HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods

by Coffey, J. A.

  The sailors began to laugh and one of them cracked the knuckles of his hammy fists as he strode down the gangplank. I took to my heels with my heart pounding, certain they meant to kill me. When I hid around the corner, I heard the creak of wood and calls of farewell on the dock, I knew my last chance to leave Egypt sailed with the sunrise.

  For the next hour, I battled black despair. With nothing left to trade, I had no way to live, let alone barter my way back to Greece. My cheeks were bruised where the thief had ground his meaty fingers into them, and my palms stung from scratches. I had no food, no drink, no shelter and no way to gain any of them. I’d never felt more forsaken in my life.

  So, this was freedom. Aesop was right.

  I begged for work along the side streets, where I’d be less likely to find respectable homes bursting with plenty of slaves. I rushed over to an old woman setting out lengths of woven linen and hemp, but she shooed me away, muttering curses. I must find work. I raced to the market, where I located the nearest spice stall.

  “See here,” I called to the crowds, giving the spice merchant my most winning smile over my shoulder. “The finest spice in Egypt. Here! Here!” If I won him customers, perhaps he would give me a little spice to trade in exchange for my efforts.

  “Get away,” he growled. “I have no need for you.” His hands reached out to push me away, but I persisted.

  “Look,” I called, desperate to show my worth. “Smell the cinnamon. Who needs some red cumin?” I danced just out of his reach. He hefted a stick and shook it at me, clearly at a loss between chasing me off and staying near his stall. The sweet smell of melons from a nearby stall clogged my nose. I wanted to faint from hunger. I must show this trader how useful I could be! A few slaves going about their business chuckled, but no one came to buy.

  “Ah!” I cried. “Have you ever seen such cloves? Just the thing to scent a lover’s kiss. Who will buy?”.The spice trader was just behind me now. I could feel his anger radiating over my bare neck. I sidled away and the crowds laughed louder. A few shook their heads, but still no one made a purchase. My shoulders slumped in defeat as the last of them moved away.

  “You’ve cost me a morning’s trade with your antics.” A hand manacled my upper arm.

  “Please,” I begged. “I need to work. I have nothing.”

  He shook me until my teeth rattled. “Get away,” he snarled.

  I fled from his anger and crouched in an alleyway as far away from the food market as I could get. I must stay close to the docks or the market, in order to find work. The smell of spices and roasting meat made my mouth water. I heard a soft jingle, and I glanced toward the nearest side street.

  A young woman with tattooed breasts sauntered past me in the direction of the docks. Her perfume tickled my nostrils. I watched her sidle up to a man coiling rope. She muttered to him and he paused and shook his head. She shrugged and moved onward, passing like a shadow over the alley until at last, one man nodded. She jerked with her chin over to the side street where I’d seen her emerge. I remembered the girl I’d seen at the tavern and had no question what she was about. She was a pornai, a common street whore.

  Naukratis was a busy sea port. Every ship wishing to send cargo for trade into Egypt had to dock and make an accounting of his goods. The streets of Naukratis teemed with traders who were willing to bargain, and after so many weeks at sea, hungry for a woman’s company…I bit my lip. No! I could not. She was not a priestess, who gave honor to the gods through her body, and I was a temple devotee no longer. This was a base occupation. And yet, what would be the difference between what I did for Charaxus and selling myself, save for this time, the choice would be my own? Aesop and my old master were right—I’d truly discovered the price of a woman’s freedom.

  I’d achieved my father’s dying wish, and yet I’d never been sorrier. Pitiful, but at least I still retained the power to choose my own path. I was my own master. I could choose to curl into a ball and die here on the streets, or I could live. Surely my Lady had other plans for me, even if I could not see them yet?

  Yes, I decided. My fate was my own. A whore Charaxus named me. A whore I must become. Until I gained enough wealth to barter my way back to Thrace I would humble myself. I would not honor the gods with my service, but I would fill my aching empty stomach. I watched the Egyptian woman emerge time and time again until I was certain how she’d done it.

  I strode towards the morning throngs about the docks. A large ship had recently unloaded and there were an unbelievable number of traders swarming the quay--all of them haggling, passing goods, and tallying debts on papyrus and pottery shards. Surely one or two of the departing sailors would be enticed by the sight of my scantily clad form. I tore a strip of my linen dress, this time until the hem reached well above my knees. I used the strip to tie up my hair, in some semblance of style.

  Crowds of people clogged the docks, making it difficult to move further than two paces at one time. Perfumed women flirted with haggard men of the sea. I swallowed the hard rush of panic clogging my throat. I did not think I could do this…a man caught the back of my skirts as I tried to escape the throng. By his features and voice, he was a Greek.

  “See here, a Thracian flower!” he called. He wrapped his arms around me and I struggled as he planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “How much?” He shouted over the din. “How much for you?”

  Bile rose in my throat. I could not answer, but I let him lead me into an alleyway, where he pushed my head low against the mud brick wall. I turned my face away as he fondled my breasts. His hands grasped my waist and he splayed my legs apart and speared me with his phallus.

  “Ah,” he groaned as he pushed inside me. “Ah, your sweet rosy flesh.”

  He took me there, with unsurprising quickness. It is my opinion all men are quick when they take no pride in their attentions. The juncture between my legs was sore when he finished, for I was as dry as the desert. But he, drunk and delighted, handed me a coin and staggered out of the alleyway. Coin. Coin meant food and drink for the next few days at least, but I could not help but feel a twinge of anger my attentions were worth so little.

  ‘Rhodopis’, he’d called me. Rosy cheeks. I suppose after the tawny, sun darkened natives, my pale pink flesh was a welcome draw. I’d use it to my advantage. I bought some beer and dried fish, and tried not to think of the sums Charaxus had squandered on me.

  How foolish I had been.

  I had many men in those early weeks. Faceless, nameless men, sailors who escaped the solitude of the sea and the company of other men. Foreigners who dreamt of home and called me by any name they chose. Egyptians who cursed my unfamiliar features even as they plunged themselves into me. I was a mere receptacle to assuage male lust.

  The other whores roaming the streets spit on me when they sauntered past. I did not care. I hoarded my coins to buy only the scarcest amount of food necessary to live. The rest I spent on dried crocodile excrement and a tincture of honey to prevent unwanted babes from forming in my womb. The pungent mixture stung when I inserted it, but since my Lady had not visited me since I’d left Charaxus, I was not certain if her promise to “close my womb until Love should open it for me,” would hold true. I suspected Charaxus was infertile and I’d never tested my faith by lying with Hori; as much as fertility is revered in Egypt, I must be cautious now.

  I serviced sailors and tradesmen who stank of fish and sweat. Sometimes one, sometimes many at one time. I pleasured them without adulation to the gods on my lips, true blasphemy. At the end of each day, I crawled into a filthy corner of the deserted market. How well I deserved this fate! To eschew a fine home and adoration of a kind man, to be the whore of multitudes.

  A season passed, endless days of living in the slums and whoring in the back alleyways. I never seemed to have enough coin to feed my growling stomach. For being a common street pornai, meant the lowest of coins to be paid to use my body. I was a thing, an object—nothing more. How I lamented the memory of how Charaxus ha
d tried to woo me with gifts!

  Though the air and heat were stifling, a deep, barking cough kept me awake, even when I prayed for rest. I grew thin and snappish. Ill humors rattled in my chest when I breathed, and I was hot and cold by turns. I suffered on a ragged mat until the sun burned high in the sky. The few times I dozed, I dreamt of my poor dead family.

  Doricha, my treasure. It was my father’s voice. Do you hate me for it?

  “No, Papita,” I whispered. I awoke with a jolt, disoriented in the afternoon sun. “Papa?” White flashes speckled my vision. I blinked them away.

  The trader in the nearest stall traced the Eyes of Ra in the air.

  My reddened eyes and fevered brain kept most of the potential patrons at bay. The few times I did manage to snag a sailor too drunk to be concerned with my appearance were not enough to sustain me. My once lovely hair was lank against my skull.

  As dusk threatened overhead and the breeze grew chill, I lounged against a shaded spot near the docks, but not so near as to be tempted by the smell of food and drink in the nearby agora. Flies buzzed around my eyes. I was too listless to shoo them away.

  Plying my services became nigh impossible, as the Egyptian whores had banded together like a pack of jackals. They lived in a rented house like queens where they could lure the wealthiest clients into congress away from the stink, noise, and heat of the crowds. I was not Egyptian, so they would not accept me into their den. They laughed and hissed and sent the derelicts and the worst of the men out to prowl the streets for women like myself, too heartsick and weak to fend them off. I loathed the smell of laborers and sailors, their unwashed bodies, rough hands, and the fishy salt of their seed, but hate or no, I had to work, though I could no longer remember why.

  The traders in the market grew tired of my loitering.

  “Get away,” they yelled. “You’re frightening the customers!”

  I shuffled away, desperate for something to fill my empty belly and to quench the burning thirst in my throat. The only free drink was the Nile water, where animal offal, human waste, and any number of other undesirable things were tossed from the ships in the docks. A person would become more ill from drinking unclean water as from not drinking at all. Besides, I had nothing to gather water in.

  As I moved towards an alley, I stumbled into a corner stall. A pile of pomegranates tumbled to the street.

  “Oh,” I mumbled, my mouth watering at the sight of the red skinned fruits. “My apologies, I…”

  I reached a hand out, fully intending to clean up my accident. When my fist closed around the firm fruit, I felt the spittle stick in my throat.

  I risked one look at the angry trader, bent over and gathering his wares. Then I stared at the fruit, round and fragrant, clutched in my palm. I could almost taste the fruited seeds, bursting sweet and tangy in my mouth.

  “Hie!” shouted the trader. He hovered over me with his cheeks mottled. “Thief!”

  “Wait,” I tried to say. “I’m not steal-” but the words would not come. I dropped the fruit into the dust and fled with fever pounding in my head like a club.

  They caught me just around the next corner. One man raised his hand and struck me in the face.

  “Thief!” he yelled.

  My nose gushed blood, as crimson as pomegranate juice. Another brandished a stick and clubbed me in the side. I stumbled backwards into the dust and scrambled to my feet clutching my side. More shouts came from the nearest alleys and I darted away from the noise.

  I turned left, then right. I couldn’t breathe through my nostrils without sucking blood into my throat. I panted like a dog, with my mouth open, and darted down another side street and turned again. There were so many dead end streets. My lungs ached and I coughed so hard tongues of flame spread along my back and ribs. Pink sputum flew from my lips.

  “Over here!” I heard a muffled cry. My heart leapt into my mouth. I forced my trembling legs to move. Please, please…. I prayed as I ran. Let them never find me.

  Another cross-street lay just ahead, and by the noise I’d reached the marketplace again. I might lose them in the crowds.

  I raced around the corner and ran headlong into the hard bulk of a man. My side hurt so much I thought I would faint. He grabbed me by the shoulders. I yelped and stumbled away, seeing little but the flutter of his robes. Had my pursuers cut me off? I could not tell.

  In my haste, I fell backwards into the closest market stall and overturned a ceramic jar of preserved black olives. The trader cursed me with such vehemence that I lost my balance. I slipped in the spilled oily juice and collapsed to the ground.

  Oh, I was tired, so tired. My body ached. The hard pits of the olives and broken pottery shards bruised my hip when I fell, like a hundred sharp stones. The trader kicked me, spewing curses all the while. I groaned and covered my face with my hands. My limbs trembled and the sand wavered before my eyes.

  “Father,” I groaned in my native tongue. “Protect me.”

  A pair of rough hands hauled me to my feet. I flinched, awaiting another blow, but none came. Instead, a voice struck me harder than any fist.

  “Great Zeus! Doricha? Is it you?” After my shock wore off, the melodious voice settled over my ears like music.

  It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

  “Aesop,” I gasped, cracking an eye open to see. The noise of the market roared in my ears. My head felt thick and I was woozy from my attack and lack of food. I staggered a little and he, bless him, caught me in his arms.

  He hugged me fiercely and I inhaled the dear scent of his stale sweat, dust and wine.

  “Aesop,” I wept into his robes. Relief made me weaker. I clutched at him, half afraid my pursuers would find me, and half because I did not think I could stand without his aid.

  He patted my back and I felt the beloved scratch of his whiskers prickle the top of my scalp. “Your skin burns like fever,” he whispered as he held me tight. “And your face? What has happened to my lost little Crab?”

  I cackled like a crone, and pain flared along my ribs. “Living free.”

  The trader rounded on us. “Stupid fool! Who will pay for this mess?”

  “I will pay, you buffoon!” Aesop shouted back. “Can’t you see the girl is ill?” His voice echoed in my head like thunder.

  I thought I would faint from the pressure in my skull and chest. Tiny lights flashed in my vision. A thousand insects buzzed in my ears.

  “Here.” Aesop tossed the man a coin. The trader eyed it greedily. “I am housed not far from here,” Aesop said, leading me away. Black clouds encroached on the edges of my vision. “Can you walk?” His voice sounded very far away.

  I tried to nod my head. “Yes,” I whispered through dry, cracked lips. My legs were so heavy and then suddenly, they felt as if they’d no weight at all. “Yes. Of course.”

  “Doricha? Dori?” Aesop called.

  Why was he so far away?

  The sand turned to mush beneath my feet, and I had the oddest sensation of falling, though I could not see anything beyond the haze of black clouding my vision. I waited for the moment when my body would strike the ground, but it never came.

  It was the last conscious thought I had.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  My body floated through an impenetrable black void. Voices whispered, just out of reach. I tried to call to them, but could not form any words.

  How you will pay. The dulcet voice of my Lady reverberated in the aching cavern of my skull like a thousand golden bells.

  My Lady? I thought. I am here!

  She did not answer.

  Pain…everything hurt. I sweated and itched. My ears were clogged with the rushing wind. Was I dead? Had I passed to the Underworld? Did my family await me?

  “She’s coming round,” said a deep voice.

  I struggled against black waves that bore me onward toward a prick of light in the distance.

  “Doricha, can you hear me?” Something brushed my cheek. I knew that voice.


  I floated towards the glow. “Aesop?”

  “I am here.” His deep voice soothed me. “You’ve been unconscious. How do you feel?” I heard him move nearer.

  I cracked an eye. We were in a small, darkened room with little furniture. Moonlight beamed through the wooden grill of the high narrow window.

  “Better, now you are here. Where are we?” I tried to sit up, and found I could not muster the strength. My ribs ached.

  “My room. At least until the end of the week. After that….” He shrugged.

  “Have you any coin?”

  “I did. It was stolen.” I coughed hard enough to make my back ache. Pain sliced across my ribs like knife. I thought they were broken. “Everything I have is gone. I do not think freedom agrees with me.”

  Aesop winced. “And I have used the last of my goods to barter for a healer from the temple. He will be here soon. You should rest.”

  “You used the last of your coin on me? I cannot let you…” I coughed again. “I should go, Aesop.”

  “Go? Where?” he asked. His gaze held me and I realized I had nowhere to go.

  I tried to sit up again, only to fail a second time. Aesop dipped a scrap of linen into a basin and held it to my forehead. The cool wet cloth soothed me.

  “We will think of something,” he promised. “Do not worry.”

  The healer grumbled at being called in the evening but pronounced me in need of purging. He wanted to slather cow excrement on my forehead, but I couldn’t tolerate the stench on an empty stomach. In the end, he prescribed a tonic of honey and calves’ blood, which was horrid.

  “I will bind her midsection.” The healer pointed to a purpling bruise on my ribs. He used a wide piece of linen to wrap my aching torso. “It should heal in a few weeks.”

  “I must leave this place, Aesop.” I said when the healer left. “I want to go home.”

  Aesop stared at me as if I’d grown horns. “Why? What fond memories can that place hold for you?”

  “It’s the last place I remember being happy,” I said. The last place I felt loved and safe.