Luckily, the day I had chosen for my departure was cool and sunny. The
crisp air was starting to smell of snow and snow made me happy. I had but a
day's walk to the city of Apros located in the central lap of the Rhodope
Mountains but I had more than halved the distance by noon. In the afternoon
I slowed down, enjoying the feel of pines brushing against my outstretched
hand. Even though I wasn't hungry I took a strip of meat out of my bag and
thoughtfully chewed upon it for some time. The salt which seeped into my
mouth made me thirsty and I stopped by the river whose bed had carved my
path for a drink. Untying the pigskin laces I took my shoes off and
cautiously dipped my feet into the biting water. A corpse laid just a few
paces downstream, long hair billowing in the water. More startled than
fearful, with eyes fixed on the body and brain pulsating furiously, I
patted the bank around for my shoes, grabbed them and backed away.
I ran the length of four stadia through the forest before I stopped; my feet now dry and scratched. I set my back against a flat rock with my chest heaving and quickly put on my shoes. Under me, Apros was visible though still faded out in the distance. Shepherds and goatherds headed up for the last remaining patches of grass greeted me by and I felt safe enough to slow my pace and brush off the twigs and pines from my back. My face was probably feverish as I felt cheeks burning and eyes dry but the physical strain had organized my thoughts. Rhodope Thracians were dark-haired and green-eyed, precious few had the pale hair I had seen waving in the water...and the icy water was known to preserve fruits and meat without a trace of decay for entire seasons. Even though I had not seen her face, I knew the dead girl was the neighbor whose disappearance had been only mourned by her parents.
The sun was just retiring for the day when I walked through the fortified walls of Apros. The city was larger and far richer than my hometown and, consequently, the target of many failed invasions both foreign and neighborly. I walked to the gate of a large and well-kept estate and offered my stories in exchange for a shelter and some dinner. I was quietly ushered into a crowded dining hall where the floors were slick with wine and littered with what I took to be food. The wine was decanted with Bacchic flourish and soon my gregarious neighbors on the small table I was seated became rather animated. I used the opportunity to guide the conversation to Orpheus and his stay in the city.
"Orpheus, a good man. A good, good man," the greasy-haired man on my left assured me. "Very talented."
"Indeed," I said. "I have walked from far away to hear Orpheus sing. I learned he was headed to Apros and came in search of him."
"Very sad his songs." "Oi, you're a woman," the man across the table shouted. I held my breath for his stank of fermented alcohol and rotting food most of which was deposited between his teeth. "Tell me why you all hate Orpheus."
"I hate him not. I have come a long way to hear his songs." My protest went unheeded since he was already busy accusing the servants of offering him watered down wine.
"Do you..." I tapped my neighbor on the shoulder. "Do you know where Orpheus was headed?"
"Beos. A small town between Rhodope and Kogaionon. Good man, Orpheus. Very talented. No, Orpheus. I was talking about Orpheus," He shouted in the direction of the woman who had opined that the bard presently entertaining the family of the house was as melodious as the rotting bowels of a dead bitch.
I turned to my other tablemate.
"Has it been long since he left?"
"Orpheus? It has been but half a moon. He stayed in Apros for a whole moon, entertaining our ruler Zalmoxis and his guests. I heard he kept one of Zalmoxis's long-limbed daughters very entertained in fact." He laughed at his own joke and threw a chicken bone at the dog which was sniffing for scraps nearby.
As Beos was much farther away, I left with a group of merchants heading for a large city somewhere beyond Kogaionon. Snow covered the entire mountain and I cursed it rhythmically as I waded, step, after step, after burdensome step. After many days traveling through the hushed, luscious pine forests, we came by a small settlement of no more than a dozen black cottages. As we approached we heard a wailing and saw an elderly woman, not more than forty years of age tearing her clothes and beating her chest in the familiar custom of mourning. The scowling people gathered around told us a hunter had just found the body of her daughter frozen black in the snow. Used to the disinterested weeping of professional mourners, I was strangely irritated by the wretched undulation in the woman's voice. I wanted to silence her in a violent way, shake her, slap her... I wanted to run away from the village. Instead, I walked to the body and kneeled for a better look. Even the sepulchral shroud of the falling snow could not hide the deep grooves on the body from which her blood had seeped out. Her hair was tangled, frozen to her head, striped black in blood and white with ice. I imagined the girl's last thoughts, her pleading, bargaining with the killer, her hot tears burning her freezing face... Or did she submit to her circumstance, allowing death in as we Thracians were taught to but rarely did – in resigned acceptance of Fate?
We fled the onerous atmosphere of the village very early the following morning and walked quietly on. Over time we passed a number of small communities, stayed the night after replenishing our food and drink supplies, and left. When we all grew weary of conversation I told stories of gods, and titans, and heroes. Once we reached Beos, I thanked the merchants for their protection and friendship and we exchanged warm farewells for they had grown as accustomed to my stories as I had to their company.
The city appeared to be larger than I was told it would be. Enjoying the sight of the myriad people strolling by, busy in conversation, I sat on a small bench by the city wall and drank the last of my wine. Once I warmed up, I got up, brushed off some of the dust deposited by travel and smoothed my clothes somewhat. Despite that, I must have looked a mess judging by the disdainful looks of sympathy in the faces of the servants of the estate where I spent the night. Since I had arrived around midday I was not invited to eat in the hall but instead shown to the kitchen and allowed to eat as much as I deemed necessary.
As busy as the servants were in preparing the dinner feast, their mouths kept busier chatting about the famed Orpheus, who was invited to the feast with his Beotian host, some influential member of the ruling family. I asked for a bucket of water to clean my face and hands and changed into my clean clothes but mentally unprepared to confront Orpheus that evening, I stayed in the kitchen for dinner, entertaining the cooks with the story about the Thracian king Tereus who raped his wife Procne's sister and cut out her tongue. Philomena, the sister wove a tapestry of her woes and showed it to Procne and the two swore revenge. When I reached the part where the sisters cook and serve Procne and Tereus's son to the king, the servants gasped and involuntarily glanced at the two boars slowly roasting in the fire. Basking in their attention I continued with the bloody story of Medea and the tragedy of Tantalus both of whom had killed and cooked their own sons. I finished off with the story of Kronos swallowing his children to prevent them from taking over his throne. Morbid stories always commanded more attention.
While being shown to my room, I passed by the dining hall, which was uncharacteristically quiet save for the mournful voices of Orpheus and his lyre:
"I dreamt I walked a dream — a dark, austere forest. I ran more than walked, flew more than ran, the road coiled beneath me – A fat white snake preparing to spring and drag me down. I looked up in the shadowy branches (for the trees were tall, higher than I could fly) And saw you beckoning. The gray cloak of death I had seen you wearing last, Had slipped from your pearlescent body and lay discarded on the road. The snarl of death had melted in a reassuring smile And you were placidly sipping on ambrosia – the drink that gives the Gods Their ever-lasting immortality. I flew up to the shadowy branches (for you drew me up higher than I thought I could fly). And reached for the drink which you had proffered – the ambrosia Which gave you your ever-lasting immortality. But fell through the shadowy branches, down towards the winding road Which opened its maw, hungrily, to receive me, And I woke up in tears."
The song rang in my ears throughout the night.
I had not thought of what I was to do once I found Orpheus. I could certainly not approach and question him about three dead girls. For a while I bid my time and followed him around, one of many who did. For days he did nothing but stroll around the city sighing, and singing, and glancing at the beautiful women with sad limpid eyes.
At the end of winter Orpheus announced he was heading for the temple of Bacchus located in the lap of the Kogaionon Mountains for the Spring Bacchanalia, which drew hundreds of merry, rowdy worshippers. He left the next morning, as did I.
I ran the length of four stadia through the forest before I stopped; my feet now dry and scratched. I set my back against a flat rock with my chest heaving and quickly put on my shoes. Under me, Apros was visible though still faded out in the distance. Shepherds and goatherds headed up for the last remaining patches of grass greeted me by and I felt safe enough to slow my pace and brush off the twigs and pines from my back. My face was probably feverish as I felt cheeks burning and eyes dry but the physical strain had organized my thoughts. Rhodope Thracians were dark-haired and green-eyed, precious few had the pale hair I had seen waving in the water...and the icy water was known to preserve fruits and meat without a trace of decay for entire seasons. Even though I had not seen her face, I knew the dead girl was the neighbor whose disappearance had been only mourned by her parents.
The sun was just retiring for the day when I walked through the fortified walls of Apros. The city was larger and far richer than my hometown and, consequently, the target of many failed invasions both foreign and neighborly. I walked to the gate of a large and well-kept estate and offered my stories in exchange for a shelter and some dinner. I was quietly ushered into a crowded dining hall where the floors were slick with wine and littered with what I took to be food. The wine was decanted with Bacchic flourish and soon my gregarious neighbors on the small table I was seated became rather animated. I used the opportunity to guide the conversation to Orpheus and his stay in the city.
"Orpheus, a good man. A good, good man," the greasy-haired man on my left assured me. "Very talented."
"Indeed," I said. "I have walked from far away to hear Orpheus sing. I learned he was headed to Apros and came in search of him."
"Very sad his songs." "Oi, you're a woman," the man across the table shouted. I held my breath for his stank of fermented alcohol and rotting food most of which was deposited between his teeth. "Tell me why you all hate Orpheus."
"I hate him not. I have come a long way to hear his songs." My protest went unheeded since he was already busy accusing the servants of offering him watered down wine.
"Do you..." I tapped my neighbor on the shoulder. "Do you know where Orpheus was headed?"
"Beos. A small town between Rhodope and Kogaionon. Good man, Orpheus. Very talented. No, Orpheus. I was talking about Orpheus," He shouted in the direction of the woman who had opined that the bard presently entertaining the family of the house was as melodious as the rotting bowels of a dead bitch.
I turned to my other tablemate.
"Has it been long since he left?"
"Orpheus? It has been but half a moon. He stayed in Apros for a whole moon, entertaining our ruler Zalmoxis and his guests. I heard he kept one of Zalmoxis's long-limbed daughters very entertained in fact." He laughed at his own joke and threw a chicken bone at the dog which was sniffing for scraps nearby.
As Beos was much farther away, I left with a group of merchants heading for a large city somewhere beyond Kogaionon. Snow covered the entire mountain and I cursed it rhythmically as I waded, step, after step, after burdensome step. After many days traveling through the hushed, luscious pine forests, we came by a small settlement of no more than a dozen black cottages. As we approached we heard a wailing and saw an elderly woman, not more than forty years of age tearing her clothes and beating her chest in the familiar custom of mourning. The scowling people gathered around told us a hunter had just found the body of her daughter frozen black in the snow. Used to the disinterested weeping of professional mourners, I was strangely irritated by the wretched undulation in the woman's voice. I wanted to silence her in a violent way, shake her, slap her... I wanted to run away from the village. Instead, I walked to the body and kneeled for a better look. Even the sepulchral shroud of the falling snow could not hide the deep grooves on the body from which her blood had seeped out. Her hair was tangled, frozen to her head, striped black in blood and white with ice. I imagined the girl's last thoughts, her pleading, bargaining with the killer, her hot tears burning her freezing face... Or did she submit to her circumstance, allowing death in as we Thracians were taught to but rarely did – in resigned acceptance of Fate?
We fled the onerous atmosphere of the village very early the following morning and walked quietly on. Over time we passed a number of small communities, stayed the night after replenishing our food and drink supplies, and left. When we all grew weary of conversation I told stories of gods, and titans, and heroes. Once we reached Beos, I thanked the merchants for their protection and friendship and we exchanged warm farewells for they had grown as accustomed to my stories as I had to their company.
The city appeared to be larger than I was told it would be. Enjoying the sight of the myriad people strolling by, busy in conversation, I sat on a small bench by the city wall and drank the last of my wine. Once I warmed up, I got up, brushed off some of the dust deposited by travel and smoothed my clothes somewhat. Despite that, I must have looked a mess judging by the disdainful looks of sympathy in the faces of the servants of the estate where I spent the night. Since I had arrived around midday I was not invited to eat in the hall but instead shown to the kitchen and allowed to eat as much as I deemed necessary.
As busy as the servants were in preparing the dinner feast, their mouths kept busier chatting about the famed Orpheus, who was invited to the feast with his Beotian host, some influential member of the ruling family. I asked for a bucket of water to clean my face and hands and changed into my clean clothes but mentally unprepared to confront Orpheus that evening, I stayed in the kitchen for dinner, entertaining the cooks with the story about the Thracian king Tereus who raped his wife Procne's sister and cut out her tongue. Philomena, the sister wove a tapestry of her woes and showed it to Procne and the two swore revenge. When I reached the part where the sisters cook and serve Procne and Tereus's son to the king, the servants gasped and involuntarily glanced at the two boars slowly roasting in the fire. Basking in their attention I continued with the bloody story of Medea and the tragedy of Tantalus both of whom had killed and cooked their own sons. I finished off with the story of Kronos swallowing his children to prevent them from taking over his throne. Morbid stories always commanded more attention.
While being shown to my room, I passed by the dining hall, which was uncharacteristically quiet save for the mournful voices of Orpheus and his lyre:
"I dreamt I walked a dream — a dark, austere forest. I ran more than walked, flew more than ran, the road coiled beneath me – A fat white snake preparing to spring and drag me down. I looked up in the shadowy branches (for the trees were tall, higher than I could fly) And saw you beckoning. The gray cloak of death I had seen you wearing last, Had slipped from your pearlescent body and lay discarded on the road. The snarl of death had melted in a reassuring smile And you were placidly sipping on ambrosia – the drink that gives the Gods Their ever-lasting immortality. I flew up to the shadowy branches (for you drew me up higher than I thought I could fly). And reached for the drink which you had proffered – the ambrosia Which gave you your ever-lasting immortality. But fell through the shadowy branches, down towards the winding road Which opened its maw, hungrily, to receive me, And I woke up in tears."
The song rang in my ears throughout the night.
I had not thought of what I was to do once I found Orpheus. I could certainly not approach and question him about three dead girls. For a while I bid my time and followed him around, one of many who did. For days he did nothing but stroll around the city sighing, and singing, and glancing at the beautiful women with sad limpid eyes.
At the end of winter Orpheus announced he was heading for the temple of Bacchus located in the lap of the Kogaionon Mountains for the Spring Bacchanalia, which drew hundreds of merry, rowdy worshippers. He left the next morning, as did I.