Oracles of Delphi - Chapters 1 - 6

"Kleomon!" Menandros, who had been watching the interaction with a mixture of confusion and alarm, gasped. He puffed out his ample chest as if his sheer bulk would defend Theron from Kleomon's accusation. "Surely you are not insinuating that my friend-"  

"I don't have to insinuate anything." 

With a bemused look on his face, Theron taunted the old priest. "Just come out and say it then." Aithera and Praxis watched Theron. They knew to pay attention when his voice took on that calm, but challenging quality. 

"Oh, Kleomon," Philon sighed as if tired of the whole subject-whatever the subject was. Aithera couldn't follow the conversation. She had no idea what was going on.  

"I'll say it since no one else will. It's worshippers of Gaia and her drakon, the serpent Apollon defeated. They're the ones that killed this girl. They're the ones who descend on this place every winter. Celebrating the Dionysia," Kleomon waved his arms wildly toward the cliffs behind the theater. "Hiding in the hills, in the caves. The goddess goes by a thousand names. Ge, Gaia, Cybele, mountain mother, mistress of animals, it doesn't matter. She and wine-drunk Dionysos lead fools and idiots into frenzied orgies, wearing fawnskin or dancing naked-even here! Above our own sacred precinct-they come here, like winged harpies to Parnassus, thyrsus bearers, dripping honey, smearing their blood, wearing the earth all over their naked bodies. Women young and old taunting young boys and grown men with their nakedness...."  

"Stop now before you say something you will regret," Philon growled, no longer bored. 

Kleomon took another step toward Aithera. Praxis stood immobile in front of her, his body as taut as Odysseus's bowstring.  

"And the men!" The old priest continued, spittle flying, his face mottled and red. "Drunk on wine and mead. Oh, we put up with the Dance of the Fiery Stars at the rising of the Pleiades, we put up with their celebrations while Apollon winters with the Hyperboreans. But, then they go too far. Grown men dance naked like satyrs among the maenads. The Olympians be damned, these people worship the earth, they rut like animals, right here. I tell you they will tear the flesh off human bone and not even remember it in the morning. That's the sacrilege. That's the crime. Find the priestesses of Gaia and you'll find the ones responsible for this murder. And I'm sure that you," he poked his fleshy finger at Theron, "know exactly where to find them."

CHAPTER 6

"Theron?" Heraklios' voice boomed like a wave crashing on the shore as he swept into the theater. He was as tall and thick as a trireme's mast and he strode toward the altar like a man used to having the crowds part before him-even when there were no crowds. He was dressed in calf-high leather boots and a soldier's short chitoniskos and matching cloak. His beard was thick and he wore a floppy, fawn-skin, Makedonían-style kausia on top of a tightly curled mass of graying hair. He was clearly pleased with his station in life, and, as opposed to Philon and Kleomon, was obviously glad to see Theron.  

"By the gods, man," he slapped Menandros on the back so hard the playwright fell into Praxis, "why didn't you tell me your Athenian guests included Theron of Thessaly?" 

"Heraklios," Theron smiled and stepped forward. "I didn't know if you would remember." 

"Of course I remember," Heraklios gripped Theron's arm with both hands. "Saved Philip's life. Who could forget that? Now, tell me what we have here." He strode up to the altar, walked around it once, and then turned and eyed Aithera. 

"We were just preparing to move the body so we can prepare her for burial," Philon said. "Kleomon and I will-"  

"You must be Lysandros' daughter." Heraklios ignored Philon and looked Aithera up and down more thoroughly than he did the dead woman before turning back to Theron. "Philip said you'd taken a different sort of position. She's a beauty. A student or something more?"