His brows drew together in a frown. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“But you…you said…” I tried to remember what he’d said. Had he stated forthright he planned to sell me? I couldn’t remember. “You bought me clothing and adornments,” I finished lamely.
“I’d have purchased them for you in any case.” He kissed me on the cheek and bent to shoulder his belongings. “I merely wanted to display the best of my treasure to Pharaoh. I will never give you up.”
I barely saw him off. My mind was fixed on his words.
He never meant to sell me. And he meant never to give me up.
The joy I felt and not being sold to the Pharaoh was tainted by the knowledge that Charaxus also never meant to free me. What could it mean when a Greek master should refuse his slave the chance to buy back her own freedom? My heart was crushed.
Oh, how I was tired of being another man’s property to do with as he wished. Me, the child of a great warrior and a Bacchae. Me, who was trained to walk the paths of the gods. Someday, I vowed that I would find a way to live free as my father bade me.
Please Lady, I prayed. One day, let it be so.
Outside, I heard a bird cry. I hoped it would carry my words to my Golden Lady that she might deliver me as she had once before.
For the sake of my father’s dying wish, I wished it to be so.
The next morning, when Charaxus boarded the ship to Naukratis, I raised my hand and dutifully waved my scented scarf until the ship disappeared from view. In truth, I could not wait to see him gone. Then I followed the other slaves back to our rented abode. He would be away some many long months, if he returned at all. In his absence, I would have the run of the household and would speak in his name—with his coffers to support me.
For the first time in almost five years since becoming a slave, I would live on my own. I scuffed the toes of my slippers on the sandy pavers, and felt almost free.
Chapter Sixteen
The first month since Charaxus’ departure, I spent exploring Naukratis. I brought offerings of wine and emmer wheat to the temple of Neit and admired the graceful paintings and hieroglyphs, many of which I recognized. Still, I despaired over the language barrier that separated me from the Egyptian people. For though I no longer feared Charaxus would sell me, I was still determined to somehow regain my freedom. A free woman would need to survive, and to find purchase back to Greece, so I must dedicate myself to learning everything I could in preparation for that day.
I asked Rada, a young, pretty servant who spoke some Greek, to teach me to speak Egyptian. She laughed at first, but when she saw I asked in earnest, she taught me a few common words. I learned the names for some of the fruits and some animals and plants. I learned “go” and “stop”. Mostly, I listened to her wonderful purring voice and tried to emulate the sounds she made. I do not know if I was accurate. There are a few throaty inflections that sounded more like a hacking cough than a syllable. A Thracian tongue isn’t made for such sounds, but I did try.
Another two months passed. My Egyptian was getting quite good. Sometimes Rada came with me to the agora, and I would practice my new words. I made a few mistakes, like the time I meant to ask for an onion and was rewarded with a sack of sesame instead, but I was much improved. And I began to feel like a true citizen of Sais, as I had nothing else with which to occupy my time, save to keep the household and wait for word from Charaxus.
At least, Rada reminded me a little of Mara.
She was a young woman from a nearby village. Charaxus had hired her out, hoping to keep me company. Rada was a good domestic, and like any concubine, attended to my grooming and such small tasks as I saw fit to give her. I wondered if she could ever be as close to me as my near-sister. Mara would be a Bacchae, by now. I felt a stab of jealousy prick my heart and I mumbled a hasty prayer for forgiveness. It was not Mara’s fault I was now a slave.
At last, word of Charaxus was brought round—some many weeks old. He professed his misery at being without me, but I think he was happy to see his daughters, if not his wife. There was an obscure reference to his sister Sappho, something about a poem circulating in the upper echelons. He sounded quite angry and I wondered what it was about him to inspire his elder sister to such unkindness. Of course, if she carried on with her brother as she had with Aesop, then it was no great surprise to me that Charaxus was weary of her theatrics.
And what did it matter if the Poetess of Mytilene scorned us? A man was wont to harbor slaves, especially attractive young females. With the attention I received daily in the streets, I’d no disillusions about my desirability. Greek or no, the Egyptians had no qualms about indicating their interest in me. I suppose I was something of a rarity this far south, with my light eyes and fair skin, and Charaxus had certainly liked to flaunt me around the city. Although I’d seen slaves of decidedly non-Egyptian origin, few could boast Thracian heritage so far from our homeland’s shores. My bright red-gold locks were a beacon in a sea of dark braids or shaved pates.
Later that season, I ran into Neferenatu, the Grand Vizier--this time outside the palace walls. A litter passed through the streets, and I, on my way to the fish sellers with Rada, was forced to pause and bow as he passed. The litter stopped and the thin linen draperies flicked open. Neferenatu motioned me closer.
“Where is your master, girl?” he asked. Rada tittered behind me.
“He has gone to fetch the wine you purchased, Great One,” I responded, bestowing him the deep bow to which his station entitled him.
“The wine Nesu Ahmose has purchased,” Neferenatu corrected. “May He Ever Walk in the Light of Ra.”
“As you say.” I bowed again. I have never favored long-winded epithets overmuch, but for Egyptian nobility, it seemed almost an art. Black flies bit my ankles and I wished I could move to the shaded area of the stalls.
“Send your girl home. You may attend me at the palace, whilst Charaxus is away at sea.” Again, his words were belied by a face as inscrutable as a stone statue.
I glanced at Rada. Her eyes were huge with surprise.
“I…I cannot, Great One.” I tried to be as placating as possible with my refusal. Gods above knew what would happen to me if I angered the powerful vizier whilst Charaxus was away. “Only my master may bid me to come or go. I must beg you to wait until I have received his command.” There. It was not unheard of for a command to take several months to reach Lesbos and back.
Neferenatu compressed his lips, a sure sign of his displeasure, but he could not flout the social mores of our positions. “So be it. Move on,” he ordered the litter bearers. The draperies snapped back into place and obscured his frowning countenance.
I waited until they’d completely left the market before I rose from my position.
“Can you believe?” Rada whispered reverently, nudging my shoulder. “You have gained the notice of the Grand Vizier!”
“Fie.” I shooed away another fly. “Say nothing to Charaxus. It would displease him. Come, we have garments to buy.” A man’s interest in me was nothing new. And though the commoners such as Rada held the Vizier, the nobility, and Pharaoh’s household in reverence as a messenger of the gods, I held to no such illusions myself. I also knew our visit to the marketplace would motivate Rada to swifter action, as I’d give her my things once I’d garnered new items.
Without Charaxus to guide me, I could not say which merchants were cheating me. I depended on my servants, mainly Rada, to help me purchase foods and drink, and the cloth for a new gown for I’d lived in Egypt for almost a season, and grown at least three finger’s width. I am already a good deal taller than most Egyptians, male or female. My old clothing, while suitable, was no longer becoming. Before sailing, Charaxus had given me leave to purchase a new everyday gown and, since my feet had grown, we were to purchase my first Egyptian sandals as well.
I relied on Rada to guide me through the marketplace to the artisan district, for there is nothing so base in Grecian culture as a shoe seller, exc
ept perhaps a man who sells his time to other men. The experience was sure to be unpleasant without my master, so I’d brought Rada for security. At last we turned down the final alley and entered a cool, shady interior shop off the side alley.
“We must be on our guard, Rada.” I cautioned, taking firm hold of her arm. “For a mere craftsman of sandals is sure to be dishonorable. Indeed, it is considered one of the lowest of professions.”
“It is not the same, here, Flower.” Rada wore a strange smile as she sauntered into the small workshop.
At the opposite end, a man labored with his back to us, seated at a small bench. In front of him, a long table held a variety of supplies, tools, and half-finished treasures. Rada giggled and he turned.
My breath caught in my throat.
He was young. Not much older than I, from what I could tell. He wore only a loin cloth of hemp and his body was cleanly shaved, his skin slicked with sweat or scented oils. But this man had a face to rival the gods. This was the sandal maker? He deserved to sit on a throne of gold and ivory from Kush.
The whole room seemed small and unaccountably hot. He stared at me and a slow smile spread across his lips. Rada shifted and cleared her throat.
“Hori,” she said. “This is the Greek’s woman. You are to make new sandals for her.”
Hori jerked his head towards the bench. He gestured for me to sit. Then he crouched and took out a scrap of animal hide. He pointed to my foot. I lifted my skirts, revealing much of my bare legs, and placed my unshod foot upon the hide.
Hori’s fingers stroked the delicate skin of my ankle as he held my heel in place and traced the outline of my instep. When he finished, his hand lingered on my calf. His warmth surprised me. He was as hot as Hephaestus’ furnace.
Large eyes dominated his features; in the shadows, I could scarcely see his pupils, they were so dark. Like most Egyptians, he had a full mouth, and I could not stop from staring at his lips as they curved around syllables I could barely comprehend. He was the most finely sculpted man I’d ever seen. He reminded me of Dionysus, young and lithe and beautiful. I’d never been gently touched by a man that was not ravaged by time or ugliness.
Heat flared in my middle, as he stroked my ankle with his long, tapered fingers. I took a deep breath, and the spicy scent of his skin and cedar flooded me.
“Hori!” Rada snapped. And then she said something in her native tongue that I did not understand.
Hori gave a guttural response, and his eyes never left mine. He smiled. His teeth were white against his copper skin. I found myself smiling back. Really, he was too beautiful by half.
“Hori,” Rada said again, her voice stiff with anger. “You forget yourself. Come, Flower. We go now.”
She jerked me up by the elbow. I turned my head to watch Hori run a hand over his shaved head as we left. His eyes trailed over my bottom as I passed.
“Who was that?” I asked, breathlessly. Rada took a sharp turn down the nearest alley. Her lips were pinched in a tart expression.
“No one. He is just a craftsman. Sometimes he works in metals for the royal court, but mostly he makes sandals and such for the rest of us, when Nesu Ahmose is away. Pay him no mind.” She sniffed. “He smiles at everyone like that.”
Shoe seller or not, I thought about Hori’s smile all the way back to the house.
*** ***
In the evening, Rada would not brush out my hair, complaining she had too much work to do. And in the morning, she went to the market early without me. I was prepared to scold her, but when she returned, her eyes were glowing, and she was so sweet that I could not help but forgive her. I did not tell her how much I thought of Hori, though. I was not certain of their relationship, but he’d been so divinely formed, so handsome, that I felt certain there was no harm in just thinking of him the tiniest bit.
At least my thoughts could be my own.
The following season, Charaxus returned. He arrived, creased and worn from travel, in stained robes still crusted with salt from the sea. After long months apart, I’d forgotten how old and tired he was.
He was delighted to see me. He gathered me into his arms and I tried not to flinch as his roughened hands caressed me as he took me. I recalled the soft touch of Hori hands on my legs and tried not to compare them. Still, Charaxus did not seem to notice anything different about me. Well, what could harmless daydreaming about the sandal maker alter?
I was still Charaxus’ property--the Greek’s woman.
He’d brought me a special gift from Naukratis. A cat, sleek and lean, whose dun colored short fur deepened to black at the tip of his long tail and face. He had eyes as green as the Nile and six toes on his left paw and he gazed at me with the same tranquility and superior beauty of all his kind. I named him “Ankh” which means “life” in Egyptian. I think Charaxus was pleased with my choice; I was certainly pleased with his.
Ankh kept us in stitches with his antics as he clambered from ground to wall to rooftop and back again. For all that he was named ‘Life’, he was the harbinger of death to the rats in the granary and so quickly became a favorite of the servants. I adored him. There is something intensely satisfying about napping with a soft, purring body to keep you company in the long evenings. Though, I could not say the same for my newly returned master.
After a near sleepless night in which he snored and tossed about until I poked him in the ribs, I was in no fine mood the following morning when he called to me.
“Petal,” he said as I passed the courtyard garden.
I sighed. Once my favorite place in the house, I was loathe to intrude. Too many months apart had inured me to prefer my own company and to come and go as I pleased.
“Yes?” I plastered a smile on my face.
“Rada tells me you saw the Vizier, Neferenatu. In the agora?” He raised his brow.
I nodded. So, Rada was not quite as discreet as I’d thought.
“And?” He popped a piece of bread in his mouth and swallowed it down with more warm beer. There would be no living with him this evening, I thought. That fermented drink would give us both another restless night.
“He asked me to visit him in the palace.” I shifted my weight, impatiently.
“And what said you?” Charaxus studied me intently.
“I told him it would be for you to decide, and that he must await your return.” I gave him a disapproving look as he gulped down the last of his beer and signaled for me to pour more.
“Did you wish to visit him? In the palace?” he asked.
I sighed. “In truth, I did not.” I thought of Hori’s quiet little workshop, with the sunlight streaming on motes of metal dust and wood shavings.
Ah, if only Charaxus knew the questions to ask.
“Good.” He seemed mollified. “That is well. You seem downcast this morning, Petal. Shall we pick up your new sandals today?”
It was as if he could read my thoughts. I tried to caution him my sandals would not be ready, for I’d hoped to retrieve them on my own. The thought of the two men in the same space of my vision was almost enough to make me weep. One man I longed to see; the other I would be comfortable never seeing again. Oh, the unfairness of it all, that my life should not be my own!
But Charaxus insisted on visiting Hori’s workshop, to see for himself that all Rada had assured him was true--Hori was a master craftsman and therefore worthy of his patronage. She begged to go with me, but I was hurt by her report to our master and bade her stay behind. I knew the way well enough, I traveled it in my memory many times.
We entered the shop after the morning meal. Hori was again at his bench, his shoulders gleaming from exertion as he toiled at what looked like an exquisite tiny box, no more than the size of my thumbnail and crafted of electrum--a pleasing mixture of silver and gold. I wondered at who would have a need for such a tiny treasure, but Hori put it aside as we entered. When he looked up, I swallowed and turned my face away. It wouldn’t do for Charaxus to see how my cheeks burned. I’d one quick g
limpse of Hori’s smile before I fixed my eyes to the icon in the alcove nearest the door. Ptah, the long bearded god of craftsmen. I feigned intense interest in it.
“I wish to see what work you have created for my lovely Petal. Tell me, do you think yourself worthy of adorning one such as her?” Charaxus sounded very self-assured.
“Please. Sit.” Hori bade us in clipped Egyptian. He motioned for me to put my foot up on the bench as he rummaged around at the back of his small shop. My skin tingled, anticipating his touch and I swallowed hard. I snuck a glance at Charaxus who was whistling faintly and looking around the room with a smug expression.
“Do you speak Greek?” Charaxus asked.
“Yes, a little.” Hori returned, his hands behind his back. “Our Nesu has sent his scribes among us to make the language known.” He cleared his throat and tossed me a confident smile. I averted my gaze before Charaxus caught me gawking.
“A wise man, your Nesu Ahmose,” said Charaxus, nodding.
“Here,” Hori said. “You called for sandals, Great Man,” he said deferentially. “And sandals I can make. But not for one so lovely as she. She dances with every movement of her body. I have made these, instead. They will fit her and no other.”
With the flourish of a performer, Hori revealed his handicraft--the most exquisite pair of dancing slippers I’d ever seen. Crafted of acacia wood, Hori had sculpted them in cunning fashion to curve against my arches just so. He’d lined them with animal hide, so despite the wood they were as comfortable as could be. The outer surface of the slippers was adorned with metal--and not just any metal. I’d thought it to be bronze, but my disbelief multiplied.
“Now see here….” Charaxus began.
“Rose-gold, fit for a queen.” Hori interrupted. “I have smelt the yellow gold with copper to give it strength. The pink hue suits her skin, do you not think? And see the bells? They are made like this.” He demonstrated how he inserted bronze pellets into a tiny rose gold cup and flattened a second cup on top. The effect was delicate. They were the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. Opportunist that Hori might be, they were too dear. Charaxus would never buy them.
HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods Page 19