HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods

by Coffey, J. A.

  In the morning, I thought. I must do this again in the morning.

  *** ***

  In the morning, Charaxus forgot his earlier promise. He arose early and went out before I awoke. I’d spent much of the night lying awake in anxiety, unused to sharing a sleeping space, until at last, I’d drifted off. When I rose the next morning to his cheery whistle, my eyes were gritty and raw.

  “Good morning, Petal,” he said.

  “Master,” I replied, dutifully. I tried not to look alarmed when he drew nearer the couch and rested on the side closest to me. What were my duties in this strange land? I had no routine and no other servant to ask. “What shall I do?”

  “Come and look.” He tossed me my chiton and told me to hurry. I dressed and followed him to a common room, where an old Egyptian man awaited us.

  “Khefti will take us to the market place,” explained Charaxus. Khefti smiled back at me, his teeth ground down to blackened nubs. I looked away quickly. I’d bartered for household goods in Abdera many times. I would learn what Charaxus wanted of me.

  He led me to a strange conveyance that was part cart, part litter. When we had settled ourselves inside the box, Khefti took up the long poles on either side of him and hefted the front end of the cart, strong and sure as any beast. I made to hop off, certain he could not carry us both, but Charaxus explained the lengths of the poles allowed the old man the leverage to both lift and haul us the distance to the market stalls.

  I had walked much further to get to the marketplace in Abdera, but I did not mention this to Charaxus. In the already stifling, bug-infested heat, I was content to be carted by another.

  “This looks like the agora,” I waved my hand in front of my face. I loathe insects, especially these annoying tiny ones whose bites stung like an artisan’s needle.

  “It is. Naukratis was founded by the Ionians. It’s one of the few truly Grecian settlements, although the city is governed by Egyptians. Of course, so many men of the world come through here, you’d have trouble finding a true Egyptian.”

  Charaxus paid Khefti to wait for us, and we spent some time wandering through the stalls of wares, both familiar and not. Various kinds of merchandise were on display: vegetables, fish, sycamore figs, drinking cups, beverages and cloth. Merchants, male and female, crouched by their wares, which were laid out in baskets. Customers carried a pouch slung around their shoulder.

  “What coin do they pay with in this Greek city of Egypt?” I asked.

  “They rarely pay with coin, except here in Naukratis. Most goods are bartered for, by trading one for another. Wheat for oil. Oil for beer. Beer for fish and so on.”

  “Who decides the value?” How would I know if I was being cheated?

  Charaxus laughed. “They do, I suppose.”

  “Then I will do my best to learn their ways.”

  Charaxus nodded. He paused by a man who poured a glutinous amber liquid from a jug into an earthen cup. Small sediment, like chaff, floated on top.

  “What is this?” I wrinkled my nose.

  Charaxus tossed the man a coin and handed me the cup. “It is beer.”

  “Beer?” I repeated. I sniffed the cup suspiciously. It smelled sweet and yeasty, almost like bread.

  “Try it,” Charaxus urged, his eyes gleaming with delight.

  I did. After one sip, I rolled the taste of it on my tongue. It was thin and fruity, but I was not fond of the grit.

  “It is made from fermented bread loaves,” said Charaxus, taking the cup from me and downing a huge swig. “They bake the wheat into loaves, and then crumble them into water with certain ferments. Then they drain away the bread and drink the beer.”

  “They need a better sieve.” I frowned at the cup.

  Charaxus laughed. “That they do. But in Egypt, most everything will have some grit or sand. You cannot stop it anymore than you can stop the sun from shining.” He belched loudly and rubbed his stomach.

  “Hmm. I think I prefer wine,” I said.

  He nudged me towards another stall. “In Egypt, very few can afford wine. The best of my cargo, we will take further down river to the city of Sais and Pharaoh’s table. But I shall reserve one or two casks for you, my Petal. Stop here. I wish to buy you a gift.”

  Iadmon had not purchased half so much for me in four years’ time. This Charaxus was an extravagant man, if a bit imprudent. He pointed to a few small brass boxes and ceramic jars with lids. The trader jumped up to hand them over to Charaxus who opened each and sniffed deeply.

  I shielded my eyes. The rising sun baked the air. Annoying insects buzzed about my head and eyes. The more intense the heat, the more they swarmed. I wished I had one of those horsehair whips that I’d seen a man use to swat at them.

  “What do you think of these?” Charaxus asked.

  He handed me two containers, each the size of my palm. Inside was a white creamy substance that looked much like a salve. Both stunk with appalling pungency, one like burnt wood and the other a spoiled fruit.

  “I am not eating that!” I exclaimed. Charaxus burst into laughter.

  “You do not eat this,” he guffawed. “You wear it. It will protect your lovely skin from drying in this accursed heat.”

  I sniffed again, cautiously. “I think I will take my chances with the sun,” I said. “Unless there’s another scent I may choose.”

  “It will also keep the insects away.” Charaxus looked a little crestfallen, but he motioned the man to open and offer me another container.

  One after one, we opened until my nose grew stuffy and my head began to ache from the overpowering scents. At last, I settled on one with a warm herbed scent that reminded me of my mother. I forced myself to smile at his eager face.

  “You are most generous, Master,” I said.

  “Please, please,” he pleaded. “I would hear only my name from your lips, lovely Petal.”

  “Very well,” I said, uncomfortable with his unusual request. “Charaxus.”

  “I must return to the docks to oversee the trade of my wine. There have been more Persians this season than in any I have seen. I must make certain to get the best price for my goods, or they will glut the market with their swill.” He mopped his forehead. “You may linger a while, if you like. Here is some coin for you to barter for whatever pleases you. I should like to see you in a new garment. That rag does nothing for your figure. Egyptian linen will do. No more coarse fabrics.”

  “Yes, master…er…Charaxus.” I accepted the coins.

  “Khefti will take you back when you have concluded.” He touched my cheek without speaking, his eyes drinking in my face like a drowning sailor sighting land. “I shall return soon, my Petal.” Then he was gone.

  I must admit, I felt a little forlorn when he left. Perhaps it was the lack of women in the agora. Perhaps it was the fact that I’d scarce been alone in my lifetime. Or it could have been the way strangers ogled me, russet skinned Egyptians with their liquid eyes. I wondered what they thought of me, with my fair skin and red-gold hair, alone in a sea of darkness, but I never found out. Khefti shook a large stick at anyone who gave me more than discreet scrutiny.

  The marketplace was so unfamiliar--the smells of unfamiliar spices in the food and drink, the people, the diaphanous clothing, the desolation of the everlasting sands beyond the river’s banks. I actually felt a pang of homesickness for Abdera, for in Egypt, everything was strange. Even the insects were odd, especially the skeletal plated ones that scuttled into the shaded recesses of the stalls, waving their poison-tipped tails and crab-like claws. Charaxus had warned me their sting could kill a man, and yet these Egyptians danced around them and continued their business, as if they did not mind flirting with death.

  My mind wandered a little, back to Aesop’s words. I wondered if he’d reached his far off destination and what would he think of Charaxus’ attention to me.

  Remember the crab.

  The coins Charaxus had given me jingled pleasantly in their sack.

  I would try
.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Very lovely,” Charaxus said. He drew out the syllables so his lips, rosy and scented with Egyptian beer, curved in a predatory smile.

  We had been in Naukratis for a month and his attentions to me had only increased. I was beginning to understand my role as his slave was less a concubine and more of a wife to run his household in Egypt. Well, I thought, not so much a wife, for a proper Greek woman would never clothe herself in such scanty finery. And I could never bear him legitimate heirs.

  Charaxus was most pleased with my choice of dress. His eyes gleamed and he rubbed his hands together as he circled me twice, once very quickly and the second time, slowly, as if savoring every inch of my scarcely covered flesh.

  I knew now why he wished me to purchase a new garment.

  Still, Egyptians are a beautiful people. With skin like polished copper, they are thin and graceful as a valley willow, with a peculiar purring accent when they speak. Their eyes are liquid night--dark and slanted as an almond is shaped, and their hair, when they have not shaved it all away, falls in a swath of fine black silk. Egyptian hair is soft, unlike the rough kinked tresses of the Nubians, who hail from further south. Soldiers, laborers and slaves wear coarse linen skirts called shentis, when they bother to wear any clothing at all, which is almost never. The more expensive the weave of the cloth, the finer the material, until the finest of Egyptian cotton and linen fiber is woven so sheer, one could adorn one’s self in the spider silk of Arachne's web and be afforded more covering. The gossamer fabric reveals more than it conceals, as Charaxus must surely have known.

  No more rough fabric, he’d cautioned me.

  The thin material of my gown was fashioned in pleats that draped from my neck over my breasts and hips to fall in a tight, fitted skirt. I had to adjust my stride to accommodate the skirt, which persisted in wrapping about my knees every time the wind blew. My shorter steps lent a roll to my hips I knew Charaxus found provocative. Well, it could not be helped. There were no other clothes to be had in Egypt—at least not for me.

  Charaxus placed a warm hand on my bare shoulder. “Come, Petal.”

  He drew me toward the couch and began a tender barrage of kisses designed to lull me into desire--a thoughtful but futile gesture. I could not help but remain “stiff as a plank” as he’d likened me.

  Then he poised between my thighs, spreading my legs apart to enter me. His hand groped impatiently at my sex. He leaned forward and balanced his torso against my abdomen. I braced myself for the entry of his member, but his fingers began the assault.

  First one, then the other, prized my nether lips apart and probed within for the slick dew that would ease his invasion. He rubbed and fondled, making such gruntling noises that I was reminded of a rutting pig. The image did nothing to ease my anxiety.

  I wrapped my fingers in the pleats of my new gown and waited for it all to end.

  His fumbling hand remained between the two of us. Sweat dripped off his forehead as I felt him withdraw his meaty fingers. He took his phallus and tried to cram the head into me. I winced and sucked air sharply between my teeth. His finger slipped between my folds. He mumbled a curse and bucked his hips, trying to push into me.

  “Petal, no…here, wait…let me,” he gasped. He ground his pelvis into me, as if he could force his way into my body through sheer will. “It’s…I can’t!” he groaned.

  He stopped and rolled off me, pulling his robes over him with a snap of his robes. I lay there scarce daring to draw breath. Charaxus didn’t speak for some time, but knelt facing the wall.

  “Gods, why have you cursed me like this, woman?” he muttered, finally.

  What was I supposed to say? His attentions were certainly unwelcome and unpleasant. It wasn’t near the drowsy pleasure I’d shared with my near sister, but it could have been so much worse.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what it is I should do.”

  As a slave, it was my duty to serve my master, however distasteful it may be. What if he were to sell me to some foreigner? I bit my knuckle to keep from crying aloud in protest. Perhaps my stiff refusal to aid him had rendered him useless. A slave who did not earn her master’s keep would not survive long.

  I reached out and patted his back. His skin quivered under my touch and he turned to face me. I kissed him. Not a passionate kiss, by any means, but I could taste his misery on my tongue as clearly as I could taste the salt of his tears.

  Charaxus touched his finger, still scented with my sex, to his lips. “You have never kissed me before, Petal.”

  “No,” I replied.

  “You are so lovely. Surely, you love me just a little, do you not?” He looked at me with such fervor, that I did not turn my face away when he kissed me again. “I am good to you, yes?”

  I did not burn in the soft delta between my legs as I had during my nights with Mara. No, this sensation was pleasant warmth stoked in my breast, like a task completed well. I recognized it. I felt valuable, and perhaps, even a little treasured.

  Charaxus needed me. He desired me. To find oneself worthy of desire after so long is such a heady emotion.

  So, I softened towards him. I molded my body against his. He sighed against my mouth and eased me back to the couch. After a few moments, he reared up and tossed off his robes to reveal his phallus, as straight and true as one of Eros’ darts. With it, he pierced me and a sweet song of triumph shone in his eyes. I felt no pain.

  And I would never feel as benevolent as I did that afternoon when Charaxus thought I loved him.

  *** ***

  In the morning, he took me to the bathhouse. The Egyptians are even more fastidious than the Greeks, and they go to such lengths to be clean that the gods themselves must be jealous.

  “These remind me of the bathhouses in Mytilene,” I said.

  “They are very like the ones in Syracuse, as well,” he replied. “Pharaoh has allowed us to install our own customs here, in this city. It is reported he has a fascination with all things Greek.” His eyes sparkled.

  “What is that place?” I asked and pointed to a building near the bathhouse.

  “Where they go to be shaved.” He squinted at the Egyptian picture writing, called hieroglyphs, on the wall near the entrance. Men and women, slave and free alike, pluck and shave every hair from the bodies and scalp. Many of them wear wigs.

  “Surely you don’t mean to cut off my hair?” I fairly shouted at him. Not my lovely red-gold hair, my father’s legacy?

  “Ah, Petal, I shall pay for you to bathe as often as you like. There will be no need to shave your tresses, so you may keep your fire, my flower. I would not have your petals plucked for any price.” He laughed at his own jest.

  He was in a fine mood. I relaxed a little and smiled at what I knew to be the cause of his light heart. He flashed his white teeth at me, mistaking my mirth for amusement at his bawdy humor.

  He spent what I thought was an obnoxious sum of money on a private bath for the two of us. When I emerged from the tepid pool, scented and pink all over, he pulled me onto his lap and kissed me heartily. I dripped water all over the floor. Charaxus laughed again and rubbed me with a cloth of Egyptian cotton. Then he motioned for a pair of nubile girls to come and rub me with scented salve until I reeked. Still, it did feel nice to have the sand scrubbed from my scalp and my hair freshly oiled and dressed as neatly as a queen.

  He might have taken me right there in the bath house but his excitement at showing off his adopted homeland overrode his desire for me, at least for the moment. Or perhaps they did not allow congress in public, as they did in Greece. I certainly was not going to ask.

  When we emerged into the harsh sunlight, he motioned and a litter was brought round. Nubian slaves carried us to the agora, where he made a final accounting of the sales of his wine.

  How strange the Nubians were. I wanted to touch the litter bearers with their smooth, black skin, just the color of soot from my mother’s hearth. I sighed, and Charax
us patted my hand.

  “I have yet another surprise for you, Petal,” he whispered in my ear. The rasp of his breath against my flesh reminded me of a stinging fly, and I forced my hand into my lap to keep from slapping him away.

  “You are full of surprises.” I said knowing Charaxus appreciated a bit of jest.

  Charaxus chuckled even louder.

  “You will like this, I think,” he said, fairly glowing with excitement. “I decided this morning. We sail for Sais on the morrow. I shall present you at the Pharaoh’s palace. I told you he has a love of all things Greek. I am willing to bet he would have paid three times the amount I doled out for you.”

  I was dumbfounded.

  “I am not a Greek,” I said. “Nor am I fit to be presented to any god-king.”

  “You are Greek enough for Amasis’ eyes, I’ll wager. Do not be alarmed, Petal,” Charaxus patted my hand. “If the gods are willing, we shall find you suitable clothing and jewels to wear before you see Sais.”

  “You have already purchased me this gown,” I murmured.

  I was so tired of my life not being my own. Was this my fate, to be passed from man to man until I withered? Aesop was right. This world was no place for a woman.

  “Yes, yes, this gown pleases me but it pleases me more to buy you another. A neck as elegant as yours deserves gold to circle it. And earrings that dangle, and something with which to bind up your hair, like they do in Athens…yes, I think Amasis will enjoy a lovely Greek goddess. You will do me much credit.”

  My eyes watered and I blinked to clear them.

  What a fool I was! Charaxus did not love me! He merely thought to make good on his investment. No wonder he’d felt confidence in purchasing me for such an exorbitant amount of money. A man so well-versed in Egyptian culture would know the king of this land, this demigod, would covet me.

  The next day Charaxus took me to the agora, but I could not enjoy such indulgences, so filled with worry I was at being sold against my will once more. He stopped at a heavily tented spot just off the main venue. This was no market stall that exposed fabric to wither and bleach in the bright eye of the sun. It was a cool, welcome interior. The perfume was too strong, but I kept my face neutral as he labored over his choice.