Sappho by Nancy Freedman Read Free Book Online Page B

about.”
    She looked at him with curiosity.
    â€œWould you still bring down the Tyrant Mysilos and his henchman Pittakos?”
    Immediately she was on her feet. “Not here in the house. Come, walk with me by the columns of the loggia and tell me what is in your mind.”
    In the sunshine she felt free from prying ears and eyes. “You have some word of your brother?”
    â€œYou are shrewd, Sappho.”
    â€œBut how? He has not had time to reach Egypt.”
    â€œHe left a message that I just found.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    Alkaios hesitated. “The gods know, now that I am here I am afraid to tell you.”
    She laughed at him. “For what do you fear? Your heart or your head?”
    â€œMy heart you have danced on with heedless feet until it is squashed flat with no life in it at all. But I have given some thought to the creeping poison they say Mysilos uses.”
    She tossed her dark hair. “I do not fear him. And I don’t believe there is a message.”
    He drew a folded sheet of papyrus from his breast and showed it to her.
    She looked from it to him. “What is it? A map of the city?”
    â€œFirst, is this my brother’s genuine name-stamp and seal?”
    She frowned over it. “Yes, of that I am quite certain. But these round dots?” Her frown deepened as she studied the sketch. “Could they be the stone markers pointing to the entrance of Mitylene?”
    He nodded. “And the cross?”
    She shook her head, puzzled.
    â€œIt has to be the spot that holds the body of Melanchros.”
    She grabbed his hand with all her strength, her eyes enormous in her face. “Alkaios, by the gods … Where was this hidden and why did you not find it sooner? Perhaps the papyrus was placed there by Pittakos?”
    â€œYou recognized Atreus’s seal. The map was hidden under the sundial in my garden, a spot he and I used when we were boys.”
    â€œWhy did you not look there at once?”
    â€œIt has been so many years. I told you, we were boys. But in thinking of it, it occurred to me that perhaps he had left a message, and I looked in the old place.”
    Sappho was double-listening—to him, and inside herself. “It could be a trap,” she said. “Atreus could have been forced. It might be the price for a passage to Egypt.”
    Alkaios rejected this angrily. “My brother is of my house and lineage. He would not betray us.”
    Sappho threw her arms wide, abandoning herself to joy. “Then we have brought down Pittakos and his straw man!” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she brought her face close to his. “Alkaios, what would you say to a decayed body wrapped in its poor winding sheet, left moldering in the very center of the market square for all Mitylene to see?”
    Alkaios did not share her enthusiasm. “A moldering body? You mean … dig him up? Surely that is not a job for two poets.”
    â€œWhy not? It is the highest duty of the poet to fight for freedom.”
    He shook his head. “I have no taste for this enterprise. If you want to know, the thought of what we may find turns my stomach. And you, Sappho, are”—he searched for an inoffensive word—“delicate.”
    She glared at him. “Small. That’s what you mean, small. It doesn’t matter—we will bring the others.”
    â€œThere are too many to trust with the secret.”
    â€œKhar, then. Khar will help us.”
    Alkaios still wavered. “Suppose you are right and Atreus was forced? They will be watching the spot.”
    â€œWe won’t do it tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. Eventually they will grow tired and not watch.”
    â€œO Sappho of the violet hair. Why must we always be serious? If we are not engaged in plots, we are analyzing the work of Ionian Mimnermos, or Terpander of Antiss, or experimenting with lines based on different sounds