Glory and the Lightning by Taylor Caldwell Page A

restless, and the moon is full. Perhaps she was heated in the night—after she left me—and roamed in the gardens, as a child roams who cannot sleep.”
    Thargelia said, “Have you discerned any predilection on her part for any particular young male slave?”
    “We have few here, and most are younger even than Cleo, and the others are of no great beauty and work in the gardens all day. No, Cleo has not looked at them with any attention.” She had a thought and then said boldly, “Why do you not have Echion examine her to confirm, or deny, her virginity?”
    Thargelia pursed her lips. “That is an excellent suggestion. However, I mistrust Echion. He might destroy her virginity, himself, with his ruthless fingers, if not worse.”
    “Then, Thargelia, you must watch him, yourself.”
    Thargelia played with her necklace. “That, too, is a good suggestion. I will have that done. Echion is in the city and will return tomorrow morning. In the meantime, do not alarm Cleo, Aspasia. She might run away.”
    She dismissed Aspasia. Aspasia did not return to her class, for she was too overwhelmed by this calamity. Instead, she went to her small chamber. She sat on her bed in the silent dormitory and began to think with despair. The situation called for extreme decision. She could not let Cleo suffer for her own wantonness. Even if she, herself, confessed—and she trembled at the thought—Cleo would also be punished for her part in the escapade. Enough. There must be instant action.
    She now considered Thalias for the first time. Discovery would entail the most drastic punishment a slave can receive: castration. She did not love him, but he had become her victim. She no longer remembered her ecstasies in his arms, and only determined that he must not suffer for her own abandon. She knelt by her bed and pulled out her small bronze chest of treasures from beneath it. The last gift of her dead young mother was still here, a purse of gold coins. She weighed it in her hand. It was very heavy.
    Now she must seek out Thalias, who, before he was called to teach the maidens, spent his time gossiping with the other slaves in the kitchens. There was no one she could trust to send for him. But she must face the danger. She left her bedroom and wandered out to the gardens and to the spot where the maidens practiced archery under Thalias’ direction. She found her bow and quiver and with apparent desultoriness shot at the target, and then expostulated aloud as if overcome with her own lack of skill. The gardeners covertly watched her and admired her beauty and the posture of her young body. Seeing this, she threw down her bow with exasperation, turned, tossed back her hair, and appeared to think. She let her eyes wander to an old gardener nearby, and she summoned him imperatively. He came at once.
    She said, “I am about to engage in a competition with other of the maidens, and I am a poor archer, and this shames me. Summon Thalias—that lazy and ever hungry slave—from the kitchen. He must help me at once.”
    The gardener bowed and touched his breast. He was stupid as well as old and Aspasia had chosen him well. She picked up her bow again, and though she was usually accurate and skillful she pretended that her missings of the target were in spite of her efforts. She sank on the grass dolefully, shaking her head, and fretfully pulling at the grass.
    Thalias was suddenly at her elbow, his eyes ardent with memories. After furtively glancing at him she put her finger to her lips and he was immediately still. She rose and said loudly, “You must help me! I am worse today, with the bow, than ever before.”
    As he was moderately intelligent he became tense and acutely aware, and his browned cheeks paled. It was not approved that a maiden should see an instructor alone, and so he was aware that he was in danger. He helped Aspasia to her feet and whispered in her ear, as he bent to brush her clothing free of grass, “What is it, my adored