16
Spartan Stone
Kindly Ibycus and his wife bade the travellers farewell and gave them bread and a bag of beans. The elderly pair pronounced their blessings and well-wishes far across the craggy terrain as each heart fluttered between the illusion of safety and the reality of fear. An undefined terror, quailing before the awful power and revenge of Menelaus, filled every heart. It had been eight days since Jason happened upon the old shepherd. By now, the news of Poseidon’s Klawi-phoros must have spread across the Mycenaean world. Stillness, like the cold sting of death, clung heavily in the morning air.
Beyond the mountain barrier, Jason and Amymone laboured along the goat tracks for another three days and nights before arriving at the junction between two main roads. One led to Mycenae, rich in gold, and the seat of Agamemnon, the ‘Great King,’ and Menelaus’ brother. The other proceeded towards Argos. From the Chavos Bridge, one could see the citadel of Mycenae with its cyclopean masonry and Lion Gate far into the distance. Mycenae’s palace rested between two mountains, one of which was capped by a massive watchtower, so high that it seemed to kiss the sky.
Not quite so far away the great tomb of Atreus stood as a monument to the founder of the city’s ruling dynasty. With danger so close, it now seemed clear which path had to be followed. From Argos it was possible to join other routes to Tiryns and Lerna and from there secure safe passage on a ship to Athens. Only the road to Argos could lead the couple to safety.
The fragrant air reminded one of Sparta, near the Platanistas, but the countryside here was cultivated with olive trees, and vines. The two had passed by several quarries near the village of Krokeai where the mottled green and red porphyry ‘Spartan’ stone was extracted, much coveted by every king in Achaea-land.
On the outskirts of Argos, a small temple dedicated to Eileithyia, the goddess of childbirth and procreation rested on a diminutive incline. It was surrounded by a grove of olives, beneath which was a grotto, sacred to Poseidon. The temple was constructed of rosso antico (red marble) from the quarries at Kyprianon and decorated with the mottled green ‘Spartan’ stone.
It was when their escape to freedom seemed most certain, that Amymone collapsed from exhaustion near the common temple. Initially, she had not noticed the discharge, but beneath her brown leather girdle, Amymone was covered in blood. Pains, terrible and sharp, pierced her womb. She realized that she was in serious trouble.
“Jason, help me. It hurts (crying out in pain)…your son is hurting me!”
“How is it he hurts you?”
“The unborn has thrust a burning spear into me…I feel that I (breathing sharply) am being torn within.” Amymone began squealing. Her shrill voice reverberated throughout their surroundings.
“He would not do this thing. Surely it is the gods who torment you?”
“I must speak with Artemis, then.”
“We’ll seek shelter in the sanctity of this place. The lady Eileithyia, goddess of childbirth will help us. I know she will for your sake. I have been told that she is in good stead with Artemis.”
“Pray to Poseidon, too. He is doing this thing to me as punishment for my crime. I should not have failed in my duty. Poseidon, Poseidon, forgive me!”
“You have committed no crime! I, alone, am at fault so the Earth-shaker will receive his fair due, but first we must take you to a safer place.”
Jason carried his wife to Poseidon’s Grotto, a subterranean cave beneath the temple. It was a tangle of green, contorted by age and innumerable storms. The Cave’s entrance cleaved the vegetation into two equal halves, giving it the appearance of an open vulva which doubtless was not lost on the original builders of Eileithyia’s temple. Within, it was dank, but cool. Away from the oppressive heat of the city, Jason tried to make his lover comfortable.
Why had the gods allowed them to come so far only to endure this calamity? The Amyklaian prepared a bed from olive branches and placed the young woman on the brown leaves.
“Give Eileithyia my bracelet as a gift. I need her to help me. She needs to protect our son.” Amymone pleaded with Jason.
“No! We must return it to Poseidon. I will obtain another gift for the Potnia. For now I will seek help, and fetch water. The priestess must reside above us. Try to be patient.”
“Arrrhh, I can’t stand this pain! Help me Jason! Don’t leave me here alone!”
Jason kissed his lovely wife and his eyes welled with grief.
“Be patient, Amymone. I will not be far away. I will never be far from you.”
Although her cries of distress disturbed him so much that he did not want to leave her side, Jason also realized he needed immediate help. When she seemed a little subdued, he kissed her cheek. Her bloody clothes were as red as the ‘Spartan’ stone, and the dank green of the grotto oozed an acrid slime beneath the olive trees.
He hastily departed Amymone and made his way to the upper temple precinct. Here a single room divided into two parts, contained a shrine to the Potnia on one side and a shrine for Poseidon on the other. A twisted bronze sculpture, somewhat intangible and enigmatic, reached its claw-like arms towards heaven and earth in dual homage to the gods and goddesses of the sky and the earth. The waxy light from an oil lamp dimly lit the heavy stone interior.
A young Klawiphoros, not unlike his Amymone in both charm and good looks, attended Potnia’s roughly hewn wooden image.
“Lady of Eileithyia, please hear me! My wife bleeds in the grotto beneath us, in the precinct of this holy place. She is with child but I fear she is in grave danger. Please help us in the goddess’ name.”
The Klawiphoros looked at him, eyes wide and bright, and instantly understood Amymone’s difficulty.
“I will fetch the mother of the temple. She will know what to do.”
The young man hurriedly returned to the dank depths of the grotto where Amymone was lying quietly. Her face, pallid and contorted by pain, was like her body, covered in a heavy sweat. He approached and she recognized her husband at once. Her smile was like no other he had ever encountered. Her steel blue eyes still flecked as brightly as Poseidon’s fluid seas. The sight of Amymone’s sweet face left an indelible mark upon his soul. The memory of her smile bound him to her for an eternity.
Soon afterwards, Pyrrha arrived with the young temple assistant. By this time, Amymone was breathing with considerable difficulty and haemorrhaging badly. Her once subtle body, reeking of dirt and sweat, was now pasty and fatigued. Amymone began to fall in and out of consciousness.
“This girl is not a gyne.”
“No, if the almighty gods so will it this is to be our first child,” Jason elaborated with difficulty.
“This will be no-one’s first child. Has Eileithyia-Potnia consecrated this union?”
“No, she has not, Mother.”
“Then no mortal can save the child. It is gone. However, if the goddess is appeased we may yet save the mother. How far is the term?”
“About four full moons…it is not enough, is it?”
“It is not enough for the child, perhaps too much for the mother.”
“Are you saying that Amymone might die?”
“I will say nothing for fear the gods contrive an outcome. I tell you only this that there may still be time to help the girl, if you can help me.”
“I will do anything on earth or in heaven to save her.”
“The gods may then pity her.”
The old temple-mother shook her head and called for her Klawi-phoros.
“Go and fetch sponges, cedar resin and agnus castus from the stores. Hurry girl.”
“What are you doing with those?” Amymone suddenly became conscious of the conversation about her. She comprehended that her pain was not normal for one so early in the pregnancy.
“Am I in serious trouble?”
“Be calm, girl. Your baby is lost. I need to abort it before it kills you.” (Although the old woman guessed that even this was too late.) “Call for Eteoneus to sacrifice the temple heifer. Eileithyia must be appeased at this critical time.”
“I don’t want to lose the baby…Jason, it’s our baby. Save him from this old mother…save him now!”
“Amymone, the mother of the temple will help us. Trust me, we need to follow her instructions…All will be well…we need only to obey.”
A delirious Amymone screamed as terrible pain racked her womb.
“She will have her way and kill the child.”
“It is already so, foolish girl.” The temple-mother was brutal.
“No! No! (Amymone let out a desperate squeal and convulsed horribly)
“My lovely Amymone, don’t tremble so!”
Jason began weeping in view of the women, a thing quite undone in this world of men. It was an emotion that troubled him.
“Why are you doing this thing?” Confused, he chided his wife. “Listen to the mother.”
“Fear the gods and not your tears, young soldier.”
“If only the gods were men! I would have them pay for this infliction that they have wrought upon us this day.”
“Then your prayers will be forever futile, and an affront to the gods whom we must obey.”
Eteoneus now brought the temple heifer to the forecourt of the grotto. His attendant held an amphora of flowered lustral water in his right hand and a bowl of barley-corns in his left. Eteoneus led the heifer forward by the horns.
“Mother, the beast is ready but for the golden foil about her horns of which we have none.”
“There is no time for that. Prepare the sacrifice. The Mother of all births will understand our urgency.”
“It will be done.”
The lustral water was sprinkled on the earth floor and barley-corns spread about. All that was left to be done that was necessary to appease the all-powerful gods was a blood sacrifice. The faithful servant held up the axe and struck the helpless beast in the neck, cutting its tendons and thus bringing the victim down. Dark blood gushed like a river, foaming onto the dry earth and its spirits which drank it greedily. A lock of her hair was thrown onto the fire as earnest prayers were offered to the goddess. Finally, the heifer’s decapitated head was presented to the deity and the remainder of the beast was dismembered and roasted.
The aroma of roasting meat filled the temple precinct as people gathered to pray for the young girl who was so anguished. Hours passed away as the throng increased until finally the people spilled out into the dusty street. For such devotion, they were rewarded with a meal of meat, a rarity in these parts. The temple-mother hoped that the goddess was also present to accept the blood sacrifice.
Songs sung to the goddess rang out throughout the great megaron of the temple.
All the while, Amymone’s pain intensified but she somehow comprehended that the ordeal was almost over. Her adoring eyes studied her husband who was beside himself with grief. Her beautiful young body was lathered with acrid sweat and the aura of the divine had already dissipated.
“Jason, promise to love me forever! Promise on your soul that we may never part in the afterlife…promise me on your honour!” Amymone’s remaining breaths were shallow and drawn.
“I swear, but you will by the grace of the goddess be mended. The priestess told me that she also has the favour of Poseidon.”
“Lord Poseidon grants us no favour. Yo u must see to it that this earth shaker, the king of the oceans is paid what he is owed. I am his and I was stolen away…but I fear for you now, Jason. Yo u have offended him, I fear. Poseidon will not be so easily discouraged…and he will recall all debts, with vengeance if necessary.”
“…Subsequently, how am I so indebted to Poseidon?”
“The god must have this golden bracelet or I fear you will pay for it throughout eternity. Perhaps we will both be held forfeit?”
Amymone began sobbing uncontrollably. Her breathes constricted her tears as she convulsed with each sob. Her beauty and strength were quickly ebbing like the tides of the sea.
“Amymone, I will see Poseidon receives it.”
“See to it quickly, for I dread it is already too late.”
“Nothing is too late for a god.”
“It is not already too late for us?”
Amymone began hyperventilating as the young serving-girl returned with more unguents and placed them before the temple mother. The old woman immediately proceeded to a tiny black alter stone, roughly hewn and formless, to propitiate the goddess of births. For the first time that day, the old temple mother wept. She had tried everything, but to no avail. The goddess of the earth was too powerful.
Regardless, the temple-mother continued her prayers.
Jason’s mournful cry shrieked across the grotto’s interior, interrupting the prayer, and disturbing the populace nearby. Amymone had died. Her eyes, still open, no longer flashed blue light, and had begun to slowly glaze over by death’s sharp kiss. A little smile parted from her warm, crimson lips. It was the final smile of one lover bidding farewell to another. It was a smile which Jason would never forget. Amymone’s contoured body lay limp, damp and anaemic through the loss of blood. The sweet bloom of life had left her as surely as a beautiful flower wilted after it was picked. Jason held the dead Klawi-phoros in his somnolent arms, where she had departed this life and his tears flowed like a river, settling the dust of the floor in places where her blood had missed.
He cursed the Lady Eileithyia who had denied Amymone and Jason the child’s birth. He cursed Poseidon. Most importantly, he cursed himself.
The girl had died, yet in silent death, Amymone the Klawiphoros became as immortal as the gods, and on her slender wrist Poseidon’s golden bracelet proclaimed his dominion and flecked a menacingly chilling luster. It beckoned to the cautious as a talisman, to the wary, a quantity unknown. It proclaimed to all that Amymone was Poseidon’s ‘wife.’
Maybe the Klawiphoros had been returned to her rightful husband the only way she could be. When she was alive and a Klawiphoros, the people of Sparta considered her as ‘divine.’ Now unhindered by mortal constraints, she could serve Poseidon as a ‘Keeper of the Earth,’ as one who tends the sacred hearth of the home. This was her duty in the earthly temple, but Amymone would no longer serve an earthly hearth.
For the ancient Greek people, there were limits beyond which a mortal man dared not exceed. Great power or happiness, or even arrogance was the exclusive estate of the gods alone. If a man enjoyed too much…to live in excess…to want that which one should not have, it would incur divine vengeance, nemesis.
Only the gods knew if Jason’s desires cost him Amymone.
Even in ancient times, the idea of divine vengeance remained a debatable point, but regardless of belief, Amymone and Jason’s lives were torn apart, and together they were destined to endure oceans of time, searching one for the other across the ever-changing Heraclitean Fire.
Somewhere in time, far across Poseidon’s dark green seas, in another land, distant and removed from Argos, the lovers would witness their rebirth…and contemplate its wonder. Not even the great Poseidon had the power to torment them forever.
She will find him…and he will find her…
The young Amyklaian firmly held the lifeless body of his wife and peered at the ‘Spartan’ stone lining the grotto.
Red stone… green stone… red… green… red… green… red… green… ceaselessly imprinted in his memory.
In another time, so very far from Argos, Red… green… red… green… the ancient tune would forever play its ghostly melody in Jason’s head. One day he would learn its cryptic meaning and forever grasp its importance.
…Across oceans of time, all will be revealed at Poseidon’s Grotto, on the island of dreams.
The Temple-Mother’s Prayer to Eileithyia-Potnia
Oh great keeper of life…great Eileithyia
It is I, Pyrrha, the mother of your holy house
Appealing to you in this place.
Why is the goddess of love so terrible?
Why do women suffer in the world of men?
Why are you, oh mother of births, so unkind and cruel?
Rid us of the strife and violent death you plague us with…
Now seizing this girl who stains the ground in red blood as a libation to you
We pray for a swift and radiant morning…
Allow this, thy daughter, to serve you in strength,
Allow Amymone these things which…