Sappho by Nancy Freedman Read Free Book Online

favor of the army and the mass of freemen, while the presence of Atreus soothed the aristocrats. Embers of Sappho’s discontent continued to smolder, as the new Tyrant proved no less harsh than Melanchros. With this Alkaios agreed, but he shrugged. “In this world what is perfect?”
    â€œIt is clear to me,” Sappho went on, “we must form ranks again and unseat Mysilos.”
    â€œHold on, Sappho. We’ve had our revolution.”
    â€œI tell you,” she said adamantly, “Mysilos must go, and Pittakos with him.”
    Alkaios gave her a long, shrewd look. “So it comes down to Pittakos.”
    *   *   *
    In spite of Sappho’s persistence, the conspirators would have disbanded had it not been for Atreus. He arranged for his brother to call a meeting but keep his coming secret. Alkaios simply said a comrade would join them. When Atreus appeared, the others were amazed and somewhat intimidated. For although not first in power, Atreus was one of the triumvirate. He approached the little group, hand on his heart.
    â€œSpeak then,” Alkaios told his brother.
    Atreus explained that he felt remorse at his part in bringing the new regime to power. Mysilos, with his profligate ways, was impoverishing the city, forever concocting schemes to defraud the people. It had come to the point, Atreus concluded, when a patriot could no longer stand by. If he could count on the support of their group, perhaps something could be done.
    He saw their hesitation. But he had come prepared, and hastened to tell them he was in possession of information of such a shameful sort that it would topple Mysilos.
    Khar shoved a goblet across the table at Atreus as a sign that he should tell what he knew. Into the expectant quiet, Atreus said, “Melanchros, our former Tyrant, is not in exile.”
    Sappho’s face grew white. “Where then?”
    â€œI can take you to the spot where his butchered body lies.”
    There was appalled silence.
    â€œOh, let me sing my anger,” Sappho said softly.
    And she did, asking in an anonymous poem where Melanchros was and suggesting that perhaps he was closer to home than any suspected. The verse was repeated the next day in the taverns, at the polished baths, and in the marketplace. By nightfall it was sung in every home.
    *   *   *
    The next morning the villa where Sappho lived was surrounded by soldiers. At the sight of them, her mother and aunt and the female servants set up a great wailing.
    The captain saluted. “We have an arrest order for Sappho, daughter of Skamandronymos.”
    â€œIn whose name is it issued?” Sappho demanded.
    â€œIt bears the seal of Commander Pittakos.”
    Sappho’s lips smiled, but her eyes did not smile. She kissed her mother and aunt, assuring them, “It is nothing. He is not a lover of poetry, that is all.” She walked lightly between her escorts, not looking at them but at the row of stately poplars they passed. If he wanted her silent, he would have to kill her. And as she plunged from time she would still sing his perfidy.
    They passed a group of boys marching naked and in good order on their way to the school of the harpmaster. They looked curiously at her. She was taken to the portico of the town hall with its statues of gods and princes vividly painted and waxed.
    Up the stairs they went to the great chamber. There, where a short time earlier Melanchros had presided, were her co-conspirators. Sappho’s heart pulsed in her throat. All had been rounded up, not only Khar and Alkaios but such high-spirited dandies as Pelops and the firebrand Pinytos, as well as Kepalus. They greeted her in a subdued manner, Alkaios murmuring hurriedly, “Atreus has fled into Egypt.”
    â€œHe was wise,” Pinytos said. “The gods alone know what retribution will be taken. All sorts of allegations are spreading through the city.” And he looked