Hetaera--Suspense in Ancient Athens (19 page)

For once, Hestia felt glad to see Lycurgus. Tugging on the torn fabric of her chiton, she attempted to cover her breasts, attempted to restore her dignity.

Zosime raised her fist and brought it down with force.

“I said, enough.” Lycurgus shut the door. “Get off her, Zosime.”

Air rushed into Hestia’s lungs. She ran her tongue over her lips, felt them swelling.

“I’ll finish this,” Lycurgus said, bending over Hestia.

She searched his eyes, hoping for sanity.

“You disobeyed me and insulted my guest. You leave me no choice. I must punish you.” Slowly, he removed the belt he wore around his waist. Holding it at both ends, he snapped the leather and nodded to Zosime. “Get her up.”

Zosime grabbed Hestia beneath her armpits and yanked her to her feet. Hestia tried to break away, but she was no match for the Spartan. Zosime dragged her to the sleeping couch.

“Facedown,” Lycurgus said. “I don’t want the marks to show.”

Zosime flung Hestia onto her stomach.

Lycurgus brought the belt down, lashing at Hestia’s back—not just once, but again and again.

She screamed until her throat felt raw.

Finally it ended.

She lay still, trying not to sob. Trying not to move. She heard them talking, heard the door open and close, heard footsteps descending the staircase.

Galenos found her.

She tried to speak, but made only a croaking sound.

“I’ll kill him,” Galenos said. He pressed a cup to Hestia’s lips. The water tasted sweet.

Gathering her into his arms, he carried Hestia down the stairway to the bath. There he cleaned her wounds, gave her a potion so she might sleep through the night.

The next morning when she woke, carefully tucked into her bed, she had only a faint recollection of the night’s debaucheries. Memories lurked like shadows in the recesses of her mind, and she felt like Persephone must have upon her return from the underworld.

M
elaina didn’t trust Cassandra, Chloe…Calonice, whatever the girl’s name. She wanted to make certain that the letter got delivered to Lycurgus, and she wanted to know his reaction.

Thank goodness Therapon chose to stay the night with his brother so she could avoid his prying eyes. She had a rein on the other servants, but not that cagey old slave. She would have sent him to the mines as soon as Agathon had died, but society frowned upon treating an old servant badly, and she had no desire to draw negative attention to herself.

She’d woken Calonice at sunrise and had given her strict instructions. As soon as the girl left the house with the letter, Melaina slipped out after her. She drew an old himation over her head so she wouldn’t be recognized. She remained distant, trailing behind the girl. Calonice took her time, pausing to study every flower, pick up stones, and pet every dog she met.

The girl meandered by Areopagus Hill, slowing her pace—if that were possible—as she passed the stone precipice. Melaina slowed as well. The famous wall of rock loomed at the entrance of the acropolis. According to legend, Ares, the god of war, had been tried here for the murder of Poseidon’s son. Justice had been served on the precipice more than once. Orestes had also been tried on Areopagus Hill after killing his adulterous mother, Clytemnestra. An overreaction, Melaina thought. She’d always favored Clytemnestra. Of course Clytemnestra had been angry when her husband, Agamemnon, offered up their daughter as sacrifice to the gods before running off to fight the Trojan War for that whore, Helen. No wonder the poor woman had taken a lover. And no wonder they’d killed Agamemnon upon his return.

Hawks circled overhead in search of prey, their wings black against the rising sun. A lizard scurried over the rock and disappeared into a crevice. In nature, life was simple. Humans made it complicated.

Up ahead, she heard Calonice chanting in a foreign language. The girl stayed close to the rock, slipping in and out of shadows.

Finally they reached the entrance to the acropolis. Preparations for the Dionysia were underway. Rehearsals had begun, and even at this hour voices of the chorus floated from the open auditorium on the south side of the hill. Melaina expected to receive an invitation from Lycurgus. After all, he was to be a choregoi
.
Producing a play was not only prestigious, but Lycurgus and his guests would be eligible for preferred seats. Anticipating his invitation, Melaina had spent hours planning what she would wear. She’d decided a new silk chiton was in order.

She heard laughter and shouting. A group of boys ran down the street in search of the music. Hoping to avoid them, she ducked behind a bush. Most of the boys passed, but one lagged behind. He didn’t notice Melaina until he began to relieve himself. Crying out, she hurried away as the boy hooted with laughter, warm liquid splashing at her heels.

Pebbles slid beneath her sandals as she climbed the hill, trying to catch up with Calonice. The girl moved fast when going uphill. Melaina paused to catch her breath. Thankfully, at this hour the doors of the fine houses were closed, the windows shuttered, so no one would notice her.

A black streak shot out of the shadows and Melaina jumped.

A cat
.

She clutched her chest, her heart thumping. A black cat crossing her path was not an auspicious sign. Nevertheless, she had to keep going. The path grew steeper. Rounding a bend she caught sight of Calonice, the mangy cat trotting beside her.

They continued climbing: Calonice, the cat, and Melaina bringing up the rear.

The house they sought was unmistakable. As they approached the white-washed fortress, Melaina’s palms felt sweaty. She hoped Calonice still had the letter, hoped Lycurgus would read it. Most of all, she hoped he would respond. She hung back, hiding behind a statue and watching as Calonice climbed the marble steps leading to the portico. The girl reached for the bronze knocker, pounded several times. Melaina controlled herself from calling out when the girl bent down, scooped the cat into her arms, and cradled the disgusting thing.

A face appeared in the doorway, the eunuch who served as Steward. Melaina had seen him with Lycurgus on several occasions.

That stupid girl Calonice still held the cat.

Melaina crept closer, careful to remain concealed.

“What have we here?”

“Calonice,” the girl said, lifting her chin, “from the House of Agathon.” The cat let out a guttural growl and squirmed in her arms. Calonice reached inside her himation and pulled out the scroll. “The Despoina asked me to deliver this letter to your Master.”

Good
.
At least the foolish girl had done as she was told.

Melaina moved closer, straining to hear.

The eunuch examined the wax seal and raised a painted eyebrow. “It’s early for visitors,” he said. “Come in, but leave that beast outside.”

“I brought the cat for Hestia.”

Melaina could have screamed, but again she controlled herself.

So she planned to see Hestia. She’d told Calonice to deliver the letter, wait for an answer, and come right back. The girl could not be trusted.

Still holding the cat, Calonice pushed past the eunuch.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“To see my friend.”

The door slammed on Melaina, and there was nothing she could do but wait.

Hestia lay on her sleeping couch, staring at the ceiling. She moved her legs and pain shot through her body. The skin on her back felt raw. A wave of nausea forced her to the chamber pot.

“Hestia,” a familiar voice floated through the window.

She wiped her mouth, told herself she must be dreaming.

“Hestia,” the voice called again, “I brought Odysseus to see you.”

Despite another jolt of nausea, she stumbled to the window. The fresh air felt good. She peered down into the courtyard, couldn’t believe what she saw. Calonice stood below the window, a squirming cat in her arms.

“Callie! Come upstairs.”

She raced to the door and opened it. A familiar
meow
greeted her. Laughing, she lifted Odysseus into her arms. When she saw Calonice, she could not contain her tears.

“Come in,” she said, holding the door open.

Calonice tiptoed into the room, her eyes wide with awe. She moved around the chamber in a daze, examining everything.

“Sit down, Callie.” Hestia directed her to the chair.

The girl seemed dumbstruck.

Hestia returned to her sleeping couch and Odysseus jumped up beside her. The cat seemed scrawnier than ever, but he purred contentedly. Hestia settled against the pillows, wincing at the pain.

“What’s wrong with you?” Calonice asked.

“Nothing. Now, tell me all the news.” Hestia stroked Odysseus, and he stretched languidly as if he belonged on the couch.

“You look different.”

“Do I? It must be these surroundings.”

Calonice shook her head, her wild braids bobbing. “You’re not the same.”

Hestia got up and walked to the window. Sunlight filled the courtyard, waking the flowers. She heard birds singing. Calonice was right. She had changed, but how could she explain? She gazed out of the window, hoping Calonice might mention Diodorus, but she rambled on about old Therapon, the cook, the stable boy. Finally, Hestia could not contain herself.

“How is he?” she asked. “How is Diodorus?”

Calonice appeared surprised. “You haven’t heard? He left Athens the day you were sold.”

“Left Athens? Where did he go?”

“It happened quickly. I don’t know. Something to do with his father’s business.”

Left Athens with no goodbye?

But why would he say goodbye to her? He must despise her, must regret the things they’d said and done. Angry with herself for mentioning him she asked, “And how is the Despoina?”

“I know you love him,” Calonice said. “And he loves you.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.”

Hestia sighed. “Let’s not speak of him.”

“My people say you may know who
you
love, but you cannot truly know who loves
you
.”

“Your people have a saying for everything, don’t they?”

“Of course.”

“Well it’s annoying.” Hestia clenched her fists and noticed her friend’s dismayed expression. “I’m sorry, Callie.”

Calonice shrugged. “I mean no harm.”

“Of course, you don’t.” Hestia shook her head, angry at herself for treating her friend poorly. “My life here has been… Does the Despoina treat you well?”

“The Despoina is crazy in love.”

“With whom?”

“Your Master. She sent me with a letter for him.”

Hestia held onto the window ledge. The information was no news. “Melaina hopes to marry him?”

“She’s desperate.” Calonice joined Hestia at the window. “I know where she keeps the ring.”

“Which ring?”

“The ring that belonged to your mother.”

Hestia glanced at Calonice. “How do you know about that?”

“I hear things. See things too.” Calonice drew the shutters closed. Sunlight slipped through the slats, cutting stripes on the wooden floor and carpets, leaving the rest of the room dark.

“What are you doing?”

“At this time of day, not quite light, yet not still dark, spirits slip through from the other side. I want to keep you safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“That ring belongs to you and I mean to get it back.”

“You’re a good friend, Callie, but don’t do that.”

The clink of pottery made the girls glance toward the door. Galenos entered, bearing a tray of cups, an elegant black jug, and a plate of cakes encrusted with nuts and oozing honey.

“I thought you might like some refreshment,” he said, “since you have company.” He looked around the room, his face concerned. “Why is it so dark in here?”

“We like it,” Hestia said. “Keeps out evil spirits.”

“I see.” Galenos set the tray on the table and turned to Hestia. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks to you.”

“I’m sorry you went through that ordeal,” he said. “I’ve warned Zosime to stay away from you. I have some power as steward, but who knows if she’ll listen. Best avoid her in the future.”