HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods (16 page)

“I have no sons,” said Charaxus. “And I will buy
this girl for two hundred fifty drachma.”

“What? No! Three hundred,” retorted the patron. “Such
was her initial price and I will not be outdone.”

“Four,” said Charaxus softly. His eyes turned to
hard stone. “Four hundred for the girl.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

I thought I would faint. It was an outrageous
price for any slave. An educated Syrian had sold for three hundred that very
day, and had been called out as overpriced in the process. Four hundred. I was
a woman! Either this Charaxus was a very wealthy man or he was an extravagant
fool.

“You…you cannot do this,” said the patron. His
eyes darted from Charaxus to rest on me. “Four hundred ten drachma.”

“I will have her at any price,” said Charaxus. His
eyes never left me. “Five hundred.”

“Done!” shouted Xanthes with glee. The patron
bowed his head and clenched his fists as Xanthes returned his coin purse with a
toss.

My new master removed the leather thong from my
neck and crushed the pottery shard beneath the heel of his sandal. I wondered
at his boldness. What was to become of me? I wrote my name, and the tally was
paid.

With that, I was sold.

“Come,” Charaxus said, gently leading me from the
scribe. “I have no home to take you to, just yet. We are set to sail this very
hour and you will accompany me. Will you join us, Aesop? I have heard you are a
free man now.”

“Word travels quickly. But, no.” Aesop shook his
head. He turned his gaze away from me. “No, I do not think so. I may visit you
one day, if you will have me.”

“You are welcome anytime, Fabulist. I thank you
for this gift.”

What an odd word to choose for a newly purchased
slave. And at such a price! Though not quite the king’s ransom my father saw,
still a gift in Charaxus’ eyes, at least.

Aesop raised a hand. “Farewell, Little Flower. Remember
the Crab.” He handed over my satchel containing a few personal items and the
hetaera’s
peplos
. My eyes pricked with tears, but I could find no words to
voice farewell. He turned away.

Sea birds screeched as we bordered Charaxus’
trireme. The gangplank wavered before my eyes. Once again, I was sold.

“What are you called? Surely you have a name, as
lovely as yourself,” said Charaxus, grinning broadly.

“Do you not wish to call me a name of your own
choosing, Master?” I asked, dully.

His teeth flashed against his sun dark skin. Silver
threaded his dark hair though he had a fit physique, making him far older than
I had given him credit for.

“I wish to know
your
name,” he said, most
unexpectedly.

“I am called Doricha.” I made the customary bow to
him, my hair slithering over my shoulder to brush the gangplank.

“Doricha.” He fit his tongue around my name. “Come
now,” he scolded. “No more obeisance. Let us retire to the foredeck.”

Charaxus took my arm and led me to a wooden bench
near the front of the ship. “I am Charaxus of Mytilene. My sister, you know, of
course. But my wife and daughters also reside on Lesbos. Perhaps one day I
shall present you to them. Mytilene is a fine city, but a bit small for my
tastes. I prefer to roam abroad and thereby fill my coffers. You shall make it
a far more pleasant journey. Have you traveled this far south before?”

“No,” I replied.

“You will accompany me to Egypt. We are
transporting Lesbian wine to the Pharaoh’s table. It seems Aesop has been
tutoring you some?”

I nodded.

“Well, we shall have plenty to discuss along the
trip, eh?” Charaxus smiled again. “You will see. It will be a pleasant
journey.”

I could not help it. Pleasant for whom, I
wondered. Still, I smiled back, just a little, for Charaxus was kind and
gentle.

Perhaps Aesop was right after all.

Charaxus had many faults, but he was a generous
man. He drank overmuch, and was a bit of a braggart, but wooed me with a
single-mindedness that made him an enemy of his sister and a target for crude
jokes from slaves and freed men alike. Indeed, in true Grecian form, he had a
love of that which is beautiful.

He ensured the journey to Egypt was pleasant for
me, which was a surprise. The sailors were instructed to treat me with
deference, and I was fed by his own hand--a luxury which, I’m sorry to say, was
lost on me at the time. The other slaves were sent below and chained to the
oars, but it did not stop them from making crude jests under their breath
whenever they thought he was out of hearing. I inched closer to my new master’s
protective shadow and pretended not to hear.

The seas were rough near the northern coast and we
spent the final night aboard the ship, lest we be dashed to pieces against the
rocks littering the shore. Tomorrow, my feet would touch the soil of another
land, a land more ancient than my own. Charaxus had told me Greece was but a
babe as compared to mother Egypt, which had endured for thousands of years. A
mother that drew people of all nations to her, to offer tribute to the mighty
king of Egypt, the Pharaoh--a man reputed to be a living god.

But such thoughts were above me for a slave has no
worries save for those of her master. Charaxus was a wine trader, and my
survival depended on his acumen. Thus we made for Egypt. Waves tossed our ship
about that night, as if we were indeed a god’s plaything. By the next morning,
I was sick with the motion of the deck. Sea salt crusted my hair and clothing and
I rejoiced when we docked.

My first view of Egypt was black and green and gold.

It was wondrous.

For any who have not seen the glory that is Egypt,
it is a rugged desert the further one travels from the great river, the one we
call the Nile. Polished bronze sand stretches as far as the eye can see and
there are few trees to shade us from the glare of the sun or blowing grit that
pervades every city. It is a land hotter than the fire pits of the Underworld,
in the great kiln of limestone buildings and heat waves.

The very earth was black as pitch near the Nile. On
either side, unfamiliar green frond plants blew in the breeze, and reached up
to tickle the pale sky.

I tried my best to stay out of the way of the
sailors unloading casks of wine and other goods for trade. Charaxus kept me at
his side for most of the morning. We’d stopped in the main trade port of Egypt,
a city called Naukratis. I felt both sickened and grateful when I saw the rows
of men he’d brought emerge blinking into the bright Egyptian sun. They were
poked and prodded onto the platform. When the slavers began assigning prices, I
turned my face away.

The city was a veritable festival of boats and
people, odd smells and sights.

“Their eyes are so large and mysterious!” I
pointed to a group of Egyptian men working on the dock.

“Their eyes are no larger than ours.” Charaxus
laughed at me. “They use kohl to line their eyes. It keeps out the grit and the
sun’s rays.

How weird and wonderful! Despite my disgust at the
slave trade, I couldn’t stop staring. I’d never seen so many shades of skin
color, so many odd forms of dress. The clamor and noise of people and animals
lasted all day, until my ears ached.

Whips cracked, men shouted in unfamiliar tongues,
and insects buzzed around my face in annoying profusion. My head grew light and
I wrapped my clammy hands around Charaxus’ arm to steady myself. He aided me past
the dark soiled backs near the docks, to a low, mud-brick building where he’d
secured lodging for us. The sailors and oarsmen were to remain on board until
all was unloaded and the slaves were sold.

Like most of the other dwellings, the inn was
coated with white plaster and sported a series of very small, strategically
placed windows that let in little light but allowed for air circulation. We
entered on the main level that housed a small alcove where the proprietor
slept. After ascending a narrow flight of dark stairs, we emerged, blinking,
into the common room. Two patrons smoked and drank. The pipe smoke reminded me
vaguely of the smoking flames of the Bacchanal, with the same sweet, spicy
odor.

Then we climbed yet another set of stairs. The
proprietor pointed out our room and a door that led to the rooftop where our
meals would be served to us, away from the heat of the streets below. I was tired
and too anxious to eat, so I left Charaxus guzzling a cup of amber liquid and
retired to our rented chamber.

With great trepidation, I prepared myself,
wondering if my respite had ended. For here, in this room, there were no coarse
sailor’s eyes to follow my every move and no chance of being seen by any man
who was not my master. Charaxus had allowed me leeway from congress on the
ship, where we could hear the belches and worse of the many men aboard. I would
not be so fortunate now, I was certain. A man did not pay so much coin for a
woman and expect her not to submit. And if I did not please him, I would be led
to the slave docks myself. I had only my experience with The Swine to arm
myself. My hands shook and my stomach clenched.

I had not long to wait. In good time, Charaxus
reentered the room, whistling faintly through his teeth. He poured some fresh
water from a jug into a low bowl and rinsed his hands and face. I was unable to
look directly at him.

“Is something amiss?” he asked.

I shook my head to indicate the room was fine. And
it was fine, by my standards. A small chest for our belongings crowded one side
of the room, supporting a jug and basin. There was a wide reclining couch that
served as a bed with a raised crescent shaped headrest. A straw mattress
covered the surface. It was much finer than a bedroll on a swaying vessel
amidst the stench of men and brine of the sea.

“You seem displeased.” Charaxus frowned.

I took a step backward. I was a slave. I could not
afford the luxury of emotion. “The room has been prepared, and you have had
your meal. What more is required from me?” I bit my lip and fisted my hands to
stop them from shaking.

Charaxus seemed less confident than he had
appeared to me before. He stared at me for a long moment before speaking.

“You are mine to do with as I wish, Doricha.”

“Yes,” I agreed solemnly. Four years with Iadmon
had taught me my place.

“I wish to avoid discomfort. You are a beauty
unlike anything I have ever seen, and I would not quench your fire.” I did not respond.
Charaxus sighed. “You could lay here, next to me, for a start,” he said. “We
could talk if you like.”

“As you wish,” I replied. I stretched on the wide
couch, closed my eyes, and awaited his next directive.

“Well.” Charaxus cleared his throat. “You cannot
mean to rest with your body as stiff as a wooden plank and your fists knotted
in the linen sheet. Come now, open your eyes.”

I felt him sink onto the couch beside me; the heat
of his body warmed the air. His hand reached out to touch my arm, soft and
soothing. Gorge rose in my throat. I did not want him. Tears formed behind my
eyelids.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

I did, as tears leaked down the sides of my cheeks
and dripped into my ears. His brows rose. He looked horrified.

“You have been mistreated. I can see this. But you
will see, I am not so very bad,” he said. He kissed the trail of one tear, his
breath hot against my skin. “You will see. I will be gentle.”

His hand clasped my left shoulder and he continued
to kiss my cheeks, my neck, my hair, my brow. He murmured soft words to me all
the while, until at last I relaxed. He nestled his knee between my thighs. The
crisp hairs on his legs prickled at my skin, but it was not too unpleasant. When
he pawed at my chiton, I knew the time had come. Resignedly, I sat up and he
helped to pull it over my head.

“You are lovely,” he said, his eyes feasting on my
naked, pink flesh. “Pink as a flower petal. Shall I call you that, Petal?” he
said and unwrapped his own robes.

I sniffed and drooped on the couch, a gesture he
must have taken for assent, for that is the name by which he called me.
Petal
.

“Now,” he breathed and eased his body to cover
mine.

His arms cradled my head. I could feel the length
of him against my thigh, which terrified me. When I did not move, he scrunched
himself downward until his head was level with my breasts where he began a
tender assault.

My nipples puckered as the heat of his mouth moved
away from them and up to my throat, my chin, and to my lips. At that, I turned
my head. I couldn’t stand the taste of him in my mouth. Charaxus gave a
disappointed grunt but satisfied himself with the rest of my body. He shifted
his hips and I felt his stiffening phallus poking at my nether lips.

I clenched my jaw and waited for the moment when
the piercing pain would take me.

“You are so beautiful,” Charaxus said. “So
beautiful.”

He thrust his hips, the tip of his phallus rubbing
in the soft hollow joint where my inner thigh met the mound of my womanhood. His
breathing became very heavy. “You are so unlike my wife, that acerbic cow. No,
no, you are lovely. I am sure this time it will…
unh
!”

He stiffened, his head thrown back in pleasure or
torment. Had I injured him? I was so unknowledgeable. I was sure I’d done
something wrong, by not opening myself up to him.

Then I felt it, the warm sticky wetness spurting
onto my belly as he wriggled against me. A tangy salt scent of man wafted up to
my nostrils and I realized he’d spent himself on me, not in me. I had only a
brief second to digest this information when his full weight crashed down on
top of me.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into my neck and hair. “It
doesn’t always happen like this.”

I didn’t know what to say. Awkwardly, I raised an
arm and patted him on the back.

“We will try again. In the morning.” Charaxus
yawned and rolled off of me. “Sleep next to me, Petal. There are deadly insects
crawling about in this land.”

I waited until I heard his breathing become slow
and deep. Then I rolled onto my side, putting my back to him, and wiped his
disgusting seed from my abdomen with a corner of his discarded robes.

In the morning, I thought.
I must do this
again in the morning
.

*** ***

In the morning, Charaxus forgot his earlier
promise. He arose early and went out before I awoke. I’d spent much of the night
lying awake in anxiety, unused to sharing a sleeping space, until at last, I’d
drifted off. When I rose the next morning to his cheery whistle, my eyes were
gritty and raw.

“Good morning, Petal,” he said.

“Master,” I replied, dutifully. I tried not to
look alarmed when he drew nearer the couch and rested on the side closest to
me. What were my duties in this strange land? I had no routine and no other
servant to ask. “What shall I do?”

“Come and look.” He tossed me my chiton and told
me to hurry. I dressed and followed him to a common room, where an old Egyptian
man awaited us.

“Khefti will take us to the market place,”
explained Charaxus. Khefti smiled back at me, his teeth ground down to
blackened nubs. I looked away quickly. I’d bartered for household goods in
Abdera many times. I would learn what Charaxus wanted of me.

He led me to a strange conveyance that was part
cart, part litter. When we had settled ourselves inside the box, Khefti took up
the long poles on either side of him and hefted the front end of the cart,
strong and sure as any beast. I made to hop off, certain he could not carry us
both, but Charaxus explained the lengths of the poles allowed the old man the
leverage to both lift and haul us the distance to the market stalls.

I had walked much further to get to the
marketplace in Abdera, but I did not mention this to Charaxus. In the already
stifling, bug-infested heat, I was content to be carted by another.

“This looks like the
agora
,” I waved
my hand in front of my face. I loathe insects, especially these annoying tiny
ones whose bites stung like an artisan’s needle.

“It is. Naukratis was founded by the Ionians. It’s
one of the few truly Grecian settlements, although the city is governed by
Egyptians. Of course, so many men of the world come through here, you’d have
trouble finding a true Egyptian.”

Charaxus paid Khefti to wait for us, and we spent
some time wandering through the stalls of wares, both familiar and not. Various
kinds of merchandise were on display: vegetables, fish, sycamore figs, drinking
cups, beverages and cloth. Merchants, male and female, crouched by their wares,
which were laid out in baskets. Customers carried a pouch slung around their
shoulder.

“What coin do they pay with in this Greek city of
Egypt?” I asked.

“They rarely pay with coin, except here in
Naukratis. Most goods are bartered for, by trading one for another. Wheat for oil.
Oil for beer. Beer for fish and so on.”

“Who decides the value?” How would I know if I was
being cheated?

Charaxus laughed. “They do, I suppose.”

“Then I will do my best to learn their ways.”

Charaxus nodded. He paused by a man who poured a
glutinous amber liquid from a jug into an earthen cup. Small sediment, like
chaff, floated on top.

“What is this?” I wrinkled my nose.

Charaxus tossed the man a coin and handed me the
cup. “It is beer.”

“Beer?” I repeated. I sniffed the cup
suspiciously. It smelled sweet and yeasty, almost like bread.

“Try it,” Charaxus urged, his eyes gleaming with
delight.

I did. After one sip, I rolled the taste of it on
my tongue. It was thin and fruity, but I was not fond of the grit.