Sappho (42 page)

Sappho was pleased to see that for her sake he had refrained from drink. His iron-gray hair had been freshly curled and there were glimpses of the Alkaios he might have been. They embraced warmly, with fond greeting, and she read approval of herself in his eyes.

“Enchanting Sappho.”

The smile she turned on him was filled with such happiness that he knew she had not heard the rumor. He himself could not speak of it—let someone else, let Khar, if it were true. In the public houses one heard all sorts of things, but this particular bit of gossip was so persistent that he put credence in it and pitied Sappho, for he knew her pride.

At the quay the lead ship was already slipping into quiet waters. Nubians with blue-black bodies jumped from its decks to the mole, securing the dancing bark with strong hawsers. A plank for conveying the goods of the voyage was run to the vessel. Ignoring this, Kharaxos sprang upon the dock. In his manner and grace he was still young, a virile man—and beautiful.

He swept Sappho to his breast, then Alkaios, his old companion, who seemed more like his father.

Kharaxos knelt and blessed the land of Lesbos, giving thanks to the gods for his safe return. Sappho raised her voice with his; by their protection and favor he had once more won through the perilous passage.

When at last they arrived at her house and her guests were seated, with food spread upon the inlaid tables, she asked her brother, “Tell me, dear Khar, why must you spend your days in far lands, even that of Egypt?”

“So I may receive such welcome when I come home,” he laughed, and raising his glass to her, “You do not know the admiration in which you are held, Sappho, or what honor it brings me abroad to be your brother.”

“Even in Egypt?”

“In Egypt the Aeolic dialect is known. Your songs are as much sung in Naukratis as here.”

“If I have brought any good to your life, I am content.”

Khar behaved as though he had not lived seven years among Barbarians, as though it were a pleasure cruise to sail the hundreds of stadia that threaded the islands of the Aegean. However, of the open sea between Crete and North Africa, he was silent. But Sappho managed to get him to talk somewhat of his journey.

“More than the pathless sea my sailors dreaded the desert coast by the Canopic mouth of the Nile. Lack of water necessitated forays upon land to sites where wells were marked by other Hellenic merchantmen. Near these cisterns Libyan tribesmen hid to attack and plunder shore parties such as ours. Fortunately my fleet carries many men, and in these battles we got not only water but slaves.”

Sappho called on Kalliope, elder sister of the nine Muses, to listen to these tales. But Khar turned the conversation. “And where,” he asked, “are all the beautiful maids that surrounded you with music and dance when I was here last?”

“I sent them away years ago.”

“But why?”

“I grew weary, that is why. It seemed to me their young voices were out of place here, where Sappho grows old.”

“Time dares not touch great Sappho,” Alkaios said.

“My slaves were at some pains to make you think so.”

Khar put in indignantly, “Old! How can you say that? Why you are but two years older than myself, and I am about to be married.”

“Married?”

Alkaios stared attentively at his plate. He had guessed rightly, Sappho had heard no word.

Sappho said, perhaps a shade too lightly, “You could not pine for a girl from Lesbos seven years. It must be someone you met beneath the shade of the palms of Naukratis?”

“Even so, Sister. And I tell you this, the many mouths of the Nile have never washed up at the feet of one so beautiful.”

“She would be a Barbarian then? An Egyptian?”

“She is Thracian. You will love her as a sister. Not only is she exceedingly beautiful, but pious as well. She made a pilgrimage to the temple at Delphi, navel of the world, and gave away a tenth of her possessions. The most magnificent gift consisted of quantities of iron spits, such as are used for roasting oxen whole.”

“She must be a wealthy woman to have made the trip to the slopes of Parnassus. And the gift of such obeli is indeed magnanimous.”

“Yes,” Khar said carelessly, “she is used to luxury.”

“And the name of this prize among women?”

“She is called Doricha Rhodopis.”

For a shocked second the wings of a giant bird beat, replacing the beat of her heart. The pause between brother and sister lengthened.

When Sappho spoke it was slowly and with care. “You disturb my peace, Khar, for there was on the island of Samos a young slave girl belonging to Iadmon, whose invitation to attend the freeing of Aesop was brought by you. It happened that the name of his most accomplished slave was also Doricha. They called her the White Rose.”

“It is the same. He sold her for great price to a certain Xanthes, a merchant, who took the girl to Naukratis and set her up as a courtesan.”

Sappho looked at him, unbelieving. “Answer and tell me, am I losing my mind? Has Lyssa, goddess of madness, overcome my brain? I thought I heard my brother say he is marrying a slave and a courtesan.”

Khar's hand closed over the goblet he was holding and, in anger, broke it. “I did not expect such judgment from you. The girl did not choose the life she led.”

“But apparently made a good thing of it. Will her present master, Xanthes, sell her to you?”

“That is why I returned, to raise what I can on my lands, my villa, my cattle. Each night, for many nights, I wrote an offer on the seawall and each morning it was rejected.”

“But one morning it was not?”

“Thanks be to the gods.”

Sappho smiled her most sweet smile.

“I think I did misunderstand you, Khar. I thought you spoke of marriage. But my mind is much relieved now I see she is to be your concubine, your slave.”

“Not slave. I will free her and marry her. I shall return to Lesbos with the White Rose and make her my wife.”

There was nothing to indicate that a moment before Sappho had been smiling. “You cannot do this thing, Brother. I know the gods make sensible men to become senseless where a woman is concerned, but there are no slaves in our family. It is a proud lineage. You cannot sully it.”

Khar, like his sister, was unused to opposition. “Sappho, the life you've led has not been so conventional that you can tell others how to live.”

Control was very near slipping from her. “So, you take the part of Eurygyos and Larichos against me!”

“That you know I have never done. But because you have suffered from gossip, I expect you to be understanding.”

“Khar, have the gods blinded you that you do not see? It is her business, her profession, to make men love her. How do you know she is not using you simply to purchase her freedom? Such a woman feigns love easily.”

“You do not know her, and you are ready to assume the worst.”

“I know her!”

Alkaios looked up sharply, and Sappho continued more cautiously, “That is, I know of women like her.”

“None is like her. She is unique, and I am fortunate that she has agreed to have me.”

Sappho turned to Alkaios for reinforcement. “Alkaios,” she pleaded, “you are a man of the world. Even her gift at Delphi, of unbending rods, is appropriate to her profession. This Doricha has used her ploys on my brother and he is so infatuated that he will ruin himself for her.”

Alkaios waved both hands in denying the role she forced on him. “No, no, do not place me in the middle of a family quarrel. I know nothing of the matter. But I think, Sappho, it is possible that you yourself met Doricha when you journeyed to Samos.”

“If I did, I do not remember. Why should I remember a slave?”

“When I return to Naukratis, she will be as free as you are.” Khar threw his mantle over his shoulder in token that he was leaving.

“Very well, Khar. Buy her. I will even help you. But do not, by those of our family, both on the ground and under it—do not, I pray you, marry such a one.”

“And do you not insult my wife-to-be, Sister.”

“Khar…” Sappho's voice made him pause. “I lied just now because I feared to hurt you. I
did
know of Doricha Rhodopis in Samos. All did. For though almost a child, she was infamous even then.”

Khar looked as though he would strike her. “I will hear no more.”

“But you will, Khar, and not from me only, if you make this slave your wife.”

He strode to the door. “I will return to Egypt without seeing you again.”

“And you are right. While you hold to this course there can be no understanding between us.”

As her brother left, Alkaios clambered over several cushions with a goblet of wine. “Drink, my comrade. Better to fall on the floor through drink than through sorrow. So, you know the White Rose? I hear she is quite good with peacocks.”

“I know nothing of all that.” Her tart tone told Alkaios what he wanted to know.

Sappho bowed her head to her hands and said, her voice shaking in disbelief, “I am alienated from my brother.”

“He may not go through with the marriage. He may not even buy her. By the time he is returned, the price may have gone up. Or Doricha Rhodopis may have found someone richer.”

“But not as gullible as Khar. He is a leader of men, but of women he knows nothing. From the age of ten she was a prostitute. It is horrible to think of the hands she has passed through, the performances she has given. Every officer in the Attic fleet must have rammed coins into her. My poor brother is surely bewitched.”

That night she pressed out and sent to Kharaxos these words:

… with whom in vagrant love you are united

and suppose that to be beautiful

which is public property

There was no reply.

*   *   *

Kharaxos stayed in Mitylene long enough to sell or mortgage everything he possessed. Sappho heard from time to time how he had disposed of a piece of land, an orchard, even a grove of olives. But when word reached her he intended to sell the home they had grown up in, the villa of their aunt Tyro, she went to him.

Khar had her admitted, but looked at her with a frown. “I thought we had nothing more to say to each other. Except, perhaps, I may look for my sister's blessing?”

“You have my rich blessing, Khar, in all things, but not in the union you contemplate.”

“I will marry Doricha.”

“And beggar yourself as you are doing? She won't have a poor husband, you know. She is used to the finery of her kind.”

“I forbid you to talk about her, especially as I have heard in detail from our brothers about your own parade of girl lovers.”

“Khar, I did not come to quarrel. I came as your elder sister to ask you not to sell the home of our youth, the home of our good aunt, who loved us as her own children.”

“It must go.”

“Why? Is it not grand enough for her?”

“No, it is not.”

“How can one man's fortune satisfy her, when she is used to many?”

“I told you not to speak of her. I forbid it.”

“I speak as I am minded. But none speak so to Sappho.”

“Except she be female, young, and desirable. It is you who have dishonored our house, Sappho.”

“Are you leaving on a journey, perhaps of years, with those words for me? Unsay them, Khar.”

“Only if you can unsay their truth.”

“You know me, Khar. You know Sappho is incapable of ugly acts, for I have all my life loved dainty and delicate things.”

“So I thought. But you have no charity for the woman I love because of circumstances forced on her, while you, of your own self, indulged in what Doricha has never heard of.”

“Doricha has heard of every practice there is, and engaged in them.”

“Enough. I will not listen to more.”

“And so we part.”

Sappho left the villa she had known so well and the brother she had loved. Her stomach felt as it had when she saw the small feet of Gongyla dangling in the air. Tears are too weak to wash away such moments. There was no help for her, not in prayer or sacrifice, for whatever god ruled this hour had hold of her brother's heart and mind.

Khar sailed without a token. When she heard of his departure, Sappho locked herself in her room. She hadn't believed it would come to this. Suppose he should die on the sea as Kerkolas had? To banish the ill of such a thought, she spilled the sweet wine of Lesbos, the same Khar carried on his ships, to the god of the blue hair.

Still, to have parted from him so, to have let him go with angry words between them—but what could she have done?

It was ghastly to her that she had held in her own arms the woman her brother was enamored of. What if he found out?

Was an unclean whore who performed obscene tricks and approached her lover on her belly, was this slave to enter into the first house of Lesbos whose proud ancestry stemmed from great Orestes? How they would laugh at a son of noble Skamandronymos! It would not happen, she assured herself.

*   *   *

To ensure that Khar would come to his senses, Sappho assembled a tenth of all on her estate and by oxcart made her way to the mountain fastness of the priestesses of Dionysos, thinking as she went that she might glimpse Kleis.

It took the better part of the day to arrive at the caves, where she saw to the unloading of animals, grain, and wine. All was piled before the entrance. She knelt in the dust and spoke her prayer. “Soften my brother's heart toward me, O god who sports with dolphins. You know I love Khar well. Bring him back in health and strength, that the quarrel may be undone, the words unspoken—and the hold that woman has on him broken.”

Dionysos returned no answer, although she stayed on her knees and waited. Yet perhaps in his way he did. For after the visit to the caves there was a change in her. She found it hard to stay as before in the sanctuary of her home and took to roaming as she had when a child.