by E J Pay
I want to scream, but my voice won’t let me. I open my mouth and scream silently into this pure white room, angry that I am alone again, angry that I have been stolen, angry that I have lost my pearl.
∞ ∞ ∞
The days and weeks go by and I am able to get up from my bed for longer periods of time. I don’t see Spiro. This surprises me since he went to such great lengths to bring me here. When I am ready to work, Namaah takes me to the rest of the household to introduce me. As at the inn, there are manservants and maidservants for cleaning, tending to animals, and working in the kitchen. I am left to work with Abdulla, the head cook of the home. She is old and efficient in her work. She says very little and her hands are gnarled with arthritis. I see that my place in the home will be to learn enough to replace Abdulla as head cook. I am relieved that Spiro is no longer interested in more than that.
The estate is huge. Much larger than any I’ve seen before. And it is remote. I learn from the servants that supply wagons come by here twice a year and it is a two day wagon ride in any direction to the nearest city. It will take time to learn the lay of the land so I can find a way out. Where will I go once I do escape? I don’t know the answer to that question, I don’t have strong ties to the inn near Sparta, but I cannot deny the pull to something more.
There is a hierarchy here, even among the servants. A class system that keeps us separated. My place is one of honor, a place where Spiro can keep me isolated and controlled, I am expected only to interact with Abdulla and Namaah. I do help manage the other kitchen help, but I learn that I am not to have close relationships with them. When I officially take over for Abdulla, I will be interacting with the family as well, mostly the mother of the home, Rhea. There are other family members as well. A grown daughter lives here with her husband and children. However, they have a large home of their own on the estate so their servants care for their needs. A son, Gileaus, is traveling with his father as he makes his tour of the provinces. Two younger boys, twins Alcmene and Heracles, are with their nanny and tutors most of the day. They do sometimes sneak into the kitchen. Abdullah can be harsh with them, but I sneak small treats to them when she is not looking. When I am in charge of the kitchen, the boys will have more sweets at the ready.
At first the isolation here is overwhelming. To be surrounded by people but have no close relationships is against human nature and every part of my soul fights against it. I want and need communication. I want and need to get out of my own head.
With time and patience, I develop a relationship with Namaah. She is gentle and kind to me and all of the servants. And because she can neither speak nor write, she is trusted by the family. We develop a kind of sign language with one another. She has many signs she has developed in her life and I add one or two more. Over the course of many months, we draw closer as friends.
On a cold and rainy winter night, the travel caravan returns. Namaah knocks on my door and lets me know that I am to report to the kitchen. I dress quickly and make my way down the hall. As I enter the kitchen I almost bump into a young man whom I have not seen before. He is not one of the servants and is not wearing the servants’ dress. On his finger is the signet ring that bears the sign of the house of Spiro. So, this is the son, Gileaus. His fine clothing is wet through and the moment I realize who he is, I offer my help.
“Good evening, sir,” I say to him. “I am Athena and new to the house of Spiro. I believe you are Master Gileaus. I will have dry clothing and warm food brought to your room for you. Is there anything more I can do for your comfort?”
Gileaus smiles and looks me in the eyes for a moment. I feel like he is trying to see if I will look away, so I maintain the eye contact, assuring him that I am strong and confident in myself. Deciding that he likes what he sees in me, Gileaus answers, “Thank you, Athena. I am glad to have met you and I appreciate your solicitous concern for my welfare. I am sure that my man will have dry clothing prepared for me when I reach my room, but warm food and drink would be wonderful.”
“I’ll see that it reaches you, sir.”
“Please bring it yourself, Athena. It is not every day that we get a new servant. I like to know who is working for me.”
I nod to Gileaus and let him pass to the main part of the house before I move into the kitchen. I let Abdulla know I have been asked to bring food to Gileaus. She clucks her tongue and mumbles something about her youth and instructs me which things to take to Gileaus.
I find one of the best trays and lay out the food on it. Pita bread, goat cheese, and some freshly roasted lamb are piled on the plate with grapes on the side. In a large cup, I pour hot milk with a touch of cinnamon and honey, a little trick I learned from Aphrodite to warm the cold winter nights. I include a small amygdalota almond cookie on the side and head to the young master’s room.
When I arrive, I knock on the door and it is opened by Gileaus’ manservant who is also new to me. He announces to Gileaus that his food has arrived and I hear Gileaus call out, “Oh, good. Have her bring it in and stay for a while.”
His manservant bows to me and extends an arm, inviting me into the room. “You can set the tray here,” he says as he motions to a round table. By the table is a terracotta brazier with newly lit fuel inside. The heat from the low pot has not yet warmed the entire room, but the area immediately around the table is quite warm.
A moment after I set the tray on the table, Gileaus comes out from his second room, dried and in warm nightclothes. He is taller than most of the young men I’ve met here. He is only a year or two older than I am and he is very handsome. His eyes are a light hazel and his skin is darker than mine. His hair looks like jet black waves falling around his face. I am waiting for him to sit at the table, so I have a moment to stare.
“Please sit with me,” he says as he comes to the table. It isn’t customary for the servants of the house to sit with the masters, but it also isn’t customary for a servant to ignore an order. I sit at the table with my hands folded in my lap, waiting on Gileaus for more conversation.
“Archantis,” he says to his manservant, “I left my wet clothes in the antechamber. When you have cleared them and taken them, I will not be needing your services anymore for tonight.” Archantis bows to his master and heads to the next room for his master’s clothing. “And Archantis,” Gileaus says again, “thank you for your services. I know these trips are not only hard on me but on my companions as well.”
“It is an honor to work for you, sir,” Archantis bows. He collects the wet clothing from the other room and heads out the main door into the hall. He leaves the door ajar, so Gileaus and I are not locked alone in the bedroom. I am glad for it.
“Please, Athena,” Gileaus says to me, “I do hope to not be eating alone tonight. Will you have some of this food?”
“I have had my evening meal, sir,” I reply, “but I am happy to keep you company as long as you desire it.” The longer I stay to keep him company, the longer I get to enjoy myself. I haven’t had a companion my own age in years.
“I do desire it,” Gileaus says to me. “It gets so dull spending so many months traveling with politicians. Though I do find much of the adventure interesting, I am still a younger man by comparison. I cannot add to their conversations without being corrected. I cannot ask for their opinions without being reminded that I am without experience. Sometimes I just want to have a conversation with someone my age about anything other than politics.”
Gileaus hands me a small bunch from the grapes on his plate. I take them from him and thank him for the food. I am not very hungry, but I eat the grapes anyway. Slowly, so he doesn’t offer me more food.
“Tell me about yourself,” Gileaus says to me. “I’d like to know where you came from and how you came to work for our family.”
I bristle at his question. Telling him about my entire history is definitely out of the question. But what about the second part of his question - how I got here. Do I tell him that his father had me kidnapped and brought here
to serve him? Is that kind of thing common in this family or is mine a unique case? I decide to settle on the safest option. Share as little as possible about everything.
“I don’t think the life of a servant could be of much interest to a well-traveled man of wealth,” I say.
“Bah!” he replies, “I am your equal, Athena. Yes, I have been born to privilege and yes I am a few years older than you, but somewhere our minds must be able to connect. Have you had any education?”
“I have,” I answer.
“Well, good,” he says. “That is a beginning. Where did you receive your education and which of your subjects did you find most interesting?”
He cannot know who I really am, what I am capable of. I consider using my mind manipulation to sway the conversation, but his eyes are so beautiful. I don’t want to give them the blank expression I see when I affect the minds of others.
“I was educated some by the lady of the house where I was born,” I tell him. “She had no children of her own and would often take time to play with the servant children and to teach us.”
“And what did you most enjoy learning from her?” Gileaus asks.
“That is easy. I enjoyed learning to read,” I tell him. He looks surprised at first, then thoughtful.
“Many women don’t learn to read,” he comments. “You are fortunate to have had such an educated and wealthy benefactress. Tell me, what do you most enjoy reading?”
It has been so long since I have held a book in my hands. Only the very wealthy have bound books. Everything else is written on papyrus and shared family to family. My education in Argos was mainly focused on the memorization of poetry. Yes, there were some written texts, but nothing I could take home. Memorization was key and any writing or arithmetic was completed on wax boards with a stylus. It’s a miracle I know how to read at all.
“What I enjoy reading and what I have access to are two different things,” I tell him. “I enjoy the sciences, particularly the natural sciences. But what I have had access to is limited to poetry and prose.”
Gileaus, leans back in his chair and regards me for a moment. Our culture teaches that a woman has inferior intellect. To hear a woman enjoys the sciences must be baffling his mind right now.
“You are an interesting creature, Athena,” he finally says. “Educated, informed, curious, yet still a servant. How ever did you manage it?”
And now I lie. “I was educated by a good woman, but still had to serve to earn my daily bread. Once the house fell into financial ruin, they let their servants go. I worked where I could until I ended up here, serving your family.”
“But what house was it you served?” Gileaus asks. I want to be able to remember my lies. I decide to stay as reserved as possible.
“Their downfall brings me no pleasure, sir. I prefer to keep their identity to myself.” I know it is a major offense to ignore the questions of my master. To leave him without the answers he is seeking is dangerous for me. I could be punished for it. But I have a feeling Gileaus isn’t interested in causing me harm. I have managed to capture his attention and his imagination. He is intrigued by his paradox of a servant. He wants to know more. But it is late. He has had a long day of travel and I have a long day of work ahead of me.
“If you will excuse me, sir,” I say to him, “the hour is late and my day must begin very early. If there is anything more I can do to serve you tonight, I will do it gladly. Otherwise, I must have a little rest.”
Gileaus has a twinkle in his eye and a slight pull on the corner of his mouth. He holds the smile back, swallowing the many comments he could make to my request. Instead he is gracious, extends his approval for me to retire to my room, and thanks me for the conversation and food.
“I do hope to have more conversations with you, Athena,” he tells me as I leave the room. “You are fascinating and I should very much like to get to know you better.”
“As you wish, sir,” I say as I bow and leave the room. His hazel eyes are on me as I walk away and I can feel his gaze linger long after I am in my bed. I will have good dreams tonight.
Chapter 20
Happy birthday to Athena.
In the months since Gileaus returned to the estate, there has been so much change. I am 16 now. My life feels like it is rushing away from me. Abdullah is still hanging on and a new sous chef has joined the kitchen. A young, plain girl chosen by Rhea. This one wasn’t kidnapped.
Whenever I prepare a meal and take it to the family, Spiro dribbles his drunken approval. “A good investment, a very good investment,” he always says. He sometimes tries to talk to me in quiet corners, but the subject is always food. I am relieved that his attentions and desires center on my cooking and not my changing body. Rhea is mortified by her husband’s constant state of inebriation, but there is little she can do about it. He demands things on a whim and goes to extremes to get what he wants. He recently sent his men to ‘acquire’ a rare breed of cat. Money was taken with them on their journey, but the same money was brought back. The offer was refused then and the cat was stolen. I feel a kinship with the little creature who is sleek and black with a perfectly formed strip of silver down his spine. We are neither as common as we seem and we are both here against our wills. Though the cat is also treated with uncommon courtesy - down pillows, a silver bowl and gold dishes - it is still a prisoner. As am I.
In the first month of Gileaus’ return to the home, he was often busy counseling with his father and other local politicians, giving them the state of things as they found them on their tour of the local provinces. Though I am often asked to cook for these gatherings, I am never allowed inside to serve. Namaah is the only servant whose presence is admitted.
The many meetings and invitations to dinner keep Gileaus occupied. I sit with him once or twice more in that first month, telling him about my history as a servant. I keep as close to the truth as I can so I can remember the tale I am weaving. But the history I share is not exciting or interesting. Instead it is bland and dull and lifeless. I worry that Gileaus will grow bored of our time together and no longer seek my company. But in the ensuing months, when the dinners and meetings die down, Gileaus has me sit with him at least once a week. The door is always open, but we are otherwise alone.
Now we talk about science and about the things Gileaus has learned in his education and life. He is destined to follow in the footsteps of his father as a politician, but not in his footsteps of drunkenness. Gileaus is embarrassed by his father’s behavior. He overhears rumors from other politicians and community leaders that his father will not last long in his place.
“I don’t want harm to come to my father, Athena,” he tells me as we drink warm milk with our amygdolata, “but I am not oblivious to his behavior. He must change or his life is in danger. Already there are men talking to me secretly about taking over my father’s place. They think they can control me and rule over me, using my wealth and influence for their own personal gain.”
This has become a common theme in our conversations lately. The pressure for Gileaus to take over for his father is mounting. But the only way that happens is if his father dies.
“What can be done?” I ask, hoping there is a way out of this mess for Spiro. If we cannot find a way to change him, I will use my mind manipulation to help him. But that is a last resort for me. It puts me in too much danger. I am already caught in his mind. “Can you talk to him? Persuade him to control his drinking and behavior?”
Gileaus shakes his head. “I have tried, Athena,” he says to me. “He is so set in his ways that he cannot see them for what they are. He believes that his drinking isn’t any kind of problem. He thinks these men are his friends. And they all pretend to be, Athena. They all curry his favor while reaching out to me behind his back.” Gileaus runs his fingers through his hair and rests his head in his hands. “I don’t know what more can be done and I see my father slipping away from me.”
I reach forward and put my hand on Gileaus’ arm, stroking the sk
in with my thumb. Little touches like this have become commonplace between us as our friendship and intimacy have grown. He doesn’t shrink from my touch and I love to give it. It comforts him to know that someone is listening, really listening to him without an agenda.
“Perhaps I can talk to him,” I offer.
Gileaus looks up at me and smiles. “And what will you say to him, Athena? Behave or you’ll have no more dessert?”
I roll my eyes and sigh, pulling my hand away from him. He is getting caught in the ‘women have lesser intellect’ trap.
“No,” I say firmly. “But he does like me…and my cooking…You never know just how far that kind of thing can take you.”
Gileaus reaches across the table and I give him my hand. He smiles and strokes my fingers in his. “Thank you, Athena. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just didn’t see a way it would help. But I believe you have our family’s best interest at heart. I trust you to try. Thank you.”
I hold his gaze for a moment until I can feel myself blushing. The heat of his stare is rising into my cheeks. I look away and try to pull my hand away from his, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls my hand closer to him, bringing his other hand to hold it as well. He looks at my hand, running his fingers over mine for several minutes, thinking. My heart is racing in my chest and I can hear it pounding in my ears. It is so loud that I wonder why he hasn’t commented on the sound. But he says nothing. He just looks at my hand in his.
After several minutes of this intense silence, Gileaus finally raises his eyes again to mine.
“You are a unique woman, Athena,” he says. Then, with his eyes on mine, he raises my hand to his lips and kisses the back of my fingers, closing his eyes when his lips meet my skin. My ears feel like they are going to explode with the pressure that is building inside of me. The sensation of his touch is almost more than I can stand. Almost.