“And who will take you in, now your family is dead? Ah, Doricha, have you never listened to my wisdom? In avoiding one evil, care must be taken not to fall prey to another. Greece is no place for a woman. In Greece, you will be subject to even less freedom than you had as a slave. Is that the life you would choose?”
“It is better than being a whore!” I raged.
“You truly think so?” When I glared at him, he put both his hands in front of him and said no more.
Well, he was a man and could know nothing more than what he felt in his own skin. He did not suffer as a woman. He was not a target for every brute that trod upon the earth. I rested in sulking silence well into the evening.
Later, after my temper cooled, we sat together and sipped at the last of our beer.
“Do you remember the night you danced for me, in the garden?” He took a swig.
How could I forget? “Yes.”
“I was struck then, by your loveliness.” He took a swig of beer. “And later, by your mind. We could make a life, here--you and I.”
I stared at him and could think of nothing to say.
“This Egypt is not the land of our forefathers. But it has its own beauty, does it not?” Aesop toyed with his cup.
“I suppose.” I thought of my journey down to Sais with Charaxus, the glorious green and gold desert. “I have not noted its beauty, as of late.”
Aesop took my hand. “Did you know, here, a woman can own property, just as a man? That is heresy by Grecian standards.”
“What you are suggesting is heresy to my ears,” I said. My stomach rumbled. “Please, no more. I am too hungry and tired.” I pulled away from him and rolled onto my unbruised side.
Aesop sighed and left. I tried to stay awake until he returned but I’d been without a safe place to rest for so long, my eyes closed almost before our door did.
*** ***
“Come with me,” Aesop said the next morning.
We stopped to clean our hands and faces by the river. I was bruised and underfed, but healthy enough to walk. He took my hand and led me to, of all places, the Egyptian brothel. This time, they opened their home to me, and I could not help but wonder what Aesop had done to change them so.
I wandered through rooms of half-clothed, perfumed and painted beauties. They eyed me with little interest but tittered behind their hands at Aesop. I felt a pang of jealousy. Why should I be so beneath them? Once, I’d been beautiful and beloved.
Two of the women came over to me. One of them put her arms around my neck and kissed me on the lips, but Aesop called them away. I rubbed away the taste of her honeyed lips and slipped free of Aesop. I meandered into the next room, my mouth watering.
The tables were loaded with all measure of delicacies, nothing overly fine, but still extravagant to my hungry gaze. I knew the food was for patrons with coin, but I snitched a fig and a few grapes. I was desolate and famished. Here they had a low set of benches surrounded feasting tables, a sweet little courtyard garden with a round pool.
These women seemed more than content. When Aesop returned with carmine smears all over his cheeks and lips, I did not comment. He whistled as we walked back to our rented room. We had two days left of shelter, and no food. I thought back to the grilled fish, salat, and wine I’d seen at the Egyptian brothel. I’d done worse, much worse, alone on the streets.
“How did you pay? We have no money for food and yet you squander resources on women.”
“We came to an…arrangement. I let them ply their trade during my assembly yesterday.” Aesop gave me a sidelong glance, and wiped the carmine from his cheek. “You could be like them. Better, for you are a rare jewel in this desert. Egyptian women are as common as dust. Why even the Pharaoh himself de-”
“Oh, do not start in on me again. I do not wish to hear about the god-king’s love of Greece.” Why must Aesop nag me so?
“Give it thought, Doricha.”
We walked on in silence, but my head was full up with the thought of a fine house and good food and wine to drink. As we turned onto our shabby street, to a shabby inn we could not even afford past tomorrow, I realized Aesop was right. I’d been so angry at being forced into being a whore, I had not taken advantage of opportunity. Perhaps, I could have been so much more…if only I’d used my head. This time, no man would force me into servitude; I would make my own choice. I’d given up on thoughts of Love, that which Sappho sang of, and focused my arts on my own survival.
“I will consider it,” I said, as we passed under the wooden lintel of our threshold.
“I thought you might.” Aesop patted the edge of the cot. “Now, listen well. This is what I propose….”
I sat next to him on the cot and tried not to close my mind to his words.
*** ***
“It is a complicated illusion, this catering to man’s desire. To be a true hetaera, you must accept only gifts from your patrons, and never coin, for Naukratis is a truly Grecian settlement here in Egypt,” he said. “Coin is crass and low; you must be above such to be a respectable courtesan. So, we shall accept only wooing and gifts from your patrons. Each gift must come after an appropriate time, so as not to be unseemly. It must never be seen as repayment for services rendered. And we determine which assignations to take and which to refuse.”
“I do not understand the difference,” I grumbled. My head ached with understanding of the complicated system of selling myself. “They send the purported ‘gifts’ because of my services. What illusion is that?”
“Illusion, my dear Crab.” He tweaked my nose. “Is everything. You will see.”
So, we went round, turning our rented abode into a brothel, and making promises that I hoped we could keep.
“We will pay by the week’s end,” Aesop promised the beer maker, leveraging his notoriety against the necessary supplies for our plan. “Have you never heard of the great Greek Fabulist?”
So, the symposium was prepared. We waited until I’d healed enough to cover my fading bruises with meager cosmetics. The banquet was held in the inn where Charaxus and I had stayed my very first night in Egypt. Aesop sent word he would be in the tavern later, and so by the time we arrived the rooftop was bursting with a large number of Greek patrons who had heard of the Fabulist and wished to see for themselves if his tongue was truly magical.
Ah, how it was.
I think I am truly wooed by the words a man speaks, if not the face behind them. My limbs were as pliant as melting wax. When Aesop had heartily charmed and insulted them all good naturedly with his tongue, he called for me to dance and serve.
We set a decent table, if not so very fine. The wine was Egyptian, not Greek, but the patrons we invited seemed not to care. The prosperous tradesmen, minor politicians, and merchants laughed heartily at Aesop’s fables, pounding on the long benches until musicians were called. When the music started, I slipped from my role of servant to seductress with the ease and long practice of my years as at the temple and as Charaxus’ slave.
Make your spine a sarisa, I heard Lukra say in my memory. I held my chin high as a priestess and met the gazes of men without fear.
If I fretted over the amount we owed for food and drink, it lent my eyes a hunger the men found irresistible. Trouble, it seemed, agreed with me, for I carried an air of sadness, despite the smiles I used to encourage our patrons to beg for more.
“We yearn for Greece as much as she,” they declared to Aesop.
He masked a smile, knowing full well I cared not for the glory of Greece, but my own skin.
I used every ounce of my temple training to seduce them--from the languid sway of my walk to the graceful sweep of my wrists as I danced. The men, so far from Greece, hooted and shouted for me. They offered goods to Aesop, for a kiss or more. He was discreet and shrewd in his dealings; I will credit Aesop with that. Just as my days on the stocks, he insinuated a gift-price that made my head spin.
“It is too high,” I whispered furiously to him.
“They
will pay it,” he said. “Wait and see.”
“They won’t! They could’ve had me for less than a twentieth of that a week ago.”
Aesop looked at me for a long moment. “You were a pornai, then. Common and cheap. Now, you are more. Act like it. Do not forget--we have pledged to repay the debts for all this food and drink. We’ll need a little for ourselves as well.”
How could I fail to remember how he’d pledged both our services to our extravagant bills? If the men did not pay, we’d be thrown into prison, or worse, sold back into slavery to pay our debts.
I returned to my subtle flattery and fawning, certain the patrons would be furious when they discovered how Aesop manipulated them, but the men paid all Aesop asked and more. I could not believe how they sweetened their offerings with gifts for me. By week’s end we had enough resources to pay our bills and rent a small house not far from the docks.
The house was small, with no courtyard and no garden, which I missed most of all. There was only a single window. The air inside was dank and musty, but at least it was shelter for us. What did I care if it was not the fine accommodations I’d enjoyed in my past life as Charaxus’ slave? I was buying my freedom daily, one assignation at a time. What did I care if we ate only enough bland food to sustain us? I dreamt at night of honey and figs, and roasted garlic and wine. Oh, I dreamed of wine, the good honest blood of Dionysus.
But there was only enough coin for beer and meager rations of bread. The rest we hoarded for our little gatherings. No gatherings meant no patrons. After another week of modest comfort, I was not so willing to return to my life on the streets. At least the men were somewhat worldly and they had more coin to spare on gifts, than the cheap, rough sailors and traders who littered the docks.
Another season passed. Our fame grew--Aesop’s and mine. Not the name my mother and father had given me. I’d chosen a new one, one to signify the change in myself--Rhodopis. Rosy Cheeks. I must confess I blushed with pleasure to hear my name spoken as often if not more than his.
“You must continue to rise above the common chamaitype,” Aesop instructed. “A man will pay far more for that which he cannot get elsewhere.”
“And what can I offer? I have two legs, two breasts to suckle, and this,” I cupped my pubic mound, “the same as any woman.”
“You have a mind, Doricha, if only you would stop to use it. Put yourself to this riddle. What does each man want?”
I yawned and waited for him to tell me. “Yes, well…what is it?”
“I grow weary of playing your tutor. When will you learn to think for yourself?”
“When you are no longer here to do it for me,” I jested. “I’m tired, Aesop and you are here. Tell me what a man wants.” I trailed my fingers over his chest.
“Do not toy with me, for I am not so easily swayed by a pretty figure.” Aesop swatted my hands away and glared at me. “You should know I will not buy your favors.” His sharp words cut me to the quick.
“Aesop! I did not mean to-”
He brushed aside my apologies, with an irritated sweep of his fingers. “This is your question to answer, if you wish to grow your fortune beyond the men and women in the sex stalls.”
I thought for a moment. “Like the hetaerae?” A vision of the cultured, entertaining pair of women at Iadmon’s flashed behind my eyes. I’d meant to ask them if I could be worthy of them, once.
Aesop’s eyes lit up like stars. “Exactly so. Use more than your body. Use your eyes, your ears, and your wit. Use your clever tongue for more than a whore’s empty kisses. You will find the answer, I am willing to bet.”
“Ha.” I pressed a sulky kiss to his stubbly cheek. “You are only willing to bet because you have nothing overmuch to lose.”
He gave me a sharp look. “You find the answers, and they will pay whatever you ask and more.”
Aesop was right. On our next feast, I watched how the dock master’s eyes followed my bottom and his eyes gleamed at every bawdy jest. I plied him with innuendos as he drank. A light flared in his eyes. When he paid his coin and lay with me, his passions for me were so pronounced I was a bit sore, but the following morning, a chest of precious frankincense was delivered in his name--with a request for another meeting.
“I cannot believe he sent this. For me.” I did a little dance.
Aesop frowned. “We can use this. Give it over.” He took it to the market and traded the frankincense for wine for the next party. The next gathering was even more successful. The room was crowded with admirers and intellects.
“Rhodopis,” they cried. Rhodopis.
My lovers’ gifts were carefully hoarded until in less than a year’s time, we were able to pay for a sweet house with a tiny garden, near enough to the docks to be accessible, but not so no near as to be in the stench and din of the river. I hired servants as a customary show of status, but no slaves--for Rada had taught me trust is not easily offered as earned, and there was no one left in Egypt I trusted, save for Aesop. I vowed never to house a slave.
And true to my tutelage in temple hygiene, I summoned a female healer mentioned to me by an Egyptian whore I’d hired to serve lesser guests at our last feast. In shy secret whispers, the whore reported that the woman had much knowledge of more desirable concoctions for preventing babes--a necessity to my industry. When the old healer crept into my home, as withered a crone as I had ever seen, I thought perhaps the whore had made me to look a fool. The woman was not Egyptian at all--but Greek.
“The gods will close your womb, I promise.” The old crone gave me a toothless grin. “I was not always as wretched as I am now. Remember that, Beloved Woman. Mortal beauty and youth will fade, but what is inside remains.” With a wink, she directed me to write on the papyrus I had prepared.
My reed poised above the papyrus, and a fat drop of ink spattered it. I was not sure if what I was inside would be worthy of admiration later, but for now, it must be enough.
I could not help but smile at the secret gleam that sparked her eyes. “Tell me what I must do.”
“Grind together a measure of acacia dates with some honey. Moisten seed-wool with the mixture and insert it in your womb. Then, there are herbs you must dose yourself with after every assignation.” She unrolled a leather bundle and held up a long stalk with clusters of white lacy flowers. “Mark this, the wild carrot. You can use the seeds. It is not the most effective, but the most plentiful to be sure.”
I shook my head. “I want certainty, Wise One. Price is not an issue at the moment.”
“Then...pennyroyal?” She moved to pick it up.
“No.” I would never douse myself with the destruction of my mother. “It makes my nose itch.”
“Ah, then perhaps this. It is very rare and costly, thriving only in a single area in Libya.” She selected a stalk of a deeply divided leaves and clusters of yellow blossoms as golden as my goddess’ hair. “Silphium. From the mountainsides, near Cyrene. Dry the blossoms and grind them into a fine powder. Mix it with a bit of honey to form a pellet no larger than the tip of your smallest finger. In exact proportion, blend this with myrrh and pomegranate seeds and take with a cup of water. Mix it precisely or the result will be a brew that makes your breath reek and stomach void, and not your womb.” She laid out each herb and measured the correct amount. I stared at her tidy little heaps and committed it to memory.
The healer ground the dried silphium and myrrh until they formed a fine powder. Then she sprinkled it in a cup of water and bade me to drink it.
“How can I tell if my tonic is true?” I asked, sniffing the cup speculatively. After dousing my mother with a fatal dose of pennyroyal, I was loathe to ingest a hag’s concoction. I caught a musty blend of flowers and...earth. “It would be easy to make a mistake.”
“If you mix the tonic wrong, the odor of foul breath will give you away. Bitter as death, and as pungent as an unwrapped corpse. Drink it, and such a scent will linger on your lips for half a day or more.” She cackled again. “And the sickness wi
ll last for much longer.”
I drained the cup in one swallow, tasting only the sharp tang of the myrrh. “Why should anyone drink something that smells foul?” I placed my hand in front of my mouth and blew.
“I always mix correctly. You have no need to check.” The healer packed her satchel and made to leave, looking slightly disgruntled with my lack of faith. “We are not all so fortunate or wealthy to set aside a poorly mixed potion. As I said, silphium is very dear. Foul or no, the properties are the same. It is only the taste and the accompanying illness that mark it undesirable.”
“Then silphium it is.”
Smarting slightly at her comment on my rise in financial status, I placed my newly purchased herbs in a cedar case and paid the healer generously for her time before resuming my plans for the next feast.
*** ***
As the Inundation season loomed along with the waters of the life-giving Nile, I found myself once again near the shop of the trader who’d accepted my rose-gold slippers. I wondered if he still had them, for I mourned their loss. The novelty of them alone would be worth the repurchase, as I’d not seen their equal.
“You!” the trader said when I entered his shop. “Have you more useless baubles to trade?” His eyes flickered over my finery.
“No.” With shock, I saw the slippers on a pile of carved wooden chests. “I have come to buy them back from you.”
His eyes took on a greedy light. He named a price that was outrageous, considering what he’d offered me for them.
“Ridiculous,” I scoffed. “I will not pay half again over the amount you offered me.”
“I have housed them, and I gave you coin when you were in desperate need. You would begrudge me a little profit?” His face was a mask of woe.
I laughed. No wonder he was successful. He could wheedle venom from a serpent. Still, I was not so well off as to be able to spend so much on my pride and vanity.
“Very well. I suppose they will have to remain in your care.” I put on my best stern expression. “And I shall have to tell my patrons how poorly I’ve been treated by you.”
HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods Page 26