Menippus and the Stranger
All Is Not What It Seems
(This tale is inspired by a section in the Life of Apollonius by Philostratus.)
Menippus hurried down the road toward Corinth. He was eager to return to the city. He had heard rumors that his mentor, Demetrius the Cynic, was introducing all of his students to a newly arrived philosopher of great fame.
Anyone who didn’t know Menippus would have assumed he was an athlete on the way to a competition rather than a student on the way to meet a sage. His tunic concealed neither his broad shoulders nor the well-defined muscles of his chest. His cloak didn’t entirely hide his strong legs. He was the kind of man who, if he had not chosen the path of philosophy, might easily have ended up as a sculptor’s model. Helping an artist’s imagination create the perfect representation of Jason or Perseus would not have been without its appeal.
Only his gray eyes, which looked at the road ahead without really seeing it, gave him away as a man whose mind was drawn to the world of ideas. He spent more time contemplating the nature of the universe than doing anything else. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts at the moment that the sound of throat-clearing made him jump.
Though Menippus was pretty close to Corinth and the towns that surrounded it, he had not yet met any Corinthians along the road. He realized it was dusk, and that the ocean breeze he could now feel was cold. He shivered a little and pulled his cloak more tightly around him.
If there were thieves lurking nearby, he wouldn’t expect them to strike before nightfall. Still, he jumped again when a figure emerged from the shadows cast by a grove of nearby black poplars.
“I did not mean to startle you,” said the woman. Menippus’s cheeks reddened at having been so easily frightened. This woman was clearly no threat to him.
Or was she? Her presence itself was a mystery. Even this close to Corinth, it wasn’t really safe for a woman to travel on her own, let alone a woman like this. Her skin was pale, suggesting an upper class background that kept her indoors most of the time. Her white cloak must have been expensive, considering its golden edges and the mythological scenes embroidered on it using costly purple thread. Even though she wasn’t that close to him, he could smell roses, cinnamon, and marjoram—perfume, and well made, to judge by the way the fragrance was both subtle and yet unmistakable.
But a woman who could afford such thing would surely not have traveled without attendants. Nor would she have been lingering in a grove of poplars for no particular reason.
“I hoped I might meet you here,” she said as if she read his mind. Even her spoken words had a melody to them. She could have been a singer.
“Why?” Menippus asked. Immediately, her cursed himself for such an unimaginative response.
“Why does a woman usually desire to meet a man?” she asked, smiling at him with her full red lips. Now that Menippus had recovered from his initial surprise, he realized how beautiful she was. Her dark brown hair was long and rippled in the breeze. Her eyes were the green of new growth in spring, a most unusual color, but one he found he could not stop looking at. Her features were so perfect that, if he not been a Cynic who disbelieved the old tales about gods walking among men, he might have thought that she was Aphrodite herself.
She smiled again. “Are you not Menippus the Lycian, noted scholar and disciple of Demetrius? I have heard much of your wisdom and would hear more of it from your own lips.”
Being twenty-five already, Menippus knew well that philosophical discussion wasn’t the primary reason a woman desired to meet a man. He tried hard to hide his disappointment.
The woman laughed. and his heart started beating faster. “Of course, there are many things that we could do after you have explained to me the Cynics’ beliefs concerning living in harmony with nature. Things that would very much be in harmony with nature…if you understand me.”
Menippus understood her perfectly. But, just to be sure, he spent several hours with her under the moonlight in the black poplar grove, testing every possible way in which they could harmonize with nature. Some of those ways were tricky and needed to be tested more than once.
The next day, Menippus should have hastened to Demetrius’s home, but he didn’t. He did go, but slowly, thinking not about philosophy, but about last night’s revelry. He cold still feel her skin against his, feel the insistent pressure of her lips, the soft caresses of her hands.
Demetrius himself met him at the door. “Where were you yesterday evening?” He asked. “You missed having dinner with Apollonius, and—are you all right? You appear ill.”
“What do you mean?” asked Menippus, who felt better than he had ever felt.
Demetrius squinted at him. “You’re pale. And there’s a bloodstain on your tunic.”
Menippus tried to think, though his mind felt sluggish. “I, uh, didn’t arrive until late yesterday, and I didn’t sleep well last night.” He didn’t offer any explanation for the bloodstain, though he seemed to remember some biting the night before.
His teacher frowned. “Well, you are in luck. Apollonius is still here. You can meet him now—if you’re up to it.”
Menippus nodded, though at that moment, he could have cared less whether he met Apollonius now—or ever.
Demetrius hustled him into the courtyard where Apollonius stood as if he had expected Menippus to arrive at that particular moment.
Apollonius was tall, and he had a presence that Menippus recognized even in his addled state. It was easy to see why men would follow a sage so charistmatic that he could penetrate the fog in Menippus’s head without even speaking.
“Apollonius, this is my pupil, Menippus,” said Demetrius. Usually, he referred to Menippus as one of his best pupils, but he left out the praise today.
“I have heard much of you,” said Apollonius, offering Menippus his hand. The young man took it and could not help noticing how warm Apollonius’s hand was and how firm his grip was.
“I have heard much of you as well,” said Menippus, his head feeling a little clearer. “That you have traveled much—all the way to India, some say. I understand you are a wonderworker and also a prophet who…”
Menippus’s mind wandered for a moment, and he realized he had forgotten what he was going to say next. He had to substitute the first thing that came into his head. “Uh, I hear you predicted the digging of a canal near here, one that will connect the Ionian Sea with the Aegean.”
“Mortals are not wonderworkers,” said Apollonius, staring at me so intensely that I imagined he could stare through my eyes into my brain and out the back of my skull. “Whatever I may have done, I have done by the will of the divine, not by some form of magic. As for the canal, it would not take much of a prophet to foresee a canal through the Corinthian Isthmus. Rulers have been considering such a plan for at least seven centuries. But their work has so far failed. I must soon visit Rome, partly to warn Emperor Nero that he will fail as well if he attempts it. It will be more then eighteen centuries before such a project can be finished.”
Menippus wasn’t sure what to make of such a statement. Apollonius seemed to be hinting he was no prophet, but then he went ahead and predicted something almost two thousand years in the future. Yet there was no trace of humor in his face or eyes. He was serious, but the young scholar wasn’t sure how he could be.
That wasn’t the only thing that was strange about him. He had an almost regal air, yet he was robed in what looked like relatively cheap wool. If the guesses I’d heard about his birthdate were true, he must have been in his sixties. But while he was certainly older than Menippus, there was not a hint of gray in his black hair and beard. Nor was his skin wrinkled, except for a little creasing of his brow. Also, he stood straight as a pillar, not hunched over as so many of the elderly were.
Yet despite his overly youthful appearance, he was insistent that he was no wonderworker. How could one man so quickly reveal so many contradictions?
“How long have you been ill?” asked Apollonius, pulling Menippus out of what the young man realized was a loss of concentration and focus. What would Demetrius think of his undisciplined behavior?
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Menippus replied. Apollonius greeted that statement with a raised eyebrow. Somehow, he knew there was more to the story than Menippus was telling.
“You are too pale for one sleepless night,” replied the sage. “There is blood on your tunic, and something about you hints of a darkness that is alien to you. Have you…met someone new recently?”
“I..I have met a woman. Empedia is her name. She is from Phoenicia but currently lives in one of the Corinthian suburbs.”
“And what are your intentions toward her?”
Given low little respect Cynics had for social conventions, Menippus wondered how Apollonius thought that was any of his business. Then again, the sage wasn’t a Cynic himself. Menippus hadn’t had time yet to find out what philosopher called his belief system, much less what it was about.
“I intend to marry her,” the young man said. He had no specific memory of any conversation about marriage with Empedia, but he did have a strong feeling that he and she both wanted to be together forever.
“After knowing her only a day?” asked Demetrius.
“I must be true to nature,” Menippus replied, earning a frown from his mentor.
“You might as well as marry a serpent,” muttered Apollonius.
Menippus’s head snapped back in his direction. “What?” His fists clenched, ready for a brawl with the philosopher if he wouldn’t retract that statement.
“Menippus!” said Demetrius in a quiet but intense tone as he placed a hand on my shoulder. Menippus’s anger lessened—but only a little.
Apollonius looked about as worried about the prospect of my hitting him as he would have looked at the possibility of a gnat landing on him. “Many women are interested in you. Why pick one that you have just met?”
“Because I love her,” I replied. My tone was harsh, and Demetrius’s fingers dug into my shoulder.
“When is this wedding to take place?” asked Apollonius, giving me another of his penetrating stares.
“Tomorrow, for I can wait no longer than that.”
“Then I have much to do in the meantime,” said the philosopher. Without waiting for a reply, he turned his back on me and walked immediately out of the courtyard and back through the entrance. Demetrius, his mouth hanging open, did nothing to stop him.
Menippus, who had angered Demetrius and sent Apollonius on a mission to do the gods only knew what, raced over to Empedia’s home as soon as he could. He wanted to warn her, but he also wanted to feel her arms around him again.
As soon as Menippus saw Empedia’s fine home, his nerves became taut as bow strings. Even in an affluent Corinthian neighborhood, her residence stood out. Its marble facade gleamed even in the last rays of daylight. Only Greek and Roman public buildings and the most expensive Roman homes used marble so freely. Not only that, but Empedia’s home was easily three times the size of the other homes on the street.
Menippus looked down for a moment at his philosopher’s cloak, pretty much the only thing he owned, and wondered why such a wealthy woman would want such a poor philosopher as a husband. He almost turned and fled in embarrassment. But before he could, the door swung open, and there stood Empedia, framed between two columns, her eyes looking at him with longing.
She drew him into her arms and whispered into his ear, “We must fatten you up a little. Tonight, you will have the best meal you have ever had. So will I,” she added after a long pause to which Menippus was oblivious.
Given the size of the house, it was no surprise that Empedia’s courtyard was enormous, more like a small park than a normal courtyard. Trees and plants grew in such profusion that the walls of the house were almost hidden behind them except for the spaces left to permit access to doorways. Either Empedia or her gardener seemed to have a liking for mythologically related plants. Around the periphery grew black and white poplars, as well as cypresses, all of which supposedly also grew in the Underworld. Among them grew a tiny number of pomegranate trees, currently heavy red blossoms that for some reason reminded Menippus of blood. It was the seeds from the pomegranate fruit that had trapped Persephone herself in the Underworld.
“Just as they’ll trap you,” said Empedia, kissing Menippus in such a compelling way that he immediately forgot what she had just said.
Menippus could smell mint, another supposed Underworld plant, and he noticed a large number of white ashfodel blossoms. The field where the dead wandered, awaiting judgment, was supposed to be filled with them.
At last, he spotted a little vegetation with no Underworld association, though none of it was free of mythological connections. A black mulberry tree’s dark red fruit was supposed to have been stained that color by the blood of Thisbe, Pyramus’s tragically killed lover. There was also a lotus tree, whose honey-sweet fruit was said to have made the lotus eaters forget their homes completely.
“Just as you will forget,” said Empedia, kissing him again. “Just as you will bleed.” As before, the words didn’t stay with him.
Empedia led him to the far end of the courtyard and through a door into a hall large enough for a Roman emperor to entertain a legion. Long tables and benches were set up as if for a banquet, though as far as he could tell, the crowd around him was composed entirely of servants in a constant state of agitation.
“What’s happening?” Menippus asked.
“Preparation for the banquet, my love. The other guests will be here soon.”
“Who’d you invite? There’s room enough here for half the city of Corinth.”
One of the cooks stopped moving long enough to whisper something in Empedia’s ear. “I need to visit the kitchen for just a second,” she told Menippus. “Why don’t you check out the food and see if it is to your liking?” Then she rushed off with the cook.
Somewhat disconcerted by her sudden departure, Menippus walked over to the central table, where some food had been laid out. Starting to serve before all the guests were there seemed odd, but his brain was still working sluggishly, and he quickly forgot that when he tried to examine the food himself.
An enormous roast pig caught his eye. He stared down into the slit where its stomach had been and saw that it had been stuffed with every kind of bird imaginable—quails, ducks, geese, pheasants, partridges, and many others, all roasted and no doubt slightly seasoned by the surrounding pork. This one pig and its contents could have fed an entire city block.
Other platters contained a variety of delicacies, including eels from Lake Copais, eggs shipped from Egypt to be hard-boiled here, white bread made from a rare variety of wheat, honey cakes tender and sweet enough to have charmed even Cerberus, assorted seafood like swordfish and tuna, fruit assortments in which pomegranates were prominently displayed. The wine was a red so dark that it was almost black, probably an expensive vintage from Chios or Lesbos.
By this point, Menippus’s head was spinning. How wealthy could Empedia be to afford such a massive feast? The tableware offered a possible answer. The plates and goblets were all of the purest gold and sparkled in the lamplight. He marveled at the fact that there didn’t seem to be any guards around. Local thieves might well risk their lives to grab a single plate, the sale of which would feed their families for months.
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” said Empedia, surprising him. The noise all around him must have drowned out the sound of her footsteps behind me.
“I’m sure all your guests will be satisfied,” Menippus replied, taking her in his arms.
“You’re the only one I care about satisfying. After all, this will be your last meal.”
Menippus frowned, but only for a second. As before, she kissed away the memory of her words, leaving behind only the certainty that he loved her.
“Is it not a little early for a wedding feast?” asked a familiar voice. Turning, Menippus saw that Apollonius had entered the room without anyone noticing. “It is normally eaten after the wedding, not before.”
“Why wait, when one may have a great feast today and tomorrow?” asked Empedia. Was it Menippus’s imagination, or did she seem a little nervous? That was very unlike her.
Apollonius looked with distaste on the sprawling heaps of food. “The true philosopher doesn’t need such excess to be happy.”
Menippus remembered being told that Apollonious was a strict vegetarian. He must have been shocked to see a philosopher at such a feast. But Menippus struggled to care. He knew that before yesterday, he would have been mortified. He had changed so much since then.
“Of course, all if it is an illusion,” Apollonius added.
“It is not!” protested Empedia, but her voice shook a little, and she looked even paler than normal.
“Behold!” said Apollonius. Pure white light flashed from him, forcing Menippus to close his eyes. He opened them again in time to see everything vanish—servants, furniture, tableware, food. The whole population of a small town, and the whole treasury of a much larger one—gone in a literal eye-blink.
But whatever power Apollonius had unleashed was not done yet. The walls turned into dust around them, and Menippus found himself standing in a empty field with Apollonius and Empedia.
Even the neighborhood in which her house sat had been an illusion. Only she had been real—in a manner of speaking. The woman remained, but her hair had turned midnight black, her eyes were the deep blue of still water, and her skin was even paler—so pale, in fact, that she looked less human, more like a corpse that has been well-prepared for burial.
“Admit it!” demanded Apollonius. “Tell him what you truly are!”
“I will not!”
Apollonius turned to Menippus. “In the far future, people will refer to her kind as vampires. But right now, she is called Empusa. She lives in the Underworld, but she comes forth from time to time to seduce young men, drink their blood, and eat their flesh.”
Menippus knew he should be horrified by the revelation. But the memory of Empedia’s kiss made him numb to such horrors.
Apollonius turned back to Empedia. “Begone, monster!” he yelled. White light flashed again, and she vanished.
Menippus should have been relieved, but he felt empty instead, as if Apollonius had saved him at the cost of taking away a part of him. Only one thing could seal that hole inside him.
Apollonius sagged as if he had exhausted himself, but he still managed a piercing gaze at Menippus. “I can drive her away, but I cannot banish her permanently. You have a choice to make.”
“I need to sleep,” Menippus said, feeling groggy.
Apollonius looked at him sadly. “You cannot keep her away by sleeping. Only by vigilance can you ward her off. Now that you know what she is, she can take you only with your consent.”
Menippus nodded, but that was all he had the strength for. He staggered away from Apollonius, who didn’t try to follow him.
Menippus had meant to go home, knowing that such creatures could not penetrate a place protected by a hearth fire. But he moved as if sleepwalking. Instead of going home, he found himself on one of the roads out of town—the same one he had followed into town earlier.
Gradually, he picked up his pace. He was tired no longer. Indeed, he broke into a run. He ran until his feet bled and his heart pounded hard enough to burst from his chest. Still, he did not stop until he reached the grove of black poplars.
She was there, just as he had known she would be.
She smiled, and her teeth flashed in the moonlight. “I knew you would return.”
“I didn’t,” he replied. “Not until my feet found themselves on the road.”
“Come, then, and let us start what we finished. I can’t conjure up a home and a banquet so soon, but you can use your imagination.”
“I didn’t come in search of that. I came in search of you.”
“Then come into my arms.”
“Not so fast!” said Menippus. “Apollonius tells me that you cannot take me unless I allow it.”
“That is true,” she said, sounding as if it pained her to speak those words.
“Then I would bargain with you. Do what you will with me now. I know you must follow your nature. But afterward, make my spirit your husband in the Underworld.”
His heart, which had quieted from its mad run, started beating faster. His breath came in short gasps. If only she said yes…
“Beings like me are not monogamous,” she replied.
His heartbeat became faster, more desperate. He felt as if he could no longer breathe.
“You can still seduce other young men from time to time, just so long as you always return to me. They will be what you eat. I will be what you love.”
“To the extent that I can, I agree to your terms,” she said slowly.
“Then let us finish what we started,” he replied, throwing his arms open to receive her.
Again, they pressed together, and again he felt her gentle hands, her insistent lips, now much colder than he remembered. But this time, the bites were much more intense, and he felt his strength drain as his blood did.
“Remember,” he whispered hoarsely. “Remember what you promised.”
She laughed. Rather than finish him off, she held his wound together for a moment with her magic so that she could prove just how wrong he had been.
“You made three mistakes. First, you tried to bargain with someone you already knew was a seducer. As you said, I have to follow my nature. Deception is part of that. Second, you didn’t force me to swear on the Styx, which would have made my agreement into an unbreakable oath.”
She paused so long that Menippus grew impatient. Who knew when he might pass out? “And the third?”
“You didn’t pay any attention to the language, I agreed, ‘to the extent that I can,’—but I am not mortal. To fulfill our bargain, I would have needed to make you a god. That is not in my power to do. Zeus can, but he has no reason to. And even if he did, Hades would never allow another god to enter the Underworld. Even had I sworn on the Styx, that wording would have allowed me to escape our bargain.”
“But…but you love me,” Menippus mumbled.
“I love your young blood, so full of idealism—and that is all,” she said. Her tone was not unkind, just indifferent. But each word was like a stab through Menippus’s barely living heart.
She started sucked his blood again, and he could feel his heart slowing with each passing second. But she began work on devouring his flesh then before he was quite gone.
He screamed then, but not just from the pain.
He screamed because Apollonius had wiped out every illusion but one—the most important one.
The illusion that he loved her.
Even as she ate him, he loved her still.
Bill,
I loved the vampire twist. I could feel the seduction of Empedia. Menippus couldn't help himself. The words dripped like blood off the page.
Joel
Very nice! Thanks for sharing, Bill!