Sappho by Nancy Freedman

fireplace whatever personal things the lady Sappho had brought.
    Sappho realized for the first time there was no other room in the house, that pallets were spread about at night. She was appalled there was to be no privacy. This, for her, would be the most difficult to bear. How could she compose? How could she sing new songs and retain the old, without privacy?
    The girl, Leto, brought Sappho a mint-flavored drink. Sipping it calmed her. “Thank you, it’s very good.”
    â€œNot what you are used to,” the girl demurred.
    Sappho smiled. “If each day were to bring what one was used to, why bother to open your eyes?”
    The girl was too flustered to understand the words, but she recognized the kind tone in which they were spoken.
    Sappho added, “May Father Zeus watch this house,” a formula in general use when one wished to retire. Niobe brought her comb and mirror, shook out a chiton and placed a second pair of sandals for morning. Niobe whispered, “It is a very poor house. I do not know how to bring my mistress comfort.”
    â€œBring water, Niobe, and a tub. I suppose they have one, and I cannot go to bed a second night without a proper bath.”
    There was a commotion, as Sappho’s request involved heating water. Sappho paid not the slightest attention. She had stated her wishes. She applied herself to her bronze mirror, sweeping her heavy hair high on her head, while Niobe blew fire into dead coals. She decided that in the morning ribbons of many colors should flow down her back.
    When the water was ready, Niobe dragged a wooden tub into their corner of the room and filled it, making many trips between it and the hearth. The washing sponge, fortunately, was among the items that had been gathered in haste. Sappho let her tunic fall and stepped into the tub.
    Leto turned to her own corner and unrolled her pallet.
    â€œGentle Leto, do not sleep,” Sappho whispered. “Talk to me.” Niobe squeezed the warmed water continuously over her, letting it cascade down her body. Sappho saw that Leto was too shy to speak, so she began in an intimate tone that made the girl a confidante. “It is strange being here, yet I am not distressed. I feel I am a homely Helen or plain Penelope, caught by those spinning women, the Fates. I can almost feel the tautness of Clotho’s thread, for Lachesis is laying out the pattern.”
    â€œI am glad that you do not feel too bad.” Leto spoke softly so as not to rouse her mother. “It must be hard to be exiled.”
    â€œIt is one way to learn about other people.” Here she stretched her arms above her head so that the drops of water on her skin glistened. “For instance I have heard that among the Barbarians nakedness is a sin and they are shamed by it.” Laughing, she stepped from the tub and allowed Niobe to rub her skin to a glow.
    Leto gained courage to raise herself on her elbow and ask, “Are you the Sappho who sings? Are you that Sappho?”
    â€œHave you heard my songs then? How, I wonder, did they climb to this craggy place?”
    â€œWe must seem very poor to you,” Leto said.
    â€œWell, I do not think I am in the palace of King Alyattes of Lydia, or among the Pharaohs.”
    This made Leto laugh.
    â€œWhich bed is mine?” Sappho asked as she slid into a sheer gauze sleeping robe.
    Leto stared at it, then recollected herself. “The guest spot by the fireside, and the gods grant you rest.”
    Sappho went to the designated place. “The gods give you sleep, Niobe.”
    â€œMistress,” the slave murmured, withdrawing to spill the bathwater and settle herself.
    â€œHave you always had someone to wait upon you?” Leto asked from her covers.
    â€œNot someone. Many.”
    â€œHow alone you will feel here!” the girl exclaimed.
    â€œNo, my brother and my friend are with me … and others.” She breathed the last words to