Sappho's Leap by Erica Jong Page B

I could be your courier, courtier, right-hand man about the house. I could bring your messages to Alcaeus. Perhaps I could convince him to follow you here or meet you elsewhere. Say the word. Your wish is my command.”
    Why did this Lydian stranger make me suspicious? How could I be sure he really knew Alcaeus as well as he implied?
    â€œI will think about your offer,” I said. “Come call on me when you have seen Isis and know your future better.”
    Cyrus prostrated himself before me, his gold gewgaws jingling. There was something about him I didn’t like.
    â€œThe world is a dangerous place, Lady Sappho,” said the stranger. “In Babylon, Nebuchadnezzar is preparing who knows what bloody horrors. In Egypt, Necho seeks to return that land to its former glory. Alyattes of Lydia seeks to rule the whole known world—and he has the gold to do it. The Persians are gathering force and want to overmaster all their neighbors. The Greeks are in turmoil both at home and in their colonies. The gods have abandoned us to charlatans and false prophets. We have fallen far from the purity of Homer’s heroes. A woman needs a protector and I can be that for you. Syracuse is great, but it is not the only city on earth. A fabled singer like yourself can tour the known world singing and earning untold riches—Delphi, Athens, Ephesus, Dodona, Naucratis, Samos, Chios. As our world crumbles into gold dust, the newly rich everywhere seek poets to sing their praises. They will pay dearly for the privilege. I can do this for you—trade your songs for gold—if only you let me.”
    â€œI sing to honor Aphrodite, not for gold.”
    â€œAh—that may have worked in the old heroic days, but now gold is the only measure men believe in. Your scruples hold you back. They will impoverish you. You dream of the gods—but the gods are dead. They cannot intervene on your behalf. Only gold gleams where the gods used to be.”
    I thought of how I might answer him, but before I could say a word, Isis’ handmaiden appeared to usher him into her chamber.
    I was so troubled by the choices Isis and Cyrus had proposed that when I got home I asked Praxinoa for her counsel.
    â€œA slave cannot tell her mistress what to do,” Praxinoa said angrily.
    â€œEven if the mistress asks?”
    â€œWhy now?” Prax asked. “You have Isis to counsel you and also your mother. You hardly asked my counsel when you bedded Alcaeus or Isis.” I looked at her in shock. Had I been so indiscreet? I myself had told her about Alcaeus. But she also knew everything about Isis.
    â€œWhat do you know of my life?” Prax asked in a fury. “I know everything about you and you know nothing of me! You do not even know where I come from. My parents found me on a mountaintop near Eresus, where I had been abandoned by my father. They raised me tenderly till the age of six, then sold me to your grandfather. I feel lucky to be alive even if I am a slave. I am lucky not to be in a brothel or on a treadmill. My choices are not your choices. You are free.”
    â€œFree! What does it mean?” I asked. I had never felt so trapped by my own conflicting feelings.
    â€œIt means making choices,” Praxinoa said, “even if you do not know what choices to make. But you are confused because you have too many choices. You think you can love your child, love Isis, love Alcaeus, and be comforted by me when no one else is around. You want everything. You accept no limits. But the gods have been watching you and judging your hubris. Come! Look at what the gods have done to your daughter!”
    She led me to the nursery, where we found my mother and the wet nurses huddled over baby Cleis. The baby was burning with fever. She squalled and cried and would take no nourishment. Was she doomed to follow Cercylas to the Land of the Dead?
    We bathed her in tepid water to bring down the fever, made sacrifices to