HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods (15 page)

A flock of sparrows set up such a firestorm of
chirping that anything else that might have been said by the poetess died away.
Aesop bowed and mumbled a hasty goodbye. He pushed me out of the gate before
him. We were halfway down the lane when Sappho’s words wafted to our ears on
the perfumed breeze.

“She is marked, Aesop. I have heard it,” she
called loudly. “The gods of Greece declare doom for any man or woman who loves
such a creature. Sell her to some unlucky wretch and be done with her.”

I took three steps before I risked a glance at
Aesop.

He caught me looking.

“We set sail for Samos in the morning,” was all he
said.

“You shouldn’t have spoken to her like that.” Aesop
stared out over the water in a direction I can only presume was towards Samos.

“What can she do to us now? We’ve sailed from
Lesbos.” The waves lapped at the sides of our small ship. I glared at the water
churned to froth by the oars.

I’d lost the only likely chance of gaining some
measure of freedom back, and all because I feared a lyricist’s touch. He was
right, of course, but I was filled with dread as we sailed away towards a new
slave stock. What did I care about Sappho when I would soon be sold, my life no
longer my own? I shouldn’t have refused her. Perhaps then I might be free to
slip from her grasp as did those other girls.

“The Poetess holds much power in certain forums. It’s
said they’ve even built a shrine to her on Syracuse. Who can say how far her
influence spreads? She could make trouble for you.”

“She briefly desired me and I was rude. It will
pass.” I tossed a crust of hard bread at the birds circling overhead. “Besides,
she thought no more of me than The Swine. Fie!”

“Sappho has ever possessed a flair for the
dramatic,” Aesop agreed. “Especially in regards to unrequited love.”

“She knows nothing about love, Aesop. One cannot
coerce such emotion. It must be freely given and I have no inclination to give
my love to her. She would turn me out as soon as another nubile girl caught her
eye.” I tried to make myself believe it. Sunlight glittered off the waves, its
beauty like a
sarisa’s
tip in my eyes.

Aesop frowned. “You do not want this woman as your
enemy. Why are you so reluctant to heed me?”

“This woman’s trouble will be the least of my
worries once the Samian sells me to a new master. Kind or not, he will still
own me, body and soul. What is a poetess’ wrath compared to
that
?”

“She is not ‘a’ poetess, Doricha,” he chided. “But
‘
the
’ Poetess.”

“Do not banter words with me, Aesop. I have not
the heart for it, just now.”

And I didn’t. I’d sold my chance at freedom for a
sharp quip. Would I never learn to do as I must? I turned away and watched the
coastline disappear into the distance.

“Ah, Doricha. Do not be so discouraged. You are
young still and alive. That is saying much. You will forget the pain of the
past.”

A breeze arose and the sailors scrambled to unfurl
the sails and take a few moments of respite from rowing. The flap of the sails
reminded me of the sound of bird’s wings.

“Let me tell you a tale,” Aesop began.

“No more of your stories!” I tried to wave him
away, but he silenced me and began again.

“A Crab, forsaking the seashore, chose a
neighboring green meadow as its feeding ground. A Fox came across him and,
being very hungry, gobbled him up. Just as he was on the point of being
swallowed, the Crab said, ‘I well deserve my fate, for what business had I on
the land, when by my nature and habits I am only adapted for the sea?’ Do you
understand me, Doricha?”

“I suppose,” I mumbled.

“I have been a slave my whole existence until now.
Contentment with our lot in life is an element of happiness in itself. If you
cannot change your station, you must try to find some measure of satisfaction,
Doricha.” He patted my hand awkwardly, but I pulled away.

“It is an easier thing to do when one is free,
Aesop. I only hope I do not need to give my life to find it, as did your Crab.”

He crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Freedom
does not always mean happiness. You would do well to remember that.”

“It does to me,” I whispered.

It had been over four years, now, since I’d been
free and more since I’d been happy. I wiped the salt spray off my cheeks and
turned my back on Aesop. What did he know?

I resumed my watch of the coastline until the
sailors shouted that the island of Samos drew nigh.

*** ***

Samos
.

What can I say about it, but that I dreaded its
rocky shoreline? Samos, home of the woman who birthed the Swine who took me
against my will. Another island, yes, and on it was a trade port, another
marketplace, and another slave trader who would mark my name and price on a
shard of pottery.

Dark-skinned Xanthes the Samian was rough, as men
who spend much time on the sea are wont to be. His robes were fine, if not
elegantly pleated, but he needed to trim his grizzled beard. He appraised me
with an eye of a horse trader.

Aesop ordered the vessel on its way after paying
our fare, for he planned to journey east by caravan to Lydia and then perhaps
Egypt. I’d never heard of such places, and could only dream of what his life
would be like. I suppose after a lifetime of slavery he was due to wander the
world a little, but I could not help feeling forlorn as Xanthes, after a quiet
discussion with Aesop, went about setting a price that made even the seasoned
slave traders protest.

“See here,” they shouted. One shook his fist at
the burly Samian. “You’re ruining the market with her,” he said.

But Xanthes fingered his stout club and paid them
no heed.

I hunched my shoulders miserably as he slung the
thong over my neck and settled it between my breasts, flinching when his hands
lingered too long around my neck. Aesop was deserting me. I would be vulnerable
again. Panic turned my innards to ice, despite the sultry heat of the
afternoon.

“She is just a woman and a Thracian at that!”
another said, eyeing me with distaste.

Why should he not? I wasn’t his stock, and the price
set upon me was exorbitant.

It was Aesop who answered. “If this is all you
see, then you do not see her.” The men eyed his burly physique, and ceased
their grumbling.

So, I stood there all morning.

I watched while other men, women, and children
became another man’s property. I stood there and endured the black stares,
curses, and perverse interest of those looking to buy. I do not know which was
worse--the first time I’d been sold, or now. Then, I’d still had the innocence
to hope for mercy. Now, I knew better. I knew my life would never be my own
again. I was a plucked flower, there for any man’s taking.

I slouched in my place and tried to take as little
notice of my surroundings as possible. By plastering a vacant expression on my
face, I hoped to seem a poor purchase. Perhaps the high price would work to my
advantage and repel any patrons.

A desperate surge of hope flooded my heart as each
would-be buyer passed me by. My plans were hastily laid. If Xanthes could not
sell me, perhaps I could journey onward with Aesop. I had little hope he had
enough coin to buy me, but surely Xanthes would be glad to be rid of me.

I spent the rest of the morning crossing my eyes
whenever the traders weren’t watching me. I wanted to clap my hands in relief,
as midday passed and I was not yet sold. With relief, I was allowed to sit and
take some bread and wine. A little luck, and Aesop could not desert me, not
until I was resold.

But luck had deserted me. If not for the hot
temper of a man and the birds pecking at crumbs nearby, I might have gone
unnoticed and unbartered for that day.

It was early afternoon, the hour when most forsake
their work to spend a few moments of rest away from the hot sun. Most shops in
the
agora
closed and would remain so until the early evening when
the sea breeze cooled the city marketplace. At this hour, the market was a
furnace of blazing sun reflected off the plaster buildings and gravel.

An odor of rot gut infused the air. I wrinkled my
nose, still unused to the stench of fishy brine in my nostrils. How I longed
for clean mountain air!

“Do you curl your lip at me, girl?” asked a testy
patron of the slave pits. He had a surly expression and the fronts of his robes
were spattered with food grease from some previous meal. I glanced around the
agora
.
There was no one else about. Why should he not mistake my expression for one of
displeasure towards him?

He strode nearer to my platform. “Great Zeus! What
madmen ask so much coin for an insolent girl?” He glared at Xanthes. Aesop put
down his cup of wine and hitched up the pleats of his robe.

“I have set the price. Pay it or be gone,” said
Xanthes.

“I have half a mind to pay it!” shouted the
patron. “Do you not teach this girl better manners, I shall!”

Sea birds scattered at the force of his words. They
took to the air, screeching and flapping. The flock roused the attention of
some nearby sailors loading goods onto a large trireme on the docks.

My head began to ache from the heat.

“The sun has addled your brain,” I said wearily,
too overheated by the burning sun to hold my tongue. “I smelled a foul odor and
that is all. It is a hot day. Perhaps you should rest.”

My words brought a chuckle from the sailors. One
suggested the patron soak his head in cask of wine to cool his temper.

The patron’s cheeks mottled and he drew back his
head and spat at me. It landed on my sandaled foot, the spittle soaking into
the leather strap. Aesop strode over and I saw Xanthes loosen his club. This
could mean trouble, both for me and the newly freed Aesop. Of a surety it would
not bode well for poor Xanthes who was only following the directive of his
friend. The sailors stopped their laughing chatter and drew nearer to the
platform.

“Your slave has insulted me,” the patron insisted.
“I demand restitution. Give her to me.”

“You see her price, citizen. Pay it or leave.” Xanthes
fingered his club.

“You owe me for her insult, trader. I will give
you two hundred drachmas for her. That is still a hefty price.”

Xanthes considered the man’s words. I saw him
glance at the nearest stall where several helmeted peacekeepers put down their
wineskins.

“Aesop…?” Xanthes murmured.

“Have you sons, patron? This girl is bound for a
family without heirs, by order of her master,” Aesop replied. He did not look
pleased.

The patron smiled. “I have none,” he said. “As of
yet.”

“Aesop, be reasonable. There have been no others,”
Xanthes whispered. Aesop waved his hand in irritation. “It is a good offer.”

The patron reached for his coin purse, which was
drawn as tightly as his smile. One of the sailors hissed through his teeth.

“You men, why have you stopped loading these wine
casks?” A voice from the docks startled me. “The Pharaoh’s table awaits us. Get
a move on now or…by the Cyprian’s kiss, what goes here?
Aesop
? Is that
you?”

We turned. A man strode off the gangplank towards
my platform, his hand shading his eyes against the sun. I could not make out
his features at first. When he drew near, I could see his skin was tanned and
his eyes were dark. His features were sculpted in fine aristocratic fashion,
not coarse as the other sailors. His curled hair gleamed in the sunlight.

Aesop glanced at me and then raised his hand in
greeting. His bushy brows were creased and uneasy, an expression I did not see
often on his face. The patron busied himself with drawing out his money pouch
and signaling to the scribes to prepare the lists for him to record my sale.

The man from the ship stared at me.

“What goes here?” he asked again. His eyes
devoured me. I have never seen such an expression on a man’s face before. Desire,
yes, but not this open and utter adoration.

“Just a girl to be sold,” Aesop said. “Tell me,
how fare your wife and daughters?” Aesop looked at me--his eyes nigh bulged out
of his head.

What did he want me to do?

“Fat and rosy as any Grecian princess, I assure
you. But what loveliness is this and at such a price?”

“A rare adornment,” said Aesop, that traitor. “She
is temple-trained. The most wondrous dancer you have ever seen.”

“So you say.” The man blinked. I glanced away from
the pair of them. They made me sick, circling me like a pair of dogs over a
bone. Men are all the same under the skin.

“Yes, but alas, this cretin has sworn to break her
of her spirit.” Aesop gestured to the patron who curled his lip in our
direction and continued to shake coin out of his purse.

What was Aesop doing? My supposed mentor was nigh
setting this man’s appetite to have his way with me! It was an outrage and I
swore he would be punished later for his deeds. If not by me, then by the gods.
I thought of the golden haired woman of the water.

Lady, if it be your will
, I prayed.

“Break her? Surely not such a fine creature as
this. I have never seen such eyes before. And a figure to make Aphrodite
herself weep.”

“Ah, yes. Much the same was said by your sister
not two days hence, Charaxus.”

Sister?
Sister
?

“You took her to see Sappho, did you? What said
the great poetess?” Charaxus eyed my hair with interest.

“She wished to purchase this girl. She vowed she
could love such a creature, but I have sworn to sell her only to a man who will
keep her well. A man without sons.”

“Here now,” called the patron. “Away from my
property. I have paid my gold and will make my mark.”

“A treasure my sister could not achieve by either
her coin or her witty tongue? Ha! I can scarce believe it. Hold!” called
Charaxus. “I wish to bid on this girl.”

“You cannot,” said the patron. “I have already
paid.”

The brother of the great Poetess wished to bid on
me. Would he give me to his sister lady, then, as tribute? I thought of Sappho
and her desire, so much like Aidne’s dark regard for my mother. I shivered,
even under the hot sun.

“I will hear all bids,” called Xanthes with a wry
smile for Aesop. He tightened his grip on the club and glared at the rude
patron.