creak as I leaned against it. We stepped into a yard in which there were fruit trees, dark cypresses and a stone pool.
An old slave limped toward us, one knee apparently stiffened by a red-hot stone in the barbaric manner of yore. He greeted us with suspicion but we did not heed his protests. Mikon rinsed his hands in the yellow water of the pool and exclaimed that the water was quite warm. We guessed that it was the same water that we had seen bubbling forth from the hot springs surrounding the city.
Meanwhile the old slave returned indoors for help and soon we were confronted by a large woman wrapped from head to heel in a striped robe. In Himeran-accented Greek she demanded to know whether we were thieves, since we had broken into the yard of a defenseless widow.
She was not completely defenseless, however, for the old slave had seized a cudgel and a sturdy man on the steps was holding an evil-looking Phoenician bow. The woman herself gazed at us proudly and it was apparent that she had once been beautiful, although now there were wrinkles around her black eyes, her arched nose and her mocking lips.
Mikon answered humbly, “We are but refugees from lonia who have been fighting the Persians. The sea gods brought us to the shores of Himera and your ruler Krinippos has promised us homeless men a haven for the winter.”
But Dorieus rejected such humility and shouted, “You may be a homeless refugee but I am a Spartan and am here to seek a new land, not as a suppliant but as an inheritor. We stepped into your garden because all the other residents of Himera have competed with one another for the privilege of offering their friendship and hospitality to our humble seamen. We were unable to find a house worthy of us and apparently chose the wrong gate. We certainly would not expect a defenseless widow to show us hospitality.”
The woman came closer, absently took from my hand the feather I was still holding, and said, “Forgive my rudeness. It was the sight of your weapons and bright shields that alarmed me. I thank whatever god brought you to my gate and bid you welcome. I shall have my servants prepare a feast worthy of you without delay. Your appearance tells me that you are far from humble men, but neither am I a humble woman. My name is Tanakil. If that means nothing to you, I can assure you that it is known to many even beyond Himera.”
She led us into her house, bade us hang our weapons in the entrance hall, and showed us the banquet room with convivial couches piled high with mattresses and tasseled pillows. There were chests ornamented with oriental scenes and a Phoenician household god whose ivory face was painted lifelike and who was clothed in expensive garments. A large Corinthian mixing vessel for wine was in the center of the floor and along the walls were Attic vases, both the older black-figured vases and the new ones with red figures.
Tanakil said diffidently, “You can see that my banquet room is gloomy and that spiders have spun their webs in its corners. The greater, then, is my joy at having high-born guests who do not scorn the modesty of my house. If you will be patient I will put my cooks to work and the wine containers to cool and will send my slave to purchase sacrificial meat and to engage musicians.”
She smiled and her black eyes flashed. “I myself am old and ugly but I know what men crave after a trying voyage and I don’t think that you will be disappointed.”
While the meal was being prepared she urged us to bathe in the sulphurous water of the pool. We removed our clothes and stepped in, and the hot water relaxed our limbs delightfully. Slaves came to wash us, to clean our hair and anoint our bodies with fragrant oils. Tanakil, too, came out and watched us with apparent pleasure.
When the slaves had finished we were as though reborn. Our clothes had been removed and we were given shirts of the finest wool over which we hung mantles already pleated. Having clothed ourselves, we returned to the banquet room and reclined on the couches while slaves offered us such savory bits as olives filled with salt fish and rolled smoked meat filled with a paste of oil, eggs, sweet milk and spices.
The salty food whetted our appetite and thirst so that we listened with only mild interest to the blind flute player and the three girls who sang old Himeran songs with sweet voices. Finally Tanakil reappeared, clothed in rich garments, her arms and neck bare save for a considerable fortune in gold and silver. Her hair had been combed up into a dome, she had painted her cheeks and lips red, and her eyes glowed under the black brows.
The fragrance of rosewater emanated from her as she smiled playfully and poured a sackful of wine into the mixing vessel and then added the proper amount of icy water. The singing girls hastened to fill our shallow chalices and offered them to us on bended knee.
“I can guess how thirsty you are,” said Tanakil. “Quench your thirst with the wine and water. You have probably already heard the chaste song about the shepherdess who wasted away for love. Soon you will hear the tale of Daphnis and Chloe, which is sufficiently tiresome not to disturb your appetite. Let us nevertheless respect the traditions of Himera. In time you will learn why and how we honor the cock as the emblem of our city.”
Covered dishes of lamb and beef as well as boned birds on a skewer were brought to us, together with root vegetables, mustard sauce and a delicious porridge. Each time we drank the girls placed in our hand a new chalice at the bottom of which was a different picture.
Finally, panting from the food, we pleaded for mercy. Tanakil then had fruit and grapes, rich cakes and other sweets brought in, and with her own hands opened a sealed jug of wine. The mint-flavored drink cooled our mouths but rose so quickly to our heads that, full as we were, it was as though we were floating on clouds. The treacherous wine made our limbs throb, and we looked with new eyes at the girls who had sung so modestly.
Tanakil noticed our looks and shifted her garment so that we might the better see her white throat and arms. In the dimness she was certainly not an ugly woman and her age was not apparent when she kept her chin up.
“The girls who have sung and served you will now dance,” she said, “although they know only innocent shepherds’ dances. Krinippos will not permit professional dancers to be brought to Himera.”
She called out to the flute player and signaled to the girls, whereupon they began to cavort about like young foals and to doff their garments as they danced. The dance was not artistic nor would I have called it exactly innocent, for its sole purpose seemed to be to reveal the girls.
As they halted before us, breathing heavily, I said, “Tanakil, you inestimable hostess! Your meal was superb but your mint wine is dangerous and these naked girls are a seductive sight. Do not lead us to temptation, for we have promised not to harm this city’s residents.”
Tanakil looked enviously at the three young girls, sighed and replied, “You would certainly not harm them by laying hands on them. They are respectable girls but because of their humble birth are allowed to accept gifts from whom they please so long as it does not become a habit. Thus they can obtain a larger dowry than by working and can marry some sailor or artisan or farmer.”
“Every land has its own customs,” observed Mikon. “The Lydians also do this, while in Babylon a girl must sacrifice her virginity in a temple for money before she can marry. And the greatest honor that a Scythian can show a guest is to lead his own wife to the guest’s bed for the night. So why should we belittle the customs of Himera, which has so graciously given us sanctuary within its walls?”
The girls ran to us, wound their arms around our necks and began kissing us. But Dorieus angrily thrust his girl away.
“By the cock which perched on Herakles’ shoulder, I respect my passions too highly to lay hands on a low- born girl. It would not become my position, although of course I shall give the girl the gift that she desires.”
Mikon splashed a drop of wine onto the floor, kissed the girl who had brought him the chalice, and said, “The greatest crime is to insult the laws of hospitality. Time runs before me on fleet feet. In worshiping Aphrodite of Akraia I thought that I would never again wish to look at a mortal woman. But I was badly mistaken, for at this very moment Aphrodite is bewitching my eyes and causing my limbs to tingle with desire.”
He carried the girl into the dusky garden. Tanakil sighed and asked that the lamps be lighted. But Dorieus caught her hand.
“Do not light the lamps, Tanakil. This lighting becomes you and softens your proud features. Your brilliant eyes and hawk nose prove that you are of noble birth. Confess that you are.”
I realized that Dorieus was badly intoxicated. “Beware lest you insult our hostess,” I warned him.
Tanakil’s mouth dropped open in amazement. Then she hastily covered it with her hand to conceal her missing teeth.
“You have guessed correctly, Spartan. I am a daughter of Carthage and my forefathers are descended from Queen Dido who founded the city, and she in turn was of divine birth.”
She became so interested that she went to one of the inner rooms and brought out a genealogical table. It
