The Perilous Seat

by Caroline Dale Snedeker

Here was Miltiades. He who nine years ago had won the battle of Marathon. He was a noble statue in the new manner. Almost a portrait, with his curling beard and fearless eyes. Theria touched his robe.

“It was thou who saved Hellas,” she said seriously. “Oh, thou couldst do it, thou hast the look.”

Suddenly Theria realized that the light was much increased. She had told her name at the gate. That would mean quick capture. She must hasten. Before her the white Sacred Way zigzagged boldly among the treasuries up to the lordly temple of Apollo above them all. In Delphi there is neither near nor far, but only below and above.

Swiftly Theria chose out what she must see and what she must pass by, perhaps never to see again. For though she might some day walk here in processions she could never linger as now. Every object had its story, “history,” she would have called it, for she believed them all.

Here near by was the Argive bronze horse given to commemorate the Wooden Horse which Odysseus made and gave to Troy. Everyone knew that tale. And here was the Sikyonian Treasury. Theria must see that, because it was the first little temple at the wayside and was very old. It was round with a circle of chaste pillars upholding the roof. She mounted the three shallow steps. The doors had been just opened, for some god had destined her to go in. The little circular cella held many treasures, but of these Theria saw only the central one—a book unrolled upon a marble table. The antique lettering was of pure gold. Eagerly she began to read. No one had told her of this book. It was the epic poem of Aristomache of Erythrai, a woman! Aristomache had won the prize at the Isthmian games. Of course it was long ago. But a woman had won it! The poem, how lovely, how much more noble than Theria’s; but a woman’s, a woman’s! Theria would try again, try to reach the high goal this woman had set. Oh, she would try soon! She was heartened and came out of that treasury with shining, purposeful face.

Theria had lingered here longer than she had intended. In haste she had to pass the treasuries higher up the way, the Knidian—a little temple exquisite as a jewel lifted high upon its tower-like foundation, its porch upheld by tall, long-haired maidens—“Korai,” she called them.

She began to meet caretakers on the way, yawning after their night watch, going to their homes.

Now came the first turn upward of the Way. Here stood her beloved Naxian Sphynx, the one the top of whose wing she had always glimpsed from her window. How wonderful now, close at hand, high on her high pillar, her breast covered with brilliant feathers, her blue wings flung up lofty to the sky, her woman’s face dreamily smiling. Ah, well she kept her wisdom to herself, Mistress Sphynx! Theria knew she was dreaming tenderly over the silent dead. For she was Gê, mistress of earth and underworld.

Theria climbed dreamily higher up the Way, passing now the threshing-floor where Dryas had enacted the play. Memories, stories, faiths—all these swam together in her mind until she dreamed herself away and became part of the poesy about her.