The actor playing the young girl twirled around like a child in a new chiton and said: “Only this; I am to be wed!”
The old woman replied: “This is unexpected news. Who is to be your handsome groom?”
The young girl answered: “Why don’t you guess? You know him best!”
The old woman straightened up and started to hobble off the stage, waving her hand in dismissal. “No! That cannot be true. He will not be wedded, will not be bedded, especially to you!”
The young woman continued her twirling and prancing. “Poor old, befuddled thing. He will be wedded, he will be bedded and you will bless us both.” Althaia couldn’t tear her eyes away as the satyr thrust himself up against the young woman’s behind.
The old woman held up her walking stick as if to reprimand the young girl. “Your words astound me, silly girl. You must think my son a stupid oaf. Nothing could lure him to your bed. On that I swear my sacred oath.”
The girl addressed the audience. “Her son will gladly take me to bed—if he wants to keep his head.” The actor pulled the necklace out and dangled the silver ball and chain again before the audience. “A wedding gift for my groom. Here, take a closer look. Plucked straight from the throat—yes, the handmaid’s throat—to ensure my love leaves Delphi with me or that he hangs from the nearest tree.”
“Hey!” Kalliope jumped up and pointed at the actors. She steadied herself using Nikos’s shoulder. “That’s not how it happened.”
Althaia could only guess what Nikos was feeling, but she knew she wanted to throttle the girl. But she watched as Nikos reached up and, once again, pulled Kalliope down to him. She couldn’t remember what he was supposed to say next.
On stage, the old woman cried out: “It cannot be!”
“It is, I’m afraid, and the lure is this—your son will be wed or he will be dead with a murderer’s conviction.” The actor playing the young woman danced around, teasing the old woman.
The old woman held her cane high above her head and shook it ominously. “Hades will unchain Cerberus, throw open the gates, and let the shades run free before you ever gain consent from me.”
The young woman laughed. “You will rue the day, you ancient crone, if you say no to me. You will be dead and I’ll be wed and this”—she held up the necklace—“is my key.”
Althaia squeezed her eyes shut. But she knew what was happening on the stage. The young woman grabbed the cane and pretended to beat the old lady who then fell to the ground. A collective gasp echoed up toward the stadion and while everyone in the crowd began chattering, the chorus changed places, once again providing the curtain behind which the actors left the stage. As they moved, they sang: “Good citizens of Delphi! You have seen through the veil and heard the sad tale, and the noose is growing taut. Now, raise your cup and drink deep and full as we unravel our Gordian knot.”
As if in a trance, everyone—including Kalliope—raised their cups to drink. From amongst the chorus, Menandros entered again, this time as Dionysos. He hung his head in sorrow and stumbled a bit as he made his way to lean against the sacred altar.
“My friends, devotees, bacchinates, the sorrow overwhelms. My heart is heavy when it should be light, my soul is mourning when it should be filled with delight, My cup is empty when it should be—wait, a revelation! Am I not the god of wine and wine cups? En oino álétheia, I declare. In wine, there is truth.”
Dionysos lifted his cup to his face and peered into it—like Menandros had done the night before when he sought to retrieve a bug drowned in the sweetness within and came up with the idea to use the libations to out Kalliope. He looked up at the audience and pointed into his cup. “It is in my power to transform water into wine—and wine into blood. And, now, at this moment, one cup in our midst holds the answers I seek, one person amongst us the truth she will speak. For I have transformed the golden wine of goodness into the deepest red of the victim’s blood. Look now to your left, look now to your right. En oino álétheia. In wine, there is truth.”
The chorus took up the cry: “Look now to your left, look now to your right. One cup holds the answers he seeks, one amongst us the truth she will speak.”
Althaia turned in her seat and watched the crowd. Audience members looked around, murmuring, unsure what to do. Theron bent down and whispered, “Menandros definitely deserves a laurel wreath for this, and if everything goes as planned, I’ll weave it and place it on his brow myself.”
The chorus continued to sing: En oino álétheia. In wine, there is truth. Look to your left, look to your right….” Menandros’s Dionysos went along the front row, stealing glances left and right and peering into audience members’ cups as people up and down the rows turned to their neighbors, confused about what exactly was going on.
Althaia couldn’t help but watch to see what Kalliope would do next. She couldn’t hear her over the buz
z of voices filling the theater, but she saw Kalliope grab her wine cup back from Thea and peer into it. She watched as Thea nudged Kalliope elbow just enough to tip the cup over and then saw her rear back and scream as thick, blood-red wine trickled down the front of Kalliope’s cloak and dripped into her lap.
The chorus stopped singing. Menandros waited. Kalliope stood, pulled at the fabric and stared at the stain. “Why’s mine red?”
Chapter Fifty-five
Menandros held his cup high and spoke, his voice booming as if he truly was a god. “And now we have our proof. The net was cast, the quarry caught, my altar purified. But wait, where is her accomplice? Has he fled? Will she take the blame, bear the shame, her partner unidentified?
Kalliope looked around as if still confused as the chorus began chanting again: “En oino álétheia. En oino álétheia. En oino álétheia.” Althaia saw that everyone in the theater was staring at the girl. The Pythia of Apollon was turned around completely in her chair and, on either side of her, Philon and Kleomon looked on with shock. Heraklios’s guards appeared as if by magic and took positions around the theater.
Menandros walked toward the front of the stage and the chorus quieted. “You stand alone, Kalliope, accused by the gods of blackmailing Nikomachos of Dodona and murdering his mother, the famous priestess of Zeus and Gaia.” A loud gasp and clamor rose up amongst the audience members, but Menandros/Dionyosos held up his hand the the whole theater fell silent. “Will you take the blame and bear the shame alone? Will you accept the guilt, pay the price and sacrifice alone? Or will you name your partner? Now! Kalliope, this is your chance to tell the truth. The gods demand it.”
“I can’t tell!” Kalliope steadied herself against Nikos and whispered loud enough for the whole theater to hear. “It’s a secret.”