“What task, Despoina?” The girl set down the basket, her dark eyes locked on Melaina’s.
“Tell the cook that we’ll be having company. I want her to make something exceptional for dinner. Not just fish, a leg of lamb.”
“Yes, Despoina.”
The girl didn’t move, as if she wanted to say something more.
Melaina ran her foot over the paving stone. “What is it?”
“Nothing. It’s just…”
“Just what?” Bending down, Melaina grabbed the stone slab and tried to pry it from its resting place.
“Was Hestia really sold to that rich man?”
“What rich man?”
“Lycurgus.”
Releasing the stone, Melaina stood. Sickness gurgled in her stomach.
“Who told you that?”
“The cook said—”
“The cook?” Melaina swallowed a mouthful of bile.
“She said Lycurgus paid twenty minae.”
“Ten.” Melaina stared at the girl. “A rich man paid ten minae…” Her voice trailed off. Did every slave in her household know more than she? “Get out of here.”
The girl backed away. “I shall ask the cook—”
“Forget about dinner!” Melaina reached into the basket of laundry. Her hand latched onto a strophium and she hurled it at the slave.
The girl ran, clothing flying after her.
“Get out!” Melaina kept shouting long after the girl had disappeared. “Get out of here.”
Hestia swallowed. Her stomach felt queasy, as she stood before her new Master. The floor-length chiton Lycurgus wore was gathered by a heavy leather belt, and the robe hung in folds around his once toned body. The features of his face might still be considered elegant, his high forehead and prominent cheekbones, but his eyes were hooded and she found them difficult to read. He reclined on a crimson couch, the plump cushions covered in purple silk. He tapped his polished fingernails in a syncopated rhythm, his gaze intent.
“Come here,” he said, his tone commanding, the voice of a man used to giving orders and having those orders obeyed.
She stepped toward him.
“How long have you had that limp?”
“All my life.”
“What caused it?”
“Exposure. Agathon rescued me.”
“The man you claim to be your father.”
“Yes.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Compassion? Pity? Perhaps, simple curiosity. Hestia watched him and slipped past his guarded eyes. The chambers of his heart felt empty, like deserted cells, their doors sealed. This man kept his feelings hidden, even from himself.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“Pain.”
He laughed. “Who, in this world, has no pain? Since you chose to examine me, I will examine you.” He nodded to the window. “Open the shutters so we have more light.”
Hestia undid the latch and evening sun filtered into the room. The window opened to a courtyard different from the courtyard her room gazed upon. Strings of lanterns glowed in the fading light, creating an enchanted world. Grapevines raced along trellises and overhung an archway. Mosaic walkways wandered through beds of flowers, and a sparkling pool of water reflected the light of the lanterns. But, most amazing, in the center of the pool, stone dolphins frolicked—water cascading over the superb sculptures in a never-ending shower.
Hestia stared in wonder. “How is that possible?”
“Anything is possible, if it can be imagined. The fountain is fed by a spring.”
She watched the water splashing merrily as the dolphins jumped.
“Look at me, girl.”
She turned toward Lycurgus, the last rays of sunlight moving through the fine gauze of her chiton and dancing on her face. She ran a hand through her shorn hair.
“Lovely,” he murmured. “Aphrodite reincarnate.”
“Hardly Aphrodite, unless the goddess has gone bald.”
Lycurgus chuckled. “I know beauty when I see it.”
Blushing, Hestia felt certain that her cheeks were redder than her robes. She wondered why Lycurgus wanted her, this man who could have anything and anyone.
“Why did you pay such a high price for me?”
“I collect beautiful and unusual things.” He swept his hand around the room. “Sculpture, pottery, tapestries.”
“Women?”
“Of course.” He smiled. “And you came highly recommended.”
“By Melaina?”
“By her son.”
Hestia’s mouth went dry. “Diodorus recommended me?”
“He speaks highly of your skills, and I see why he finds you appealing.”
“He wanted to sell me?”
“I suppose he did or I couldn’t have bought you.”
Unable to look at Lycurgus, Hestia stared at the fountain. Diodorus had wanted to sell her, had planned it, but he couldn’t resist using her, his property, before selling her to the highest bidder.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear my question,” Lycurgus said.
“What question?”
“I’m curious why you claim Agathon to be your father.” Lycurgus reached into a bowl of fruit and selected a purple fig. “On what proof do you base such an extraordinary assertion?”
“Only the word of Agathon.”
“The word of a dead man proves nothing.” Lycurgus offered her the fig. “Do I frighten you?”
“Should I be frightened?”
“Take the fig.”
She shook her head and turned back to the window. The lanterns glowed brighter as the light faded and the white narcissus took on a ghostly glow. She ran her tongue over her lips, turned back to Lycurgus. “May I have a drink of water, please?”
“Come, sit beside me.” He patted the couch.
She had no choice but to obey.
“Diodorus described you perfectly,” Lycurgus said.
“What did he say?”
Holding the fig between his thumb and his forefinger, Lycurgus turned it one way and the other. “So much is hidden.” He bit into the purple skin. “See?” He showed Hestia the pulp, pink and full of seeds, then pressed the fig between her lips.
She tasted nothing. Her body felt numb. She tried not to think of Diodorus. How could she have been so stupid? How could she believe he loved her? He had wanted Lycurgus to buy her. He had arranged it. That’s why he’d failed to appear at the slave market. She dug her nails into her palms.
“The course of your life has changed, and you should be grateful. My pretty bird, you have landed in a sanctuary. I have plans for you.”
“What plans?”
Lycurgus plucked another fig from the bowl. Using a bronze knife, he cut the fruit into quarters so it opened like a flower. “Give me your hand.”
She did as he requested, and he placed the fig into her palm.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Like you.” He touched her lips. “Not just on the surface, but through and through. I’m told you read and write.”
“My Master taught me.”
“You mean, your father?”
“Yes.” She glanced at Lycurgus to see if he made fun of her, but his expression was serious.
“A great man, but stubborn. He went his own way, and we quarreled.”
“Quarreled over what?”
“That’s not important.” Lycurgus squeezed her hand. “I find it fascinating that you might be his daughter.”
“You believe me then?”
Lycurgus leaned back on his couch. “I’m interested in the theory.”
“And if I am his daughter, if I somehow proved that to be true, would you free me?”
“Free you for what? To have the pleasure of becoming a married woman, locked away within your husband’s house with no access to society? Is that the life you want?”
Hestia stared at Lycurgus. What he said rang true. If she were free, according to the standards of society, her best prospect would
be to marry. But, as Lycurgus stated, marriage offered little freedom for a woman.
“I’m not sure what I want,” she said.
“How can you know what you want, when you have barely lived? I intend to give you greater freedom than you’ve ever dreamed about. I intend to make you my hetaera. As my consort, you will be freer than any wealthy matron. I will introduce you to a world of pleasure and Athenian society. Thucydides, son of Melesias is a frequent guest at my symposiums. You’ve heard of him?”
“Of course, I’ve heard of Thucydides. He’s the head of the Conservative party. If the Conservatives have their way, they’ll set us back ten years, destroying all the reforms brought about by Ephialtes. Thucydides would have the majority ruled by a few aristocrats whose only right to power is their birth.”
“I see you mince no words. You favor the Democratic party?”
“Yes. I favor Pericles, who dares to challenge the Conservatives. Pericles fights for the rights of rich and poor. Now there’s a man I’d like to meet, and his consort, Aspasia.”
Lycurgus raised an eyebrow. “Aspasia is a hetaera who doesn’t know her place.”
“I’m sure she knows her place; she’s the most powerful woman in Athens. She believes women should have a say in politics. And why shouldn’t we?”
“You have an interest in politics?”
“I have an interest in people.”
Lycurgus cocked his head, studying her with new interest. “Perhaps you are Agathon’s daughter. You’re as stubborn as he.”
“Am I?”
“Are you going to eat that fig?”
She stared at the fruit, still sitting in her palm, open and exposed.
Lycurgus bent over her hand and deftly ate the fig. When he finished, he kissed Hestia’s hand. “Already, you have tamed me. I eat from your palm, and soon you’ll have me twisted round your little finger.”
His manner was so charming, Hestia couldn’t help but smile.
“Do you think I might meet Socrates?”
“Socrates.” Lycurgus frowned. “He’s worse than Pericles. The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing. What’s that supposed to mean? I’m afraid you won’t meet him at my parties.”
“What, exactly, are the duties of a hetaera?”
Lycurgus stroked his silver beard. “You will entertain me and my guests, escort me to events, be a hostess at my symposiums. It will be your duty to look ravishing. Do you think you can manage that?”
“I don’t think of myself as ravishing.”
“You will consult with the finest dressmakers in Athens, and the best hairdressers will be at your disposal. I will buy you jewelry, sandals, a monkey, a camel—anything you like.”
“Compared to a camel, I might look ravishing.”
Lycurgus chuckled. “I see you posses a sense of humor.”
“I possess curiosity. And, I wonder, what makes you so generous?”
“I’m not generous. I’m merely a collector.”
“I’m a person, not an object.”
Lycurgus burst into a belly laugh. “Why look so grim? Enjoy yourself. You have been reborn to a life of luxury beyond your dreams.”
“I’ve never dreamed of luxury.”
“What then, do you dream of, Hestia?”
“Freedom.”
“And what does freedom mean?”
“I’m not certain. But I’m sure it’s different from slavery—though perhaps, not so different for a woman.”
“We all have limitations.”
“But men are given access to knowledge. And knowledge leads to freedom of the mind, the greatest freedom of all.”
“Wise words for one so young, especially a slave and a—”
“Woman? I believe true freedom is internal, but internal freedom is difficult to experience if you’re outwardly enslaved.”
Hestia got up from the couch and walked to the window. The sun had set, leaving the sky a deep shade of blue, almost aquamarine. Stars were beginning to appear. A week ago she might have made a wish, but now she thought it might be best if wishes were never granted.
“And have you found internal freedom?” Lycurgus asked.
“How can I, when I am a slave to my emotions?”
“Which emotions?”
“Love, sorrow, fear, joy. If I could learn to live without emotions, I might be truly free.”
“Or truly dead.”
“Perhaps death is the ultimate freedom. Socrates says death may be the greatest of all human blessings.”
“Socrates again. Morbid thoughts for such a lovely girl.” With a groan, Lycurgus got up from the couch and joined Hestia at the window. “Despite your penchant of quoting Socrates and your political views, your intelligence pleases me.”
“My intelligence?”
He took her by the shoulders and turned her so they stood face-to-face. He stroked her cheek, his fingers dry and boney. She recoiled at his touch, but he drew her closer. His robe fell open, and he pressed her face against his chest. He smelled faintly of olive oil. She closed her eyes, tried not to think of Diodorus.
Lycurgus brushed his lips against her neck. “Don’t be upset, my pretty bird. You have landed in a gilded cage.” He guided her hand along his stomach.
She tried to pull away.
He moved her hand lower.
“Have you never touched a man?”
She said nothing, wondering if he could tell.
“Not even Diodorus?”
“No!”
She thought of his phallus, hard and prominent—not flaccid, like the withered sausage her fingers now touched.
Placing his hands on her shoulders, Lycurgus pushed her onto her knees. “Imagine it’s a fig.”
“A fig?” She stared at the purplish lump of flesh.
Lycurgus pressed her face against his groin. “Take me in your mouth.”
She gagged at the taste of him. Thinking of a fig, she bit.
Lycurgus doubled over. “Bitch!”
“I’m sorry,” Hestia said. But in truth, she wasn’t. She got up, brushed off her chiton, and rearranged her himation.
Holding himself, Lycurgus moaned.
“Are you hurt?”
“Of course I’m hurt.”
“Master?” Galenos called, from beyond the doorway. “Is everything in order?” The eunuch parted the crimson curtain and stuck his full-moon face into the room. He glanced at Lycurgus, cradling his crotch, and then at Hestia. A smile played on his lips.
“Something amuses you, Galenos?”
“No, Master. May I get you something for the pain?”
“Such as?”
“Cold water from the fountain?”
Lycurgus grimaced. “It’s my pride that’s been most hurt.” Gingerly, he retreated to the couch. Reseating himself carefully, he pulled his robe closed. “Tell the cook to serve us dinner. Apparently this girl is hungry.”
“Yes, Master.”
Galenos glanced at Hestia as he departed, and she could have sworn he winked.
“You have spunk, I grant you that,” Lycurgus said.
“You said think of a fig.”
“So I did.”
“Do you mean to punish me?”
“Not this time.” Lycurgus rearranged himself, attempting to find a comfortable position. “I’m not unkind by nature, Hestia. But I deal in reality and reality can be blunt. I expect obedience. In return, I can offer you the practical things in life, good food, fine clothing, a comfortable bed. I’m an old man.”
“Not so very old.”
“My bark is worse than my bite. Your bite, on the other hand…”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I promise.”
“You’re in love with Diodorus, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“I said, don’t lie.”
“I’m not lying.” She met his eyes, felt the door of his heart creak open, and through the crack she saw the so
ul he kept hidden. “You know what it is to love, and lose that love, don’t you?”
He said nothing.
“You have suffered.”
“No more than the next man.”
“Why did you never marry?”
“Perhaps I never had the time. Or maybe I didn’t find the right woman.”
Hestia stood in the center of the room, her gold sandals sinking into the rug. The rug’s design was breathtaking, a jewel-toned pattern woven of silk. No doubt, it was a treasure from the Persian war. “I wonder whose feet have touched this rug before mine.”
“You’re an odd one, aren’t you?”
“You’ve always wanted a son.”
“Yes.”
Reaching out her hand, she touched his face. “I’m sorry,” she said, and this time she meant it.
He drew her down beside him, and she didn’t pull away. He unwrapped her himation, allowing the scarlet fabric to fall around her hips. It blended with the crimson couch, the perfect color to hide the fact that she would shed no blood. The crimson couch would help to conceal that she was not a virgin.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Melaina sat at her table amidst jars of creams and bottles of perfume. She grasped the handle of her mirror and stared into the polished bronze as if hoping to see her future. She hardly recognized the woman she had become. Tears streaked her face, tracks of kohl cutting through the white lead powder. Using a sea sponge dipped in rosewater, she wiped away the evidence.
Diodorus had been gone for ten days. Granted, she had contrived her son’s departure, but now the house seemed empty. Despite her loneliness, she had no privacy. Where in this world might a woman hide except in her bedchamber? She felt the maid’s dark eyes watching her.
“Check with the cook, Calonice. See what she intends to serve for the midday meal. Nothing too heavy.”
“Yes, Despoina.”
Grateful to be left alone, at least for a few moments, Melaina drew a sandalwood comb through her hair, stared at the resulting clump. Cleaning the comb, she rolled the hair into a ball. Alopecia, Doctor Baraz called the condition, a fancy way to say that she was going bald. She peered into the mirror, seeking evidence, but the polished bronze seemed cloudy and a grayish cast appeared around the edges of her reflection. She squinted at her image. Nothing seemed quite solid, as if a fog had rolled in off the ocean and settled on her shoulders.
Hetaera--Suspense in Ancient Athens (Agathon's Daughter) Page 12