By Aphrodite's Fire

In her newest challenge, L.C. Schäfer said we can still participate in the previous one, as there had been very few submissions. And since I had never written historical fiction, I gladly took the chance to try something new!

Would you also like to join? Here's the link:

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The sky is dark as my feet glide over the cold sandy beach.

Many women hum, standing on either side of my path. Their unfamiliar faces look stern and cold, reminding me of Mother. I hug my Eunoe tighter, soaking the comfort of her clay face and wooden body one last time, before leaving her in front of the altar as instructed.

By Aphrodite's fire, my bond with her is broken forever.

By Aphrodite's fire, I must shed my childhood toys and step into womanhood.

Tears burn in the corners of my eyes as I walk away from Eunoe. I feel her gaze on the back of my head. She must be weeping too. The women around me begin to sing: the official welcome to the Thiasos, my new home. Until a man shall claim me, that is.

Then she extends her hand.

My new teacher.

My new leader.

My new everything.

The power she holds in her gaze is magnetic, and the serene, loving expression caresses the features of her face, as does the dancing light of the surrounding torches.

I take her hand and she begins to sing. Now I know that I am forever hers.

"Atthis..." She calls to me, while the world around us disappears.

"Atthis!" A sense of urgency fills me as she pulls me closer. Her eyes, now so close to mine. Her beauty fills my soul with the sharp pain of a greedy gulp of water making its way into a parched throat: too much, too soon.

I feel like weeping again.

"Atthis, for Aphrodite's sake, wake up already!"

As I ease myself back into the world of the living, I see Clitso perched on the top side of my bed, playing with the stray straws that stick out of the mattress's side.

"What were you dreaming about? You were crying... and drooling!" She teases me.

"We must hurry, or we'll miss the lyra lesson". She slams my robe into my face and giggles her way up and away from my bed.

"But tell me along the way!"

She doesn't allow me any privacy to dress up. She has never given me that grace since our first day together at the Thiasos. I love her like a sister. But, Zeus, can she be invasive!

"The initiation ceremony." I grumble, as we make our way through the inner courtyard and speed up towards the Meleterion for our lessons.

"Again?" Clitso huffs and rolls her eyes at me. "You are such a sentimental one, Baby!" Her voice is teasing, but she promptly throws a comforting arm around my shoulders.

I shrug with fake indignation, but I do appreciate her hug, and I know she cares for me.

We make our way into the large room and find our seats.

I wasn't meant for all of this. I wasn't ready when my family gave me to the Thiasos. The youngest student they ever had, I was, indeed, everyone's baby when I arrived.

Many years have passed, and Clitso was the only one who called me that. The only one who remembered... the only one who'd been here longer than me. All the others have been married away already, and soon it would be our turn too. Maybe that's why I'm getting nightmares now...

Are they nightmares, though?

A sudden pain in my ribs draws me back to reality. Clitso chuckles: she just shoved me with the lyra.

"It's your turn," she whispers.

As I play the passage we've been practicing, I feel her gaze on me. Over the years, our relationship has changed.

My teacher became my peer.

My leader became my friend.

My everything became "Sappho".

I couldn't explain it to anyone, not to myself, not even to Clitso, but the way our souls connected when singing together or conversing lazily in front of the well in the courtyard felt like... home. I hadn't been ready to enter the Thiasos all those years ago. But now? I wasn't ready to leave it.

Once the lessons were done, we rushed to the Andron to get some food and catch the latest gossip from the city.

Mytilene was the theater of yet another civil war.

Not the explosive, violent kind as they had in Sparta, where most rivalries were settled with a duel. Not the endless political kind, made of subtleties and oratorial prowess like in Athens, either.

No, here on Lesbos we specialized in aristocratic families joining together as opposing coalitions and giving each other a slowly burning hell.

It would all start as a private mishap — perhaps a silly mistake at a dinner party — and escalate slowly and steadily for years, sometimes decades, until the breaking point would come. And after the occasional street skirmish, tactical assassination, and blatant defamation campaigns, we were now at one such breaking point.

Myrsilus, representing the aristocratic interests, and Pittacus, representing the military, were ready to take their grievances to the public.

This meant that hoplites could storm the capital at any moment and occupy the Acropolis, ensuring the final victory for one of the factions.

And a victory for Pittacus would mean the end of the Thiasos. The only home I've ever known would be foreclosed when he decided to go after the family members of those who supported his rival.

My train of thought is derailed by the sight of a familiar silhouette shadowing the door of the Andron: Charaxus, Sappho's brother, standing in the doorframe, panting, and dripping sweat all over his ruby face.

He looks as if he had run all the way here from the city!

My heart is squeezed by a thousand needles, a pain akin to frostbite.

"It cannot be!" A murmur escapes my shaky lips, while the freezing sensation propagates further, tightening my lungs and stomach. I would throw myself on the floor if it weren't for Clitso's steady arms holding me.

Not because there was a man in the Andron, and no man had ever set foot inside the walls of the Thiasos during my time here. Although on some other day, that would have been reason enough to faint.

No. It was... he ran.

Running is a thing for children and slaves. Unbecoming of a man of the caliber of Charaxus, one of the richest merchants of all Lesbos. He would never run. Unless he was in a life-or-death situation.

The lively buzzing of busy voices died as Charaxus made his way between the tables: we all knew the meaning of his presence.

Wait. He's looking for something. Or someone...

Me?

"Atthis... a word?" His voice bellows from the depths of a very dry throat. "Alone?" His demanding hand is gesturing away at Clitso, but his eyes are still fixed on mine.

Is he studying me?

As we walked to Sappho's private area of the villa, my heart shrank listening to Charaxus confirming all of my fears. The hoplites had taken the Acropolis earlier this morning, during our lyra lesson. Pittacus was about to be appointed dictator, and his first law would require the exile of all members of Myrsilus's faction.

"You must convince my sister to marry Cercylas of Andros today, before the exile law is passed!" Charaxus implores as we keep walking, swiftly making our way to Sappho's private quarters.

I didn't know he cared for his sister. Zeus, I didn't know he cared about anything besides his money!

"She is the only unmarried woman in the family, the only one who can still change her name and remain in Lesbos. She could take our belongings as dowry and keep them safe while we plan our return!"

Oh. Now that's more like him.

"You're our only hope!" He shrieks, unceremoniously pushing me into Sappho's study before running away. To bury some of his fortune somewhere safe, for sure.

I stumble loudly into the room, where Sappho is standing by the outer entrance. Although I can only see her back, I know that she is deep in thought, her eyes staring into the distance with their usual grace, surrounded by the faintest lines of age. For so many years, I watched that expression; I could draw it from memory on a piece of parchment.

"Atthis, I was expecting you". She says, her voice calm and full of gravitas, without turning around.

"How did you...?" I gasp.

"I got news of what happened in the capital. I know my brother and his love for money. I know the only condition that would allow him to save most of it... it was only logical that he would send you." She turns to face me.

Her expression, exactly as I imagined — imperscrutably serene.

Her powerful gaze, as always — sending shivers down my spine.

"Just who does my brother think I will renounce my celibacy for?" She smiles and small lines crease her cheeks. I find myself longing to trace them with my fingertips.

"Cercylas of Andros."

I try to sound reassuring but my chest is about to explode.

"Ah, an honest man! Tell Charaxos I am impressed. But I still decline." She is about to turn away again as I scream:

"They will exile you and take everything!" I didn't realize how scared I was until I heard it in my own voice.

"I will go away on my own terms." The amusement has drained from her face.

She looks... hesitant? I must insist!

"Where will you even go? I heard they don't allow women to be poets in the other poleis, let alone teachers!" She doesn't seem bothered by this. Let's try a different angle.

"And what will we do once they foreclose the Thiasos?" She shifts her weight from one foot to the other when I scream at her.

"What will I do?" My voice suddenly turns soft.

She looks uncomfortable, like I have never seen her before. She steps closer to me, grabbing a bag from the ground.

"Your concern is heartwarming, Atthis. But you will leave the Thiasos soon. Like you were always supposed to. The temple of Aphrodites will take the rest of the girls in." Her tone is detached, matter-of-fact, but her face tells a whole different story.

"Why can't you just get married?" I protest. I feel like fighting with her. We should always fight for those we love.

Silent, she steps closer. So close that our eyes are but a few daktylos away from each other. Just like in my dream. I swallow hard, but my heart won't take the hint to slow down. I'm afraid she'll hear it and understand. But, maybe, I want her to understand.

"I have reasons against marriage which I wouldn't divulge to a twin soul..." She whispers softly, pressing a finger on my lips as to let me know that I am done talking, before walking out of the door.

"A twin soul?" I freeze. My heart's throbbing is now deafening.

"Wait!" I finally manage to scramble outside, where a passing chariot has lifted the dust of the street, making it hard to see anything.

"Take me with you!" I scream as loud as I can, the suffocating dust filling my lungs.

"Please..."

But her chariot is long gone.

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Author's note:

Very little is known about Sappho of Lesbos, a poet, teacher, and influential woman surrounded by a lot of rumors and speculations. Some historians believe that she was celibate and romantically (or sexually) involved with one (or several) of her students, while others think that she was married to Cercylas of Andros.

All the setting's information in this story is as historically accurate as I could muster, while everything relating to Sappho follows one of the many possible interpretations.

Her brother arranging a marriage as a way for her to escape exile is pure fiction.

Atthis is quoted in many of Sappho's poem fragments as a young girl of the Thiasos (the circle of women who lived and studied with Sappho) and potentially a friend (or lover). So is Clitso.

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