Sappho's Leap (11 page)

We arrived at Isis' domain and had to wait, as usual, to be admitted as she saw her full complement of clients seeking advice about the future.

Finally, we were admitted to her chambers.

Isis solemnly took the scroll and unrolled it. She read it once, then read it again.

“What does it say?” I asked impatiently.

“Let me read,” Isis said. “It is from your brother Charaxus in Naucratis. It was clearly written by an Egyptian scribe.”

“
My beloved sister
,” he writes. “
It is my unhappy duty to tell you that your beloved husband Cercylas of Andros breathed his last yesterday. As you may know, Naucratis is renowned for its great Egyptian physicians. We called one named Anhkreni, who had attended the great Pharaoh Necho himself and was known for cures of all digestive ills. He made many potions
—
herbs compounded with mother's milk, essences of grass, of tortoises, of dung
—
but Cercylas was too far gone. His liver had hardened like a great rock and his eyes and skin were yellow. Cures availed us not. All our best efforts failed. I fear that trading in the fabled wines of our native island only hastened his end. He could not keep out of the amphora once it was unsealed and each night he drank until he dropped. Many times he was warned of his overfondness for the elixir of Dionysus, but he could not refrain. He drank his wine unmixed and would not hear of diluting it. The riot and lustiness of Naucratis had an ill effect on him. The flute girls and acrobats played on his weaknesses in order to steal his gold. I feared it would come to this. Take heart! I share your grief Your loving brother, Charaxus.
”

My heart took flight when I heard this missive. It felt like a bird straining to fly out of my chest. Free! I was free of Cercylas! And then I immediately felt guilt for rejoicing at his death.

“I know how you grieve, Sappho,” Isis said. “Let me comfort you.”

“Go home, Prax,” I said, “and tell my mother I will return soon.”

“How soon?” Prax asked bitterly, but, grudgingly, she did as she was told.

Isis and I went away to our private cave under the house and laughed until we cried.

Isis' arms were round and muscular yet slim. The space between her breasts smelled of roses and oranges. After our ecstasies of mutual release, I leaned over to kiss her there. She pulled away.

“You must go to Egypt,” she said gravely, “and protect your legacy.”

“My brothers would not steal from me.”

“Perhaps they would not, but they might love women who
would
. You know how weak men can be. If you go, I will join you as soon as I'm able.”

We went back upstairs to Isis' consulting chamber. There her clients waited impatiently to hear the future. As if time didn't go quickly enough, humans feel they have to hurry it with prophecies.

Waiting among Isis' followers was a fat bearded man, dressed like a Lydian nobleman, and covered in golden trinkets—chains, hanging seals, rings, all manner of gewgaws. He looked at me steadily. His eyes seemed to penetrate my chiton.

I looked away. Then I looked back at him. He nodded at me.

“You are the singer Sappho?” he asked.

I was thunderstruck. I didn't immediately answer.

“Alcaeus of Lesbos would have news of you.”

“And who are you?” I asked.

“I am Cyrus of Sardis,” the fat man said. “I met Alcaeus at the court of Alyattes, where he is much in favor.”

“Alcaeus of Lesbos?” I asked. “Where is he now?” The excitement in my voice immediately alerted Isis.

“Who
is
this Alcaeus of Lesbos?” she asked.

“If you ask me, he is smitten with a certain singer called Sappho,” Cyrus of Sardis said.

Isis looked stricken. “Tell me who he is!”

“Only my singing teacher from Lesbos,” I said to them both.

“Know then that he is now the favorite of the king of Lydia and enjoys much power in the Lydian court from which I come. He advises the great king of Lydia about how to spend his gold. He has been sent to Delphi to consult the oracle on behalf of the king.”

“That oracle knows nothing!” Isis said, her eyes flashing in anger. “She is a fraud!”

I had never seen Isis so upset. Was she upset about a rival lover or a rival oracle?

“The priests control her every utterance,” said Isis. “They drug her and keep her in a state of twilight consciousness, then bring her out to babble nonsense so they can exact tribute. The whole shrine at Delphi is a fraud!”

Cyrus threw up his stubby hands. “I have no doubt that better oracles exist, but the great King Alyattes swears by that one. He says that the sacred mists fill the mind with visions of times to come. He has sent Alcaeus there to divine the future of his empire.”

“Then he is a fool,” Isis said, “and he will come to grief.”

“I have no doubt you are right,” said Cyrus, “but who can argue with great rulers?”

Isis stormed out of the waiting area and left me alone with Cyrus of Sardis.

“Tell me—is Alcaeus well? Is he happy?”

“Not happy without you, my lady.”

At this my heart leapt. I may have been momentarily besotted with Isis, but still I longed to see Alcaeus. The strength of my feelings for both of them confused me.

“How can I find him?” I asked Cyrus.

“He will doubtless pass much time in Delphi, awaiting the oracle's words.”

“I cannot be with my daughter here and in Delphi and Egypt at the same time,” I sighed.

“Perhaps you require a courier to do your bidding? I could be your courier, courtier, right-hand man about the house. I could bring your messages to Alcaeus. Perhaps I could convince him to follow you here or meet you elsewhere. Say the word. Your wish is my command.”

Why did this Lydian stranger make me suspicious? How could I be sure he really knew Alcaeus as well as he implied?

“I will think about your offer,” I said. “Come call on me when you have seen Isis and know your future better.”

Cyrus prostrated himself before me, his gold gewgaws jingling. There was something about him I didn't like.

“The world is a dangerous place, Lady Sappho,” said the stranger. “In Babylon, Nebuchadnezzar is preparing who knows what bloody horrors. In Egypt, Necho seeks to return that land to its former glory. Alyattes of Lydia seeks to rule the whole known world—and he has the gold to do it. The Persians are gathering force and want to overmaster all their neighbors. The Greeks are in turmoil both at home and in their colonies. The gods have abandoned us to charlatans and false prophets. We have fallen far from the purity of Homer's heroes. A woman needs a protector and I can be that for you. Syracuse is great, but it is not the only city on earth. A fabled singer like yourself can tour the known world singing and earning untold riches—Delphi, Athens, Ephesus, Dodona, Naucratis, Samos, Chios. As our world crumbles into gold dust, the newly rich everywhere seek poets to sing their praises. They will pay dearly for the privilege. I can do this for you—trade your songs for gold—if only you let me.”

“I sing to honor Aphrodite, not for gold.”

“Ah—that may have worked in the old heroic days, but now gold is the only measure men believe in. Your scruples hold you back. They will impoverish you. You dream of the gods—but the gods are dead. They cannot intervene on your behalf. Only gold gleams where the gods used to be.”

I thought of how I might answer him, but before I could say a word, Isis' handmaiden appeared to usher him into her chamber.

I was so troubled by the choices Isis and Cyrus had proposed that when I got home I asked Praxinoa for her counsel.

“A slave cannot tell her mistress what to do,” Praxinoa said angrily.

“Even if the mistress asks?”

“Why now?” Prax asked. “You have Isis to counsel you and also your mother. You hardly asked
my
counsel when you bedded Alcaeus or Isis.” I looked at her in shock. Had I been so indiscreet? I myself had told her about Alcaeus. But she also knew everything about Isis.

“What do you know of my life?” Prax asked in a fury. “I know everything about you and you know nothing of me! You do not even know where I come from. My parents found me on a mountaintop near Eresus, where I had been abandoned by my father. They raised me tenderly till the age of six, then sold me to your grandfather. I feel lucky to be alive even if I am a slave. I am lucky not to be in a brothel or on a treadmill. My choices are not your choices. You are free.”

“Free! What does it mean?” I asked. I had never felt so trapped by my own conflicting feelings.

“It means making choices,” Praxinoa said, “even if you do not know what choices to make. But you are confused because you have too many choices. You think you can love your child, love Isis, love Alcaeus, and be comforted by me when no one else is around. You want everything. You accept no limits. But the gods have been watching you and judging your hubris. Come! Look at what the gods have done to your daughter!”

She led me to the nursery, where we found my mother and the wet nurses huddled over baby Cleis. The baby was burning with fever. She squalled and cried and would take no nourishment. Was she doomed to follow Cercylas to the Land of the Dead?

We bathed her in tepid water to bring down the fever, made sacrifices to the gods, called the most learned doctors. All my confusion of choices dwindled to a point. Would the child live or die? Past and future disappeared. There was only the squalling of the baby and its fever, the smell of baby vomit and shit, the eternal present.

Philosophy disappears at moments like this. Twenty adults hover over a tiny child, importuning the gods for help. I remembered that the Egyptians had the best spells for protecting infants and I sent Praxinoa for Isis. She grumbled, but she went.

After what seemed an interminable pause, Isis appeared, resplendent in her pleated silken robes. She shooed all the helpers out of the room, and began to work a piece of raw linen into seven bulging knots, hang it about the babe's neck, and chant:

This is a spell

For a knot, for a fledgling:

Are you hot in the nest?

Are you burning in the bush?

Is your mother not with you?

Does your sister not Jan you?

Is there no nurse to offer protection?

Let there be brought a pellet of gold,

Forty beads, a carnelian stone

With a crocodile and hand on it

To drive out this demon of desire,

To fell these enemies from the dead.

You shall break out!

This is a protection!

Horus child, I am Isis.

I protect the lives I make.

Isis produced the gold pellet, the forty beads, and the carnelian stone with the crocodile and hand upon it. She chanted the spell again. And again. She laid the beads upon the baby's body. Then she laid her hands all over the baby's body while she slowly repeated the spell. Time slowed to a crawl. As we stood and watched in amazement, Cleis began to gurgle and smile. I felt her brow. It was cool. The illness had been cast out.

“So much for the power of
your
gods,” said Isis. “The older gods of Egypt still prevail.”

I knelt before her and kissed the hem of her garment. Then I fell asleep with my baby in my arms, vowing never to be parted from her again. Rocking my baby, smelling the sweet smell at the top of her head, at the back of her neck, I promised her all my love, all my protection. Both Isis and Alcaeus receded from my thoughts as I merged my soul with my child's. All night I sang to her and rocked her. When the dawn came up, I was exhausted but at peace. As long as she needs me, this will be my life, I swore.

The next morning, Isis sent a messenger for me.

“Tell Isis I cannot leave my child.”

“Isis says what she gave, she can take away,” the messenger said.

“Don't go,” said Prax. “This is an empty threat. She has restored the babe to health. She cannot take away the gift.”

But I was not so sure. I agonized. Should I go? Should I stay? Was Isis a witch who could give life, then snatch it back?

“I'll be back before you know it,” I said, handing the baby to my mother. I ran to Isis in a sweat.

When I arrived at Isis' house, I found she had dismissed all her clients. She was in a rage.

“Love is not a tender emotion,” Isis said and bit me on the neck, drawing blood. “It is wild as the beasts of the jungle. I save your daughter, and still you yearn for other lovers. Who is this Alcaeus? Are you planning to leave me for him? How many other lovers do you have? Are you cheating on me even here in Syracuse?”

“No, Isis, not at all. There is no one but you. Alcaeus taught me all I know about my art. I have unfinished business with him.”

“You are in love with him!”

“Not at all—”

“I think you are planning to leave me and seek this Alcaeus in Delphi. I heard everything you said to Cyrus!”

“You yourself said I must go to Egypt and make sure my brothers do not steal my family's wine trade from me.”

“Then why were you speaking of Delphi with that coarse Lydian?”

“I am not going anywhere. I have a daughter here who needs me. I must get home to her now.” I started to go, but Isis held me back.

“Sappho—I have known the love of women and the love of men—I can promise you men are never to be trusted. They think only of their dominance, their mastery, their desire….”

Then she dragged me onto the floor and she made love to me as violently as a man, coaxing moans out of me again and again with a golden
olisbos
, biting me on the neck, the breasts, the lips of my sex until I was covered with blood and saliva and all the outpourings of love. I did not think it possible for one woman to take another by force, but she showed me it was. I was lucky to escape with my life. I ran home again, desperate to see my daughter.