Origin of the Sphinx Read Online Free PDF

courtesan, Phoibe. My father had the rare experience of falling in love with my mother. He never had a courtesan. I don’t want one either.” He again removed his hand from her mouth and took her hand in his. “I can’t even pay a bride price yet.” He was looking at her hand. His thumb traced circles on her palm. “I’m just hoping…”
    “You like me?” Phoibe’s surprise burst open like a flower before the sun.
    He laughed, low in his throat. “I do like you, and I’m hoping I can convince you to like me. So, if I write you, will you write me back?”
    The emptiness that had been present since learning of his departure, flooded with warmth.
    “I will write you. And you will visit?” She was excited with anticipation, and squeezed his hand.
    He looked down at her hand briefly, and then back at her beautiful face. “When I can. It won’t be often, perhaps a few times a year. But, I can write you almost every day, and you can write and tell me of Priska, the pigs and goats, and whatever news there is.”
    She smiled. “Yes, that will be wonderful.” Phoibe glanced up at the moon. She began to withdraw her hand from Isaak’s. “Good night, Isaak. May the gods watch over and protect you.”
    “And you, Phoibe.” He caught her hand up and pressed it to his lips. He tried to search her face, but Phoibe had dropped her eyes. There was just enough light that he could see the faintest blush on her cheeks. He thought she was the most glorious creature he had ever seen. Knowing it wouldn’t get any easier; he dropped her hand and started walking.
    Phoibe stood watching him walk the path toward town. Only when he had reached the bend, did she turn and walk back to her room. If she had waited, she would have seen Isaak stop, turn and stare longingly at her. Unconsciously, his fingertips were on his lips.

CHAPTER III

    Phoibe was walking in the field behind Priska’s home.  If truth were told, she was supposed to be looking for a lost pig.  Phoibe and Priska did not do much farming; most of what they had, they earned in exchange for Phoibe’s milling and Priska’s weaving and healing.  The pig had been given as payment, and Phoibe had been directed to retrieve the animal.
    Despite this, Phoibe’s ambling was not terribly focused. The sun was shining, the air was warm, and there was the faint smell of honeysuckle in the field. Phoibe spun around drinking in the blue sky and the wildflowers, and then came to a sudden stop.
    Directly in front of her was a man holding her pig. She blinked to see if the vision would go away, certain he hadn’t been there the moment before. When she opened her eyes, the man was smiling, as if enjoying a private joke. It was impossible not to notice how striking he was. The sun sparkled off his skin, and he practically glowed. His eyes and hair were the color of pale honey, and his chiseled features made Phoibe think of the sculptures artisans brought to the market to trade.
    “Phoibe, daughter of Hera.” The man spoke.
    The surprise of seeing someone suddenly appear, and then call her by name was unsettling.
    “I believe you have my pig, sir.” Her voice was brusque with shock. Phoibe stepped forward to retrieve the animal from his arms.
    “Oh, no,” he laughed, “I have already offended you? I so wanted to make a good first impression.” He looked briefly penitent, and then laughed again.
    He handed her the pig, which, although it was heavy, was no significant weight for her to carry. It was, however, awkward, and she thought about her options before setting it down.
    “What?” He looked at her with surprise. “Are you going to make me catch that smelly creature again?”
    “No. I’m going to take him home. He’ll follow me.” She turned to leave, but his voice pulled her back.
    “Yes. I bet he will. I’d happily follow you anywhere, too, Phoibe.”
    She spun around. “Excuse me. Do I know you?” She scrutinized the man. Unable to identify him, she continued,