CHAPTER XXVI
“PRAY TO THE WINDS”
Next week happened what Theria most feared: An important oracle was required. Theria learned by chance that it was important. Old Tuchè in her excitement over it forgot how loudly she was speaking in the court.
“This time an oracle they must have,” she was asserting. “It is a matter of state. The new Pythoness can’t get it. I wonder what they’ll do with her, anyway.”
Theria was in despair. Should she refuse to try? Feign illness? Then a new pythia would sit upon the tripod to babble at nothing or to give some dread, discouraging word. Nikander had placed Theria in the Pythia House counting upon her prayerful help. Should she step down and leave him without that help, or was it her duty to go upon the tripod and feign again for Hellas’s sake?
But gods in Olympos! she did not know the question nor who was asking it. She could not deceive if she would. She would refuse to try.
Upon this decision Theria found relief for her troubled mind. No more should they starve her and push her through the smoke. She could rest. She no longer cared for anything but to be left alone.
That evening, like a light among shadows, came old Baltè again.
Theria’s first question concerned her father.
“Master is sad, very sad,” the old nurse told her, “but so is everyone sad. It’s like a storm gatherin’ on Parnassos—those Persians coming. And everybody is afraid like as when they hear thunder and the darkness comes closer. Oh, darlin’, if I could take you out of this house and keep you in the fastness of the mountain. There it will be safe. Only there.”