"The isles of Greece______.
The isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung."
'Lord Byron'
Sappho
Sings
A fictionalized biography of Psappha (Sup-fah)
The Poetess of Lesbos
All Rights Reserved © 2008, Peggy Ullman Bell
ISBN1438214316
EAN-139781438214313
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
Although based on what is known and rumored about The Poetess , this book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblence to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design © 2008, Peggy Ullman Bell, executed by Pauli Driver Smith, Lady of The Lake Graphic Designs [ladyofthelakedesign.com]
Rainbow Fire graphic © 2006, Associated Press
Portions of SAPPHO SINGS appeared in PSAPPHA, a novel of Sappho, UpStart Publishing, Y2K
Dedicated to Daughters
and
Generations of Daughters
Acknowledgements
Thank you to librarians everywhere, without whom historical novelists could not function. Thank you to all of those who encouraged my attempt to add to the body of literature that surrounds this remarkable woman.
My appreciation to Bliss Carmen, Canada's former poet laureate, whose work with the fragments (Sappho: One Hundred Lyrics, Boston, 1903) provided inspiration for this book and to Henry Thornton Wharton, for the research and motivation behind Carmen's insightful interpretations. (Sappho: Memoir, Text, Selected Renderings and A Literal Translation 1885; 2nd. ed. 1887)
Thanks to Algernon Charles Swinburne whose use of the extant lines drove me to take on this project. (Poems and Ballads, London, 1866)
Special appreciation to Paul Roche and his publisher, for granting permission to include his translation of "Please," which fit my plot so perfectly, I did not have the heart to paraphrase. (The Love Poems of Sappho, Prometheus Books, 1999)
To these and to the many and various others who have translated and interpreted the bits of Psappha's nine books that remain available to us, thank you for keeping her voice alive.
Thank you also to Sonia Johnson for granting me permission to open chapter thirty with her poem.
Bouquets of gratitude to my editor, Tricia Bush, whose patience and editorial expertise gave me the courage and the tools to "get it right." Without her, Sappho's Song would not have proper "seasoning."
To those who say I should've included the fragments I say, "They're here." To those who know Sappho well enough to spot them I say, "Blessed be."
"Psappha, as she (Sappho) called herself in her soft Aeolian dialect
, was born at Eresus, on Lesbos"
excerpt from 'The Life of Greece' by Will Durant'
-- I --
On the opposite side of the island from her birthplace, on a hill above and somewhat south of Mitylene, Psappha leaned her back against the outside of her stepfather's garden wall and stared across open water. The mainland shore remained in shadow as Dawn dressed ancient mountain tops in brilliant white. Soon the sun would move higher to grace the twelve mainland Aeolian cities with early morning light. Near the second to last, a thin column of smoke wafted upward. Whatever vessel had the signal fires ablaze throughout the night was getting closer. It should reach Mitylene by noon.
She edged into the shadows as her mother's husband exited the main gate. His robes drew a dark green line across dew drenched grass as he hurried toward the oleander-shrouded path that led down to The Lady's Park and from there to the beach which would soon be crowded with people headed into the city of New Mitylene to learn what news the night fires foretold.
Despite her mothers repeated warnings of what could happen to her afoot in the city "now that you're almost all grown up", Psappha followed Eurigios (you-ree-GUY-ahs, being careful to not let her former nursemaid catch her. Praxinoa(prax-in-NO-ah) would make her use her mother's sedan chair. "Its curtains will protect you from prying eyes," Praxinoa would have said. They'd also hide everything interesting from me, Psappha secretly replied.
She peered between towering oleanders to catch fleeting teasing glimpses of the twin cities beyond The Lady's Park. When she stepped from between the hedges, Old Mitylene displayed itself before her. Like a jade and ivory cameo, tied with two golden ribbon bridges to the teeming young city on the shore. A jewel in a crescent of noise, Psappha thought as a poem began to form. Before she went to bed, she would inscribe it into the wax tablet that lay always ready on her dressing table.
The ancient city of mansions and gardens rested on an island in the middle of the bay. In the near harbor, the fishing fleet nestled like a flock of many colored ducks. In the deep harbor beyond the bridges a black-sailed trireme strained at anchor. A great chained panther its three rows of oars like claws reaching skyward.
On the farthest shore, The Lady's sacred olive grove stretched away from the beach with young leaves shimmering in dawn-light. Like a thousand needles sewing up the sky.
Eurigios spoke and the next line of some future poem escaped her. "Where do you think you're going, young lady? And, where's your chair?" Eurigios stroked his neatly cropped blond beard in a pretense of age and authority. "Your mother will never forgive me if I allow you to stroll about the city like a street urchin."
Determined, Psappha squared her shoulders to accent small, pointed breasts beneath a clinging Egyptian linen peplos. The ribbons girdling her trim waist held her skirt just above her unpainted toes. "Please," she said, in a studied imitation of her mother's most seductive tone.
Eurigios blinked. "But . . . ." His uncertain demeanor advertised his youth.
Scarcely ten years older than Psappha Eurigios was less than a year older than her brother Charaxos(kare-ak-saus). Maybe that's why Charaxos chose to study with Pythagoras in Croton instead of joining Mother and I in exile.. Or was it because his birth twin Alkaios(al-KAY-aus) left to rent his sword to King Neccho of Egypt? A pity. They used to all be such good friends.
Eurigios paid a high price in friendship to gain my mother's hand. Too bad he never gained her love. But then nobody does except maybe Charaxos. Not even me.
Enveloped as she was in bitter childhood memories, Psappha failed to see the marble bench half hidden in a cluster of azaleas. It nearly toppled her.
"O o oh," she moaned as she collapsed onto the bench. "I've stubbed my toe."
Eurigios paced.
Across the glade, a giggle of girls danced among the trees, following a lithe young woman whose ivory cream skin and long, silver gold hair perfectly defined the generally accepted concept of beauty. If only Mother could have such a child. Long legged, graceful, creamy skinned and golden haired, the dancer was the embodiment of everything Psappha considered beautiful in a human being: The opposite of her abbreviated, olive hided, dark haired self. "Who is she?"
"Who?"
"That marvelous dancer, who is she?"
Eurigios arched a brow, then shrugged and said, "I don't know much about her but if you'll stop dawdling I'll tell you what I do know as we walk."
Psappha hurried ahead of him then turned and walked toward the city backward. "Tell me."
"Most suppose she is Athenian or an Aeolian from the far country. Her coloring is Athenian, like your mother's, but she knew no Hellene when they found her."
"Found her? Where? What is she called?"
"Turn around, Psappha' and walk beside me before you stumble again and fall. Here. Give me your hand. They found her in some wreckage on the beach. That's why they call her Atthis(AT this)."
"Is she really Atthis, Goddess of the Rugged Coast come to live among us?"
"I don't know," Eurigios said. "She could be I suppose. Who knows? From the way Poseidon Earthshaker raged that day, she must at least have his protection."
"Oh, yes." Psappha skip a step to keep pace with him. "I remember. A few weeks ago, Earth trembled greatly as she repulsed Poseidon's advances."
Eurigios nodded. "They discovered Atthis on the beach the next morning."
"Atthis," Psappha whispered. The name tickled her palette.
"Come, Psapph'. You're dawdling again."
The marketplace on the beach in New Mitylene was a wonder of riches from throughout the world and Psappha loved every noisy, stinking inch of it. She would have dashed ahead but for his firm hold on her hand. Fascinated by the crowds, colors and varying smells, she barely noticed the shabbiness of the booths that lined the filthy street.
"Here, little lady, sir," a hawker whined. "The finest wines of the house of Judah. Sweet wine fit only for so beautiful a lady."
"No, no, friend," another pleaded, "only the moon kissed dates of Libya are sweet enough to pass the lips of so fair a child of Aphrodite."
Psappha laughed at their exaggerations. Fair indeed. Ha!
They brushed by another merchant dressed in gaudy foreign garb, his voice dripping honey. "Pay no attention to them, good sir. No wine nor dates can compare with the sweetness of Apollo's succulent, golden globes. From the Sun's own sacred groves I bring you the biggest and the sweetest of his blessed fruits."
Psappha edged through a crowd near the temple of Zeus, pulling Eurigios with her. In the shop there, amid bins of figs, nuts and dried grapes, a dark little man displayed rough gold disks.
"These are what Achaeans use for trade," he said, stroking his small, dark beard. "See the fine image of Aphaea by which they mark them. No more must merchants spend their days in idle bargaining solely to be left with more goods for still more bargaining. Now you can pay us in gold coins and with them we can purchase only that which will sell quickly."
"But, where would we get them?"
Psappha turned her head enough to see who spoke. Near the edge of the crowd, a muscular peasant stood, arms akimbo, eyes prancing.
"From me," said the merchant. "Sell me goods I want and you'll soon have a supply of gold coins."
"Where would I carry them?" the man scoffed. "Do you expect me to carry a basket like a woman?"
Psappha giggled at a mental picture of the huge ruffian with a basket on his head.
The bearded merchant was not amused. "Where else but in your mouth?" he snapped. "I'm sure you could carry a fortune there."
The bleating of a trio of goats being driven into the temple caught Psappha's attention. Their perfect beauty reminded her of her distrust of priests and gods who, unable to bleed painlessly themselves, murdered Gaea's sacred creatures to appease their jealousy.
A grubby merchant in desert robes insinuated a small, jewel encrusted mirror in front of Psappha's frown.
"Ah, sir," he proclaimed, addressing Eurigios. "It is for such beauty as this that my master makes his magic glass."
Psappha turned away from him in a huff and confronted her own image seen full length in a magnificent piece of standing glass.
"Eurigios," she exclaimed bringing her palms together sharply. "You must buy this for Mother."
"I doubt she would like it much right now."
"I know," Psappha admitted, her enthusiasm dampened, "but the reflection is so much clearer than in her polished copper one. You could save it and present it to her as a birthing gift."
"Perhaps it is you who would like it," he teased.
She crinkled her nose. "I have no use for mirrors. Even if I did, I could not let you buy me presents."
"And, why not? You are my wife's daughter and you will marry my brother when he returns. Why should you feel shy with me?"
Psappha hung her head and scuffed the dust with her shoe. How could she tell him that she hated the thought of Alkaios's return? How could she tell that after seven years his beloved younger brother had become a stranger? A stranger to whom my parents betrothed me at birth: A stranger who would trap me in a world of sedan chairs and babes. I want more than that. Unsure as to what that something more might be she decided that hurting Eurigios would be pointless. Instead, she smiled and walked quickly on.
They made their way through the crowds, passing booths bright with fabrics from unknown lands, brought to Mitylene by Phoenician traders -- stalls overflowing with figurines and presided over by stiff bearded Egyptians -- open corrals filled with bellowing cattle. Eurigios hurried her past a refinery where naked slaves stirred great vats of boiling fleece. Psappha sidestepped huge jars of lanolin. She ran past slaughter pens swarming with green flies and held her nose before swine pens deep in slime.
She dawdled near stalls of rare oils, tables strewn with exotic herbs, brocade bedecked bins of rare spice. Eurigios tugged her hand and they stepped onto the quay. Psappha paused once more to admire the sleek, black trireme. A fitting tribute to the shipwrights of Tyre who built her.
Such contrast, she thought as a flamboyant Egyptian dragon ship slid past the black trireme.
"Come, Psapph'. The Egyptian will have news." Eurigios's grip tightened but Psappha held her ground.
From here she could see her ancestral home in the old city, tucked close by the citadel's south wall, close beside the seat of power. As was my father. The House of Scamandronomous(Skam an DRO no maus) should belong to me! Not Charaxos. He left. Our father would want me to have it. And, not this new babe Mother's expecting. Let Eurigios provide for his own.
Eurigios pulled her along as he hurried along the wharf. The pleasing scents of incense, spices and rare oils quickly gave way to the stench of rotting fish and sweating stevedores. The dock nearest the dragon ship gabbled with people. At the very end, a man shouted from atop a bale of papyrus.
". . . on the west bank of the river Euphrates, near its westernmost bend. We camped behind the city. From our fires, we could see Neccho's encampment.
"The enemy arrived at night. Their fires lit most of the riverbank. We did not find out who they were until after the battle. By then, they had pushed us south into Judea. We camped again near Jerusalem.
"The Chaldeans must have been fat with victory. They left us to make our way back to Egypt as best we could, nipping at our heels to keep us moving."
"What of the Lesbians?" someone called from the crowd.
"They fought bravely and well," the man said. "Those who did not fall at Charchemish have earned their wages."
"Where are they now?" another in the throng shouted.
"Many elected to remain in the Pharaoh's new city for Greeks called Naucratis," the man said. "The rest we brought home with us."
Eurigios did not wait to hear more. Psappha ran to keep pace with him.
"Wait!" she gasped.
"I'm sorry," he said when she arrived at his side breathless and panting. "I thought Alkaios might have returned and I forgot everything else."
"It doesn't matter." She sighed as her breathing slowed. "I know how much you love your brother."
They had re-entered The Lady's Park. The stone path crackled beneath their sandals. The dust of the street fell softly from their feet. Psappha glanced over her shoulder, holding Mitylene in her gaze until the trees blocked her view.
"Hurry, Psapph', your mother will be worried."
No she won't.
Eurigios took the hill in sure strides. Psappha's legs seemed to grow shorter the longer they climbed. The way seemed rougher than it had in the morning.
They reached the house to find the outer gate already bolted for the night. Eurigios called to the guard and the gate squeaked open. "Word has come from your father's house," the gatekeeper announced. "Your brother has returned."
Eurigios danced an impromptu jig that ended in an exuberant hug. "I must greet him," he said as he let her go. "Don't look so glum. I'll tell Praxinoa it's my fault you're late." But not before she's boxed my ears. "Torches," he shouted into the darkness. "Tell your mother where I've gone. I won't be long," he called over his shoulder as he hurried away. Two torchbearers ran to precede him.
Psappha slumped through the gate. A large dog growled softly then ambled toward her as she entered the garden. Turquoise black birds scattered in his wake.
Psappha knelt to scratch Gruff's long, drooping ears. Nuzzling his neck while his tail whipped up dust clouds, she watched the strange new birds. They glistened in the sunlight. Their excited clucking tickled her belly. She chuckled softly, not wanting to disturb the old gardener who puttered near the kitchen door. She smiled an apology as he approached.
"The Minorcan merchant said their eggs are finer than duck eggs," the old gardener said.
"I doubt we'll ever convince my mother. Though they're the whitest eggs I've ever seen."
The old man nodded agreement. "The merchant said they rival those of the peahen. Perhaps you could have some prepared without telling her."
"Nothing in this house goes without her notice." Except me.
"I suppose you're right," the old gardener said. "But, if that he bird doesn't stop waking Dawn, I'll wager he gets eaten before the eggs."
Psappha returned his grin. "I don't think I'll take that wager."
Most of her understanding of passing events had come from overheard conversations between this wily old man and her nursemaid, Praxinoa.
As if conjured by a thought, the front door creaked and Praxinoa's presence filled the doorway. Psappha's hands sprang to protect her ears.
"What kept you so late? Don't plug your ears when I'm talking to you. I had a terrible time getting your mother to rest."
"I'm sorry." Psappha lowered her hands and picked at the folds of her peplos. "I was with Eurigios."
"Of course you were. Eurigios left half an hour ago."
Psappha breathed in as much false confidence as her chest would hold. "I was in the garden trying to find the right words to tell Mother that he's gone to welcome Alkaios. I didn't want her to be angry with him."
"It's you she's displeased with. I had to tell her where you've been all day. This will be your last childish jaunt, I'm sure."
Psappha hung her head.
"Change your dress and wash the city from your feet before you see her."
* * *
Psappha's satin slippers made no sound as she slipped into her mother's chamber. The room was huge and trimmed throughout with precious purple and intricate 'broidery. A great lavender-veiled bed dominated one corner; an orchid draped chaise at its foot.
Klies(KLEE ace) reclined upon it, the back of one hand shading her closed eyes while a servant girl brushed pale hair that glistened like sun drenched sacred spider webs. The sheer violet linen of her gown parted below her distended abdomen to frame long, slender legs. A second slim, perfectly manicured hand lay over her voluptuous breasts. Psappha remembered when her mother's nails had been cracked and broken, when, in the bad times following Scamandronomos's death there was no time for pampering and the purple dye had been too dear. Was that when I failed her? Did she turn cold because she needed rest and all I did was cry for her to hold me?
She took a step closer to the chaise, silently catching the servant's attention.
"Mind you don't wake her," the girl whispered as she passed Psappha the brush. "To awaken a pregnant woman is to endanger the life within."
Psappha perched on the edge of the servant girl's stool. Superstitious nonsense, she thought as she continued the brushing of her mother's hair without missing a stroke. The long, moon gold tendrils entwined her fingers like gossamer silk. Strands of downy hair draped themselves across her lap. She wished that she could weave a kiton of them and walk forever with its kiss upon her skin.
After about ninety strokes, she decided Klies was asleep. Silently signaling the girl, she whispered, "Come for me the instant she awakes."
Klies's azure-blue eyes opened wide and threatening. "Must you come in here chattering like a blue monkey every time I try to rest?"
"I'm sorry," Psappha choked through a hidden sob. She had broken a primary rule. Klies was not to be upset, yet she invariably managed to do exactly that. In a fluster of movement, she sprang to her feet and fluffed Klies's cushions. "Eurigios sent me. He told me to tell you he was called away. His brother has returned."
"I know."
Psappha sighed. I should have been first with the news. "He said to tell you he'd return soon."
"With the dawn no doubt. No matter. It will give us time to talk. Here. Come. Sit by me. That's better," she added as Psappha returned to the servant girl's stool. "It's time to plan your wedding."
Psappha flinched. "Can't we do that tomorrow?"
"Now that Alkaios has returned, there's no reason to wait. Your marriage has been postponed far too long already."
Psappha felt as if her mind was on fire. An emotional fever ran through her veins as she tried to recall his face.
"Psappha? You're shivering, dear. Run lower the tapestry over the window."
"I'm not cold," Psappha responded honestly, and then went to lower the tapestry.
The moment she returned, Klies continued. "We must set a date,"
"Yes, ma'am. I s'pose we must."
By Aphrodite's sandals!" Klies swung her long legs off the side of the couch and sat up. "One would think you'd be pleased."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why must I marry? I have my songs. I could hire myself out to sing at other's weddings."
"You're much too old to waste your time plucking your lyre, longing for glory that will never come. You'll have enough glory in Alkaios's shadow. If he'll still have you. Every woman needs a husband."
"Why?"
"Why to raise your children of course."
"I don't need children."
"Of course you need children. Every woman needs children."
You don't need me. Psappha hung her head, avoiding the impatience in Klies's eyes. What good to be the daughter of kings when my own mother thinks I'm ugly? I'd rather be a golden haired goose girl. She blushed as she remembered things overheard from goose girls and shepherd boys while hidden in the orchard.
"Don't you want to be loved?"
"Of course but why must I marry?"
"Why? Because. That's why."
"I will not marry just because."
"You will marry whom and when you are told."
"I won't!"
Klies slapped her. Psappha jumped to her feet, threw the brush across the room and kicked the stool after it. "I won't! I'll weep and wail and cut my hair."
"You'll do no such thing."
"I will. I will." Psappha paced the room, keeping just out of view, measuring her thoughts. "I'll wed when and if I'm ready or I'll go to my marriage bed veiled in black with hair no longer than a robin's tail. And I won't wed a stranger; Eurigios's brother or no. I'd rather spend the rest of my life in The Lady's temple. I saw what happened to Dika. She married against her will and she's not played or sung a note since. The Lady revoked her gift."
"That's enough, Psappha. You will marry Alkaios and that's that. It's what your father wanted."
Psappha plunked her hands on her hips and glared. "That's not fair. Everything I don't want to do is 'what your father wished'. My father didn't want to die but that didn't stop him."
Klies looked as if Psappha had hit her. Now I've done it. What was it the girl said? Too awaken… but she's already awake so maybe it's all right. In a fluster of fear for her unborn sister, Psappha hastily fluffed Klies's cushions and eased her among them. "I'm sorry", she said and this time she meant it. "I'll go. You need to rest."
"No." Klies retrained her with a light touch on her arm. "Stay. We can talk about weddings another time."
Must we? "Can't it wait until after my sister is born?"
Klies smiled. "Sister?"
"Of course a sister." Psappha retrieved her mother's brush. With the hairbrush once more in her hand, she resumed her brushing as deftly as she sometimes stroked the strings of her lyre.
The lyre Alkaios made me after Charaxos failed to teach my immature fingers the secrets of his kithara. She remembered the day he gave it to her. That was the day she decided she'd be a notable in The Congress of Poets someday. She couldn't wait to tell Alkaios but when she did, he laughed. "Only men receive invitations from that exalted bunch". We'll see, she remembered thinking. We'll see.
She wished she could share her dream with her mother. But she'd laugh too and I couldn't stand it. Instead, she shared another. "The child you carry will be a beautiful little golden sister to grow up looking just like you."
"For shame, Psappha. Such flattery. You shouldn't defy the gods. They'll get jealous."
"It isn't flattery when it's true. You're beautiful. I can't wait to see you dance at the summer festivals. Oh-h-h," she groaned with exaggerated grief. "I can't possibly marry without you there to dance."
Klies sniggered. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps we should delay the wedding until after the birth. I have but one daughter. I will want to dance at your marriage feast. Perhaps Alkaios will agree to wait for the youngest guest." She cast a wry smile toward her abdomen.
Psappha was hard put to hide her exultation. The child is not due for weeks. There's ample time for everyone to change their mind.
Klies covered a yawn with the back of her hand.
Psappha settled a coverlet around her. "Rest now," she said. "We'll talk tomorrow." Tomorrow you'll be too busy.
* * *
Later, in her own chamber, Psappha devoured the fresh fruit and nuts that Praxinoa had left for her. Praxinoa had prepared her for sleep since before she could remember. This night, Psappha was glad she wasn't there. She needed time alone to sort her thoughts. Her mind was a maze of questions she didn't want to think about. Instead, she covered her doubts with Praxinoa's habitual questions. What did you do all day? Did you study your Homer? Did you make any new songs?
When that no longer worked, she left her clothes in a rumple on the floor and snuggled into bed where she hugged her goose down pillow and scrunched her eyelids tight. But Morphios was busy elsewhere and his dream evoking son Hypnos was nowhere to be found.
Toward midnight, she got up, took up her lyre and went to perch, nude, on the sill of the open arch that served her as a window. At first, her touch on the strings was automatic; her throaty alto voice doleful as she sang, "Maidenhood, maidenhood why wouldst thou fly from me? Golden-tressed Lady of the pure and beautiful, take pity on thy daughter. Lady of the pure and beautiful, Electrum crowned Majesty, have mercy," she sang to Aphrodite but it was Klies she envisioned on the peacock throne. "I am to wed a man I no longer know."
After a time, as always, her music brought her calm and comfort and finally, inevitably, joy. Her fingers danced upon the sacred strings; composing; creating prayer-songs of such beauty and power that she was herself amazed by The Lady's gifts.
The heavy throb of a kithara vibrated through the night and she missed a note. A moment later, she joined the unseen kitharist in an ode to Eros that caused her pulse to quicken. Each note blended with those of her dulcet lyre.
The tempo increased as the kitharist led her into a rousing paean to Pan. She recognized the melody. It was one she heard often as a child. She blushed, remembering when Alkaios taught her the paean's naughty words. She sighed almost with relief when the irreverent paean strummed to a close.
Her rest was brief. A moment and then the twang of martial music stormed the night. The composition, an intricacy of trills and patterns designed to defeat the skill of a lesser artist was one Psappha had never heard but she quickly rose to the kitharist's challenge then followed with a new piece of her own. The kithara quieted, as if the kitharist had faltered. Not so. When she finished her piece, the challenger continued.
Psappha picked up the next tune with little effort. This time she recognized the song. It was a toast to wine and roistering, played as only Alkaios could play it. She recalled the first time she heard it. She was nine. A week later he was gone.
Now, as their duet carried her back to childhood yesterday when encumbering responsibilities had been a distant illusion she set aside her distaste for his martial compositions, his fascination for war and wine, and heard only the interwoven harmony. Alkaios was her teacher and her friend. She had forgotten that she missed him.
As she matched his kithara with her grown up lyre, perfect harmony brought back the beauty of his face. It was a boy's face. But he is no longer a boy!
"A lovely being, scarcely formed or molded,
a rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded."
'Byron'
-- II --
The next day, Psappha posed beside a mirror pool in the orchard above the house. Eurigios's & Alkaios's family home was farther up the hill. Wherever he chooses to go, he'll pass this way. Her fingers tested the strings of the lyre on her lap. When she heard footsteps, she began to sing her newest lyric.
"Oh, Lady Earth, with bright feathered birds singing in your hair, how tenderly you draw your hills of embroidered green velvet around you. The Sea stretches strong arms to embrace you. The pulsating voice of Poseidon joins Gaea's song in a passionate duet to life."
While she sang, she studied Alkaios's reflection in the pool. He lounged against an ancient apple tree, seeming a part of its strength. The plume on his worn helmet reminded her of the Minorcan he bird's roguish tail. He's more handsome than Eurigios, she decided. Not an easy thing to accomplish. Sunbeams added burnished highlights to the reflection of his silver blond hair. His fine square jaw was bare as an Athenian's and tanned as dark as an Egyptian's. His eyes, accented by bronzed skin, looked pale as a perfect blue sky, their whites as clear as milk, the luxuriant lashes shading them were palest gold.
He wore a simple, abbreviated tunic, belted at the waist. She averted her gaze from the leather sheathed sword and concentrated instead on the pale down that covered his well muscled, darkly tanned arms and legs. His limbs and his bared right shoulder glistened with oil. The breeze shifted and her nose twitched in reaction to the sharp, cinnamon smell of him, her nostrils flaring in response to his beauty. Soldiering has rendered him more fit than his sedentary brother.
"S'pha," he said. "I've brought you a present."
His voice flowed through her like the hot honey and ginger with which Praxinoa battled the winter cold. She turned her head slowly. The urge to spring to her feet and run to him was strong, but she resisted. It would be unseemly. A woman must maintain her dignity.
"Don't you want to see it?"
Calling up ever scrap of poise she owned, Psappha rose and strolled toward him, being careful that her hips did not cause any sway of her skirt.
"Well," he drawled, "if you're not interested . . ."
He swung his arm as if to throw the gift away.
In her rush to rescue it, Psappha tripped on her hem. Baritone laughter convulsed around her. She stood before him, so angry with herself she trembled.
"What is it, child? I didn't mean to frighten you."
Child is it? I'll show him who's a child. Psappha planted her fists on her hips and stared up at him. "Open your eyes, Alkaios. I'm no more a child than you are. You let my size deceive you."
Psappha's spirit shrank beneath his scrutiny. Why did I ask him to look at me? He'll see how dark and ugly I am. Oh, Aphrodite, Gracious Lady, I must wed this man. Please make me lovely in his sight.
Alkaios took both of her hands in his and drew her closer.
The doeskin of his vest kissed her cheek and its leathery smell relaxed her. She took a step back. Determined to impress him, she raised herself on tiptoes and reached as if to remove his helmet. Instead, she used the helmet straps to pull his head down. Her curious lips met willing response.
Alkaios molded her body to his. When he released her, he held her at arms length and whispered, "No, Psappha, you are no longer a child."
The sensations of the kiss intrigued Psappha. She longed to pursue them just to see where they led. Alkaios stooped to pick up the dropped ebony chest then held it out to her. The wood felt warm and damp from his hands. Her fingers tingled as she opened the lid. Inside the little box, a painted figurine reposed on white silk. Psappha lifted it out with a thrill of recognition.
The Ophidian's bare breasted, seven tiered gown seemed molded to fit between her fingers, the ivory warming quickly in her palm, as if the ancient goddess still lived and wrestled her up thrust snakes to invoke a special blessing just for her.
Psappha felt a blush rising and hurriedly replaced the statuette in its silky nest. She snapped the lid and thrust the tiny chest toward Alkaios. "The time for fertility goddesses will come soon enough," she said, hoping the artificial chill in her voice would cover her sudden embarrassment. "Perhaps you should keep your gift until then." Afraid to trust herself to say another word, she left him.
Halfway home she plunked down under her favorite apple tree. "How could I have acted like such a child?" she asked the blossoms above her head. A silly simple child. He is so beautiful and I am such a goose. Thank Zeus our parents pledged us as children. If the troth were not already spoken, he wouldn't have me and I'd have to stay Maiden forever. Forgotten were her thoughts of the day before. Forgotten her fears of marriage and lost freedom; replaced by the terror of becoming a social outcast. It was fame she sought not notoriety.
"Hera, thou wicked. Why could you not make me blond and beautiful like my mother?"
She sniffed and snuffled until the crying stopped, then trudged home, smudged and crumpled.
Eurigios stopped her as she stepped inside.
"Have you seen Alkaios?"
"Your brother is a blind, arrogant bull."
"Oh, so you have seen him."
"Yes, I've seen him. I made such a fool of myself I'll never be able to face him again."
Eurigios chuckled.
Psappha flinched. "Don't laugh. He thinks I'm still in swaddling and I proved I should be."
"It can't be that bad, S'pha."
Psappha parked her fists on her hips and glared up at him. "You've been talking with him about me."
"No, Little One, Alkaios and I had more important things to discuss."
"Don't lie! Why else would you call me 'S'pha? That's his secret name for me." She stared at him until he offered a penitent smile.
"All right, yes, we talked about you after your moonlight duet last night. He was understandably curious after all this time. You were a child when he left."
"In his eyes, I still am," she said. "I just proved it."
"Psappha stop. Alkaios couldn't help seeing how lovely you are."
"Lovely? By Cyclops's eye, Eurigios, you must be blind as your brother."
Eurigios shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You'll have to face him soon in any case. He's joining us for dinner."
"I'll stay in my chambers."
"No, you won't. Your mother's not feeling well. That's why I waited for you. I need you to preside at dinner in her place."
"I won't."
"You will. We have guests."
"I won't, and that's the end of it."
"Be reasonable, Psappha. Now that Alkaios is back, your mother's pregnancy is all that postpones your wedding. People will expect to see you at his side. Did you know he arranged for construction of your home before he paid his respects to our mother?"
"The soldier's life has made him anxious to fill his bed."
Eurigios roared with laughter. "A full bed is probably the one thing Neccho's troops didn't lack. From what I've heard, Nebuchadnezzar took more women than prisoners. Now go and prepare to serve our guests."
Psappha hesitated a moment more to establish her maturity then she slowly turned to leave. Eurigios swatted her bottom and she scooted toward her waiting governess.
Praxinoa had cleared away all the clutter left from morning. A purple kiton laid spread upon her bed. On the table next to it, in its normal place, was her lyre. Next to the lyre, as if it had always been there, stood the ivory figurine. Psappha stomped across the room and snatched it up. "How did this get here?"
"A servant of the master's brother brought it," Praxinoa said. "Should I send it back?"
"No. Leave it." Psappha placed the statuette in a more prominent position on the table then turned away. "I don't have time to think about it now. I have to take Mother's place at dinner." As she crossed the room, she released the scarabs at her shoulders and the kiton she'd been wearing fluttered to the floor. She caught a glimpse of her naked form in the mirror above her dressing table and she frowned. Still frowning, she slipped into the waiting tub, closed her eyes and imagined herself caressing the dancer in the park. Blossom scented steam caressed her blush. Her breasts pinked from the heat of the water then swelled as she imagined Alkaios's sun dark hands against their virgin olive oil tone. Her thoughts made her skin itch. She ran small, strong hands over her body and wondered if there was any way to make the itching stop.
Eurigios burst into the room like a storm borne leaf, all red, and gold and crackly. "Psappha, do hurry."
Psappha jumped to her feet. Eurigios grinned as Praxinoa hastily shrouded Psappha in dry linen. "Hurry, beautiful one, our guests are waiting."
"Stop teasing. I'm almost ready."
"I'm not teasing. You are beautiful and when you sing, the sky opens for the Olympian's applause. You should sing for Alkaios."
"I'll never sing for your haughty brother again. He'd probably pat me on my head and send me back to Praxinoa."
"Not if he glimpsed you as I just did."
Psappha's hairbrush barely missed his ear. He chuckled softly then ducked out of her room. When she was sure he was gone, she donned the purple kiton, checked the scarabs at her shoulders then braided the last of the season's lilacs into her hair. She could not sit, as Klies did, and let another fool with her hair. The thought of it gave her goose bumps. "Ready?" At Praxinoa's nod, she hurried to the banquet hall, with a fast detour through the kitchen to give the cook her final instructions.
Once within the banquet hall, she had not a minute to herself. She threaded her way between the couches as one guest after another commanded her attention. The women among them pretended not to notice when their companions reached to caress the nude cupbearers, raising a squeal or mock protest from the handsome boys with a well placed pinch.
Eurigios rose to greet her when she reached the dais. "Good health and welcome milady."
From the couch at his right, a man she did not recognize seemed able to see through her dress. Eurigios intervened. "You dishonor the daughter of my house, Pittakos."
Pittakos! (Pit tah KAUS) Psappha spat the name in her mind. What business does Eurigios have with Pittakos? Her guess churned her stomach. She spoke with painful courtesy.
"It's been many years since you've graced this family with your presence, Pittakos."
Eurigios looked puzzled. "You've met before?"
"Not exactly, Stepfather. I remember the name from my childhood."
The man she held responsible for her father's death rose to unsteady feet, a gleaming goblet spilling in one hand. Taking her hand with the other, he turned it over and slurped a kiss into her palm. Bowing to her breasts, he said, "I, Pittakos, beg your forgiveness milady. I'm afraid I mistook you for one of the dancers. One forgets that Eurigios heads so mature a household."
Psappha felt his voice enclose her in an unwelcome embrace.
"Will you share my couch?"
The question was so loaded she hung her head in confusion then peeked up at Eurigios. From the corner of her eye, she could see that Pittakos's slur had stung him. Before she could decide her next move, she felt an arm encircle her waist and she cringed. Then, glancing up, her eyes met Alkaios's smoldering gaze and her distaste subsided. "The Lady Psappha will dine with me.
Like the others, Alkaios was nude to the waist, his body sweet and sleek with scented oil, his hair glistening with pomade. As she took her place beside him, he caressed her cheek then laid her head against his chest. She snuggled into the crook of his arm and tried to ignore her surroundings. The men's voices hummed in her ears like distant bees.
"... and so, Eurigios, the time is near when . . ."
"I know, Pittakos, but . . ."
Psappha forced herself to focus on the food and disregard their conversation. She selected a bit of fresh vegetable from the bowl on the small table beside Alkaios's couch. She licked herbed vinegar and olive oil from her fingers. Alkaios tucked a bit of roast duckling into her mouth and wiped his kithara string calluses on a chunk of steaming barley bread. Psappha crinkled her nose with pleasure and smiled her thanks as servants replaced their bowls with plates of anchovies fried with nettles and cloves; a special favorite of hers that improved the already superb flavor of the bread.
Silence prevailed while Eurigios ceremoniously watered the wine. When he finished, Pittakos resumed his argument.
"Do you really believe the lives of your family will be worth anything if we allow Melanchros to continue turning Lesbian law into a misbegotten mire of an imbecile's mental abortion?"
"They will be alive." Eurigios countered tiredly.
"You are a fool!"
Alkaios snatched his arm from behind Psappha and sprang to his feet, glaring at Pittakos. "How dare you insult my brother over his wine? Even a common born lout like you should know better than to abuse your host. If Melanchros is an ass in armor, he's your ass in armor. You originated the coup that set him over us and cost us our fathers."
Pittakos scrunched his brow. Standing, he still had to look up to meet Alkaios's eyes.
"I came here to ask for help. I intend to rid Mitylene of a jackass, to borrow your analogy, with your help or without it."
"Another invitation to death Pittakos?"
Psappha had not intended to speak. Now that she had, she wished she were a turtle and could pull in her head.
"Do you find politics intriguing, milady Psappha?"
She winced. His disdainful tone hurt. "I try not to think of politics at all but yours appear to threaten those dear to me."
Pittakos slumped onto his couch and raised his goblet for a refill.
Psappha took his posturing as a deliberate attempt to nullify her importance.
Alkaios reseated himself, hugged her close and grinned, apparently amused by the novelty of having a young woman further his argument for him.
Psappha seethed with resentment. She didn't like being patronized, nor did she appreciate being someone's personal entertainment. She would deal with Alkaios later. As for Pittakos, she knew he needed the old families to lend respectability to his disastrous plans. He dared not let the subject drop. She formed arguments in her mind as she waited. Soon he continued in a more conciliatory tone.
"You think do you, daughter of Scamandronomos that I am a threat?"
"You? Certainly not. But, the course you suggest can hardly lead to peaceful living."
"Life has been peaceful for you, milady. You are most fortunate. You've been well protected, and, I suspect, you always will be. Some of us have not found life so pleasant."
"Well protected? Was I well protected when you and your ideas cost me my father and my proper home?"
"You're too young to understand."
"But not too young to suffer from his loss," she countered, angry and insulted by his obvious disdain. "Because of you and your precious politics, I lived an orphan in ugly Phyrrha while my betrothed enlisted in a foreign war and my brother ran off to study elsewhere. Even now, strangers enjoy my rightful home. How can you be sure your precious politics won't bring me further pain?"
"No one can be sure of that. We can only hope."
"And while you are hoping, men die."
"Yes, men die. Men will always die for what they believe to be right."
"For what who believes to be right? One man? A few men? You? Or the men who will do your fighting? Men with families? Mother's sons? Women's husbands? Fathers will fight and fathers will die. For what, Pittakos? Will their fatherless daughters appreciate your better life if they must live it alone? I can tell you I didn't. Not then and not now."
"Men must fight . . ."
"...and women must wait. What drivel. Do you think to console anyone with that?"
Pittakos reached for another flagon of wine. "It is not my place to console anyone, milady. I will try to build a better life for the people of Mitylene, and for all of Lesbos, in whatever way I can."
Psappha could sit no longer. She jumped to her feet and, in two strides, stood glaring down at him; her fists pushing at her hips; her nails gouging her palms.
"It's not your place to console anyone," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Then whose place is it? You want to stage a re assumption of power in which many will die and yet you expect to come out of it pure and beautiful with no responsibility for the pain you've caused."
All eyes had fixed themselves on Psappha but she saw only Pittakos. She almost shouted down at him. "I cannot understand how bloodshed can be the answer to anything. War is nothing but the greed of one man pitted against the greed of another."
Pittakos appeared undisturbed by her tirade. His next words and the trace of pity in his tone increased her agitation.
"I do not expect you to understand the true situation, milady. You have been sheltered from the deplorable conditions in Mitylene, as you should be."
"You do not expect me to understand. You do not attempt to explain. Then how, pray Zeus, do you expect the people to understand?"
She was beginning to tire from the searing force of her own anger. A deeply drawn breath helped her to continue.
"You say that conditions are terrible. Surely, nothing could be so bad that destroying Mitylene is the only way to fix it. What do the people think? They are the ones who must fight your battle. Have you asked them if they want change? Are yours the changes they want? Have you asked them for their help?"
She noticed tiny beads of sweat piercing the oil on his forehead and she laughed. From the corner of her eye, she saw Alkaios raise his goblet. "Gentle friends and guests, Lady Psappha suggests that Pittakos go to the people for aid. What say you?"
Psappha blinked as the hall erupted with noise. Goblets clattered to the floor. Chairs and couches screeched on the tiles. She had forgotten him. In her anger, she had forgotten all of them. Now she retreated, her courage scared away by mass confusion. She did not resist when Alkaios pulled her down beside him, placed her head again on his shoulder and continued taunting Pittakos.
"Come, my fine man of the people," he drawled. "Shall we put the question before your public? Shall we ask the populace if the husband of Drako's sister shall be their choice of leaders?"
Raised voices blended into a babble of bawdy aspersions as the diners gathered behind Alkaios. Pittakos looked like a man about to be stoned. His wife was a known and some said unrepentant porna. His words came out cracked.
"I came here to solicit your help for the sake of the city," he said. "I did not expect unanimous acceptance, nor did I expect ridicule. Eurigios? Are these your sentiments also? Or, does your insolent young brother speak only for himself?
Eurigios glanced at Alkaios. "It's never the intention of this household to insult a guest," he said reprovingly. "My brother's betrothed is young," he added as if to give Psappha a reprieve based on immaturity. "Nevertheless, I must admit the young ones have a point. Perhaps the common people should have a voice."
Pittakos seemed to wilt. Minute beads of sweat grew to rivulets that trickled toward his beard.
"Very well," he said; his gravel tone voice barely audible. "I will ask the people."
"And if the people decide against you?" Psappha regretted a little her part in creating his embarrassing predicament, but, since the situation already existed, she saw no reason not to pin him down. "Will you give up your dangerous plan if the people refuse to follow you?"
Pittakos seemed unaware of the sweat that dripped from his beard to join the meat juices stuck to the mat on his chest.
"Yes, milady, before this company, I give my word. If the people reject my leadership, I will not press it on them."
"What good is your word?" Alkaios put in. "Our fathers had your word, but you chose Melanchros over them. Now that you see your mistake, you expect us to trust you. We aren't the fools you think."
Pittakos's dark smile came nowhere near his eyes. "The people will decide."
Alkaios hugged Psappha approvingly and whispered, "That was something."
Psappha sighed. "It was not intended as a joke. When he fails to rally the people, we'll hear no more of war until the next idiot evolves," she said more to convince herself than Alkaios or anyone else who might be listening. The two of them had gathered more than their share of attention. She shivered when Alkaios echoed her uncertainty.
"He may not fail. What he says about Melanchros is true. The mercenaries may decide that returning to be ruled by a donkey is intolerable."