The young man’s predicament interested Nikander. Like all Delphic priests he loved those far-away colonies of the west: Tarentum, Catana, Syracuse, Croton, Elia—scattered at right intervals along the coast of Greater Greece. They were young in power, wonderful places of sunny beach and wooded hill, while in their backlands were stretches of the richest soil in the world.
Almost all those cities had been either founded by the Oracle of Delphi or greatly helped by it. To some Delphi had given laws, to others had sent great leaders in times of need. In the case of Cyrene in Africa, the Oracle had, in some secret way, selected the site and insisted by repeated commands until the “fortunate city” had been built. Delphi retained no lordship over these colonies—her children. She was satisfied to feed their spirit and to receive in return their worship, their tithes, and free gifts.
Nikander left the young man and at once went into the cella of the Great Temple. Here in the closed back room he brought forth long-treasured maps of the priests, ancient ones of pottery, later ones of sheepskin and papyrus.
He studied them absorbedly. Yes, at the site of the destroyed Inessa was a great stretch of unhabitation on the coast. A city was needed there and the port at the mouth of the river Symæthus was good. How well the god had planned!
Nikander then went to old Akeretos who without delay summoned the Council of the priests.
They met not in the Council House, for the day was warm, but up in the great lesche or colonnade of the Precinct. Greeks never willingly did their thinking away from the open air. Sitting thus on the stone seats, they could look down through the opening of the steep vale to the far-off bit of sapphire loveliness which was the Corinthian Gulf.
Nikander showed them his map.
“Yes,” said Karamanor’s father whose name was Glaucos. “I remember Inessa. Saw it during my travel year. I recall the back country, too. Lovely shaded heights having wide prospect. I could quite see them in memory as I stood there yesterday by the tripod. And even while I was thinking, the Pythia spoke of them, ‘A height where trees invite the birds.’ The oracle was marvellously clear.”
Glaucos looked awestruck, for the god’s message was not always so revealing. The tranced Pythia did not invariably reflect the priestly mind.
“Inessa must be rebuilt,” declared Timon. “Apollo has spoken it, and Apollo is lord of migrations.”