HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods

by Coffey, J. A.

  “A hetaera likes old wine, but not old men.” She quipped and I smothered a giggle. “Perhaps this will be well for our household.” Kailoise speculated. “For your sake, I pray it might be.”

  I slipped away to follow her to the kitchen for a fresh dish of cakes and to beg more details.

  Hetaerae, Kailoise reported, were renowned for their grace, beauty and talent, and, even more fascinating, their intelligence. Far removed from the common pornai, who roam the open streets or sex stalls and sell their bodies, hetaerae are revered. Grecian women have no place in society except to bear children and keep a household, but hetaerae were not only allowed to attend public events, they were honored at them. More than one hetaera was reputed to have political influence with high ranking politicians, as much as the Bacchae held sway over the spirits of the gods in Thrace.

  I wondered if my temple training made me a worthy candidate in the eyes of the hetaerae, or if a Thracian woman could even dare to aspire to such greatness. Carefully, I watched each motion of their hands and toss of the head, vowing I would emulate them. I would much rather spend my time in pleasant company, pampered and appreciated, than closeted from all social contact. These women bantered with Iadmon and son, as well as any man in the symposiums. Perhaps I could get one of the women alone at the night’s end and ask how it might be done.

  I never got the chance.

  At the evening’s end, the pair of hetaerae disappeared with Young Iadmon, in a common practice of sexual tutelage for young men. Later, I found a knotted peplos, half-hidden under the courtyard bushes. It was so lovely and so very fine. Surely, they would miss it. I gathered the shawl in my hands and sat on a stool near the front gates, so that I might return it to its rightful owner.

  But, I did not see the hetaerae leave in the morning, and indeed, they never returned to Iadmon’s household again. That did not bode well for Young Iadmon’s sexual prowess, but as he was reported to have a mean temper, I did not trouble myself over the loss. I concealed the finely woven shawl, still scented with sweet perfume, in my sleeping alcove. It reminded me of Mara, and made me feel a little less alone.

  I thanked the gods Young Iadmon departed for Minos soon after that night. We did not see him off, but Kailoise reported on his comings and goings, which was oft a welcome warning. For now, it was enough that he was gone. Another span of weeks passed without change in the monotony of my chores and the familiar bustle of the city. Still, I at least I had more time to myself. With Young Iadmon away, our master entertained less frequently, so I was relegated to weaving once again, though it bored me to tears.

  The other women worked in silence, so I began to make up my own tales, repeating them over and over as I thrust the shuttle from one end of the loom to the other. I wondered what Aesop would think of the fables I had spun. And I wondered too, about that day long ago in the stocks, when he intervened to save me from a drunken fool. Aesop was cordial to me, as much as he could be, given our situation. The other slaves gossiped about his status in the household, but I paid no mind to them. After all, he was the Fabulist. Still, I wondered why he had troubled himself to influence Iadmon’s notice of me that day in the slave stocks.

  Why should he risk himself, for me?

  At last, I could bear it no longer. I’ve never been a patient creature. I felt I must speak out. So, the day came when I dared ask Aesop a question of my own. We slaves had just finished our morning meal in the dark hours before my true chores began.

  “You are different these days, Doricha,” he said, as we cleared our rough communal platter. “You dined most elegantly this morning.”

  “I have always been a quick study,” I replied, wiping the crumbs from the table into my hand and tossing them into the fire. “And we Thracians have a love of that which is beautiful.”

  Aesop considered me for a moment. “That we do,” he agreed.

  “Aesop, why did you lead Iadmon to purchase me?” I asked when all the others had filed out to begin the day.

  “I led him?” Aesop responded in his usual questioning fashion. He stroked his stubbled chin.

  “Come now,” I whispered and peered over my shoulder. “There is no one about. You and I both know how much Iadmon values your advice. It was your words that spared me from the mines, as much as his coin.”

  Aesop considered me for a moment. “You are Thracian,” he replied and turned away, as if that was explanation enough.

  I shook my head. “No. There were others there. Why me?”

  Aesop smiled. “Let me tell you a tale.”

  I sighed. “As you wish.”

  “An Ant went to the bank of a river to quench its thirst, and being carried away by the rush of the stream, was on the point of drowning. A Dove sitting on a tree overhanging the water plucked a leaf and let it fall into the stream close to her. The Ant climbed onto it and floated in safety to the bank. Shortly afterwards, a bird catcher crept under the tree. He laid his lime-twigs for the Dove, which sat in the branches. The Ant perceived his design and stung him in the foot. In pain, the bird catcher threw down the twigs, and the noise made the Dove take wing.”

  I stared at him. This was the reason for my life being spared the torments of the mines? What had an insect and a bird to do with me?

  “I do not understand,” I sulked. “You did not give a proper answer.”

  Aesop rose and cleared his empty bowl from the table. He handed it to me for washing. “Give it thought, if you have any. You will have your answer.”

  *** ***

  And that was the way of Aesop’s tutoring. In the four years I spent in the house of Iadmon, I absorbed bits of information. I served the men watered wine, whilst they spoke of higher purposes and the fate of man. I learned to be casual in my observations, else I should be sent from the room. But Aesop knew I listened. Knew, and nurtured my hunger for his words until I begged him to teach me in earnest.

  “Please, Aesop,” I cajoled.

  “Bah! I cannot teach a girl. You have even less sense about you than a woman.”

  “You don’t believe that,” I said, with a pert smile. “I am simply a dog of another coat.”

  Aesop laughed at my jest. My heart flooded with pride that I could do what so few men could--amuse the great Fabulist.

  “And how will you pay?” he asked.

  “Pay?” I echoed. I hadn’t thought of payment.

  “Yes, Doricha. How will you repay me for filling your mind with knowledge that befits a king?”

  My heart sank. I had nothing of value to give save the few coins I’d saved from clever haggling. And those I hoarded to buy back my freedom.

  “You teach the others, the men who visit Iadmon,” I retorted. “They do not pay.”

  Aesop crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “My master bids me to teach them. Tell me, what do you offer, Little Flower?”

  My thoughts centered on that word, ‘flower’. Aesop did not use words lightly.

  So, a Thracian flower to be plucked.

  “I will wash and cook for you,” I ventured, knowing it was useless. “And mend your garments.”

  Aesop reached out and touched a strand of my hair. “You will do that anyway. You are a slave and a woman.”

  An unpleasant feeling twisted my stomach. I thought of Merikos suddenly and the time he’d put his hand on my breast. My cheeks burned.

  “I have never known a man,” I whispered. Aesop did not respond. He stared at me with unreadable eyes. “But I…I know what it is, what you want.”

  “Do you?” Aesop asked. I jumped at the sound of his voice.

  “Yes,” I licked my lips nervously. I wasn’t exactly sure how it was to be done, save for the animals in the courtyard rutting violently. An image of the Bacchanal flashed in my mind. A pair of pale slender legs flapping like butterfly wings.

  Again, Aesop stared at me. Stared until I shifted in my spot.

  At last, something unreadable flickered in his gaze. “Dance for me.”

  “Wha-at
?” I asked.

  “It has been many years since I’ve seen a Thracian woman dance. I would lay odds you are exceptionally fine at it.” He eyed my hands. “Very fine indeed.”

  “I cannot dance,” I protested. My heart was heavy with memories of the temple, of my happiness there so swiftly shattered. I had not practiced any of Lukra’s lessons for nearly three years. I couldn’t dance for him!

  Aesop gathered my hands together and turned them palm down. The betraying blue tattoos danced along my nervous flesh.

  “A man is not wise, who assumes his clothing will disguise his nature. This is doubly so for a woman. You cannot hide your training any more than you can disguise the natural grace of your figure.”

  His eyes traveled the length of me. He was a large man, great of mind, body, and spirit. I thought of the lithe, sensuous body of Dionysus. Aesop could not be further from that graceful, merciless god than an eel is to a goat.

  “Dance?” I repeated. “That is all?”

  Aesop smiled. “For now.”

  *** ***

  So, I danced.

  After my wretched first years of slavery, I feared to be resold to some cruel master. Those who crossed the Fabulist found themselves on the slave platform before the cock crowed, a lesson learned by Cook. Aesop curried much favor with Iadmon, and he was kind to me. I wanted to please him, almost as much as I was afraid not to.

  And perhaps part of me did wish to impress him with my skills.

  So, I danced.

  I wore the hetaera’s peplos I’d secreted away and felt almost beautiful. Aesop watched me with his grey eyes glittering in the moonlight. We dared not play music, for it was late in the evening, the time when sleep came to most others. I crept to the courtyard, where the night breeze cooled my flesh and perfumed the air with the scents of basil, thyme, and mint.

  Aesop hummed low in his throat. I danced to the rhythm in my mind, hesitant at first, until I could almost sense Lukra’s sharp staccato on the packed earth floor of the courtyard. How easily it all came back to me, the lessons in my memory. I imagined the twang of the lyre strings and the whistle of the avlos, the pipes. I positioned my arms as if I still clasped the hands of my beloved Mara. I danced until my arms ached and my legs quavered. I danced until sweat soaked my chiton and Aesop’s breathing was as labored as my own.

  “Enough,” he said and reached for his goblet of wine. “I will teach you, Doricha. The mere sight of you dancing is enough.”

  Some of the crimson liquid dribbled out the side of his lips. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand.

  I had a sudden image of my smiling father doing the same. Oh, how I missed him! His loss came crashing down on me with the weight of a thousand stones.

  “Doricha?” Aesop put down his goblet. “What is it?”

  I could not answer. I ran from him with my hands covering my face. I fled blindly through the dark courtyard, not knowing or caring whence I went until my body encountered an unmovable force.

  I ran headlong into Young Iadmon, my master’s son. He had returned to plague us again!

  “Hie there, Rufus,” he said. ‘Rufus’ was an ugly reference to a red-haired Thracian. His hands manacled my bare upper arms. “Why are you up so late? Where have you been? Stealing from our larder?”

  My breath caught. Aesop was nowhere to be seen. “I…I was dancing, Young Iadmon. In the moonlight.”

  His lips drew back in a leer and snorted, a habit that had earned him the moniker of “The Swine”, amongst the slaves.

  “Another of your heathen Thracian rites, no doubt. Very well then, Rufus. Dance for me.” His hands slid down to my wrists and he dragged me into the center of the courtyard. I pulled away.

  “No, please! I do not wish to dance now. Please let me return to my quarters. Please, Citizen.” I hoped to remind him of his status, but Young Iadmon would not listen. His eyes fixed on my pilfered shawl, though I doubt he recognized it.

  “You will call me master, Rufus,” he said. “Shall I make it clear to you?”

  “I am minded to tell you a fable, Young Iadmon.” Aesop’s thick voice suddenly floated out of the shadows by the wall. He stepped into the moonlight, his face as impassive as the rock wall behind him.

  “Fable?” Young Iadmon’s gaze darted from Aesop to me, and his eyes narrowed. “What is this?” he asked suspiciously.

  “You see,” said Aesop. “An Ass, having put on the Lion's skin, roamed about in the forest and amused himself by frightening all the foolish animals he met in his wanderings.”

  “Be still, old fool,” Young Iadmon said and tugged on my wrists again. “My father is abed, and I have no wish to hear your lectures. Leave us.”

  Aesop continued as if nothing at all were amiss. “He came upon a Fox. The Ass tried to frighten him also, but the Fox no sooner heard the sound of his voice than he exclaimed, ‘I might possibly have been frightened myself, if I had not heard your bray.’”

  The Swine thought for a long moment while I writhed in his grip. Then his countenance turned dark in the moonlight. “You call me an ass, slave?” He sneered. “I am your master!”

  “There is only one master here,” Aesop remarked. “Shall we rouse him from his bed?”

  Young Iadmon’s cheeks paled. “She is our property.”

  Aesop’s brows drew together like a thundercloud. “She is a slave, not some mere concubine without protection.”

  Young Iadmon’s gaze darted from me to Aesop. I held my breath, afraid to rouse him further. “Back to your quarters,” he ordered, at last. And he marched away with his narrow shoulders stiff with futile rage.

  When he had departed, I turned to Aesop with breathless gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “Bah!” Aesop grumbled, throwing a dark glance at the direction Young Iadmon had fled. “He should know better than to attack his father’s property without provocation. There are laws against this, as he well knows.”

  “But, how did you know?” I wondered.

  “Know what, Little Flower?” Aesop rubbed a gentle hand over the marked flesh of my wrists. His touch both piqued and soothed me.

  “How did you know he wouldn’t wish to rouse his father?”

  “Did you notice his tunic, Doricha?” Aesop asked. “It was torn and bloodied. The Swine is well known for his temper in these parts. And our master wearies himself with paying coin to cover for his son’s escapades.”

  “I didn’t notice,” I mumbled, my embarrassment tempered slightly by the small joy of newly acquired knowledge.

  “Well,” Aesop patted me on the head. “Those lovely eyes of yours should be of more use to you than mere decoration. Do you not agree?”

  Oh, how I did.

  Chapter Ten

  Three has never been a good number for me, even to this day. I’d lost three members of my family. Three sorrow filled paths I’ve chosen to walk. And three times have I loved, but all for naught. So, naturally, there were three occasions The Swine sought me out in the house of Iadmon.

  My heart still mourned for Mara and my lost family, but I was more resigned to my plight.

  Months of Aesop’s tutoring had given me much to divert my mind. Just this week, we’d discussed whether a man’s nature could be altered by his surroundings or if simple creation determined a man’s character. I was of the mind that gifts of the gods determined our character, but Aesop had raised his brow in such a maddening way that I questioned the very walls before me.

  I still pondered that infuriating brow lift when Young Iadmon caught me changing the bed linens.

  “Rufus,” he said and startled me. I fumbled the packet of herbs I’d meant to sprinkle on the linens to keep away vermin.

  The Swine crossed the room quickly. His lips compressed in a hard line. I glanced at the door, praying to find someone, anyone, passing in the hall beyond.

  “I called you, girl. Answer me,” he demanded.

  I lowered my eyes, dutifully, though in truth I ached to find an escape. “What is it
you require?” I gave the customary bow.

  “What I require,” said The Swine, reaching a hand towards the leather thong binding my hair, “is for you to serve me.”

  I swallowed hard and fought the urge to shy from his touch. His fingers probed the knot in the leather and freed my long hair with a single tug. My eyes stung. These past months with Aesop’s protection, a man had never been so bold as to touch me without my permission.

  “I do serve this household, citizen, for Iadmon is my master,” I replied truthfully. I hoped my words would appease him.

  A satisfied smirk appeared on The Swine’s face.

  “Yes,” he said. “And as your master, I bid you please me.” He tangled his fingers in my red-gold hair and drew me close to him.

  “Please, I-I am expected in the servant’s hall,” I stammered. I escaped his grip and bent to retrieve my herb packet, but The Swine was not deterred. A wicked light gleamed in his eyes.

  “I bid you serve me, Rufus. Stay there, on your knees. It suits me just as well.” And he grabbed both the back of my head and his codpiece, just as his father entered the chamber.

  “What goes here, my son?” Iadmon asked angrily, his hands clenched.

  “I was just having a bit of sport.” The Swine eyed me. His handsome features turned sullen, as a child sneaking a sweet.

  “Unhand my slave.” Iadmon’s voice was as hard as his son’s eyes. “Leave us, girl.”

  I rose and darted from the chamber as fast as my unsteady legs could carry me.

  Aesop had once told me Greeks believed a slave should be treated firmly, even beaten if necessary to gain obedience. But no master dared to inflict a serious injustice upon his slaves, or else face the wrath of their gods upon final judgment.

  Thanks to Iadmon’s fear of the gods, I’d escaped his son’s attentions a second time. My legs quaked as I rounded the hallway towards my alcove, trying to move as silently as I could.

  The morning gathering had just ended. Aesop was bidding a hearty farewell to our master’s guests when he caught sight of me passing the arcade. I must have looked distressed, for he placed a tender arm around my shoulders and led me to the kitchen. My heart ached for my mother’s embrace and a woman’s knowledge to help me understand.