Oracles of Delphi - Chapters 1 - 6

"Well ... um ... I'm disappointed that your Praxis is not here for the tour as well," Menandros stammered, and turned back to Aithera. "I understand he is instrumental in managing your father's estate." 

"Never fear," Aithera said. "Praxis will join us momentarily. He met an old friend for breakfast. Perhaps you know him. Palamedes. He's a temple artisan."  

Menandros stopped and turned to appraise her. "By Apollon's arrows, a temple artisan? Palamedes is not just any old potter. He may be the best in all Hellas. Your painters in Athens have nothing on him." Menandros boasted as if he was personally responsible for Palamedes's abundant talents." I own several of his pieces. Originals. Not like those copies they sell in the gift shops or hawk along the Sacred Way. But how did your slave come to know him?" 

"My father arranged for them to meet on my first trip to Delphi," Aithera said. "Father paid Palamedes to write to Praxis, to help him learn to read and write in his native tongue." 

"Ah, your man is a Syrian then," Menandros said, not waiting for confirmation. "He would have had a very good teacher in Palamedes. As a matter of fact, the great man has been teaching my houseboy to draw and even do a little pottery." 

"My father-" 

"Stop!" Menandros exclaimed. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's time." He stepped out of the way. "After you, my dear. You will now see for yourself that there is no theater more beautiful-or more deserving of support-in all Hellas."  

Aithera cast a quick backward glance at Theron and then stepped through the arched doorway, over the threshold, and out onto the smooth paving stones of the round orchestra. It was indeed an impressive site. She squinted and shaded her eyes as she took in the sweeping rows of audience benches nestled into the cavernous hillside. 

Menandros sighed in delight and turned to Theron. "I knew she would be impressed." 

"By the gods!" Aithera gasped. 

"Yes," Menandros said, as pleased with himself as if he'd just downed a fine kylix of wine, "the gods have indeed favored Delphi above all other sacred places." 

"Shut up." Theron brushed past Menandros and caught up to Aithera as she rushed toward center of the orchestra. 

"What?" Menandros, his brow furrowed in confusion, squinted into the sunlight and followed in Theron's wake. Then he saw his new thymeli, the sacred altar where libations and sacrifices were offered to Dionysos before every performance, and he staggered back as if he'd run headlong into a wall. He walked unsteadily toward the altar as Aithera, clutching Theron's arm, slowly circled it.  

Naked and draped upon it was the dead body of a young woman. She lay on her back, arms splayed off to each side, legs spread wide. A viper lay draped between her legs, it's tail dangling toward the ground and its bashed-in head resting on a smear of blood between her breasts. Her head was tipped backward off the edge of the altar and her empty eyes stared upside down at nothing-at everything. A mass of long, tangled hair hung limp, the tips a whisper away from the paving stones. A stiff breeze picked up the woman's curls and twisted them toward Aithera like Medusa's grasping serpents.  

Menandros shuddered and Theron wrapped his arm around Aithera's shoulders. She leaned into him and whispered, "Nephthys was right. There is evil in Delphi." 

CHAPTER 5

Standing on opposite sides of the altar, the woman's body between them, Aithera met Theron's gaze. "Other than these bruises on her arm and the marks on her cheekbone, there are no signs of a struggle. Have you discovered anything?"