Hetaera--Suspense in Ancient Athens (24 page)

Using skimmers the men removed the waste.

“Well done,” Diodorus said.

The men poured the molten silver into porous cups.

“What are they doing now?” Diodorus asked Georgios.

“Cupellation, parting the lead from the silver using oxidation. The porous material absorbs the lead.”

“And the result is pure silver?”

“Yes.”

“We need to stoke this furnace,” the hunched man muttered to his partner. “Where’d that coal girl get to?”

The other man shrugged his shoulders.

The hunched man wiped his forehead with a rag. “Here she comes.”

Diodorus squinted. The sulfur fumes made his eyes water. A girl, black as the coal she carried, wove through the furnaces. She held a bucket in each hand, her gait unsteady. Chunks of coal jumped from the buckets, but she didn’t seem to notice. She stared at the ground, only looking up when she reached the men. She set down one bucket and emptied the other into a small bin. Her movements seemed to cause her pain. Picking up the empty buckets, she turned to leave.

“Wait,” Diodorus said.

Her eyes were sunken, and she seemed thinner than he remembered, but he recognized the hair tamed by braids and the strange markings on her face.

“Don’t I know you?”

The girl stared at him blankly.

“Did you work at the House of Agathon?”

Something flickered in her eyes. Diodorus couldn’t tell if it was fear or recognition. Clutching the buckets, she backed away from him.

“Some go mad,” Georgios said.

“I won’t hurt you,” Diodorus called out to the girl. “You’re Hestia’s friend, aren’t you?”

She stopped moving.

“What’s your name?”

She licked her lips. Beads of sweat sparkled on her forehead.

“The girl’s unwell,” Diodorus said.

“I’ll get some water.” Georgios headed to the creek.

Diodorus turned back to the girl. “Tell me your name.”

“They call me Calonice.”

“Calonice.” A rush of homesickness surprised Diodorus. “But why aren’t you in Athens?”

“The Despoina sold me.”

“Sold you? Why?”

“She accused me of stealing.”

“And did you?”

“No.” The girl swayed unsteadily. “I wanted to. I wanted to return the ring she stole from Hestia.” The buckets dropped from the girl’s hands and her knees buckled.

Diodorus lifted her. She weighed less than a sack of flour. He carried her away from the furnaces. Looking up, he saw Georgios returning from the creek with a bucket of water.

“Over here,” he shouted.

He lay the girl down on the ground, shaking his head at her ragged clothing, her half-starved face. He gritted his teeth, anger boiling in his gut. Without asking his permission, without even consulting him, Melaina had sold this girl, his slave, to the silver mines. What else had his mother done?

Georgios ladled out a cup of water.

Diodorus knelt beside Calonice. “Drink,” he said, holding the ladle to her lips.

The girl’s eyes fluttered open and she drank greedily.

“She’s suffering from dehydration.” Georgios ladled out more water.

“She’s suffering from more than that,” Diodorus said.

Between sips, Calonice said, “She loves you, Master.”

“My mother?” Melaina’s love was like poison, lethal and best avoided.

“Hestia.”

Hearing her name sent a jolt through his body. He laughed bitterly. “If she loves me, why doesn’t she answer my letters?”

“She never got them.” The water had revived the girl and her dark eyes regained their sparkle. “The day you left, the Despoina sold her.”

“Sold Hestia? To whom?” Diodorus clenched his fists, but the one he wanted to punch was back in Athens.

“That rich man.”

“What rich man?”

“The wolf.”

“Lycurgus?”

The girl nodded.

That’s why Hestia hadn’t written. Diodorus punched his fist into his hand. “I must go back to Athens.”

“He beats her,” Calonice said.

“Beats her? Are you sure?”

“I’ve seen the marks.”

Diodorus felt as if he had been stabbed. He’d woken from a dream into a nightmare. He should never have left Athens, never have trusted Lycurgus. The man was no better than a thug. And neither was his mother. Rage burned in his gut, and he struggled to contain his anger.

“Get up,” he said, offering Calonice his hand. He lifted her onto her feet and turned to Georgios. “That ship sails to Athens in the morning?”

The foreman nodded.

“I’m leaving you in charge. Calonice and I will be getting on that boat.”

“The girl is state property.”

“I’ll buy her back and pay whatever price they want.”

Diodorus headed to the harbor to unload the shipment.

M
elaina stood on the portico of the House of Lycurgus, her himation drawn over her head so she would not be recognized. She had written Lycurgus several letters, and his responses had been coolly polite. Not the response of a man who meant to marry her, not the response she had expected.

Pushing the himation from her head, she ran her fingers through her hair. Not her hair really, but a wig of golden curls. She’d spent a great deal of time at her dressing table that morning. Not too much powder; that would give away her age. She wanted Lycurgus to see her as she’d once been, wanted him to remember the things he’d promised. If he chose not to remember, she would remind him. After all, they had made plans.

She glanced at the statue of Priapus and shook her head at the distended phallus. A fertility god for peasants, he had no place in Athenian society. As Despoina, she would rid the house of that atrocity. Fanning her face with her hand, she struggled to compose herself. The statue mocked her.

Lifting the bronze doorknocker, she let it fall again. Suddenly, she felt woozy. She swatted at her face, but couldn’t stop the drone. Her mind felt like a hive of bees, insects flying in and out. Lately, the buzzing never stopped.

Sun glinted on the doorknocker. She stared at the gleaming metal, trying to remember a conversation she’d had with Lycurgus. A conversation they’d had before Agathon died. Snippets drifted through her mind, then promptly drifted out again, but one thing she remembered clearly. They had both agreed that Agathon must die.

A trickle of sweat ran down her face, tracking through her powder.

Earlier that morning she’d worked in her garden. Instead of seeds, she thought she might plant bones, but Hekatombaion was not a month for planting. The Dog Star, Sirius, traveled too close to the sun, challenging the gods and causing the earth to burn.

Hubris caused this rise in temperature, this feverish affliction.

The world had gone mad. People no longer knew their place. Common citizens demanded the vote and slaves dreamed of freedom. The lowest born imagined they might rise through society and take their place beside a king.

Hestia, for example. Melaina thought she’d rid herself of the girl, but like a shade that refused to rest, Hestia kept returning.

Melaina had heard rumors.

She began to hum, softly at first, then louder, to mask the insistent buzzing.

Just that morning she had overhead the servants gossiping. She had been walking through the courtyard, past the open kitchen door, and she couldn’t help hearing them talk. The cook said Hestia was with child. Startled by the news, Melaina had kept walking, pretending she’d heard nothing, but then she turned around, walked past the door again—not to eavesdrop, but to be certain that she’d heard correctly. The child of Lycurgus, the cook said.

“The child of Lycurgus.”

She didn’t mean to speak aloud. She slapped her face so hard it stung.

The noise grew louder. A single word said in repetition. She clapped her hands over her ears, but that only increased the clarity.

Retribution
.
Retribution. Retribution.

Lycurgus loved her. She knew he did. Why then, did he torment her with rumors? Why did he refuse to visit her?

And then she remembered why she’d come here. Lifting her hand, she pounded on the door, kept pounding till it opened.

“Yes?” A round face peered out.

“I’ve come to see your Master.”

“Is he expecting you?”

Melaina pushed past the eunuch and entered the foyer. “Where is Lycurgus?”

“May I have your name?”

“Tell him his wife has arrived.”

“His wife?” The servant’s painted eyebrows lifted. “Wait here. I’ll let him know.”

Melaina took the opportunity to examine her new home. Already, she saw room for improvements. She stared at the tiled floor, appalled by its obscenity, and looked up when she heard footsteps.

“There you are, my honey.” She ran to Lycurgus and threw her arms around his neck.

He pried her off. “What is it, Melaina? You should not have come here on your own.”

“I have a right.” He looked older, his face pale and sickly. “Are you unwell?”

“I’m fine. Let’s talk in private.” He glanced at the servant. “Galenos, bring refreshment to the library.”

Lycurgus led Melaina through the foyer into a courtyard where a fountain splashed. Very nice, she thought. They entered a gloomy library filled with scrolls from floor to ceiling. This room would have to be redone.

Lycurgus shut the door and turned to her.

“How dare you come here? How dare you call yourself my wife?”

The blood drained from her face. The room became gloomier, the buzzing sound louder. She smiled at him, the smile she had often practiced in her mirror. “Have you forgotten, sweet?”

“Forgotten what?”

“Our plans?”

“What plans?” He stood behind his desk, a table piled high with scrolls. Leaning across it, he said, “We have no plans, Melaina. What we had died long ago.”

“But you said if not for Agathon we would have married.”

“Years ago. Years ago we might have married. Not now.”

Feeling faint, she sank onto a thronos, ran her hand over the stool’s carved wood and precious stones. Leaning back, she surveyed Lycurgus. Over the past few months, he’d aged. The girl had ruined him.

“Hestia,” she said.

“What?”

“Is she really expecting your child?”

“Yes.”

He looked so proud, she couldn’t bear it. “What of our son?”

“I will take care of Diodorus.”

“What does that mean?”

“I will see to him. He need never know the truth.”

“Because of her,” Melaina said. “Because of Hestia. If she knew the truth, knew that he’s not her half-brother, nothing would stop her from marrying him.”

“So it’s true? She really is Agathon’s daughter?”

“His bastard.”

“And you have proof?”

“Proof enough. My word and her mother’s ring.”

“But Diodorus left her and she no longer loves him.”

“And you believe that she loves you? I thought you wiser. You’re an old fool.” Melaina walked toward him. “Do you know that when she came to you she was not a virgin?”

She felt glad to see his face turn a shade paler.

“Her papers state she was. You swore it.”

“I lied. Diodorus bedded her.”

Lycurgus pressed his fingertips together, closed his eyes. “Even if he did, I’ll claim the child as mine. I have feelings for the girl.”

“Then you’re a greater fool than I believed.” Melaina leaned over the desk and met him face to face. “And I will have to tell them.”

“Tell who what?”

“Everyone. Everything.” She leaned so close, she felt his breath. Lowering her voice, she said, “I’ll tell them how we plotted to kill Agathon.”

“You have no proof of my involvement. If I were you, Melaina, I would take care.”

She stared into his eyes. Saw cold ashes where once a fire burned.

A knock came at the door.

“Enter.” Lycurgus leaned back in his chair, tapped his fingers on the desk.

The eunuch entered, carrying a tray.

“Thank you, Galenos. We won’t need refreshments after all. Please show the Despoina out.”

Melaina barely heard him. The buzzing sound had grown so loud she could hear nothing else. Before leaving the library, she glanced back at Lycurgus. A cloud of bees swarmed around him. He might not know it, but they would sting.

N
avigating the rocky coast of Attica could be treacherous, but summer winds blew the ship to Piraeus in a few hours. After the silver had been smelted, delivery to Athens was handled by the state. Upon the ship’s arrival at the port, wealthy men who’d never spent an hour in the mines oversaw unloading of the precious cargo. Marking their wax tablets, they took inventory as carts were loaded with silver.

No one paid attention to Diodorus and his slave. They carried no bags, but Diodorus had brought a full purse. They slipped unnoticed through the crowd.

After eating a breakfast of barley bread dipped in wine and a handful of olives, Diodorus secured transportation. He could not afford the price of a horse, but he purchased a fine mule.

Convincing Calonice to ride the animal proved a challenge.

“I’d rather walk.” The girl seemed determined, folding her thin arms over her chest.

“The mule is supposed to be the stubborn one,” Diodorus said.

“I will walk beside you.”

“Walking is too slow. You’ll ride in front of me. I won’t let you fall.”

Mumbling something in another language, Calonice kept her distance from the mule.

“What are you afraid of?”

“The way he looks at me.” The mule brayed and she backed further away. “He doesn’t like me.”

“All right, I’ll blindfold you. Will that solve the problem?”

“Can you blindfold the mule instead?”

“You made a joke,” Diodorus said. “You must be feeling better.” He found his handkerchief and shook it out. “Slightly used. Pity you won’t see where we’re going.”

Calonice scrunched her nose. “I’ll just close my eyes.”

“Good. Now, let’s get you on the mule.”

After several practice lifts, Calonice managed to swing her leg over the mule’s back. Her short legs stuck out on either side and Diodorus burst out laughing.