Book Four
The Goddess of Eryx
1.

I, the Turms who journeyed from Himera to Eryx, was a different being from the man who danced in the storm on the road to Delphi. A man changes slowly during every phase of his life until he realizes with a start that it is difficult for him to remember and recognize his former self. Thus life is a series of rebirths, and the beginning of each new phase is like a sudden leap over a chasm which stretches insurmountably behind one so that there is no return to the past.

The soft mist of the spring clouds wreathed the Sicilian crags, and the gentle spring rains fell on the thick Sicilian forests and flooded the dried rivers as we wandered from Himera westward toward Eryx. Because of Tanakil’s comfortable beds and banquet table we had grown flabby during the winter months and it was a pleasure for Dorieus and me and even Mikon to exert ourselves and feel our muscles again swelling with strength.

We followed the road taken by the pilgrims, and the Siccani who lived in the woods did not molest us. They respected the goddess while retaining their primitive customs and called themselves the first inhabitants of the land.

After we had journeyed through the almost impossible mountains and the endless woods and were approaching the smiling valleys of Segesta, we saw a pack of sinewy hunting dogs pursuing game. The highborn hunters were dressed in the Greek manner and claimed that their dogs were descended directly from Krimisos, the canine deity who had married the nymph Segesta.

When they had continued on their way Mikon looked at the fields around us and remarked, “The blood of many peoples has made these fields fertile. Phocaeans also are buried here. Let us follow Dionysius’ suggestion and make an offering.”

Nor was it necessary for us to do so secretly, for the Segestans themselves had erected altars to the men who had attempted to conquer their land. Pointing to the monuments at the edge of the grain fields they said proudly, “Many have attempted to come here but few have returned.”

Their fathers and forefathers had been in the habit of burying the bodies of the vanquished in the fields, but they said reassuringly, “We are living in civilized times and no longer have to go to war for Eryx. If someone were to attack us, Carthage would consider it reason for war, and certainly no one would be bold enough to seek a quarrel with Carthage deliberately.”

When we had made our sacrifice at the altar of the Phocaeans, Dorieus began to look around inquiringly. “If they erect altars to heroes, where then is the altar to my father? He should have the most splendid altar of all, for did he not come here to conquer the land as the descendant of Herakles?”

Fortunately the Segestans did not understand his dialect. When I asked them about a monument to Dorieus of Sparta, they shook their heads.

“It is true that we conquered a great number of Spartans but they were hardly worth remembering and we did not note their names. However, with them came Philip of Croton, a many-time winner of the Olympic games and the fairest of his contemporaries. Even dead he was so beautiful that we erected a temple to him and every fourth year honor his memory by holding games.”

They indicated the large monument and the stadium before it. At first Dorieus could not say a word, then his face darkened and his shoulder straps snapped in rage.

“That is nonsense!” he shrieked. “My father Dorieus was the winner of laurel wreaths at Olympia and the fairest of his contemporaries. How could any Crotonian have competed with him?”

The Segestans fled his rage and Mikon and I had difficulty in calming him.

When he could again breathe easily Dorieus said, “Now I realize why my father’s spirit did not give me peace and why the sheep’s bones so unfailingly pointed westward. The earth is trembling beneath my feet, for these hills, these valleys and fields are the legacy of Herakles and thus my father’s and my land. But I no longer covet it merely to rule. My deepest desire from now on is the righting of that dreadful wrong so that my father’s spirit may rest in peace.”

I began to fear that he would cause disturbances which would delay our journey. “The less you talk about your father and your legacy in this city the better for us all,” I warned him. “Remember that we are on our way to Eryx and not attempting to have monuments erected to our memory in the fields of Segesta.”

Tanakil also spoke soothingly to him. “Your thoughts are regal, Dorieus, but permit me to be your councilor, as we have agreed. I have already buried three husbands and I am experienced in these matters. You will receive an answer to everything in Eryx.”

Mikon likewise had advice for him. “You are a greater threat to yourself than are the Segestans,” he warned. “If you permit your passions to rise, your veins will burst before you realize it. Perhaps the oarstroke that you received at Lade affected you more than we thought. Your forefather Herakles also suffered outbursts of rage after his head had been struck and he heard the imaginary weeping of an infant.”

Dorieus protested angrily that it had not been an oarstroke but an honest swordstroke. Besides, it had not injured his head but merely crushed his helmet. Thus we returned to normal conversation and he no longer alarmed the Segestans with his threats.

Segesta was a civilized and pleasant city with its temples, market places and baths, and more Greek in its habits than Himera. Its people claimed to be of Trojan origin and declared that their progenitress was a Trojan woman to whom Krimisos, the canine god of the river, had taken a liking.

While in Segesta we enjoyed the hospitality of Tanakil’s sons by her second marriage. Theirs was a prosperous house with several yards, many sheds and large granaries. We were received with the greatest honor but Tanakil forbade her sons to appear until they had shaved their beards and recombed their hair. The demand probably aroused some bitterness, for both of them were elderly men and that fact could not be concealed by a shaven chin and youthful curls. In deference to their mother’s wishes, however, they obeyed her and for the duration of our visit sent away their full-grown children lest their presence remind Tanakil of her age.

We were permitted to acquaint ourselves freely with the city and its sights. In the pen of the river god Krimisos’ temple we saw the holy dog to which the city’s fairest maiden was wed each year in secret rites. Dorieus, however, chose to walk atop the city wall which the people had permitted to crumble and watched the games, the wrestling and the boxing performed for the enjoyment of the nobles by paid athletes. But he kept his mouth shut and did not criticize the barbaric customs of the city.

On the morning before our departure Dorieus arose with a sigh, shook his head and complained, “Throughout the night I have been expecting my father’s spirit to appear in a dream with an omen. But I had no dream and I don’t know what to think of my father.”

Upon our arrival we had been given new clothes to wear while the servants washed the garments that had been soiled during the journey. As we prepared for our departure Dorieus missed his heavy woolen mantle. We searched for it everywhere and Tanakil scolded her sons until we noticed that it had been left on a pole to dry. Because of its thickness it had dried more slowly than the other clothes and had been forgotten by the servants.

Tanakil observed tartly that such a thing could never have happened in her house and Dorieus remarked that as an exile far from home he was accustomed to such humiliating treatment. A full quarrel was rapidly ripening in gratitude for the hospitality that we had enjoyed.

Pushing aside the alarmed servants, Dorieus snatched the mantle from the pole. As he did so a little bird flitted from the folds and began to circle Dorieus with fluttering wings. Soon it was joined by another bird, chirping in angry protest.

Dorieus shook the mantle in amazement. A nest dropped from its folds and from the nest rolled two small eggs which smashed on the ground.

But Dorieus was not angry. Instead, he smiled and said, “See, there is the omen that I craved. My mantle wished to remain here although I myself am departing. I could not hope for a better omen.”

Mikon and I glanced uneasily at each other, for to us the broken nest and eggs seemed an ill omen. But Tanakil likewise began to smile and covered her mouth shyly. “I shall remember this omen, Dorieus, and in Eryx I shall remind you of it.”

On the following day we saw from a distance the high cone of the holy mountain of Eryx. Its peak was concealed by soft clouds, but when they parted we saw the ancient temple of Aphrodite of Eryx.

The land of Eryx was bursting into spring, flowers dotted the fields and doves cooed in the thickets although the sea still was restless. Unwilling to wait we began to ascend the deserted pilgrims’ road that circled the bleak mountain. We reached the small city at its peak just as the darkness of the sea and the entire land of Eryx glowed red in the sunset. The guards had noticed our approach and had delayed the closing of the gate to permit us to enter the city before night.

At the gate we were met by a crowd of noisy men who sought to outdo one another in tugging at our robes and offering their hospitality. But Tanakil was familiar with the city and its habits, dispersed the importuners with sharp words and led us through the city toward the temple area to a house surrounded by a garden in which we were graciously received. Our horses and donkeys were led to a stable and a crackling fire of resinous wood was lighted for us since the air of the holy mountain grew bitterly cold after sunset in the early spring.

The dark-faced innkeeper bade us welcome in fluent Greek. “There is still time to the festival of spring, the sea is uneasy and the goddess has not yet arrived from beyond the waters. Therefore my house is still in its winter condition and I know not whether I can arrange banquets worthy of you. But if you will content yourselves with my chilly rooms, uncomfortable beds and poor food, you may consider my house your home so long as you remain in Eryx.”

He made no attempt to pry into our affairs but departed with dignity and sent his slaves and servants to care for us. His behavior made a deep impression on me and I asked Tanakil whether he was by any chance a highborn man.

Tanakil laughed sarcastically. “He is the greediest and most unscrupulous extortioner in the entire city and weighs with gold every mouthful that he offers. But his house is the only one worthy of us and while we live here he will protect us from all the other vermin in this holy city.”

“But must we wait before an empty temple until the spring festival?” I asked in disappointment. “We have no time for that.”

Tanakil smiled slyly. “Aphrodite of Eryx has her mysteries just like the other deities. At the beginning of the sailing season she arrives from Africa with her retinue in a ship with purple sails. But still the temple is not empty during the winter to one who is familiar with it. On the contrary, the most important state visits are paid and the most expensive offerings made during the quiet season when large crowds, sailors and peddlers do not disturb the mysteries. The time-honored fountain of the goddess stands both winter and summer and the goddess may manifest herself within the temple although she does not bathe in the fountain until the spring festival.”

Her words filled me with doubt. I looked at her painted cheeks and cunning eyes and asked, “Do you really believe in the goddess?” She stared long at me. “Turms of Ephesus,” she said at last, “you don’t know what you ask. The goddess’s fountain in Eryx is ancient. It is older than the Greek fountains, older than the Etruscan, older even than the Phoenician. It was a sacred fountain even before the goddess appeared to the Phoenicians as Astarte and to the Greeks as Aphrodite. What could I believe if I didn’t believe in the goddess?”

The heat of the embers sent me outside to breathe the sharp air of the mountain peak. The sky glittered with the small stars of spring and in the thin air I smelled the fragrance of earth and of pines. The sturdy temple reached upward from its terrace against the night sky, and I was overcome by a presentiment that the goddess in her capri-ciousness was a more formidable enigma than I had believed.

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