HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods (11 page)

His eyes traveled the length of me. He was a large
man, great of mind, body, and spirit. I thought of the lithe, sensuous body of
Dionysus. Aesop could not be further from that graceful, merciless god than an
eel is to a goat.

“
Dance?
” I repeated. “That is all?”

Aesop smiled. “For now.”

*** ***

So, I danced.

After my wretched first years of slavery, I feared
to be resold to some cruel master. Those who crossed the Fabulist found
themselves on the slave platform before the cock crowed, a lesson learned by
Cook. Aesop curried much favor with Iadmon, and he was kind to me. I wanted to
please him, almost as much as I was afraid not to.

And perhaps part of me did wish to impress him
with my skills.

So, I danced.

I wore the
hetaera’s
peplos
I’d secreted away and felt almost beautiful. Aesop watched me with his grey
eyes glittering in the moonlight. We dared not play music, for it was late in
the evening, the time when sleep came to most others. I crept to the courtyard,
where the night breeze cooled my flesh and perfumed the air with the scents of
basil, thyme, and mint.

Aesop hummed low in his throat. I danced to the
rhythm in my mind, hesitant at first, until I could almost sense Lukra’s sharp
staccato on the packed earth floor of the courtyard. How easily it all came
back to me, the lessons in my memory. I imagined the twang of the lyre strings
and the whistle of the
avlos
, the pipes. I positioned my arms as
if I still clasped the hands of my beloved Mara. I danced until my arms ached
and my legs quavered. I danced until sweat soaked my chiton and Aesop’s breathing
was as labored as my own.

“Enough,” he said and reached for his goblet of
wine. “I will teach you, Doricha. The mere sight of you dancing is enough.”

Some of the crimson liquid dribbled out the side
of his lips. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand.

I had a sudden image of my smiling father doing
the same. Oh, how I missed him! His loss came crashing down on me with the
weight of a thousand stones.

“Doricha?” Aesop put down his goblet. “What is
it?”

I could not answer. I ran from him with my hands
covering my face. I fled blindly through the dark courtyard, not knowing or
caring whence I went until my body encountered an unmovable force.

I ran headlong into Young Iadmon, my master’s son.
He had returned to plague us again!

“Hie there, Rufus,” he said. ‘Rufus’ was an ugly
reference to a red-haired Thracian. His hands manacled my bare upper arms. “Why
are you up so late? Where have you been? Stealing from our larder?”

My breath caught. Aesop was nowhere to be seen. “I…I
was dancing, Young Iadmon. In the moonlight.”

His lips drew back in a leer and snorted, a habit
that had earned him the moniker of “The Swine”, amongst the slaves.

“Another of your heathen Thracian rites, no doubt.
Very well then, Rufus. Dance for me.” His hands slid down to my wrists and he
dragged me into the center of the courtyard. I pulled away.

“No, please! I do not wish to dance now. Please
let me return to my quarters. Please, Citizen.” I hoped to remind him of his
status, but Young Iadmon would not listen. His eyes fixed on my pilfered shawl,
though I doubt he recognized it.

“You will call me master, Rufus,” he said. “Shall
I make it clear to you?”

“I am minded to tell you a fable, Young Iadmon.” Aesop’s
thick voice suddenly floated out of the shadows by the wall. He stepped into
the moonlight, his face as impassive as the rock wall behind him.

“Fable?” Young Iadmon’s gaze darted from Aesop to
me, and his eyes narrowed. “What is this?” he asked suspiciously.

“You see,” said Aesop. “An Ass, having put on the
Lion's skin, roamed about in the forest and amused himself by frightening all
the foolish animals he met in his wanderings.”

“Be still, old fool,” Young Iadmon said and tugged
on my wrists again. “My father is abed, and I have no wish to hear your
lectures. Leave us.”

Aesop continued as if nothing at all were amiss. “He
came upon a Fox. The Ass tried to frighten him also, but the Fox no sooner
heard the sound of his voice than he exclaimed, ‘I might possibly have been
frightened myself, if I had not heard your bray.’”

The Swine thought for a long moment while I
writhed in his grip. Then his countenance turned dark in the moonlight. “You
call me an ass, slave?” He sneered. “I am your master!”

“There is only one master here,” Aesop remarked. “Shall
we rouse him from his bed?”

Young Iadmon’s cheeks paled. “She is our
property.”

Aesop’s brows drew together like a thundercloud. “She
is a slave, not some mere concubine without protection.”

Young Iadmon’s gaze darted from me to Aesop. I
held my breath, afraid to rouse him further. “Back to your quarters,” he
ordered, at last. And he marched away with his narrow shoulders stiff with
futile rage.

When he had departed, I turned to Aesop with breathless
gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Bah!” Aesop grumbled, throwing a dark glance at
the direction Young Iadmon had fled. “He should know better than to attack his
father’s property without provocation. There are laws against this, as he well
knows.”

“But, how did you know?” I wondered.

“Know what, Little Flower?” Aesop rubbed a gentle
hand over the marked flesh of my wrists. His touch both piqued and soothed me.

“How did you know he wouldn’t wish to rouse his
father?”

“Did you notice his tunic, Doricha?” Aesop asked. “It
was torn and bloodied. The Swine is well known for his temper in these parts. And
our master wearies himself with paying coin to cover for his son’s escapades.”

“I didn’t notice,” I mumbled, my embarrassment
tempered slightly by the small joy of newly acquired knowledge.

“Well,” Aesop patted me on the head. “Those lovely
eyes of yours should be of more use to you than mere decoration. Do you not
agree?”

Oh, how I did.

Three has never been a good number for me, even to
this day. I’d lost three members of my family. Three sorrow filled paths I’ve
chosen to walk. And three times have I loved, but all for naught. So,
naturally, there were three occasions The Swine sought me out in the house of
Iadmon.

My heart still mourned for Mara and my lost
family, but I was more resigned to my plight.

Months of Aesop’s tutoring had given me much to
divert my mind. Just this week, we’d discussed whether a man’s nature could be
altered by his surroundings or if simple creation determined a man’s character.
I was of the mind that gifts of the gods determined our character, but Aesop
had raised his brow in such a maddening way that I questioned the very walls
before me.

I still pondered that infuriating brow lift when
Young Iadmon caught me changing the bed linens.

“Rufus,” he said and startled me. I fumbled the
packet of herbs I’d meant to sprinkle on the linens to keep away vermin.

The Swine crossed the room quickly. His lips
compressed in a hard line. I glanced at the door, praying to find someone,
anyone, passing in the hall beyond.

“I called you, girl. Answer me,” he demanded.

I lowered my eyes, dutifully, though in truth I
ached to find an escape. “What is it you require?” I gave the customary bow.

“What I require,” said The Swine, reaching a hand
towards the leather thong binding my hair, “is for you to serve me.”

I swallowed hard and fought the urge to shy from
his touch. His fingers probed the knot in the leather and freed my long hair
with a single tug. My eyes stung. These past months with Aesop’s protection, a
man had never been so bold as to touch me without my permission.

“I do serve this household, citizen, for Iadmon is
my master,” I replied truthfully. I hoped my words would appease him.

A satisfied smirk appeared on The Swine’s face.

“Yes,” he said. “And as your master, I bid you
please me.” He tangled his fingers in my red-gold hair and drew me close to
him.

“Please, I-I am expected in the servant’s hall,” I
stammered. I escaped his grip and bent to retrieve my herb packet, but The
Swine was not deterred. A wicked light gleamed in his eyes.

“I bid you serve me, Rufus. Stay there, on your
knees. It suits me just as well.” And he grabbed both the back of my head and
his codpiece, just as his father entered the chamber.

“What goes here, my son?” Iadmon asked angrily,
his hands clenched.

“I was just having a bit of sport.” The Swine eyed
me. His handsome features turned sullen, as a child sneaking a sweet.

“Unhand my slave.” Iadmon’s voice was as hard as
his son’s eyes. “Leave us, girl.”

I rose and darted from the chamber as fast as my
unsteady legs could carry me.

Aesop had once told me Greeks believed a slave
should be treated firmly, even beaten if necessary to gain obedience. But no
master dared to inflict a serious injustice upon his slaves, or else face the
wrath of their gods upon final judgment.

Thanks to Iadmon’s fear of the gods, I’d escaped
his son’s attentions a second time. My legs quaked as I rounded the hallway
towards my alcove, trying to move as silently as I could.

The morning gathering had just ended. Aesop was
bidding a hearty farewell to our master’s guests when he caught sight of me
passing the arcade. I must have looked distressed, for he placed a tender arm
around my shoulders and led me to the kitchen. My heart ached for my mother’s
embrace and a woman’s knowledge to help me understand.

But I had only Aesop.

I told him all that had happened and after he
poured me a bracing cup of mellow aged wine, I felt stronger.

“Fortunate for you our master happened by,” Aesop
said, when I had finished my cup and my tale.

I nodded. “Still, I wonder. What did The Swine
want?” The kitchen was small and comforting to me. There were no corners that
held hidden dangers.

“What did he want?” Aesop echoed and frowned at
me. “You cannot be that innocent.”

My cheeks burned. I didn’t want to appear
stupid—not to Aesop. “I didn’t understand. When he said being on my knees
suited him just as well?”

“Oh, that. Well, I suppose he meant for you to
take him in your mouth.”

My curiosity was roused. “Take what in my mouth?”

“His manhood. What else, you silly girl?” Aesop
stroked his beard.

I thought for a long moment. “Can it really be
done?” I could not picture such a thing.

“Yes, it can be done. As easily a man’s kiss,
though perhaps with a bit more depth.” He wiped a hand over his chin.

“I’ve never done it,” I responded.

“No….no I should think not.” Aesop grabbed up the
cup, and poured himself a draught.

“I mean, I’ve never been kissed by a man.” I
scuffed at cobbled floor.

He corked the wine. “Haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?” he asked.

“With you?” I asked. An image of Dionysus’ lithe
form flashed through my thoughts. Aesop was my teacher, my only friend.
Did
I?

Aesop looked around the empty kitchen. “There is
no one else about unless you prefer to find The Swine. He would be more than
willing to teach you whatever you wish to learn and perhaps a bit more. Come
now, Doricha. Do you dislike me so?”

I caught my breath at those words. They were
similar to those Merikos had spoken to me in the temple. Merikos, who’d loved
my mother. My father and even Aidne, that treacherous serpent, had loved her. I
knew betrayal, but what did I know of love, save for my adolescent passion with
Mara?

I eyed Aesop, the man they called Fabulist. He was
a massive man, olive complexioned--odd for a Thracian, and with a shock of
unruly hair kinked like wiry strands of copper from his scalp. Though he walked
like a lopsided mountain, he had a gregarious smile that infected me with his
wry humor. And there was his mind and his voice…. He was not
so
very ugly, I thought. Not handsome, but not
so
ugly. Could he
teach me the mysteries of the flesh?

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

“Very well. I am ready to be kissed,” I announced.

Nothing happened. I cracked an eyelid.

“I think not, Little Flower.” Aesop chuckled. “But
you will be, soon. Keep your eyes closed if it suits you.”

His face loomed closer and I dutifully kept my
eyes shut tight.

I felt the raw scratch of his beard tickling my
cheeks and inhaled the scent of sharp Grecian wine a moment before something
soft and warm pressed on my lips. The pressure was not unpleasant, but
certainly nothing like I’d imagined. It was nowhere near what I’d experienced
with Mara, those years ago in the temple. I stiffened a little, at the memory,
and the warm pressure disappeared.

“There now,” Aesop announced proudly. “You have
been kissed.”

“That was all?” I cracked an eye open just in time
to see Aesop’s cheeks flush.

“For all that you stood there like an unforgiving
stone. Yes, that was
all
.” He sounded offended.

“Try again,” I ordered and closed my eyes a second
time.

This time as Aesop pressed his moist lips against
mine, I tried my best to conjure up the image of my lithe Dionysus. Heat rushed
through my body as Aesop’s hands rubbed my breasts through my chiton. I reached
my hands out to touch the perfect white flesh in my memory, but encountered a very
hairy forearm instead.

“Oh.” I drew back as disappointment flushed the
image of my lord from my mind. “That
is
all.” I frowned at Aesop.
“It hardly inspires my passion.”

Aesop made a growling noise, deep in his throat.

“Shall we try again?” I was less than enthusiastic.
“I do wish to be pleased.”

Aesop’s countenance darkened like Boreas’
thunderclouds. “Be gone, girl!” He pushed me none-too-gently towards the
doorway. “You come to me with tears staining your cheeks and tales of despair,
and yet you expect to be wooed? Go away and return when you are ready for a
proper instruction. Go!”

“But Aesop, I only wished to….”

“Go!” he rumbled again.

I fled back to my quarters, thinking something
must be very wrong with me, if The Swine wished to abuse me and Aesop did not
wish to please me with kisses.

*** ***

A week passed, days and nights when I felt eyes on
my back; whether they were Aesop’s or those of my master’s son I could not say.
I had lost the favor of Aesop’s protection. The other slaves began to whisper
and avoid me, especially after The Swine made a show of pinching my bottom in
the dining hall. He left a nasty bruise.

Aesop avoided me. If I entered the kitchens, he
jerked to his feet and stomped out. If I was to serve at symposium, Aesop
refused to even glance in my direction. I must be truly horrible, I thought. First
Merikos and now Aesop, my only friend and teacher. Was it the nature of all men
to leave behind those most in need of their care and protection? Well, if I was
to be alone, then I would carry on.

I swore I didn’t need Aesop’s protection.

So I was, again, quite alone when The Swine found
me next. I’d been sent to the
agora
to buy fresh eel and fish for
the day’s meal. Aesop, Iadmon, and his son had gone to assembly and were not
expected home until later.

The wind blew in from the ocean, and reminded me
somewhat of Perperek. For a brief moment, I was a child again, wending the
seaside village paths. I felt rather free as I traversed the winding streets
down to the marketplace, twirling my fish basket before me. With a twinge of
guilt, I remembered my first view of the large open area that housed the slave
stocks. I wondered what had happened to the old Samothraki, and I prayed that
he’d been spared from the mines.

Dionysus, if it be your will, send him some
measure of your grace
.

I’d begun to pray to the gods again, in these last
few days, and so caught up with my belated pleas I was that I did not recognize
the man lounging in the doorframe ahead of me until he grabbed my arm.

“Young Iadmon!” I drew away from him and my
sandals skidded on the crushed limestone path. The basket dropped from my
fingers and lay abandoned in the street as he dragged me away to a nearby alley.

His thick fingers bit into the soft flesh of my
shoulder. When he pushed me back against the rough stone building I had the
sense to open my mouth to scream. Most of the city peacekeepers are slaves. An
unprovoked attack on a slave was forbidden!

The Swine covered my lower jaw with a bruising
hand before I uttered a sound.

“I will have you, you red bitch. You will not
twitch your skirts and offer yourself solely to that misshapen tale spinner.”

I tried to deny him, but his fingers obscured my
words into an unintelligible groan.

“Be silent!” he hissed. His eyes darted from side
to side and the fingers of his spare hand ground further into my shoulder
joints. I moaned at the flash of pain radiating down to my fingers.

The Swine wedged a knee between my legs, nudging
the fabric of my chiton up to my thighs. He rested the length of one forearm
against my throat.

“Make no sound, do you hear? Not one,” he said.

His fingers peeled away from my aching jaw and I
felt the sea breeze cool my hot, sweaty skin.

“You’re so pink,” he said, his gaze roaming my
face. “So very soft and pink. I’ve longed to feel you yield beneath my touch.”

“Please,” I begged and tears stung my eyes. My
voice was hoarse from the crushing pressure of his arm against my throat. “Please
let me go. I will not tell, I swear it. Just let me go!”

His hand returned with a blinding slap and clamped
over my lips.

“I said, ‘be silent.’ Now, I must find a way to
keep you quiet.”

His face was so close to me. Too close. I could
smell the stink of Greek onions and olives on his breath and see the red rims
of his eyes.

My fingers clawed at him. I had to get away, yet I
could not strike him.

And then he kissed me, if one could call it a
kiss.

His hand peeled away at the last instant before
his mouth bruised my lips. I tasted salt and the copper tang of blood. He’d
pressed so hard my teeth had punctured my bottom lip.

He savaged my lips. Saliva trailed from my
nostrils to my chin. I wanted to retch. Then he thrust his tongue inside my
mouth and I gagged. He drew back and boxed my ears. They popped and the world
became muffled, as though stuffed with wool. I cried out at the stabbing pain
and felt a wet stickiness in my left ear.

The Swine drew his hands back and scrabbled at the
front of my clothing. I wept as he tore the top of my chiton away. His ragged
nails scratched crimson lines into my flesh and my breasts puckered at the
exposure to the cold air.

It hit me then. He was going to take me, here on
the rocky hillside overlooking the path to the
agora
, like a
common street whore, a
pornai
. I understood enough of what went
on between men and women to understand this.

Dionysus, if it be your will
,
I began to pray. But I could not think the words to finish. The world began to
tilt crazily as The Swine’s fingers began to grope and squeeze. I scraped my
back sliding down the rough stone wall. The ground rose up to meet me.

And all the while he cursed until my ringing ears
were full up with the sound of them.

“I will have you. I will. I
will
.”.A
strange light glittered in his eyes.

The world grew dim.

His voice seemed very far away. Further off, I
heard the braying of dogs and then, blissfully, I heard and saw no more.