HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods (17 page)

“It is made from fermented bread loaves,” said
Charaxus, taking the cup from me and downing a huge swig. “They bake the wheat
into loaves, and then crumble them into water with certain ferments. Then they
drain away the bread and drink the beer.”

“They need a better sieve.” I frowned at the cup.

Charaxus laughed. “That they do. But in Egypt,
most everything will have some grit or sand. You cannot stop it anymore than
you can stop the sun from shining.” He belched loudly and rubbed his stomach.

“Hmm. I think I prefer wine,” I said.

He nudged me towards another stall. “In Egypt,
very few can afford wine. The best of my cargo, we will take further down river
to the city of Sais and Pharaoh’s table. But I shall reserve one or two casks
for you, my Petal. Stop here. I wish to buy you a gift.”

Iadmon had not purchased half so much for me in
four years’ time. This Charaxus was an extravagant man, if a bit imprudent. He
pointed to a few small brass boxes and ceramic jars with lids. The trader
jumped up to hand them over to Charaxus who opened each and sniffed deeply.

I shielded my eyes. The rising sun baked the air. Annoying
insects buzzed about my head and eyes. The more intense the heat, the more they
swarmed. I wished I had one of those horsehair whips that I’d seen a man use to
swat at them.

“What do you think of these?” Charaxus asked.

He handed me two containers, each the size of my
palm. Inside was a white creamy substance that looked much like a salve. Both
stunk with appalling pungency, one like burnt wood and the other a spoiled
fruit.

“I am not eating that!” I exclaimed. Charaxus
burst into laughter.

“You do not eat this,” he guffawed. “You wear it. It
will protect your lovely skin from drying in this accursed heat.”

I sniffed again, cautiously. “I think I will take
my chances with the sun,” I said. “Unless there’s another scent I may choose.”

“It will also keep the insects away.” Charaxus
looked a little crestfallen, but he motioned the man to open and offer me
another container.

One after one, we opened until my nose grew stuffy
and my head began to ache from the overpowering scents. At last, I settled on
one with a warm herbed scent that reminded me of my mother. I forced myself to
smile at his eager face.

“You are most generous, Master,” I said.

“Please, please,” he pleaded. “I would hear only
my name from your lips, lovely Petal.”

“Very well,” I said, uncomfortable with his
unusual request. “Charaxus.”

“I must return to the docks to oversee the trade
of my wine. There have been more Persians this season than in any I have seen. I
must make certain to get the best price for my goods, or they will glut the
market with their swill.” He mopped his forehead. “You may linger a while, if
you like. Here is some coin for you to barter for whatever pleases you. I
should like to see you in a new garment. That rag does nothing for your figure.
Egyptian linen will do. No more coarse fabrics.”

“Yes, master…er…Charaxus.” I accepted the coins.

“Khefti will take you back when you have
concluded.” He touched my cheek without speaking, his eyes drinking in my face
like a drowning sailor sighting land. “I shall return soon, my Petal.” Then he
was gone.

I must admit, I felt a little forlorn when he left.
Perhaps it was the lack of women in the
agora
. Perhaps it was the
fact that I’d scarce been alone in my lifetime. Or it could have been the way
strangers ogled me, russet skinned Egyptians with their liquid eyes. I wondered
what they thought of me, with my fair skin and red-gold hair, alone in a sea of
darkness, but I never found out. Khefti shook a large stick at anyone who gave
me more than discreet scrutiny.

The marketplace was so unfamiliar--the smells of
unfamiliar spices in the food and drink, the people, the diaphanous clothing,
the desolation of the everlasting sands beyond the river’s banks. I actually
felt a pang of homesickness for Abdera, for in Egypt, everything was strange. Even
the insects were odd, especially the skeletal plated ones that scuttled into
the shaded recesses of the stalls, waving their poison-tipped tails and
crab-like claws. Charaxus had warned me their sting could kill a man, and yet
these Egyptians danced around them and continued their business, as if they did
not mind flirting with death.

My mind wandered a little, back to Aesop’s words. I
wondered if he’d reached his far off destination and what would he think of
Charaxus’ attention to me.

Remember the crab
.

The coins Charaxus had given me jingled pleasantly
in their sack.

I would try.

“Very lovely,” Charaxus said. He drew out the
syllables so his lips, rosy and scented with Egyptian beer, curved in a
predatory smile.

We had been in Naukratis for a month and his
attentions to me had only increased. I was beginning to understand my role as
his slave was less a concubine and more of a wife to run his household in
Egypt. Well, I thought, not so much a wife, for a proper Greek woman would
never clothe herself in such scanty finery. And I could never bear him
legitimate heirs.

Charaxus was most pleased with my choice of dress.
His eyes gleamed and he rubbed his hands together as he circled me twice, once
very quickly and the second time, slowly, as if savoring every inch of my
scarcely covered flesh.

I knew now why he wished me to purchase a new
garment.

Still, Egyptians are a beautiful people. With skin
like polished copper, they are thin and graceful as a valley willow, with a
peculiar purring accent when they speak. Their eyes are liquid night--dark and
slanted as an almond is shaped, and their hair, when they have not shaved it
all away, falls in a swath of fine black silk. Egyptian hair is soft, unlike
the rough kinked tresses of the Nubians, who hail from further south. Soldiers,
laborers and slaves wear coarse linen skirts called
shentis
, when
they bother to wear any clothing at all, which is almost never. The more
expensive the weave of the cloth, the finer the material, until the finest of
Egyptian cotton and linen fiber is woven so sheer, one could adorn one’s self
in the spider silk of Arachne's web and be afforded more covering. The gossamer
fabric reveals more than it conceals, as Charaxus must surely have known.

No more rough fabric
, he’d cautioned
me.

The thin material of my gown
was fashioned in pleats that draped from my neck over my breasts and hips to
fall in a tight, fitted skirt. I had to adjust my stride to accommodate the
skirt, which persisted in wrapping about my knees every time the wind blew. My
shorter steps lent a roll to my hips I knew Charaxus found provocative. Well,
it could not be helped. There were no other clothes to be had in Egypt—at least
not for me.

Charaxus placed a warm hand on my bare shoulder. “Come,
Petal.”

He drew me toward the couch and began a tender
barrage of kisses designed to lull me into desire--a thoughtful but futile
gesture. I could not help but remain “stiff as a plank” as he’d likened me.

Then he poised between my thighs, spreading my
legs apart to enter me. His hand groped impatiently at my sex. He leaned forward
and balanced his torso against my abdomen. I braced myself for the entry of his
member, but his fingers began the assault.

First one, then the other, prized my nether lips
apart and probed within for the slick dew that would ease his invasion. He
rubbed and fondled, making such gruntling noises that I was reminded of a
rutting pig. The image did nothing to ease my anxiety.

I wrapped my fingers in the pleats of my new gown
and waited for it all to end.

His fumbling hand remained between the two of us. Sweat
dripped off his forehead as I felt him withdraw his meaty fingers. He took his
phallus and tried to cram the head into me. I winced and sucked air sharply
between my teeth. His finger slipped between my folds. He mumbled a curse and
bucked his hips, trying to push into me.

“Petal, no…here, wait…let me,” he gasped. He
ground his pelvis into me, as if he could force his way into my body through
sheer will. “It’s…I can’t!” he groaned.

He stopped and rolled off me, pulling his robes
over him with a snap of his robes. I lay there scarce daring to draw breath. Charaxus
didn’t speak for some time, but knelt facing the wall.

“Gods, why have you cursed me like this, woman?”
he muttered, finally.

What was I supposed to say? His attentions were
certainly unwelcome and unpleasant. It wasn’t near the drowsy pleasure I’d
shared with my near sister, but it could have been so much worse.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what it is I
should do.”

As a slave, it was my duty to serve my master,
however distasteful it may be. What if he were to sell me to some foreigner? I
bit my knuckle to keep from crying aloud in protest. Perhaps my stiff refusal
to aid him had rendered him useless. A slave who did not earn her master’s keep
would not survive long.

I reached out and patted his back. His skin
quivered under my touch and he turned to face me. I kissed him. Not a
passionate kiss, by any means, but I could taste his misery on my tongue as
clearly as I could taste the salt of his tears.

Charaxus touched his finger, still scented with my
sex, to his lips. “You have never kissed me before, Petal.”

“No,” I replied.

“You are so lovely. Surely, you love me just a
little, do you not?” He looked at me with such fervor, that I did not turn my
face away when he kissed me again. “I am good to you, yes?”

I did not burn in the soft delta between my legs
as I had during my nights with Mara. No, this sensation was pleasant warmth
stoked in my breast, like a task completed well. I recognized it. I felt
valuable, and perhaps, even a little treasured.

Charaxus needed me. He desired me. To find oneself
worthy of desire after so long is such a heady emotion.

So, I softened towards him. I molded my body
against his. He sighed against my mouth and eased me back to the couch. After a
few moments, he reared up and tossed off his robes to reveal his phallus, as
straight and true as one of Eros’ darts. With it, he pierced me and a sweet
song of triumph shone in his eyes. I felt no pain.

And I would never feel as benevolent as I did that
afternoon when Charaxus thought I loved him.

*** ***

In the morning, he took me to the bathhouse. The
Egyptians are even more fastidious than the Greeks, and they go to such lengths
to be clean that the gods themselves must be jealous.

“These remind me of the bathhouses in Mytilene,” I
said.

“They are very like the ones in Syracuse, as
well,” he replied. “Pharaoh has allowed us to install our own customs here, in
this city. It is reported he has a fascination with all things Greek.” His eyes
sparkled.

“What is that place?” I asked and pointed to a
building near the bathhouse.

“Where they go to be shaved.” He squinted at the
Egyptian picture writing, called
hieroglyphs
, on the wall near
the entrance. Men and women, slave and free alike, pluck and shave every hair from
the bodies and scalp. Many of them wear wigs.

“Surely you don’t mean to cut off my hair?” I
fairly shouted at him. Not my lovely red-gold hair, my father’s legacy?

“Ah, Petal, I shall pay for you to bathe as often
as you like. There will be no need to shave your tresses, so you may keep your
fire, my flower. I would not have your petals plucked for any price.” He
laughed at his own jest.

He was in a fine mood. I relaxed a little and
smiled at what I knew to be the cause of his light heart. He flashed his white
teeth at me, mistaking my mirth for amusement at his bawdy humor.

He spent what I thought was an obnoxious sum of
money on a private bath for the two of us. When I emerged from the tepid pool,
scented and pink all over, he pulled me onto his lap and kissed me heartily. I
dripped water all over the floor. Charaxus laughed again and rubbed me with a
cloth of Egyptian cotton. Then he motioned for a pair of nubile girls to come
and rub me with scented salve until I reeked. Still, it did feel nice to have
the sand scrubbed from my scalp and my hair freshly oiled and dressed as neatly
as a queen.

He might have taken me right there in the bath
house but his excitement at showing off his adopted homeland overrode his
desire for me, at least for the moment. Or perhaps they did not allow congress
in public, as they did in Greece. I certainly was not going to ask.

When we emerged into the harsh sunlight, he
motioned and a litter was brought round. Nubian slaves carried us to the
agora
,
where he made a final accounting of the sales of his wine.

How strange the Nubians were. I wanted to touch
the litter bearers with their smooth, black skin, just the color of soot from
my mother’s hearth. I sighed, and Charaxus patted my hand.

“I have yet another surprise for you, Petal,” he
whispered in my ear. The rasp of his breath against my flesh reminded me of a
stinging fly, and I forced my hand into my lap to keep from slapping him away.

“You are full of surprises.” I said knowing
Charaxus appreciated a bit of jest.

Charaxus chuckled even louder.

“You will like this, I think,” he said, fairly
glowing with excitement. “I decided this morning. We sail for Sais on the
morrow. I shall present you at the Pharaoh’s palace. I told you he has a love
of all things Greek. I am willing to bet he would have paid three times the
amount I doled out for you.”

I was dumbfounded.

“I am not a Greek,” I said. “Nor am I fit to be
presented to any god-king.”

“You are Greek enough for Amasis’ eyes, I’ll
wager. Do not be alarmed, Petal,” Charaxus patted my hand. “If the gods are
willing, we shall find you suitable clothing and jewels to wear before you see
Sais.”

“You have already purchased me this gown,” I
murmured.

I was so tired of my life not being my own. Was
this my fate, to be passed from man to man until I withered? Aesop was right. This
world was no place for a woman.

“Yes, yes, this gown pleases me but it pleases me
more to buy you another. A neck as elegant as yours deserves gold to circle it.
And earrings that dangle, and something with which to bind up your hair, like
they do in Athens…yes, I think Amasis will enjoy a lovely Greek goddess. You
will do me much credit.”

My eyes watered and I blinked to clear them.

What a fool I was! Charaxus did not love me! He
merely thought to make good on his investment. No wonder he’d felt confidence
in purchasing me for such an exorbitant amount of money. A man so well-versed
in Egyptian culture would know the king of this land, this demigod, would covet
me.

The next day Charaxus took me to the
agora
,
but I could not enjoy such indulgences, so filled with worry I was at being
sold against my will once more. He stopped at a heavily tented spot just off
the main venue. This was no market stall that exposed fabric to wither and
bleach in the bright eye of the sun. It was a cool, welcome interior. The
perfume was too strong, but I kept my face neutral as he labored over his
choice.

“I think this one,” he said at last. He held up a
garment for me to try--one that bared my left breast and draped over my right
with such pale, transparent pleats, it might as well be uncovered. If my figure
was not so fine, I might have held some shame in wearing it.

The seller prattled on in a language unknown to
me, but Charaxus seemed to understand him well enough. He laughed as I removed
the gown, and scribed something on a sheet of very smelly fibers smashed to
form a single mat that was far more pliable and lightweight than carved stone
tablets. It was called papyrus. Well, miracle or not, it stunk! When he
finished, the merchant rolled the dried papyrus with a nod. I was not sorry to
leave.

We exited with the gown, which I could take no
pleasure in, draped over Charaxus’ arm. Next was the jeweler’s stall. Again, he
took unearthly care and time with his selection, until I was weary of standing
and having all manner of bronze, copper, and polished stone beads draped over
my neck and head.

“Charaxus,” I interrupted his conversation with
the jeweler. “
Master
,” I said again, so he might know my displeasure. “I
am weary from the sun and noise. I beg you, allow me to return, so I may better
serve you in the hours of evening, when your need is most pressing.”

His cheeks paled. I wondered if I’d angered him.

“My apologies,” he directed to the merchant. “Your
pardon, but I do not wish my delicate blossom to fade in this heat.”

The merchant made a gesture that could have been
taken for assent or irritation, but in either case, Charaxus had no eyes for
it.

“You should have told me you found the merchandise
inferior,” he said when we’d quit the stall. “There are other places we might
look.”

“There was no fault with the adornments. I am
truly unwell.”

He compressed his lips, but took my arm with the
utmost care, as if he might crush me in his gentle grasp. We moved towards the
litter and he barked an order to return to the inn.

The Nubians leapt into position. They trotted with
a languorous grace like the furry creatures that slunk around every corner and
block of Egypt. Cats, the Egyptians called the creatures, and very much like
them are the people from the south. I understood why the Egyptians have made a
goddess out of the beast. I was a great admirer of beauty, myself.

I choked on the blowing dust, coughing and gulping
air to clear my throat.

“Soon, now,” Charaxus said. He patted my hand. “By
week’s end, you shall see the great city of Pharaoh.”

When we reached the inn, I had a long rest. Charaxus
was most solicitous of me. He requested a variety of dishes, many of which were
prepared in Greek fashion, I suppose to entice me. Well, for all that it was a
faked illness, I
was
sick. Sick at heart. The food tasted like ash in my
mouth.

“Forget the jewels, for now. We leave for Sais in
the morning. The grandness of it will please you, I’m certain. Do not fear,” he
whispered. “I will watch over you until morning.”

I thought of his plot to parade me in front of
Pharaoh.

“I fear only the time when that will not be so.” I
turned my back to him. It was the closest thing to truth that I could safely
speak.