Sappho (24 page)

Sappho could not stop. Exhausted, Erinna permitted her all, hardly conscious of what was done to her. As Dionysos knew flesh, Sappho knew flesh. As Dionysos was flesh, Sappho was flesh. Softly Erinna was nuzzled until once more she strained after delight. She found herself worshipping, not Dionysos, who had never performed such intimacies upon her, but Sappho, who brought the voluptuousness of her poems to her body.

Sappho, too, could not believe the miracle. “How short a joy!” she cried, and before morning teased desire into her friend yet again. And stretching herself upon the girl, melted into her flesh, for she knew Erinna's body now and was as expert with it as with her lyre. It was her pleasure to bring her to the point of climax, then pretend to sleep, while slender fingers stole over her, caressing in their turn. Sappho moved as in slumber, wantonly. The nether part of their bodies danced together, their breasts bobbed and swung. Then the play was done and Sappho fulfilled herself. Intent on orgasm, she lowered herself upon Erinna in every position Aphrodite bade her. Sappho bit tentatively; Erinna cried and Sappho licked the tears away. She investigated with finger and tongue, following out the threefold partings, and into each pressed a different scent, jasmine, quince blossom, the oil of lotus.

Getting up from the bed, she brought her box of jewels and laid the gems cold and blazing on all the places that excited her. And when she saw Erinna's body festooned, she could not tame the madness of her blood but must have again. The gems cut her flesh as she descended on them, climaxing them both.

The orgy did not stop with day.

Sappho sprang from the bed of love that they might bathe together and lay flowers where in the night she had placed gems. They rubbed each other's skin with sweet oils whose seals they broke. They perfumed once again the secret places where they planted kisses.

“I will die of ecstasy,” Erinna said and teasingly ran away from her.

Sappho caught her ankle and brought her down.

*   *   *

Neither Sappho nor Erinna was pleased to learn that a maiden had set out from the city of Pamphlia in Asia Minor, and was aboard the ship which had been sighted pulling for their shore. “Some god has dealt us this blow!” Sappho whispered in Erinna's ear.

But a school she had built, a school she would have. The time had come to set in motion the many aspects of philosophy, mathematics, and astronomy she intended to make part of the curriculum.

She began with Kleis, telling the child of Thales, who believed Ocean was the father of all. He hypothesized a fundamental substance out of which everything derived and which appeared as a liquid, a solid, and a vapor.

She was able to prove to herself Thales' method of finding right triangles. Using thread and wooden pegs, she drew a circle in the sand, marked the ends of a diameter with two pegs, and deftly looped the thread around them and a third. “He was right,” she said jubilantly. “No matter where I move the third peg on the circle, the taut thread forms a perfect right angle.”

“Why should I care about right angles?” Kleis asked.

“Ah, but you must care. They are the key to geometry and make possible the design of temples and the building of ships. By them great Thales predicted the eclipse of Sun. The right angle was the first shape to come out of brooding Chaos, before the gods themselves.”

Kleis escaped this lesson as quickly as possible.

“She is still a little girl,” Sappho told Erinna that night as they followed the movement of the planets, those silent wanderers among the stars.

They speculated together about the eclipse that had stopped the war and enabled Erinna to journey to her. Erinna thought it was the gods who whispered this knowledge to Thales, but Sappho insisted he had learned the art of prediction in Egypt and that it had to do not with gods, but with right angles.

Erinna glanced apprehensively into the shadows in case Hermes the tale-bearer was at hand. Her friend, she felt, was too bold, too reckless with these new ideas.

At the last moment before the other girl came, Sappho led Erinna into her library and showed her the treasure in the carved chest: two books of her own work, pressed from wax tablets and transcribed by herself. Beside these were complete books of Homer and Hesiod, acquired at great expense.

Erinna could scarcely grasp what her eyes saw. “You are all of magic,” she said to Sappho. “One never knows what you will think of.” She too had a surprise for her friend on the final evening they would be alone. She sang for Sappho “The Distaff.”

Sappho listened, hypnotized. Her eyes filled with tears when it was done. “I did not know your talent was so great.”

I do not believe

that any maiden will ever

rival you in your art

And she herself served the girl that night, bringing wine and pouring freely. Flesh and fruits she set before Erinna, and would not let a servant woman near. Out of respect, she did not touch her as a lover but waited upon her as a slave.

Later she asked again for the song.

*   *   *

Damophyla was a handsome girl, her figure of one piece, like a column. Her eyes had a bright, bold look, but fell away from a long appraisal.

Sappho welcomed her somewhat formally with a garland of violets and larkspur.

Damophyla clasped the flowers to her and began to repeat thanks, which she had memorized.

Sappho interrupted her, asking abruptly, “Why did you come to me?”

The girl seemed surprised and suddenly confused.

“Well?” Sappho asked again.

“Because you are the songstress of Lesbos and your fame is everywhere. Also…”

“Yes?”

“I heard a song.” She picked up a lute and sang prettily:

Though few

they are roses

“Yes, yes,” Sappho said. “It is an old song from other days, but I too am fond of it. You are an accomplished musician. Do you also compose?”

“I cannot make such a claim before Sappho.”

“Speak, I wish to know.”

“I have composed some slight hymns to Artemis and to Hera, but they are nothing.”

“I wish to hear,” Sappho said.

The girl bowed her head. “Sappho speaks.”

Damophyla sang her songs well, but they were derivative and not of the quality of Erinna's. Sappho watched her musingly as she performed. The girl was tall and strong as a boy. Her breasts were small, not pendulous like Erinna's, and she had not the delicacy of wrist, waist, and ankle.

Why do I compare them? Sappho wondered, annoyed with herself. Damophyla is simply a girl whom I will instruct. And she planned how to keep her busy at her studies along with Kleis so that she and Erinna could disport themselves as before. Sappho did not intend to lose hours from love. It had come to her so late that she was wild for it.

She installed Damophyla in the cottage on the far side of Erinna's. Sappho then set her tasks with Kleis, so that for the next few weeks she and Erinna planned their encounters and giggled when they thought of the big girl and the small, working out dance patterns and memorizing verse under the tutelage of servants. Damophyla, while not original in her efforts, was intelligent and made a fair try at imitating Sappho's odes. Meanwhile she and Erinna managed their escapades, the chance of discovery adding spice to their trysts.

*   *   *

Sappho had spent what she considered a flawless day: the morning in frolic with Kleis; retiring in the afternoon for hours of solitude in which her own work flourished; then in the cool of evening, singing rounds with the girls, a light supper of toasted cheeses, radishes soaked in olive oil, and, afterward, ices. Finally she rose, bade the others goodnight, and returned to her apartment. Preoccupied with Erinna, she ordered her bed and went to her bath. Later I will go to her, she thought as slaves bathed her with sponges, rubbed her with precious oils, brushed her hair with incense. Sappho stretched herself like a cat, dismissed her servants, and went to her sleeping room, lifting the cover and slipping into bed. It was occupied.

Two strong, young arms were around her.

“What are you doing here? What god has stolen your senses?” she asked, recognizing Damophyla.

“I but follow the practice of your house.”

“I do not understand you.”

“You understand me, O Desirable. I want only my share of the love you lavish on Erinna.”

“You have been following us! Spying!”

“Yes. She of the seafoam led my feet. It was by accident I stumbled almost into the very spot where you lay.”

“And you did not leave?”

“I could not; the goddess held me. I could not breathe or move. How sweet it looked, you two. How passionate and intent you are, O Sappho, like a supple leopard. With such love you gathered her. I could not believe your face. I knew I had to have your touch upon me, and touch you in the same way.”

Since she could not stop her by other means, Sappho pushed the much larger girl away, and got up from the bed. “This may be how it is done in Asia Minor, but here it is not tolerated to thrust yourself upon another.”

Damophyla covered her face with her hands and was wracked by great rolling sobs. Seeing Sappho was not moved by this, she snatched up her chiton and ran from the room.

The night for Sappho was sleepless. She supposed the girl but followed the customs of her country, that it had not seemed an improper thing to her. Had she been too severe? But how else would Damophyla learn restraint?

Sappho spoke her thoughts to Selene as the goddess rose languorously against Sky. “You look on all, Lady. You know the sacred groves where the maidens of Asia Minor give their young bodies before marriage. You have seen the art they learn, know the wiles they practice. These customs are not strange to you, Lady. But for me it was unnerving—arms out of nowhere, unexpected kisses, love words issuing from the pillows.”

Still, she could not help smiling to herself when she thought how she would relate it all to Erinna in the morning.

In the morning there were other things to do, and she did not say a word to Erinna. The day was spent listening to recitations, teaching the correct fingering for a zither, and how to tune the strings by geometry.

“There now,” she said to Kleis, “you see how it all comes together, and that mathematics is first cousin to music, even to the Nine themselves.”

But her daughter chased after a yellow kitten born in the compound, dangling wildflowers before its paws. Sappho, giving up for the moment, turned to the other two. Although she had been busy, she had been acutely conscious of Damophyla. The girl avoided her glance and spoke only with Kleis.

Looking at her, Sappho speculated: So those were the arms that had gone around her—strong, rounded, kissed by Sun. And the mouth that had planted itself so firmly against hers? Full, with the fullness of an open petal. She had been too hard on the girl. What, after all, had been her crime? Simply the desire to know her in love.

Was it not an affront to Aphrodite to have sent her away? She wondered uneasily why she had not told Erinna of the incident.

The two Sapphos contended. Her heart beat in anticipation that evening as she bathed and prepared herself.

When she returned to her bed it was empty.

She was relieved. She was disappointed.

*   *   *

It seemed to her nothing was as it had been; there was tension in the air, as when the strings of a musical instrument are pulled taut for tuning.

Damophyla still would not glance at her directly, and preferred looking at her feet. While Erinna formed the disconcerting habit of watching her from the corner of her eyes. Even Kleis seemed out of sorts. Reaching the conclusion that everyone was behaving badly, Sappho had the grace to recognize it was she herself, and laugh.

“Today,” she announced, “we will have lessons of another kind. I will take you on a tour of the house and grounds, and you shall see the inner workings whereby the fruit is picked, the tables laid, the winter mantles spun. Tell me, would you like this?”

Kleis clapped her hands, glad to be excused from lessons. Erinna, too, agreed. Damophyla, as the newcomer, said nothing.

“Well then, I shall call Niobe; she above all knows how the House of the Servants of the Muses is managed.” She smiled fully on them. “I must remember to tell my brothers we did this thing.”

Niobe was pleased to have her domain inspected, and a large one it was, encompassing many sections which her skillful overseeing brought together. On the way to the kitchen, they passed outdoor clay ovens with wide flat boards protruding from fiery bellies. On them dough had been shaped into loaves. When those inside were done, the boards were shoved in a notch and the next batch baked.

Kleis was delighted when Niobe broke off a corner of one of the breads for her to taste. “It is the odor,” Sappho said, “that I would eat.” And she watched Damophyla help herself to a piece and crumble it in her mouth. A provocative mouth, ready on the instant to laugh or cry. She remembered how she had cried when she sent her away.

Sappho came out of her daydream abruptly, conscious that the eyes of Erinna rested on her.

Kleis rushed ahead of them, ducking under great slabs of smoked flesh, fowl and fish that hung by hooks from the rafters. “Look,” she said, seizing a ladle and stirring soup that boiled in a large cauldron, “I am making our dinner.”

“Wherever did you find such a pretty little slave?” Erinna asked, laughing.

“She was sent me by Selene, the Lady Moon.”

The wine cellar had been dug into the floor, where a hundred bottles were stored, Niobe said, with a dozen others cooling in the well, ready for drinking.

Sappho knew in a general way how her household was run, but the details fascinated her. “You are beyond price,” she told Niobe, as she told her every day for one reason or another.

Large rounds of cheeses were kept under damp cloths, and shelves displayed rows of condiments. Salt was stored, too, that precious gift of the gods, from the Kumju Trail in Africa, used in preserving the flesh that came to their tables. Beside this, fresh fruit lay in woven baskets. Again they were encouraged to help themselves, and Sappho watched as Damophyla, deciding between a pear and an apple, bit into the apple. Aphrodite's fruit, Sappho thought. The girl did well in her choice. Yet for all their high spirits, she felt things were not in balance.