Hetaera--Suspense in Ancient Athens (Agathon's Daughter)

by Suzanne Tyrpak

  She stared at him, eyes wide with terror. Even in the dim light he saw bruises flowering on her neck, red marks that would become blue and purple, a garden.

  He turned the blade so lamplight danced along the bronze. Melaina’s eyes filled with tears, but he felt no sympathy.

  “Tell me the truth, Mother. Did you know that Hestia is Agathon’s daughter?”

  “Yes, yes, yes, I knew.”

  “Where is the ring?”

  “Why?”

  “I need it,” Diodorus said. “If Lycurgus sees the ring, he’ll write a statement claiming that Hestia is Agathon’s daughter and her mother a true Athenian. With that ring as proof, Lycurgus will free Hestia.”

  “Even if she’s free, you can’t marry your sister. You’ll shame the House of Agathon.”

  “Don’t worry, Mother. She won’t have me.” Diodorus pointed the tip of the blade at his mother’s throat. “I won’t shame the House of Agathon, but I will seek revenge from those who’ve wronged my sister. I may have to kill Lycurgus.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do.”

  Melaina ran her tongue over her lips, her eyes focused on the knife. “You mustn’t hurt Lycurgus.”

  “Why not? The gods require retribution. A brother must avenge his sister.”

  “And what of patricide?”

  “Patricide?”

  “There’s something I must tell you.”

  “I’m listening.” Diodorus kept the knife at her throat.

  “Hestia is not your sister.”

  “No more of your lies, Mother.” He pressed the knife’s tip into her neck, producing a bead of red. “You just admitted Agathon is her father.”

  “Her father, not yours.”

  Diodorus stared at her. “What are you saying?”

  “Your father is Lycurgus.”

  He swallowed. His lips moved, but no sound came out. His hand dropped from her neck. Dazed, he stared at the floor trying to comprehend what she had said.

  Melaina pried the knife from his hand.

  He looked up at the woman he called Mother as she stood from the chair, watched her straighten the wig of golden curls. She stooped to pick up a fallen jar and place it on her table, and then she glanced around the room, as if in search of something. Retrieving her jewelry box from the floor, she replaced scattered trinkets.

  Diodorus found his voice. “How can Lycurgus be my father?”

  “I hoped not to tell you, but—”

  “You bedded him while you were married to Agathon?”

  Melaina glared at him, her eyes mean as a viper’s. “He’s a better man than Agathon. Richer, wiser, and he loves me.”

  Diodorus laughed. The nasty sound started in his belly, rose through his throat, and exploded from his mouth. Once begun, he couldn’t stop. Laughter sent him reeling backward and he leaned against the wall. Shaking his head, he pointed at his mother. “He loves you? When he has Hestia?” Another fit of laughter took hold of him, and he chortled like a man gone mad.

  “You may laugh,” Melaina said. “But Lycurgus plans to marry me. He begged me to poison Agathon.”

  “What?”

  Melaina busied herself, collecting bits of broken pottery.

  “Mother, tell me what you just said.”

  She ran a finger up and down her forehead, blinked. “That wormwood wine makes me say strange things.” Groaning, she got down on her hands and knees to inspect the floor.

  “Have you lost something?” Aside from your reason? The woman bordered on insanity.

  “I’m picking up the mess you made.”

  Diodorus wandered to the window. Blood-red clouds lay low on the horizon as day gave way to night. He didn’t know what to believe. He only knew his mother could not be trusted. Whether her madness had been caused by absinthites oinos or some internal conflict, he wasn’t certain. He watched her crawl across the floor.

  “When did you last see Doctor Baraz?”

  “He’s a nice man, for a Persian.” Melaina crawled toward a pile of clothing.

  “And when did you last see Lycurgus?”

  She stopped crawling, sat back on her heels. “Yesterday, but he was not himself.”

  “Who was he?”

  “I don’t know. He wasn’t very nice.” She went back to crawling.

  Nice was not a word Diodorus would have chosen to describe Lycurgus. He thought of the man’s eyes, dark and devoid of light. Ruthless would be a better word. Coward, swindler, liar, better described him. If Lycurgus were his father, not only was the man afraid to claim his son, but he was willing to lie in order to steal the woman his son loved. No matter where the truth lay, Agathon would always be his father. But in Lycurgus he saw himself. Their minds might be worlds apart, but they shared the same moody temperament, the same dark eyes.

  “Something occurs to me, Mother.”

  “What, my honey?” Melaina picked up a shawl and shook it out.

  “If Lycurgus is my father, Hestia and I are free to marry.”

  Using a chair for support, Melaina stood. “Not unless you prove her to be Agathon’s daughter.”

  Diodorus kicked at the pile of clothing.

  They spotted it at the same time, a gleam of gold lying on the floor, almost lost among the mess. Diodorus dove for it. Held it in his hand.

  “Give me that ring!” Melaina shouted.

  “Is this what you were looking for?” The ring glittered in his palm. He held it to the oil lamp. The snakes’ eyes glowed red and seemed to come alive. The ring felt warm, then hot, and Diodorus would have sworn that the snakes were writhing.

  Despite lead powder, Melaina’s face appeared scarlet.

  Diodorus tossed the ring into the air and caught it. “I’ll keep this safe.”

  “Give it to me,” Melaina pleaded.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He slipped the ring onto his little finger. Once on, the band felt tight. The snakes coiled around his finger, their golden bodies molten. Let it burn. Any pain was worth enduring if it meant he might have Hestia, even the agony of knowing that his life had been a lie. At the break of dawn, he would go to her.

  Melaina sank onto the stool at her dressing table. She swatted at the air, the wig askew, bruises blooming on her neck. The poor woman was deluded, imagining Lycurgus loved her. Diodorus stared at his mother. Stared at her, until his pity turned to horror. Slowly, the truth dawned on him. Despite her delusions, Melaina’s confession held some veracity. She and Lycurgus had killed Agathon.

  She batted at the air, tears streaming down her face. Falling from the stool, she crawled toward Diodorus. “Make them stop,” she pleaded.

  “Make who stop?”

  “The bees.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Hestia leaned her elbows on the windowsill. The night air carried the scent of jasmine. At this hour even the peacocks were quiet, but she found no escape in sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about Diodorus. Odysseus jumped onto the sill and she scratched the cat’s neck.

  For months, she’d built a wall around her heart, a protective barrier to numb herself. And it had worked. She’d felt nothing. No pain. No love. No hope. But in one moment Diodorus had destroyed her fortress.

  Tiring of her affection, Odysseus crept along the sill and climbed out of the window. The cat made his way along a vine, and then onto a trellis, finally leaping into the courtyard. A small creature scurried across the paving stones. Crouching in the moonlight, Odysseus focused on an area of groundcover.

  Placing her hand on her bulging stomach, Hestia felt the baby move.

  “You can’t sleep either, can you, Melissa?”

  Just as she sensed the baby was a girl, her gut told her Diodorus was the father.

  Hestia bit her lip, trying to stop the rush of feelings she’d been holding back, but emotions rushed through her. With a cry, she turned away from the window, flung herself onto the sleeping couch. It was no good. Nothing she did, nothing she thought, coul
d stop the flood of agony.

  Diodorus had come back. He hadn’t abandoned her, hadn’t known that she’d been sold. He loved her. Wanted to marry her. But that was impossible. He was her brother.

  She grabbed a pillow, hugged it. “Curse you!” she yelled at Aphrodite. “You call yourself the goddess of love, but you’re crueler than Lycurgus, forcing me to love my brother, torturing us in this crucible.”

  She punched the pillow and burst into tears.

  Aphrodite was probably watching her right now, looking down from Olympus, amused by the pathetic mortal. She heard the goddess laughing. Saw Aphrodite’s glee as she and Apollo rolled dice, pushing Hestia and Diodorus one way and another, as if they were pieces in a game of tavli.

  Hestia sobbed into the pillow.

  What use was freedom for a woman? Even if Lycurgus manumitted her she would not be free, not in any real sense. She had no property, no power. If she were free she would have nothing but her name. Hestia, daughter of Agathon. What use was it to be Agathon’s daughter, if she couldn’t be with the man she loved?

  That was the truth of it. She loved Diodorus.

  What a fool she’d been, trying to convince herself she didn’t care. She had always loved Diodorus. She loved him as a brother, loved him as a friend, loved him as a woman loves a man. If they couldn’t be together in Eros, they would find a higher love.

  She held the pillow and hugged it, imagining Diodorus held her. Peace washed over her and closing her eyes, she drifted into sleep.

  A scream echoed through the courtyard.

  Hestia opened her eyes, stared at the red wall of her chamber.

  The scream came again and she sat up. Gray light filtered through the window. Not yet dawn. She heard footsteps running down the stairway, voices in the courtyard below.

  Wearing only her nightshift she hurried from her chamber, ran down the steps two at a time, and rushed toward the screams. A crowd of servants gathered at the door of the library. When Hestia appeared they parted.

  “What’s happened?” she asked.

  “She did it!” Zosime pointed her finger at Hestia. “I know she did.”

  “Did what?”

  “You killed him and here’s proof.” Zosime held up a piece of bloody fabric. “Do you deny that this is your himation?”

  “It may be mine. I left my shawl last night.”

  Hestia pushed past Zosime and entered the library. The gloomy light made it difficult to see. She saw Lycurgus, still lying on the couch where she had left him. She moved toward him. Stopped. Stared and wondered if she might be dreaming. She took another step. He faced away from her, but even at this angle she saw something protruding from his neck. The form began to register. Her brooch. Her breath caught in her throat. Blood stains flowed from the gold pin. She walked slowly to the couch, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the nightmare. But this was not a dream.

  She couldn’t breathe. She was choking. A shaking sound came from her throat, grew louder as it reached her mouth and became a high-pitched shriek.

  “What have you done?” Zosime said.

  The sound rose from her gut and echoed through the house, a piercing scream that knew no end. She stood transfixed, staring at Lycurgus—his severed genitals stuffed into his gaping mouth.

  Galenos caught her in his arms. “We must get you out of here,” he said.

  “She murdered him,” Zosime said, riling the other servants.

  “Out of here, all of you,” Galenos ordered as he carried Hestia from the room.

  Outside the door, he set her down. She leaned against a wall, felt the blaming eyes, heard the whispered accusations. The calls for stoning.

  “Get back to your work,” Galenos shouted at the servants. “I will contact the authorities. No decisions will be made by this motley group.”

  Reluctantly the servants dispersed, glancing back at Hestia. Eager to hear the gory details, they followed Zosime.

  “I didn’t do it,” Hestia said.

  “I know you didn’t,” Galenos said as he led her away from the courtyard and into an antechamber. “But the evidence looks bad. We must get you out of here.”

  “Where will I go?” Hestia could not stop trembling.

  “Far from Athens.”

  “But I have no one, no money. And if I leave, they will assume me guilty.”

  “They will assume you guilty if you remain here. Zosime holds sway, and even now she’s convincing the others of your guilt. Your brooch stabbed Lycurgus, your himation was found soaked with blood, and you were the last to see him. And you had reason to kill him.”

  “What reason?”

  “Did you not despise Lycurgus? Did you not despair to be his wife?”

  “I—suppose so, yes.”

  “Stay here and they will stone you before you ever get to trial. Come.” He led her through a side door out into the garden. “I will go with you.”

  “Where?”

  “You have powerful friends, friends who will protect you.”

  “Diodorus?”

  “No.” Galenos sounded adamant. “He’s the last person you must run to. We’ll go to Aspasia and plead your case.”

  She started toward the pathway leading from the house.

  “Not that way,” Galenos said. “Soon all of Athens will be awake and traveling that road. We must take care not to be seen.”

  Ducking through a hedge of cypress they escaped the House of Lycurgus. Rocks cut into Hestia’s feet as they scrambled over rough terrain as quickly as her bad foot allowed. The world appeared gray and colorless in the early light of dawn. She paused to catch her breath and heard a noise.

  “Hurry,” Galenos whispered. “Soon the sun will rise. There’s no time to waste.”

  Hestia glanced over her shoulder.

  A dark shape bolted from the shadows. She almost screamed. She broke into a limping run, pushed herself to go faster. Pain jabbed her side and she gulped air. Something shot ahead of her, nearly causing her to trip.

  Wolves ran wild in the hills. At night she’d heard them howling.

  She saw Galenos up ahead. Saw the dark shadow move toward him and she recognized Odysseus.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Diodorus hadn’t slept. He’d spent the night preparing, determined to arrive at the House of Lycurgus before first light. He ran the scene through his mind, imagining how it would play out when he confronted Lycurgus—the man whom Melaina claimed was his father.

  As soon as Hestia learned that he was not her brother, she would agree to marry him. And if Lycurgus refused to free Hestia, refused to sign the papers proving her to be Athenian, Diodorus would use force.

  Twisting the serpent ring around his little finger, he felt a surge of power and felt certain he couldn’t fail. He checked his purse, filled with all the owls he could find in case a bribe was needed. He checked his dagger, sharpened in case even a substantial bribe did not convince Lycurgus.

  He left the house and walked briskly past mother’s garden toward the stable. The dogs greeted him, jumping onto their hind legs to lap his face. The mule brayed as he approached. He stroked the animal’s nose. Peering into the stall he saw a small, dark figure curled in the hay.

  “Calonice?”

  The girl woke with a start.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I wanted to stay with Enyi.” Brushing off straw, Calonice stood. “Are you going to get Hestia?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  The girl seemed so eager that Diodorus didn’t have the heart to tell her no.

  Diodorus and Calonice arrived at the House of Lycurgus just before dawn. He expected to find a sleeping household, but instead the grounds crawled with Scythians.

  Athenians preferred not to be policed by fellow Athenians. Consequently, three hundred Scythian slaves, owned by the state, policed the city, and as the mule clomped along the path leading to the House of Lycurgus, it seemed to Diodorus that hal
f of those police were creeping around the property.

  A burly man approached the mule, blocking their progress. He glanced at Calonice and addressed Diodorus, “What business have you here?”

  “I’ve come to see the Master of the house.”

  “You’ve had business with him before?”

  “I was here last night. He’s expecting me this morning. What’s going on?”

  “There’s been trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Diodorus jumped down from the mule, his first thought, Hestia.

  The policeman held up his hand. He shouted something in Scythian and two men came running. They stood at attention, waiting for orders.

  The burly man turned back to Diodorus. “I’m the lokhagos in charge of this investigation. Diodorus of Athens?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll need to question you.” The policeman glanced at Calonice. “This is your slave?”

  “Question us about what?”

  “There’s been a murder.”

  “Who?” Diodorus started toward the house. The policemen caught his arm, stopping him.

  “The Master,” the lokhagos said.

  “But I saw him only yesterday.”

  “That’s why we need to question you. Take him inside. I’ll be there shortly,” the lokhagos said to the other policemen.

  Calonice muttered something.

  Lifting her from the mule, Diodorus saw that she was trembling. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “We had nothing to do with it.”

  After Diodorus tethered the mule to a tree, the policemen led him and Calonice along the path to the entrance of the house. Police were everywhere, inspecting the terrain, exiting doors or entering. They led Diodorus and Calonice up the steps and into the foyer. An excited crowd of servants had gathered in front of the library, all of them talking at once. When they saw Diodorus, the conversation became a murmur.

  “He was here.” A serving girl pointed at Diodorus. “He knows the murderer.”

  Her hair was dark and her features striking. And though a little worse for wear, she was still beautiful. Vaguely he recalled the flute girl called Zosime.