Praise to Athena
Dearest Aspasia,
I trust this finds you well. I’ve known you to adore your sense of secrecy, but I did pay the courier what I imagine is a delightful sum for him to deliver this to you. Perhaps I should have hired Kassandra, who cannot be killed and seems to find her way into every last crevice and canyon of the known world. If anyone could find you, it would be her. Last I heard you were leaving Naxos and headed through Attika, making your way towards Phokis. Seeking the wisdom of the Pythia, are we? I didn’t take you for a believer in the supernatural, no matter cousin Perikles’ worship of Athena.
Beloved Aspasia, Athens heals day by day. Perhaps, in our lifetime, we will see it restored to its former glory― even as I write this, I watch my mentor Socrates gather around a new oddity of students and question the ways of the universe without really providing his opinion at all. The eyes of his scholars then go wide with curiosity as they jump up and down to provide their answers and ask him questions. Do they even know what to truly say, I wonder, or is the nature of the debate to merely keep the tongue wiggling?
King Pleistoanax, taking the Agiad mantle from that dreadful Pausanias, is considering entering peace talks with Athens. Though we serve to challenge the notion of Diarchy in our great city, I will admit he seems to calm the rage Archidamus brings to the table when it comes to this pestilence of a War. Indeed, I beg you to spare me from your criticism as I write that I would much rather serve Pleistoanax than the newest upstart to climb towards Kleon’s popularity. Nicias has been nothing but a thorn in my side for the past few years, yet the people see something in him that prompts their approval.
This treaty won’t last. Mark my words, beloved Aspasia. This war will continue long after the two of us are dead.
Another matter of which I wish to write; after much debate, the state has given me the house of Perikles. While I am honored to accept it, you know that I take residence in the Port of Piraeus. I will continue legal ownership of the house, but I would like to formally invite you back to Athens to return to your home. If anyone could aid in the restoration of our city, it would be Aspasia of Miletus.
Praise to Athena!
Her hands shook slightly as she continued to peruse the letter. Alkibiades had been a son of one of Perikles’ cousins, yet treated Aspasia as family despite her unofficial ostracism from the city. She had to let out a smile at the tone of his words. Though she had controlled Athens, and the Cult with it, she could never hope to control Alkibiades.
And… the idea of returning to her home sounded too good to be true. She rested her chin in her palm, propped up by her elbow, and glanced out at the shoreline of Opous. Even from inside her inn room, she could taste the salt in the air. The last thing Aspasia wished was to live as a nomad, but if the people of Miletus did not accept her as their own (and a part of her knew they wouldn’t), then where could she live that would accept her as the great Aspasia?
You do not deserve the acclaim you acquired as Perikles’ consort, a voice in the back of her head whispered. Why would the people you abandoned accept you, merely because of your ability to gossip with an Athenian accent?
There were not many reasons to object to Alkibiades’ offer. However, there was the worry that any insertion back into Athenian politics would greatly anger Kassandra― and perhaps the young Spartan was not incorrect in her threats. What would hold Aspasia from slipping into her old ways and manipulating the entire world the moment she had even a modicum of influence? It was a struggle alone to restrain from writing back to Alkibiades in that deadly whisper she’d grown accustomed to as the Ghost. And she harbored equal restraint to not write Alkibiades in the motherly tone she’d scolded him with the first few years that he lived in their home. Eventually, she settled on the mustered words with an air of defeat;
Beloved Alkibiades,
I have been tested, found guilty by an archon who once upon a time called me a friend. I wish to head back to Miletus for a while, as I regain a shred of dignity that was taken from me by this magistrate. Mind you, the judge made the correct call, as the evidence against me was great and of my own doing. I assure you, it is metaphorical trouble I speak of, not legal; though this trial came about by my own hobby of political manipulation. You know me well. I did harm, and I’m beginning to recognize that I intended harm as well.
Dearest cousin of Perikles, I miss my partner greatly. Sometimes, I wonder just how responsible for his death I truly was. Had I not strayed from my career as a consort… would he have lived? In my haste to throw parties and welcome the leaders of the world into my grip, had I squeezed too tightly with my greedy fingers? I worry that I influenced Kleon to nearly destroy Athens in his frenzy. And, through Kleon, did Perikles not succumb to his fate?
Oh, I wish I could tell you more. I feel as though I’ve hidden myself away from those I loved most, and in turn have destroyed all sense of family for myself. You are the last person in my life who I can trust and love. Perhaps someday, I will tell you all I know to be true. You’ve always been fond of gossip, I know, but the secrets I harbor would destroy me were I to let them slip from wine flavored lips. Then again, I know you adore your share of secrecy and manipulation. I’ve taught you well.
Should you wish to continue correspondence, send your letter to Thasos City. I shall be in touch with a friend. Safety to you, and praise to Athena!
Xenia accepted the clay cup filled with the driest wine that the innkeeper had available on such a short notice. The entire town was on edge in her presence, though none dared to approach her with malicious intent. So long as she did not, in turn, attack anyone with her hefty iron maul or her infamous pirate vessel.
The famed statue of Theageneses seemed to almost stare right into her eyes, from where they sat in the Agora, with an offering bowl chock full of fruits and flowers at his feet. Pious fools, wasting precious resources on a statue of some supposed son of a hero. Sure, she enjoyed the treasures and trinkets of legend, but Xenia had never cared for those foolish enough to think the Gods would solve their problems with a simple “please and thank you”. One of the things she’d liked about Kassandra was that the young captain agreed with her on that front.
Speaking of.
“It’s done, then?”
Her treasured friend, Aspasia, whom she had sailed with from Miletus almost two decades prior, gazed not at the famous bronze statue in the Agora, but out towards the sea. The mountains bordering Makedonia cast a shadow over Greece, though some might call it, again, a sign from the Gods. All Xenia saw was old war history from the time of her parents, and a reason to stick to the water as one’s main transport.
“It’s done. The entire Cult has been killed off. All by her hand, I might add.”
Xenia let out a snort, “I knew she was up to the task the moment I met her. If anyone could do it, it’d be a half-starved rascal with a broken spear and a mangy bird trailing above her. To say nothing of the state of that ship she uses. But, I will begrudgingly admit, she’s done some fine work on it over the past few years.”
“Enough to destroy the aquatic influence the Cult had over the Aegean, yes.”
“You sound angered, as though you haven’t expressed to me that you wished for her to wipe out your conspirators.”
Aspasia… she bore more melancholy than Xenia had ever seen her carry, surpassing the day at sea when she tearfully admitted she’d be a slave to some statesman or general in Attika. Sure, the official word was hetaera, but Xenia knew. She knew the truth that Aspasia kept within her chest, that she had no true freedom so long as a man kept her as a prize. Not a lowly street pornai , but… well, the pornai had far more freedom, did they not? Freedom to walk whatever street and, should the need arise, travel to a new port or city for differing clientele. A hetaera’s work was wrapped in social rules and responsibility. Practically a wife without first providing true love.
Xenia had never really cared for love, but she wished it upon Aspasia all the same.
“I wished for politics that… oh, Xenia. I’ve made a malakas out of myself,” the other woman sighed, hiding her head in her hands.
“Well, we’re all allowed a fuck up every now and then.”
“Not like this. This is a Sophoclean tragedy.”
Xenia took a sip of wine and let the silence sit for but a moment, before saying, “I don’t know who that is.”
She always hated it when Aspasia cried. If anyone could rival the beauty of Aphrodite, it would be her , Xenia thought. And one such as Aphrodite should never be forced to a state of such sorrow.
“I thought Kassandra would kill me. She seemed poised to strike, spear resting on my spine. But she didn’t. I… I honestly don’t know why. I’ve taken everything from her.”
“Hmm.”
Myrinne was dead. The news had both shocked and greatly saddened Xenia. She’d loved the Spartan woman, but had always known the Cult would stop at nothing to end her. Myrinne had known it too― somehow that made it worse, as though she were cursed into a doe that forever fled the arrows of Artemis.
Aspasia picked at her plate of apples, bread, and cheese. The consort finally let out a laugh, “What life can I possibly lead, knowing that I must look over my shoulder for her at every breath? No trade of mine will allow me peace, if her threats are to be believed.”
“I would believe them.”
“Perhaps it would have been better if she had killed me.”
“Perhaps.”
Aspasia gave Xenia a harsh stare before smiling, “You are a lousy friend.”
“But I am your friend.”
“Indeed. I need a plan. But I am afraid of plans. How can I not be? The very lifestyle of the cult, dare I agree with a Spartan misthios, brought me to ruin in the first place. The obsession with control and power, the hunt for bloodlines and artifacts. Even running the philosophers in circles with my dialogue was an act for the Cults eyes to record.”
“Tell me something.”
“Anything.”
“I recall a letter, wherein you mentioned an Hermippos, a playwright who contrasted Perikles whenever he could, seeking to have you ostracized. Yet, when I spoke with Kassandra, in confidence, she recounted how she murdered none other than Hermippos after discovering him to be a Cultist.”
“He was.”
Aspasia’s eyes had trailed to her bowl of unappetizing gruel, to the table, to the pirate’s armor, to her own new red chiton, replacing the extravagant peplos anyone could recognize her in. Anything to avoid Xenia’s intense, battleworn stare.
“I did not directly control the actions of Hermippos, but I was aware of their intent from within the Cult. It was to fuel the war. I… the Sage named Nyx ordered the actions taken by her disciples. I only ever encouraged chaos. I only ever made them believe I was controlling them, that I would promise them power beyond their wildest dreams?”
“Did you?”
“Control them? No. Never. Not for a single day in all of a dozen years. There was a reason I was called the Ghost. I was a thing to be feared, but bearing little physical dominion.”
Xenia kept quiet. She knew Aspasia. Knew when she lied by the way she would hold her shoulders and smile. This was… different. She sat slumped in her chair, ignoring the posture and poise chipped into her by them that trained hetaera. Aspasia had lied to Xenia before, though the outcomes were not malicious enough for the pirate to warrant revenge of any sort. Truth was a currency in the language of leaders, the pirate knew, and Aspasia was in no such debt to her. Yet the Miletian paid Xenia in the currency of truth at this very moment.
“They could be nudged in directions, but every single one of them had their own agency. Except perhaps Lagos. Pausanias held his family at the end of a knife for the taste of precious Arkadian grain. The rest of them fought among each other in the name of destroying all they could. All for a God.”
“Is it completely gone? All of it?”
Aspasia finally took a small piece of bread and chewed on it, and Xenia passed her the cup of strong wine she’d been neglecting.
“No. There are people like me all over the world. Any country you’ve heard of in your travels, I guarantee there are organizations operating like the Cult, to be found in the shadows and on the thrones. Likewise… any shore you land upon… there are rogues like Kassandra. Knives out, “protecting the freedoms of the people”, or so they say. It is an eternal struggle, one without end. And that is where the chaos is found.”
“I’ll have to travel more often. I’d love to meet more women like Kassandra.”
Another smile, a smirk more than anything. Xenia knew that Aspasia was exhausted of options, of emotion, of the very will to live. The pirate personally had little care as to who ran the world― Cult or no. Neither the common people nor the tyrants could run governments for very long without some precious coin or gems to raise their farms and throw their festivals. Anyone could become beset by a league of pirates. Anyone.
“Where do you go from here?”
“I’ve paid for a ship to Lesbos― do not sink it, I know that look. From Mytelene, I will surely find passage to Miletus. That is, if the citizens of Lesbos do not realize I may have allowed Kleon to nearly slaughter them all.”
A handful of nearby merchants gawked at the scandalous behavior of the seven foot tall warrior laughing her ass off, before she sent them on their way with a glare.
“The ship will be making a stop in Makedonia to pick up some stuffy noble or statesman; as well as his wife, his two dozen servants, and his staff, I’m sure. The ship will likely be in Amphipolis for a week, knowing the bureaucracy of it all.”
“I would see you there myself, were my boat not threatened by what lurks in those waters.”
“Sharks?” Aspasia asked with a grin.
“Persians.”
“Persians?”
“Persians,” Xenia affirmed. “We’ve been getting reports from our Boeotian gang of increased activity from their borders― and collusion with Sparta, no less. It would seem the tides of the War are going to greatly change. Perhaps you are leaving the mother country at a good time.”
“If there are Persians here, in Greece… then…”
Aspasia stood, walking over to Xenia and pulling her to her feet with a quick tug (and a grumble from the pirate).
“I cannot waste time. I need to know the activities of these Persians.”
“Pardon my confusion, dearest Aspasia, but did you not regale me with a tale of how one mighty misthios would end your life should you ever dare to repeat the actions of your entire past? I know that glint in your eye. For once, listen to me when I say… this won’t end well.”
“You are mistaken. I need to warn Kassandra, not oppose her. I believe those Persians are hunting her.”
“Ah. Off you go then. This definitely won’t end like a ‘Sophoclean tragedy’.”
“You don’t know who Sophocles is.”
Xenia slapped a handful of coins on the table and offered the Miletian her hand, “I wanted to impress you. Let’s prepare you for a departure, then.”
Dearest Alkibiades,
No matter what you hear about me, I need you to spread rumors that I am still of popularity in Athens and in power. Tell them I am in employment as consort to some general or another. Make up a name. Procles. Pythodorus. Lysicles . I beg this favor of you, just this once. I need word of my power to precede me in Makedonia, and I know that, if anyone can create gossip, you can. Yes, you may recruit Aristophanes, I know how much you like him. You know not to ask questions, but I can give you a single answer; Kassandra’s life depends on it. With that, I trust you will enjoy your mission. I am aware that you prefer to have the legendary misthios in your debt.
Speaking of debts... use the name Lysicles. He won’t mind, he owes me.
Praise to Athena