The Oracle

by D. J. Niko

  The rhyton’s lip, only part of which had been reconstructed, was painted with a male figure kneeling before a deity Sarah could not identify. She turned the vessel around and noted another solitary male figure, naked and crouched, as if in shame.

  She stared at the obscure imagery. What did this cup hold? And who drank of its contents?

  She moved the rhyton to the ultraviolet light area and placed it against a black cloth. According to the log, Evan had put the object under the UV lamp but had found nothing out of the ordinary. She repeated the test, just in case he had missed something.

  She dimmed the room lights and turned on the lamp. She scanned the rhyton, one square inch at a time. She stared at the iconography for a long while, hoping it would reveal something. But, as Evan had reported, there was nothing remarkable.

  She considered the symbolism of the wolf in ancient times. The beast supposedly was sacred to Apollo, for the god’s mother, Leto, was said to be the personification of a she-wolf. According to legend, the source of Apollo’s strength and wisdom was the milk of a wolf-woman.

  Wolf’s milk. Could there be something to that?

  Sarah thought she had heard of a plant that bore that name. She searched the database for botanicals relating to the wolf and found Euphorbia characias wulfenii—commonly known as wolf weed, or wolf’s milk. It was an ornamental plant that grew in the Mediterranean region. A wider search for its properties revealed that the black nectar of the flower glands was toxic, causing convulsions, hallucinations, and possibly death.

  Perhaps she had been looking in the wrong place.

  She repositioned the rhyton and trained the light on its throat. She had expected to find traces of sticky sap, perhaps the residue of some ancient mind-bending potion, but what she found was altogether different. As she moved the light around, she saw a letter. Then another, and another, trailing into the dark heart of the vessel. A single word, written in ancient Greek.

  So that was the answer.

  Sarah glanced out the clerestory window. It was already light out, meaning the others would be arriving at any moment. She turned off the UV light and carefully repacked the rhyton. She would have to continue her experiment later.

  As if on cue, a clicking sound came from the other side of the door. Sarah turned on the lights and returned to her workstation. She had just enough time to minimize her screens before Evan walked in.

  “You’re here early.” He took off his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. “What are you working on?”

  “Paperwork.” She took a sip of cold coffee.

  Evan’s gaze darted around the room before settling on Sarah. “I saw Daniel this morning. He said there was an attempted break-in. Do you know about this?”

  “It’s true. I suspect it’s the same people who ransacked the museum.”

  His nostrils flared. “I should not be the last to know about things like that. I’m still in charge here.” He raised his voice a notch. “And Daniel changing the code . . . Who’s giving him such orders?”

  “I suppose you should ask him that.”

  “Ask me what?”

  Sarah and Evan turned in unison. Daniel was standing at the door, his wet hair pulled back in a ponytail. Though he had showered and changed, he looked as tired as he had in the predawn hours. Sarah recognized on his face the toll of insomnia, for she had seen it many times on her own.

  “I’m confused, Daniel.” Evan’s tone was barbed. “Who’s calling the shots here?”

  Daniel walked up to them and stared at his Greek colleague for a long moment. “The people who are paying your salary. Is there a problem?”

  Evan crossed his arms and looked away.

  “So now we know what they’re after.” Daniel nodded toward the vault. “A simple brass spike found by a shepherd on the bottom of a river. Rather unlikely, don’t you think?”

  Evan turned to Daniel, his upper lip raised in a snarl. “Sounds to me like you have it figured out. So why don’t you tell me what all this means?”

  Daniel leaned into his face. “I think you know.”

  “What are you insinuating?”

  Sarah stepped between them. “Enough of this pissing match.” She turned to Evan. “Would you excuse us, Evan?”

  Evan kept his gaze fixed on Daniel. “Gladly.” He brushed past him a bit too hard as he walked out of the lab.

  When the door closed behind Evan, Sarah turned to her partner. “What are you doing, Danny?”

  “I don’t trust him. I think he’s the one who’s feeding information to the looters.”

  “Even so, you must keep your cool. Inflaming him doesn’t serve us in any way.” She sighed. “I’m a bit concerned about you.”

  He put a hand up. “Don’t be. I’m perfectly fine.”

  She didn’t want a fight, so she dropped it. “There’s something I want to show you.” He followed her to the back of the room, where the rhyton lay in its protective crate. She peeled back the polyethylene foam to uncover the object. “Do you know what this is?”

  “Wolf’s head rhyton, Corinthian black figure . . . looks like seventh, maybe sixth century.” He glanced at her. “That about right?”

  “Roughly. May be as late as fifth century. It hasn’t been dated. They’re still working on the reconstruction.” She put on gloves and lifted it out of the crate. “There’s nothing extraordinary about it, except one thing. There’s an inscription inside.”

  Daniel looked down the vessel’s throat. “Don’t see it.”

  “You can under the black light. Come.”

  He turned off the lights and joined Sarah at the UV lamp. She shone the light into the belly of the rhyton, revealing the four tiny ancient Greek letters, and waited for his reaction.

  Though she couldn’t read his expression in the darkened room, she heard the excitement in his voice. “I’ll be damned.”

  “There may be more to the inscription in the deep part of the vessel. I won’t know until I make an impression. But this part is clear.”

  “Lethe. One of the five rivers of Hades.”

  “The river of oblivion. Where the dead had their memories erased.”

  “You think there’s something to this?”

  She turned off the lamp and flicked the lights back on. As she moved the rhyton back to its crate, she shared her theory. “I haven’t had time to research it completely, but I do know of a few historical references to Lethe. Plato wrote about it in The Republic.”

  “True,” he said. “End of book ten. The dead had to drink of its waters before they could be reborn.”

  “Right. Then there are the references to Lethe and its opposite, Mnemosyne, in orphism. The waters of the two rivers were central to the postmortem rites. In direct opposition to Plato’s theory, the orphic soul was forbidden from drinking the waters of forgetfulness and was instead required to drink from Mnemosyne, the river of memory.”

  “Lethe and Mnemosyne . . . Where else have I heard that?” Absently rubbing the dark stubble that had crept along his jaw, Daniel looked away. After a long moment, he snapped his fingers and pointed to Sarah. “The oracle of Trophonius.”

  Sarah had to search her memory to recall the obscure myth. As sketchy details came to her, she felt a fire ignite in the pit of her stomach. Before making any declarations, she sat at the computer and called up the second volume of Pausanias’ Description of Greece in the Cambridge digital library.

  A search of the volume brought up the ancient Greek chronicler’s narrative about the mysterious cave and its oracle. A wrinkle formed between Sarah’s brows as she read the meticulous description. It was uncanny.

  Daniel leaned over her chair. “It’s been so long since I’ve read Pausanias. I’d forgotten how much detail he goes into.”

  “It goes on for pages. Here is what he says about Lethe and Mnemosyne: ‘The priests do not lead the seeker to the oracle but to the sources of the river which are very near each other. And here he must drink of the water called Lethe, tha
t he may forget all his former thoughts, and afterwards he must drink of the water of Memory, and then he remembers what he will see on his descent.’” Sarah looked up at Daniel. “The rhyton was found in Chaironeia, not far from Livadeia. According to Pausanias, the cave of Trophonius was somewhere in that area, near the Herkyna River. Could this be the cup the seekers of Trophonius drank from?”

  He stood straighter. “It’s not impossible. But why the wolf’s head? The only animal mentioned in the text is the sacrificial ram.”

  “I have a theory about that as well. I know it sounds far-fetched, but there is a toxic plant that grows in the Mediterranean region that could impact memory if consumed in a certain way. Euphorbia characias wulfenii—

  also known as wolf weed. Maybe it wasn’t the river waters that made them forget.”

  “You think they made some wolf-weed concoction and served it in that rhyton?”

  “Why not?”

  “I suppose anything is possible.” He crossed his arms. “Now if we could make some connection to the obelisk.”

  She scrolled through the text and pointed to the screen. “There it is.”

  Daniel read aloud. “‘The oracle is above the grove on the mountain. And there is round it a circular wall of stone, the circumference of which is very small, and height rather less than two cubits.’” He paused as he read the next part to himself. He whispered, “Wow.”

  Sarah swiveled her chair around to face him and repeated Pausanias’ words. “‘And there are some brazen pillars and girders that connect them, and through them are doors.’”

  “Brilliant girl.” He looked up and exhaled. He spoke softly, as if to himself. “This could be the answer.”

  She stood. “The answer to what?”

  “Uh . . .” He seemed to fumble for an answer. “I mean the reason. The reason the thieves are seeking the obelisk.”

  “So what do we do with this information?”

  “Keep it quiet for now.” He put a hand on her shoulder and leaned in. “Mention none of this to Evan.”

  She was surprised at his reaction. She’d expected him to be keen to report it to Interpol, or at least the local authorities. Or perhaps to ship the object to a higher-security facility. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he had an agenda she knew nothing about.

  Daniel looked at his watch. “I’ve got to run into town for an errand. Maybe you can work on that impression of the interior of the rhyton. If there is more to the inscription, that could be a valuable clue.”

  “I don’t know how much time I’ll have. Evan will probably be back any minute.”

  “Don’t worry about Evan. He has some meetings.” He winked.

  Sarah knew there were no meetings. All it would take was a text from Daniel to the foundation bigs, who clearly thought more highly of him than they did of the head of the ephorate, to arrange appointments that would keep Evan distracted for a few hours. With Evan out of the way, she could get the job done. She nodded in recognition of the tactic.

  Daniel smiled and turned to leave.

  Sarah watched him walk away. Though she was desperate to know why he was going into town, she didn’t question him. She stroked the Tibetan prayer beads he’d given her, now wrapped three times around her wrist, as if they held the answers to the questions that nagged her: why did Daniel keep disappearing? Who was he answering to? What was he holding back?

  And the one she was loath to admit, even to herself: could she trust him?

  Daniel turned the engine of the Land Rover and gunned the throttle, raising a plume of dust behind him. When the camp was a speck in the rearview mirror, he texted Langham.

  I have what you want.

  Seconds later, the phone rang. Langham did not bother with a greeting. “Talk fast. I’m about to go in with the prime minister.”

  “The obelisk may be part of the original structure surrounding the cave of Trophonius.”

  “I’m not familiar.”

  “It was an oracular center in ancient Greece. The rituals there were mysterious, even terrifying. The cave is described in great detail by a few ancient writers, but nothing that fits those descriptions has ever been found.”

  “The intel we have states the obelisk is a key.”

  “Right. It could be the key that opens the entrance to that cave.” Daniel looked in the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn’t followed. He recognized in himself the instinct of the hunted. His heart beat a little faster. “And what could be in there is anyone’s guess.”

  “Sounds as if you have a theory to test. I want you to take the obelisk to the site and find out if it can be used as a key. Do it today.”

  “Sarah knows. She’s the one who figured it out.”

  “Damn it, Madigan. You were to keep her out of this.” He exhaled sharply. “Whatever you do, do not involve her in the recon. It’s for her own good.”

  “If everything that’s been written about that cave is true, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to do this alone.”

  “You must. It’s not negotiable.”

  “You’re not being reasonable—”

  “Hang on.” Langham’s voice was muffled as he spoke to someone else. When he returned to the call, he sounded rushed. “They’re ready for me. Remember: no mistakes.”

  “James—”

  The line went dead.

  Daniel lowered the window and felt the brisk air cool his brow. He was unsure whether his anxiety sprang from fear or anger, but either way it was unfamiliar ground. He took two deep breaths to calm his racing heart. When that didn’t work, he fumbled inside his pocket for a little blue pill. He swallowed it dry and winced at the bitterness.

  Suck it up, he told himself. It’s almost over.

  He kept driving without a destination, struggling to rein in his thoughts as he mapped out his next move.

  Nine

  Mount Parnassus,

  392 CE

  The girls sat beneath the shade of the old platanus tree, giggling and whispering as they waited for their teacher.

  Aware they could not see her as she came down the hillside from Delphi, Aristea smiled. It warmed her to know they were so eager to learn that they arrived to school before her.

  When Aristea approached, a solemn silence fell over the group. Pointing with her index finger, she counted seven heads. They were all present.

  “Greetings, girls.” Though they were very young, ranging in age from six to twelve, she never called them children, for that term was reserved for boys.

  “Greetings, teacher,” they said in unison.

  She bade them sit on the ground and took her own seat on a tree stump. She brought forward her waist-long braid, wrapped with strips of leather as was the custom for high-born women, and let it rest on her left side. She opened a codex to the marked page and set it on her lap.

  “Now, who can give us a synopsis of yesterday’s lesson?” Seven hands went up. She pointed to a fair-haired girl with round eyes, like those of a frightened doe. “Thalia.”

  The seven-year-old daughter of Thracycles, treasurer of Delphi, stood. “We learned about moderation. All excess, even that of virtue, is anathema for the soul.”

  “Well spoken, Thalia. Let us repeat the doctrine by which we must live our lives.”

  “We must avoid with our utmost endeavor and amputate with fire and sword and by all other means”—the chorus of female voices echoed down the mountain—“from the body, sickness; from the soul, ignorance; from the belly, luxury; from a city, sedition; from a family, discord; and from all things, excess.”

  Aristea gave a satisfied nod to her pupils. They were extraordinary girls, each of them destined to lead. It was why she had taken it upon herself to give them a proper education, just as she had received from the strong women of her family. Without the school beneath the platanus, Greek females would be confined to the traditional lessons of cookery, housekeeping, embroidery, and tending to men, without being seen.

  It wasn’t Aristea’s intent to
undermine men, for she had the utmost respect for many of them, but to stand as their equal.

  She leafed through the codex until she came to the page on which was pasted a piece of papyrus inscribed with Y. She removed it and held it up. “Who can tell me what this is?”

  Erasmia, the youngest of the group, raised a bashful hand.

  With a nod, the teacher granted her permission to speak.

  “Ypsilon, the twentieth letter of our alphabet.”

  “It is true.” Aristea smiled to reward the girl’s participation. “And yet it isn’t.” She shifted her gaze to the rest of the group, meeting every set of eyes to ensure she had their attention. “Sometimes things are not as they seem. Let me tell you a story.

  “A long time ago, a young man walked upon a path for many days, searching for his fortune. As he sat to rest and take water from a spring, he was approached by two women. The first woman wore robes of white and had draped a gossamer veil over her face. She invited the young man to come work at her temple and learn the ways of her people.

  “The second woman wore a purple gown cinched at the waist with a golden thread. From her neck hung strands of lapis lazuli from the East and turquoise from the Persian Empire. She held a silver tray piled high with grapes. She picked up a bunch and offered it to the young man.

  “Now, he had not eaten in many days, so he took the grapes and devoured them greedily. Seeing his hunger, she beckoned him into the chambers of her temple with promises of plenty.” She paused for emphasis. “What do you think the young man did?”

  Themis, the orphan who served as a sweeper at the sanctuary, spoke. “He went to the temple of the woman with the grapes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he didn’t want to be hungry.”

  Aristea nodded. “That’s correct. He followed the woman who promised plenty and shunned the woman who offered work. And what do you think became of him?”

  “He became fat and lazy,” Themis offered.

  “And ignorant,” added Thalia.

  The teacher shared the ending of the story. “He stopped working and seeking, because everything was made ready for him. He gave in to indulgences of the flesh and forgot about the inquiries of the mind. And when war came to his country and his patroness was killed, he was old and unconscious. He had no industry to fall back on, no knowledge of universal truths, no strength of mind. Eventually, he perished without honor at the hands of the enemy.”