Picture Postcard #9 – Pythia

The Games had run their course. Delphi had emptied, its song having been sung.

When the last pilgrim emerged from the temple, red-eyed and shaking, I stepped forward with a young goat under my arm and a laurel branch clutched in my hand.

A hunched priest led me to an altar where I rinsed my hands and face with Castalian water, and made my offering to Apollo. The goat flinched when its throat was slit and soon slept in a pool of its own blood.

I fanned myself with the laurels as the priest’s knife cut with precision, his old hands unshaking.

He nodded and I was led down the flight of steps where another priest muttered instructions that I did not hear.

It was dark but for a sputtering torch in an ancient bracket upon the wall.

Above, in the cella and outside, the smell of incense was sweet, the marble white and gleaming in the sun upon the mountainside.

But as I went deeper into the earth, my legs heavy as lead, the walls were of deepest green and black, the smoke not sweet but acrid and overpowering.

A humming drummed in my ears, my mind… my heart… my…

Love…

There she sat.

The girl I had loved in my youth.

The woman I had married.

When I entered the sanctum to see her in the sacred tripod, the blood-red veil shading her once-bright and dancing eyes, I knew she was no longer mine.

I had intended to plead with the god for my Love’s life, to promise a thousand statues or the fall of enemy nations if I could but have her back.

As the question formed upon my trembling lips the fumes suffocated me where they rose out of that black fissure.

My laurels fell and shrivelled, and the god told me to leave.

To leave…even as a single tear bled from those black eyes…for me…for us.

I do not regret my actions beyond the sanctuary boundaries. The noose upon that olive wood branch was tight, and hugged me like a friend.

Now I am free to wander the silver slopes of Parnassos…to wait for the day Apollo releases my Love.

Then…then we shall be together again.

My request granted.

Delphi – Walking Sacred Ground

In many posts on this blog I have mentioned some of the great sanctuaries of antiquity such as Delos, Olympia and Nemea. I have touched on the special feeling one gets when walking the ground of these places, the sense of peace that washes over you.

Today, we’ll be taking a short tour of one of the most important sanctuaries of the ancient world: Delphi.

Delphi was of course the location of the great sanctuary of Apollo whose priestess, the Pythia, was visited by people from all over the world who came to seek the god’s advice and wisdom.

I have been fortunate enough to visit Delphi a couple of times and I do hope to return there someday. The first time I was there, the mountain rumbled throughout the night. Unused to earthquakes, my brother woke me to say that he thought there was a ghost in the room because his bed (he had the smaller one) was jumping up and down. Looking back, it’s funny that ghosts were a more logical explanation for us. Too many movies, I suppose.

But, despite frequent earthquakes, Delphi is indeed a place of ghosts. They are everywhere, the voices of the past, of the devoted, great and small.

There is something about Delphi that draws you in, that makes you want to go back again and again. Despite the throngs of picture-snapping tourists along the Sacred Way, or the hum of multi-lingual tour guides wherever you step, the sense of peace at Delphi is unmistakable.

View of the Temple of Apollo and valley beyond

For those with the ability to see and hear beyond the bustle, it is as though a smoky veil rises from the ground to block out the noise, leaving you with the mountain, the ruins, the voices of history.

Delphi is located in central Greece in the ancient region of Phokis. Perched on the slopes of Mount Parnassos in a spot one can well imagine gods roaming, it possesses a view of a valley covered in ancient, gnarled olive groves spilling toward the blueness of the Gulf of Corinth.

Here is an excerpt from the upcoming Eagles and Dragons Book II, Killing the Hydra. In one part of the book, some of the characters visit Delphi on their way back to Athens. This is a fragment of a letter from Alene Metella:

“The sanctuary is unlike any other I have ever seen. As I entered the precinct I could feel the god’s presence and an overwhelming sense of peace came over me. It seemed as though music lingered permanently in the air. No doubt Apollo’s muses sit atop the cliffs and peaks playing for him. The air smells sweetly of cedar, and delicate pines speak in hushed tones. Sacred groves of olive stretch out as far as the eye can comprehend, like a vast, glistening ocean in which the waves brake occasionally on the tips of towering cypresses. The shadows of hundreds of years are cast to walk with the living, and soft muted breezes caress the ears like a warm bath. I think that all of the great poets must have been to this place. See what it has done to me!

            There is a permanent line to see the oracle, the Pythia. It weaves its way down the mountainside, a truly amazing sight. So many pilgrims, for so long.”

Alene Metella has always been a romantic! As a Roman tourist, she might not have known of an earlier deity in Delphi.

Though the site is always associated with him, Apollo did not always rule here.

Delphic 'kylix' depicting Apollo
pouring a libation

Long before the Olympian god arrived, Delphi was the site of a prehistoric sanctuary of Gaia, the Mother Goddess and consort of Uranus.

It was after Apollo, urged on by his mother Leto, defeated the great python in the sanctuary of Gaia that the Delphi came under his protection.

A new era had dawned and after Apollo’s slaying of the Python, barbarism and savage custom were discarded. In place of the old religion came a quest for harmony, a balancing of opposites. Apollo was worshiped as a god of light, harmony, order and of prophecy. His oracles communicated his will and words.

If one approaches Delphi from the east and the town of Arachova, the first thing you pass is another important sanctuary, that of Athena Pronaia. ‘Pronaia’ means ‘before the temple’.  This sanctuary would likely have been visited by pilgrims first.

Tholos in the Sanctuary of Athena Pronaia

The sanctuary of Athena is farther down the mountainside from that of Apollo and located in a quiet olive grove. In its time, it contained two temples dedicated to Athena, the earliest dating to 500 B.C. There were also two treasuries, altars and of course, one of the most picturesque ruins of ancient Greece, the round tholos temple. The latter is 13.5 meters wide and had twenty Doric columns with metopes portraying the Battle of the Amazons and the Battle of the Centaurs the remains of which can be seen in the Delphi museum. The exact use of the tholos is uncertain though many believe it was consecrated to the cult of Chronic deities.

Between the two sanctuaries is the sacred spring of Kastalia, the water of which was intimately associated with the oracle. Water from here was carried to the sanctuary of Apollo and it was also here that priests and pilgrims cleansed themselves before entering god’s domain.

As part of her ritual too, the Pythia bathed in the Kastalian spring before entering the Temple of Apollo.  

When the Pythia was prophesying, Delphi must have been bustling, for she was not always there. In fact, in its early days, the oracle performed her function once a year on the 7^th day of the ancient month of Bysios (February-March) which was considered Apollo’s birthday. Later, the Pythia prophesied once a month, apart from the three winter months when Apollo was said to spend time in the land of the Hyperboreians far to the north.

I won’t describe all the remains of the sanctuary of Apollo in detail here. There is far too much to cover and it is all fascinating. I will say that it is one of those places that every lover of history must visit.

When I think of history, the study of it, this place is what it’s all about.

On your way through the sanctuary you pass many remains, one of the most interesting being the Athenian treasury which held many rich votive offerings from the ancient polis. It is well preserved and some of the most interesting things are the inscriptions of the Hymns to Apollo and carvings of laurel leaves upon its walls.

The Sibyl's Rock

On the left, once you leave the Athenian treasury, there are two large boulders. They look to be nothing more than rocks but these were of utmost sanctity thousands of years ago. The smaller of the two is called Leto’s rock because it is believed that that is where Apollo’s mother stood when she urged him to slay the python. The larger rock is called the Sibyl’s Rock as that is where the first oracle (‘Sibyl’ is another name for Apollo’s oracles) stood when she came to Delphi and gave her first prophecy.

Each time I walk the marble of the Sacred Way, zigzag my way up to the Temple of Apollo, the theatre and the stadium beyond, I am in awe. The sun seems more brilliant here, the colours richer. The buzzing of cicadas in the pine and olive trees are a sound ancient pilgrims would have been familiar with.  It would have been crowded during the time of prophesy and the line must have wended its way down the mountain to Kastalia and the sanctuary of Athena.

Every part of the sanctuary would have been adorned with bronze and marble statues, tripods, altars and other offerings from around the world. The smoke of incense and sacrifice would have weaved among it all to please Apollo and other deities who also had altars about the temple such as Zeus, Poseidon and Hestia whose immortal flame remained burning.

Ruins of Temple of Apollo

The Temple of Apollo itself occupies a magnificent position and though not much remains, it is still a place of awe due in large part to the surroundings. The layout is not known exactly due to damage over time but archaeologists have discovered that there were two ‘cellae’ (temple chambers), an outer one where priests and pilgrims remained, and an inner one.

The inner cella is believed to have been the subterranean chamber where only the Pythia herself was permitted. This chamber was where she prophesied. It contained another sacred spring, the Kassiotis spring, from which she drank, a crack in the earth from which fumes emanated, the oracular tripod in which she sat and the sacred ‘omphalos’, or, ‘navel of the earth’.

The Pythia would chew laurel leaves, inhale the fumes from the earth and go into her trance. She would deliver her prophecy in riddles which were delivered to pilgrims.

Artist Representation of
The Pythia

To a modern mind, the ancients might seem absurdly superstitious, naïve even. But, in the ancient world the respect and awe with which the oracle of Delphi was viewed cannot be overestimated.

The truth of the oracle was never doubted for matters great or small. Cities, peoples, peasants and kings all sought the wisdom and guidance of Apollo through the oracle.

When I reach the top of the site and look out over the sanctuary to the valley and sea beyond I feel that I do not want to leave. From the top of the third century B.C. theatre, or in the quiet of the stadium that once held 7000 spectators for the Pythian games, I reflect on my journey and those of the people who have come here before.

As a writer, I find people fascinating. What brought each of them to this place? What questions might they have asked? How did they receive the answers given by the oracle?

Delphi was not just the site of some quaint, ancient, superstitious practices as some might see them today. This was a place of power, of beauty, refinement and of hope. In some ways, it still is.

The Pythia is gone, the sacred games long-since banished by the Christian Emperor Theodosius I. The temple and the treasures of the sanctuary have been looted and what is left lies in romantic ruin or on display in the museum.

However, if your path ever leads you to this ancient place on the slopes of Mount Parnassos, you may just hear the pilgrims’ prayers to their gods, the melodic utterings of hymns to Apollo and the hushed voice of his oracle beyond the veil as she passes his words on to generations of mortals seeking his wisdom.

The peaceful sanctuary of Athena Pronaia

Ruins of the theatre which overlook the Temple of Apollo

The Stadium farther up the mountain from the sanctuary
was the site of the Pythian Games and seated up to 7000 spectators

Detail of temple foundations

Location of the entrance to the Temple of Apollo

Picture Postcard #2 - A satyr stopped him on the road to Argos

A young goatherd named Kouros walked along the same path he took every day. He cared for his animals as brothers and sisters. Being the only child to a family living high in the hills beyond Tyrins, his animals were his friends.

On this particular day, Kouros stopped at the usual fork in the road. He had never taken the other one, never even thought of it really. His father had said that it led to the polis of Argos, that there were all manner of bandits and undesirables along the way.

But the day was bright and airy and it seemed to Kouros that little that was bad could happen on such a day. So, his mind set, he decided to take the road to Argos, his flock following him obediently, adhering to the commands he clicked out, the tunes he sang.

When Helios’ chariot was at the top of the world, Kouros stopped in the shade of an olive grove near a bridge. The path was well-used here but no one was about. A spring trickled from the rocks and he leaned down to wet his hair the back of his sun-baked neck. Cicadas whirred all about as he leaned against the trunk of a gnarled olive tree just off the road, his flock nestling down to rest and graze all about him.

Kouros awoke some time later, his eyes opening slowly to adjust to the intense light. A form hovered before him, a face horned and scowling with a pushed-up nose that was thrust into his face. The goatherd pushed at what he thought was one of his animals.

Then, he felt a stinging slap across his cheek.

“Who’re you?” came the rough, accusatory words.

Kouros jumped up and grabbed his crook. He blinked, rubbed his eyes. Before him stood a satyr. He was tall and hairy and full of disdain, arms crossed, one hoof tapping impatiently.

“I’m Kouros, a goatherd. I was just resting here.”

“This is my bridge and my spot you were sitting in.”

“I don’t see anything that says it is yours. Surely Zeus decrees that travellers can rest where they will, in peace.”

“Hmph. Beehhh! Don’t be impertinent.” At this Kouros’ goats looked up. “Back to your grazing, dummies!” the satyr spat at them. “Mindless ingrates.”

“Hey!” Kouros said. “You leave them alone.  Who are you anyway?” He was not afraid of the satyr. After all, he was used to telling goats what to do and this satyr was as close to a goat as people could get.

“What do you mean, who am I?” The satyr looked shocked. “I’m Marsyas. I am the greatest musician in all of Achaea.” He bowed and did a little gig, his hooves clicking on the rocky ground.

“Well, I’ve never heard of you and I live around here.”

“Up the mountain lives a nob, comes down the hill and thinks he’s a god.” The satyr laughed and took out an aulos. He placed the double flute to his black lips and his eyes closed.

Kouros wondered how something so ugly and vile could play such beautiful music. He loved music himself, was always singing on his walks up and down the mountain valleys. All of his goats now looked up and gathered about him to listen.

He felt dizzy, like the melody was intoxicating his senses. Then, another slap!

Kouros swung his crook at the satyr but the beast was too quick and he kicked the young man in the stomach, sending him back into the trees where he hit his head and collapsed.

When his eyes opened again, the sun was dipping away. Something cool ran down his cheek and this time he opened his eyes to a face so beautiful he thought for a moment he was trapped in the web of a dream. He smiled in his half-consciousness and then a gentle laughing filled the air, as playful as a trickle of mountain water upon the rocks.

“Hello,” came the voice, soft, clear and soothing. “He is gone now.” A kiss upon his forehead brought him round.

“Who are you?” Kouros asked, making to sit up.

“Nissa. I am the nymph of this grove. I was watching you when that hideous satyr woke you. I didn’t dare approach for he always likes to grab at me. He’s filthy.”

“Is he gone? I owe him a knock on the head.”

“Oh, don’t do that. He is stronger than he looks. Ugly, but strong. Besides, why would you want to scratch up your beautiful body?”

Kouros blushed. She smiled.

The goats were milling about now, moving toward the bridge. It was time to head back and they knew the routine. Kouros looked at Nissa who smiled, wheat-gold waves of long hair playing down from her shoulders.

“Don’t go,” she said, gripping his arm.

“I don’t want to… but I must. My parents will be worried I’ve been taken by wolves.”

She nodded. “Come back tomorrow, will you?”

“Yes,” he answered without even thinking. Of course he would return.

“Wonderful.” She held his arms and together they stood. On her toes, the nymph kissed the goatherd on his neck and then danced into the olive grove, singing and laughing and waving.

The next day, Kouros made his way down the hill from his family’s home, his flock obediently at his heals. He whistled even more that day, his steps and his mood as light as could be, despite the lingering ache in his head.

I’ll get him, Kouros thought.

He sang loudly on the journey to the bridge for his father had told him of a great event.

At Delphi, three days hence, the god Apollo himself was set to play for all those who came to make offerings at his sacred sanctuary. The sound of his kythera was said to make all the pain of human existence disappear so that no listener ever felt sad again.

Of course, no one in Kouros’ family was able to attend, though they wished with all their hearts that they could. To see the Lord of the Silver Bow and hear him play… The whole mountainside of Parnassus would be filled with his music.

The bridge came into view and no sooner did Kouros see Nissa standing on top of the bridge waiting for him, did he hear her scream.

He rushed along the road, knowing his flock would follow.

When he arrived, he found Marsyas with his arms about the nymph, his tongue lashing at her pained face. His hands groped and she did her best to push him away but he was strong and nimble.

“Leave her alone!” Kouros yelled as he ran up the road to the bridge. He poked the satyr hard in the ribs giving Nissa a chance to disappear into the grove.

The satyr turned on him vehemently, eyes burning.

“You!” He walked slowly toward Kouros who stood his ground in the middle of the bridge. “Meddler. You’ll regret that. I’m going to feed your bits to you own herd.” Marsyas launched a series of kicks with his cloven feet but Kouros who was ready, and used to staving off vipers with his crook, managed to block each attack.

Marsyas let out an enraged howl, his aulos falling to the ground at his clicking feet. He bent to pick up his precious instrument and made to play, eyeing the young man wickedly.

Before the first hypnotic note escaped, Kouros spoke.

“You say you are the best musician in all of Achaea?”

The satyr stopped short.

“Ha. In all the world of men and gods!”

“That’s quite a boast. I don’t believe you.”

“What would you know, goatherd. I can tame maidens and goddesses alike so that they melt into my arms. I can make a hydra lie down and dance upon its heads. I can – “

“I know someone whom you cannot beat. Someone who is better than you, Marsyas.”

“There’s no such being.”

“Yes, there is. Apollo.”

“Behhh!” Marsyas waved his hand dismissively. “He plucks away at his strung tortoise shell well enough but he has no real talent. I am the best.”

“Why don’t you prove it?” Kouros walked around the satyr now, keeping his distance. “I have heard that in three days, Apollo himself will be performing at Delphi for all the world.” Marsyas scratched his chin and Kouros pressed on.

“You could challenge him to a contest and if you win, all gods and men will know that you really are the best musician. If you don’t go, you will just be another hillside piper.”

“If I win? If?” Marsyas paced now, the nymph and Kouros all but forgotten.

“You should leave now if you want to make it to Delphi in time. Are you fast enough?”

“Ha! Clearly you’ve never seen a satyr run.” Marsyas nodded. “Yes. I’ll go and challenge Apollo to a musical duel and then, then all will know of Marsyas and equate the name with the artistic perfection that outdid even a god.”

Then, in a puff of dust, Marsyas the satyr sped away up the road, north to Argos and Delphi beyond.

Kouros found Nissa lying in the shade of the olive tree where he had slept the previous day. Her chest rose and fell softly beneath her torn clothing and her golden hair fell in tangled wisps.

The goatherd went over to the spring and wet a piece of cloth from his satchel. He came back and gently wiped the nymph’s face, arms and hands.

Her eyes opened and her arms slid up around his neck. Her kiss was soft and sweet and welcoming and so, in a grove of gnarled trees with the sun beating down and birds chirruping in the boughs, Kouros and Nissa slept in each other’s arms.

Kouros returned to the bridge every day until, a few years later, he built a small house up the hill at the top of the grove. They had a peaceful life.

Marsyas the satyr never returned to what he had called ‘his bridge’ and no one in Achaea ever saw him again.

His flayed skin flaps in the breeze where it is nailed to a tall pine tree. It is silent there, but for the whispering of the wind and the plucking of a kythera.