The Stable door opened; a girl entered, humming the tune of a rowdy drinking song. It was Archidike, easily identified by the rough edge in her voice. She went to her alcove, rummaged inside for a moment, then paused. The hum abruptly died away.
“Doricha, is that you in bed? Are you well?”
For answer, Doricha could only groan.
Archidike appeared by her bedside, examining her with a critical eye. “What’s the matter with you? You look green around the mouth.”
“Don’t know,” Doricha said, not caring whether she sounded like a goatherd. “My belly hurts ever so much.”
“Do you need the privy?”
“No; not that kind of hurting. It’s… Oh, I don’t know what’s the matter, Archi. I’ve felt achy and sick to my stomach and just plain angry all day long.”
“Ha,” Archidike said. She smirked at Doricha. “I know what’s the matter with you. You’re about to officially become a hetaera; that’s all.”
Doricha’s eyes opened wide. She caught Archidike’s meaning at once, but she couldn’t quite believe it was true. Yet when she reached down between her legs, she felt the telltale dampness, and knew it was so. She rose from her bed reluctantly, and in the dim light that filtered into her alcove, she and Archidike both looked at the smear of blood on her fingers.
Tears sprang to Doricha’s eyes. She looked up at her friend, sniffing miserably.
“It’s nothing to cry about,” Archidike said. “It happens to us all. It’s about time, don’t you think? The pain will go away; you’ll see.”
“It’s not the pain. It’s… what I’ll have to do now.”
Archidike laughed dismissively. “That? You’ve seen it done countless times by now. What’s to be afraid of?
“I don’t know. ’Spose I’m afraid it’ll hurt.”
“It never hurts any more than the pain you feel right now—the cramping in your belly. If you can endure that, you can endure a man.”
But still Doricha shuddered. She wrapped her arms around her body and wept. It wasn’t only fear of the pain. Very probably, she thought, Archidike was telling the truth, and the ache in her belly was worse than the hurt a man’s attentions might bring. The fear was something deeper, broader. She wondered at it, examining her anxiety from a distance even as she wept and sniffled in Archidike’s arms. After a time, Doricha realized it was the change itself that frightened her. She was afraid of being a woman now. Childhood was gone forever—what little childhood she’d enjoyed. Now, ready or not, she must enter fully into the world of grown women. Worse—now she must compete with the other, more experienced, far more vicious hetaerae.
I’ll never know enough to make my way among them, she thought frantically. They’re too mean, too hungry. They’ll crush me if they can, eat me up like crocodiles… and I’ll never be able to win my freedom.
Archidike’s embrace was some comfort, though. Over the past month, Doricha had built up a shaky trust in the older girl. She pressed closer, snuggling against Archidike’s chest, hiding her eyes in her long black curls.
“Listen,” Archidike said gently. “It won’t be so bad. Shall I show you what I mean?”
“Show me?” Doricha pulled back, looking up at her friend in confusion. “What do you—”
Archidike kissed her, so suddenly that Doricha didn’t even have the presence of mind to pull away. The kiss was pleasant—far more gentle and kind than she would have expected from Archidike. The Stable was empty, save for the two of them, so Archidike led her across the room to her own alcove. She slid beneath her covers, then held them up, beckoning for Doricha to join her.
Doricha hesitated, glancing back through the stable as if she expected Vélona to appear at any moment. But the great room was still. She crept into bed and lay beside Archidike, their skin warm and damp where it touched. It was strangely exhilarating, to lie in a bed that was not her own—like being in another country.
“It’s nothing to be afraid of,” Archidike whispered, and kissed her again.
When Archidike pulled back, Doricha said, “But I’ll have to lie with Xanthes. You told me, didn’t you? That night of the garden party. You told me in the litter—”
“That’s usually the way of things around here,” Archidike said, waving a hand dismissively. “But really, it’s a good way to start out in this business. If you can survive Xanthes, you can survive any man.”
Doricha went cold. “Is he so terrible?”
“Terribly funny.” Archidike smiled. “Terribly boring. And it’s terribly hard to get through it without laughing at the doltish faces he makes, or the way he grunts. You’ve only got to think of Xanthes as a game. And once you win that game, then by the gods, you can win any game.”
“After the way he got me, though,” Doricha said, “tricking my master and all, when I’d been so happy living with Iadmon… I hate to think of having my first time with him.”
Archidike’s smile took on a mysterious air. “Who says your first time must be with Xanthes?”
“Why, you did.” Doricha stopped, chewing on her lip. She blinked at Archidike as the older girl’s meaning dawned on her. “Do you mean… you and me?”
“Why not? We’ll be working together someday—remember? We might as well get used to it. Just think how much money we can make with that kind of act. We’ll be so clever, all tangled up like a couple of snakes, we’ll charm the silver right out of men’s purses.” Archidike stroked her shoulder, the touch gentle and reassuring. “We’ll be so clever, we’ll steal Xanthes’ fun right away from him. We’ll send you to his bed already broken in, and the old slobbering fool will never know it. What do you say? Shouldn’t we put one over on Xanthes? It’d be the best possible way to get him back, for what he did to Iadmon.”
Doricha laughed uncertainly. It seemed impossible that hard, cynical Archidike could truly be on her side, conspiring to get the better of their master. But hadn’t Doricha sensed a strange kind of friendship growing between them? It would be pleasant to have a friend again—somebody she could count on. The gods had seen fit to separate her from Aesop, who had been such a good friend to her. If Archidike was the replacement the gods intended… well, then…
Doricha nodded her consent. Archidike wrapped her in a gentle embrace. It was warm and encouraging; it set a little ember of hope glowing in Doricha’s belly.
Reckon I can get used to life in the Stable after all.
She kissed Archidike back, and allowed her friend to comfort her in the seclusion of the empty chamber.
Doricha reported her first blood to Vélona that same night at supper. It would have been impossible to hide the change from the sharp-eyed mistress, anyway. Vélona was pleased. “It’s about time you started earning your keep,” she said, and set to work at once, making plans for Doricha’s first presentation to Xanthes. By the time her blood had stopped flowing, Doricha was scheduled for a night with the master.
She stood in the dressing closet, in a pool of bright light from two large oil lamps. Doricha followed every order promptly, holding out her arms just so, turning this way and that as Amenia draped her in silks and fine-woven linens, then stood back with Vélona to eye her critically.
“She needs more jewels at her neck,” Vélona said. “She doesn’t have much in the way of breasts—probably never will—so something big and eye-catching, to sparkle on her chest.”
“I quite agree,” Amenia said. “Archidike, bring that Egyptian-style necklace with the bird’s wings made of agates. You know the one.”
Archidike, acting as the chief dresser’s assistant, hurried over to the shelves and lifted the lids of various casks until she found the piece Amenia had in mind. She carried it back to the circle of lamp light and held it up for Amenia to examine. The necklace was made of many long slices of well-polished, white agate, each one cut in the shape of a feather and shot through with delicate, moss-like twists of amber and green. The stones were luminous and delicate-looking; it was the prettiest necklace Do
richa had ever seen.
While Vélona and Amenia handled the necklace, debating its suitability, Doricha and Archidike exchanged a sly, humorous glance. Over the past several days, Archidike had prepared Doricha in her own way for her night with Xanthes. She had taught Doricha everything she could think to impart about men in general—how to bring them to the peak of their pleasure quickly and efficiently. She had passed along many useful tips about Xanthes in particular, showing Doricha how to speed the ordeal to its conclusion, so the master would fall into a heavy sleep all the sooner. She had shown Doricha, too, how to hollow out a half of a citrus fruit, scooping out the flesh and fitting the cupped rind it just so inside, to keep from falling pregnant.
The lessons had been amusing. Archidike made it all seem like a lark, and maybe after all it was. With Archidike’s humorous lessons running through her mind, Doricha was already in danger of laughing, and she hadn’t even been presented to the master yet. All her fear from days before had evaporated like a puddle of piss in the street. Now she was so thoroughly prepared—indeed, so eager to finally take her place among the hetaerae—that she thought she truly might disgrace herself by giggling at the master’s exertions.
“Very well,” Vélona said. “The agate necklace will do, I suppose.”
Amenia hung the heavy piece around Doricha’s neck. The coldness of the stones in their golden, wing-shaped settings pressed through the open-weave linen of her dress.
“You look suitable,” Vélona said to Doricha. “You may go to Xanthes now. He will be expecting you. There’s a guard outside the door; he’ll take you to the master’s chambers. But don’t speak to the guard any more than is necessary, and don’t you dare flirt with him. I shall know if you do.”
Doricha nodded. She turned to Archidike. “Thank you for your help.”
They shared tiny, mischievous smiles, and Doricha thought she saw a hint of real affection in Archidike’s eyes.
“Be on your way,” Vélona said. “It won’t do to keep the master waiting.”
Doricha left the dressing closet and crossed the great chamber of the Stable. As she passed the other girls’ alcoves, their stares and whispers followed her. I’m one of you now, Doricha told them silently, moving with her head up high, the bangles on her wrists and ankles chiming with gentle music. Or I will be, soon enough. Soon as this job of work’s over. The excitement of knowing that she had almost reached her goal—that she stood at the very threshold of her fate—blotted out any lingering fear Doricha might still have felt.
Outside the Stable door, the guard was waiting for her, just as Vélona had said. The man looked at Doricha in some surprise; she recognized the brief flash of desire in his eyes. She was a woman now in truth, and she knew she looked as fine and flawless as any hetaera.
“Take me to Master Xanthes,” Doricha said
The guard bowed at her command. She walked along beside his left shoulder—not behind him, for although she was still the property of Xanthes, she was no longer a slave… not exactly. Now she had attained the status she had longed for since first meeting Iadmon.
Doricha walked calmly through the long corridors of Xanthes’ house. Some of the halls and chambers, she hadn’t seen since coming to the estate on that first, fateful day. Had it only been a month since she’d come here? The whole estate felt different to her now—not a house of oppression, but a domain through which Doricha would move under her own power, strong and confident, a woman on her way to freedom.
The guard halted outside a door, its surface carved with a rearing lion. The lion’s mane and teeth were leafed in gold. Such an extravagant door could only lead to Xanthes’ chamber, Doricha knew. The guard knocked, and after a moment, the master called for Doricha to enter.
She stepped into his chamber alone.
The room was strewn with chairs and tables made of the finest ebony wood; its floor was covered in one huge carpet, dyed brilliant blue and accented here and there with rich Tyrean purple. The carpet alone must have cost more hedj than most great men of Memphis saw in an entire year. Plenty of lamps burned brightly, without regard for the cost of oil; the light revealed every twisting vine and lily pool painted on the chamber walls with brilliant clarity.
Xanthes reclined on his huge sleeping couch—easily wide enough to hold three people, with legs carved like lion’s paws, their gilded claws extended. He eyed Doricha in silence, taking in the fine, pure white of her linen gown, the grand necklace spread across her chest. His mouth curled slowly; he smirked at her with an obvious air or triumph.
“You do look lovely,” Xanthes said, perhaps belatedly.
Doricha knew his hunger for her had nothing to do with the way she looked. All that mattered to Xanthes was that he had bested Iadmon, his old enemy… and now he would enjoy Iadmon’s favorite slave.
I know you, she thought. I know how your small mind works. You aren’t a great man—no, not at all. You’re nothing like Iadmon.
But of course, it would never do to allow her feelings to show. Doricha lowered her eyes, pretending shy acceptance of her new master’s praise.
“Look now, Iadmon,” Xanthes muttered thickly—and so quietly, Doricha couldn’t be sure she’d heard him correctly. “See who has taken the other’s best slave in the end, you primped, oiled, flouncing goat.”
Doricha swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. She hadn’t expected to feel so shaken up by the mere mention of Iadmon’s name, but memories of the life she’d left behind came rushing to her head.
Don’t allow him to distract you, she told herself. He’s nothing but a boor.
She imagined she could hear Archidike whispering in her ear. All men are boors. And all men are the same. What would Archidike do now, tough and hard as she was? Would she weep for what had been taken from her? Certainly not.
Doricha tossed her head, affecting a brazen, unconcerned air that would have done Archidike proud. “What do I care about Iadmon?” she said. “Isn’t one man just like any other?”
Xanthes stared at her for a moment. Then he threw back his head, roaring with laughter. “No, little lotus. One man is not like any other. You’ll find that out soon enough, now that you’re ripe for working. But I’ll be your first taste of this business—of loving and pleasing. I shall be the one against whom you compare all your future lovers.”
Oh, do you think so? Doricha thought, remembering Archidike’s ardent embraces. All at once, she found she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from giggling. We pulled a clever trick on the master after all, Archi. Didn’t we just about fool him!
“Take off that dress,” Xanthes said.
“What, so soon, Maser? I only just put it on.” Doricha fluttered her lashes, but she did as she was told straight away. Sooner this is done with, sooner it’s behind me. And then it’s on to men who’ll pay—men who’ll pave me a path away from you, Xanthes. Just wait and see how quick I’m out of your Stable and off on my own!
After all the time and effort and pointless fretting Amenia and Vélona had put into Doricha’s appearance, it all came down to a crumpled heap of linen on Xanthes’ fine blue rug. Doricha stepped out of the fallen dress, wearing only her sandals and the agate necklace. She faced Xanthes fearlessly, exposed before his eyes. What was there to be afraid of, after all? Hadn’t she danced all but naked in front of Iadmon’s household, and more times than she could count?
“I’ve stolen Iadmon’s treasure,” Xanthes said. “And what a treasure you are.”
You haven’t stolen a thing, Doricha thought. She kept her placid smile in place, and went calmly toward his couch. Xanthes shifted to make space for her, and Doricha set to work. She tended to her first assignment as a hetaera with a steadiness and professional detachment that did all her teachers—Aesop and Archidike included—most proud.
The ordeal was over faster than Doricha had expected. Archidike’s instructions had served her well; within minutes, Xanthes was slumbering on his couch in a tangle of linen sheets, and Dorich
a was none the worse for wear.
She breathed a tiny sigh of relief, slid quietly from the bed, and dressed herself as best she could in the discarded linen gown. She stole toward the chamber door, sneaking on her toes, reluctant to wake Xanthes and reignite his appetite.
Doricha slipped through the door, out into the dim corridor. Reckon this work will be easy enough to handle. And now I’m well on my way. She was fully prepared, confident as the rising sun at the start of a new day. She even smiled as she addressed the guard. “I’m finished here. Take me back to the women’s chamber, if you please.”
She was quiet with satisfaction as she returned through the corridors. Xanthes had nothing to do with her happiness, of course. He had thought only of himself, seeking his own pleasure. Doricha had expected nothing else. Her satisfaction came from the knowledge that now, at last, she was moving forward. Now she had seized the future that was hers by right. In Xanthes’ garishly bright chamber, Doricha had completed the last crucial part of her training. She had emerged from the tangle of his sheets like a butterfly breaking free from the confines of its cocoon. She was a hetaera now.
When Doricha returned to the Stable, she heard whispers and giggles behind its door. She pushed it open curiously, and was greeted by a great shout of “Luck! Luck to our new sister!” Every hetaera who hadn’t gone off with a patron that evening was gathered there in the middle of the Stable. They had brought in a few small tables from the gynaeceum; each table bore trays of sweets and cups of steaming, spice-mulled wine.
Doricha stared around in awe. The girls grinned back at her; they waved colorful sashes in the air, whooping and singing in celebration. Even Bastet and Efthalia had set aside their animosity, for one night, at least.
“Is this all for me?” Doricha said, approaching the tables hesitantly, as if they might vanish before her startled eyes—a mirage on a desert horizon.
“Of course,” Callisto said. “Here, have some of these dates. They’ve got goat cheese stuffed inside.”
White Lotus Page 18