The young men carried Sappho's limp body into the opulent room, its high, brightly decorated ceiling a panoply to fine furnishings, vivid and expensive drapes and a deep, marble-edged bath. She was unconscious from exhaustion. 'Put her near the bath and send my girls in to bathe her. Now go! I will call you again in a while. I think there are services you will need to provide before the night is out.' The young men bowed and backed away, never for a moment daring to turn their back on the beautiful daughter of their revered priest of Apollo, Pelador. Chryseis giggled at their subservience, threw her mass of dark hair back and turned away. Sappho lay on her side on the edge of the marble bath. Her arms trailed into the water and the ropes which were still attached to her wrists floated on its milk-coloured surface. Her long red-brown hair spread around her face in wet tangles. It highlighted the paleness of her skin and accentuated its smooth clarity. Ropes still hung from her ankles and harsh red marks on the insides of her thighs showed where she had been pulled down forcibly against the cold, sharp-edged altar.
