“Your slave has insulted me,” the patron insisted. “I demand restitution. Give her to me.”
“You see her price, citizen. Pay it or leave.” Xanthes fingered his club.
“You owe me for her insult, trader. I will give you two hundred drachmas for her. That is still a hefty price.”
Xanthes considered the man’s words. I saw him glance at the nearest stall where several helmeted peacekeepers put down their wineskins.
“Aesop…?” Xanthes murmured.
“Have you sons, patron? This girl is bound for a family without heirs, by order of her master,” Aesop replied. He did not look pleased.
The patron smiled. “I have none,” he said. “As of yet.”
“Aesop, be reasonable. There have been no others,” Xanthes whispered. Aesop waved his hand in irritation. “It is a good offer.”
The patron reached for his coin purse, which was drawn as tightly as his smile. One of the sailors hissed through his teeth.
“You men, why have you stopped loading these wine casks?” A voice from the docks startled me. “The Pharaoh’s table awaits us. Get a move on now or…by the Cyprian’s kiss, what goes here? Aesop? Is that you?”
We turned. A man strode off the gangplank towards my platform, his hand shading his eyes against the sun. I could not make out his features at first. When he drew near, I could see his skin was tanned and his eyes were dark. His features were sculpted in fine aristocratic fashion, not coarse as the other sailors. His curled hair gleamed in the sunlight.
Aesop glanced at me and then raised his hand in greeting. His bushy brows were creased and uneasy, an expression I did not see often on his face. The patron busied himself with drawing out his money pouch and signaling to the scribes to prepare the lists for him to record my sale.
The man from the ship stared at me.
“What goes here?” he asked again. His eyes devoured me. I have never seen such an expression on a man’s face before. Desire, yes, but not this open and utter adoration.
“Just a girl to be sold,” Aesop said. “Tell me, how fare your wife and daughters?” Aesop looked at me--his eyes nigh bulged out of his head.
What did he want me to do?
“Fat and rosy as any Grecian princess, I assure you. But what loveliness is this and at such a price?”
“A rare adornment,” said Aesop, that traitor. “She is temple-trained. The most wondrous dancer you have ever seen.”
“So you say.” The man blinked. I glanced away from the pair of them. They made me sick, circling me like a pair of dogs over a bone. Men are all the same under the skin.
“Yes, but alas, this cretin has sworn to break her of her spirit.” Aesop gestured to the patron who curled his lip in our direction and continued to shake coin out of his purse.
What was Aesop doing? My supposed mentor was nigh setting this man’s appetite to have his way with me! It was an outrage and I swore he would be punished later for his deeds. If not by me, then by the gods. I thought of the golden haired woman of the water.
Lady, if it be your will, I prayed.
“Break her? Surely not such a fine creature as this. I have never seen such eyes before. And a figure to make Aphrodite herself weep.”
“Ah, yes. Much the same was said by your sister not two days hence, Charaxus.”
Sister? Sister?
“You took her to see Sappho, did you? What said the great poetess?” Charaxus eyed my hair with interest.
“She wished to purchase this girl. She vowed she could love such a creature, but I have sworn to sell her only to a man who will keep her well. A man without sons.”
“Here now,” called the patron. “Away from my property. I have paid my gold and will make my mark.”
“A treasure my sister could not achieve by either her coin or her witty tongue? Ha! I can scarce believe it. Hold!” called Charaxus. “I wish to bid on this girl.”
“You cannot,” said the patron. “I have already paid.”
The brother of the great Poetess wished to bid on me. Would he give me to his sister lady, then, as tribute? I thought of Sappho and her desire, so much like Aidne’s dark regard for my mother. I shivered, even under the hot sun.
“I will hear all bids,” called Xanthes with a wry smile for Aesop. He tightened his grip on the club and glared at the rude patron.
“I have no sons,” said Charaxus. “And I will buy this girl for two hundred fifty drachma.”
“What? No! Three hundred,” retorted the patron. “Such was her initial price and I will not be outdone.”
“Four,” said Charaxus softly. His eyes turned to hard stone. “Four hundred for the girl.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
I thought I would faint. It was an outrageous price for any slave. An educated Syrian had sold for three hundred that very day, and had been called out as overpriced in the process. Four hundred. I was a woman! Either this Charaxus was a very wealthy man or he was an extravagant fool.
“You…you cannot do this,” said the patron. His eyes darted from Charaxus to rest on me. “Four hundred ten drachma.”
“I will have her at any price,” said Charaxus. His eyes never left me. “Five hundred.”
“Done!” shouted Xanthes with glee. The patron bowed his head and clenched his fists as Xanthes returned his coin purse with a toss.
My new master removed the leather thong from my neck and crushed the pottery shard beneath the heel of his sandal. I wondered at his boldness. What was to become of me? I wrote my name, and the tally was paid.
With that, I was sold.
“Come,” Charaxus said, gently leading me from the scribe. “I have no home to take you to, just yet. We are set to sail this very hour and you will accompany me. Will you join us, Aesop? I have heard you are a free man now.”
“Word travels quickly. But, no.” Aesop shook his head. He turned his gaze away from me. “No, I do not think so. I may visit you one day, if you will have me.”
“You are welcome anytime, Fabulist. I thank you for this gift.”
What an odd word to choose for a newly purchased slave. And at such a price! Though not quite the king’s ransom my father saw, still a gift in Charaxus’ eyes, at least.
Aesop raised a hand. “Farewell, Little Flower. Remember the Crab.” He handed over my satchel containing a few personal items and the hetaera’s peplos. My eyes pricked with tears, but I could find no words to voice farewell. He turned away.
Sea birds screeched as we bordered Charaxus’ trireme. The gangplank wavered before my eyes. Once again, I was sold.
“What are you called? Surely you have a name, as lovely as yourself,” said Charaxus, grinning broadly.
“Do you not wish to call me a name of your own choosing, Master?” I asked, dully.
His teeth flashed against his sun dark skin. Silver threaded his dark hair though he had a fit physique, making him far older than I had given him credit for.
“I wish to know your name,” he said, most unexpectedly.
“I am called Doricha.” I made the customary bow to him, my hair slithering over my shoulder to brush the gangplank.
“Doricha.” He fit his tongue around my name. “Come now,” he scolded. “No more obeisance. Let us retire to the foredeck.”
Charaxus took my arm and led me to a wooden bench near the front of the ship. “I am Charaxus of Mytilene. My sister, you know, of course. But my wife and daughters also reside on Lesbos. Perhaps one day I shall present you to them. Mytilene is a fine city, but a bit small for my tastes. I prefer to roam abroad and thereby fill my coffers. You shall make it a far more pleasant journey. Have you traveled this far south before?”
“No,” I replied.
“You will accompany me to Egypt. We are transporting Lesbian wine to the Pharaoh’s table. It seems Aesop has been tutoring you some?”
I nodded.
“Well, we shall have plenty to discuss along the trip, eh?” Charaxus smiled again. “You will see. It will be a ple
asant journey.”
I could not help it. Pleasant for whom, I wondered. Still, I smiled back, just a little, for Charaxus was kind and gentle.
Perhaps Aesop was right after all.
Chapter Thirteen
Charaxus had many faults, but he was a generous man. He drank overmuch, and was a bit of a braggart, but wooed me with a single-mindedness that made him an enemy of his sister and a target for crude jokes from slaves and freed men alike. Indeed, in true Grecian form, he had a love of that which is beautiful.
He ensured the journey to Egypt was pleasant for me, which was a surprise. The sailors were instructed to treat me with deference, and I was fed by his own hand--a luxury which, I’m sorry to say, was lost on me at the time. The other slaves were sent below and chained to the oars, but it did not stop them from making crude jests under their breath whenever they thought he was out of hearing. I inched closer to my new master’s protective shadow and pretended not to hear.
The seas were rough near the northern coast and we spent the final night aboard the ship, lest we be dashed to pieces against the rocks littering the shore. Tomorrow, my feet would touch the soil of another land, a land more ancient than my own. Charaxus had told me Greece was but a babe as compared to mother Egypt, which had endured for thousands of years. A mother that drew people of all nations to her, to offer tribute to the mighty king of Egypt, the Pharaoh--a man reputed to be a living god.
But such thoughts were above me for a slave has no worries save for those of her master. Charaxus was a wine trader, and my survival depended on his acumen. Thus we made for Egypt. Waves tossed our ship about that night, as if we were indeed a god’s plaything. By the next morning, I was sick with the motion of the deck. Sea salt crusted my hair and clothing and I rejoiced when we docked.
My first view of Egypt was black and green and gold.
It was wondrous.
For any who have not seen the glory that is Egypt, it is a rugged desert the further one travels from the great river, the one we call the Nile. Polished bronze sand stretches as far as the eye can see and there are few trees to shade us from the glare of the sun or blowing grit that pervades every city. It is a land hotter than the fire pits of the Underworld, in the great kiln of limestone buildings and heat waves.
The very earth was black as pitch near the Nile. On either side, unfamiliar green frond plants blew in the breeze, and reached up to tickle the pale sky.
I tried my best to stay out of the way of the sailors unloading casks of wine and other goods for trade. Charaxus kept me at his side for most of the morning. We’d stopped in the main trade port of Egypt, a city called Naukratis. I felt both sickened and grateful when I saw the rows of men he’d brought emerge blinking into the bright Egyptian sun. They were poked and prodded onto the platform. When the slavers began assigning prices, I turned my face away.
The city was a veritable festival of boats and people, odd smells and sights.
“Their eyes are so large and mysterious!” I pointed to a group of Egyptian men working on the dock.
“Their eyes are no larger than ours.” Charaxus laughed at me. “They use kohl to line their eyes. It keeps out the grit and the sun’s rays.
How weird and wonderful! Despite my disgust at the slave trade, I couldn’t stop staring. I’d never seen so many shades of skin color, so many odd forms of dress. The clamor and noise of people and animals lasted all day, until my ears ached.
Whips cracked, men shouted in unfamiliar tongues, and insects buzzed around my face in annoying profusion. My head grew light and I wrapped my clammy hands around Charaxus’ arm to steady myself. He aided me past the dark soiled backs near the docks, to a low, mud-brick building where he’d secured lodging for us. The sailors and oarsmen were to remain on board until all was unloaded and the slaves were sold.
Like most of the other dwellings, the inn was coated with white plaster and sported a series of very small, strategically placed windows that let in little light but allowed for air circulation. We entered on the main level that housed a small alcove where the proprietor slept. After ascending a narrow flight of dark stairs, we emerged, blinking, into the common room. Two patrons smoked and drank. The pipe smoke reminded me vaguely of the smoking flames of the Bacchanal, with the same sweet, spicy odor.
Then we climbed yet another set of stairs. The proprietor pointed out our room and a door that led to the rooftop where our meals would be served to us, away from the heat of the streets below. I was tired and too anxious to eat, so I left Charaxus guzzling a cup of amber liquid and retired to our rented chamber.
With great trepidation, I prepared myself, wondering if my respite had ended. For here, in this room, there were no coarse sailor’s eyes to follow my every move and no chance of being seen by any man who was not my master. Charaxus had allowed me leeway from congress on the ship, where we could hear the belches and worse of the many men aboard. I would not be so fortunate now, I was certain. A man did not pay so much coin for a woman and expect her not to submit. And if I did not please him, I would be led to the slave docks myself. I had only my experience with The Swine to arm myself. My hands shook and my stomach clenched.
I had not long to wait. In good time, Charaxus reentered the room, whistling faintly through his teeth. He poured some fresh water from a jug into a low bowl and rinsed his hands and face. I was unable to look directly at him.
“Is something amiss?” he asked.
I shook my head to indicate the room was fine. And it was fine, by my standards. A small chest for our belongings crowded one side of the room, supporting a jug and basin. There was a wide reclining couch that served as a bed with a raised crescent shaped headrest. A straw mattress covered the surface. It was much finer than a bedroll on a swaying vessel amidst the stench of men and brine of the sea.
“You seem displeased.” Charaxus frowned.
I took a step backward. I was a slave. I could not afford the luxury of emotion. “The room has been prepared, and you have had your meal. What more is required from me?” I bit my lip and fisted my hands to stop them from shaking.
Charaxus seemed less confident than he had appeared to me before. He stared at me for a long moment before speaking.
“You are mine to do with as I wish, Doricha.”
“Yes,” I agreed solemnly. Four years with Iadmon had taught me my place.
“I wish to avoid discomfort. You are a beauty unlike anything I have ever seen, and I would not quench your fire.” I did not respond. Charaxus sighed. “You could lay here, next to me, for a start,” he said. “We could talk if you like.”
“As you wish,” I replied. I stretched on the wide couch, closed my eyes, and awaited his next directive.
“Well.” Charaxus cleared his throat. “You cannot mean to rest with your body as stiff as a wooden plank and your fists knotted in the linen sheet. Come now, open your eyes.”
I felt him sink onto the couch beside me; the heat of his body warmed the air. His hand reached out to touch my arm, soft and soothing. Gorge rose in my throat. I did not want him. Tears formed behind my eyelids.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
I did, as tears leaked down the sides of my cheeks and dripped into my ears. His brows rose. He looked horrified.
“You have been mistreated. I can see this. But you will see, I am not so very bad,” he said. He kissed the trail of one tear, his breath hot against my skin. “You will see. I will be gentle.”
His hand clasped my left shoulder and he continued to kiss my cheeks, my neck, my hair, my brow. He murmured soft words to me all the while, until at last I relaxed. He nestled his knee between my thighs. The crisp hairs on his legs prickled at my skin, but it was not too unpleasant. When he pawed at my chiton, I knew the time had come. Resignedly, I sat up and he helped to pull it over my head.
“You are lovely,” he said, his eyes feasting on my naked, pink flesh. “Pink as a flower petal. Shall I call you that, Petal?” he said and unwrapped his own robes.
I sniffed and drooped on the couch, a gesture he must have taken for assent, for that is the name by which he called me. Petal.
“Now,” he breathed and eased his body to cover mine.
His arms cradled my head. I could feel the length of him against my thigh, which terrified me. When I did not move, he scrunched himself downward until his head was level with my breasts where he began a tender assault.
My nipples puckered as the heat of his mouth moved away from them and up to my throat, my chin, and to my lips. At that, I turned my head. I couldn’t stand the taste of him in my mouth. Charaxus gave a disappointed grunt but satisfied himself with the rest of my body. He shifted his hips and I felt his stiffening phallus poking at my nether lips.
I clenched my jaw and waited for the moment when the piercing pain would take me.
“You are so beautiful,” Charaxus said. “So beautiful.”
He thrust his hips, the tip of his phallus rubbing in the soft hollow joint where my inner thigh met the mound of my womanhood. His breathing became very heavy. “You are so unlike my wife, that acerbic cow. No, no, you are lovely. I am sure this time it will…unh!”
He stiffened, his head thrown back in pleasure or torment. Had I injured him? I was so unknowledgeable. I was sure I’d done something wrong, by not opening myself up to him.
Then I felt it, the warm sticky wetness spurting onto my belly as he wriggled against me. A tangy salt scent of man wafted up to my nostrils and I realized he’d spent himself on me, not in me. I had only a brief second to digest this information when his full weight crashed down on top of me.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into my neck and hair. “It doesn’t always happen like this.”
I didn’t know what to say. Awkwardly, I raised an arm and patted him on the back.
“We will try again. In the morning.” Charaxus yawned and rolled off of me. “Sleep next to me, Petal. There are deadly insects crawling about in this land.”
I waited until I heard his breathing become slow and deep. Then I rolled onto my side, putting my back to him, and wiped his disgusting seed from my abdomen with a corner of his discarded robes.
HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods Page 16