“It will be at least half an hour before they have food or a bath ready,” Amtes said. “Shall we go out into the garden?”
Now that she had huddled in her welcome shelter, Rhodopis was not eager to venture beyond the privacy of the house. But, she told herself sensibly, nothing would come of cowering. Her mission in Egypt was sure to be fraught with danger; she could not live in fear of what may be lurking in her own garden. “Yes, all right. Let’s watch the first stars come out.” She followed Amtes to the house’s rear portico.
The garden, too, was small, but was every bit as graceful and pleasant as the rest of the estate. Rhodopis eyed the smooth expanse of river. She wished her garden wall did not extend to the waterside—anyone with ill intent might sneak along the bank and hide in the dense, dark hedges—but she supposed Phanes could not work every conceivable miracle from distant Babylon. A great white spray of stars arced above the Nile. She tipped her head back to take in the whole of the night sky.
“Do you know,” Rhodopis said, “the night I left Egypt, I thought I would never see these same stars again. I think I believed the stars would look very different in Persia.”
She fell silent, troubled by the pang in her heart. The stars had struck Rhodopis to sentimental foolishness that night. If not for her senseless fretting about the night-time sky, she never would have gone alone into the garden. Psamtik never would have found her. Rhodopis was no fool now. Thought of Psamtik sharpened that wistful stab to a sudden, vengeful hunger. All at once she was ready to begin her work, eager to author his destruction.
“When will you begin entertaining men?” Amtes asked. “You must start soon, my lady. If you don’t, no one will believe you’re a foreign hetaera, come to make your fortune. At least, they won’t believe it for long.”
“I know. I suppose it can’t be put off—nor do I want to delay. But oh, the thought of it has weighed on me, all along our journey. I’m dreadfully afraid I’ll be recognized. And what shall I do if I am?”
“Were you so well-known among rich Greek men, before the Pharaoh took you for his harem?”
She shook her head. “Not especially, though I was on the verge of gaining a sort of fame. There was a disastrous auction at some old fool’s garden party. I had an admirer—Charaxus. He bid up my price far too high; that alone nearly made my reputation for me. Talk flew around the city; I nearly became a celebrity, just by standing on a garden wall and letting men place their bids. But luck favored me—Amasis scooped me up and hid me away in his harem before my reputation could be made.”
Amtes laughed. “What a strange world you hetaerae live in!”
“There may still be men in the city who remember me. Charaxus certainly will, if he hasn’t left Memphis… or gotten himself killed. I’m afraid he had more enemies than friends.” A sudden recollection of Archidike’s face reared up in Rhodopis’ memory, cruelly vivid. She shivered, then added quietly, “There are certain others who would recognize me, too, even with my hair dyed black.”
And whatever will I do when Archidike sees me? Rhodopis had no answer to that disturbing question. It was all but certain that she would be recognized, soon or late. The game mustn’t be up when she was spotted. She must have a ready plan—prepare a smooth, plausible response to the confrontation she knew was coming, and rehearse it well, so no one could catch her unaware.
“This is a lovely garden,” Amtes said, stooping to inhale the fragrance of a rose. “And the house is a good one. Rich enough to convince anyone, but not too showy. Anything finer might arouse suspicion.”
“I only wish I could enjoy this pretty place more. I feel all tied up in knots with worry.”
“You must trust Phanes… and the king.”
And you. Rhodopis turned away from her handmaid, gazing out across the dark river. Moment by moment, the flowers and trimmed hedges emerged from the twilight gloom as the light of the stars increased. Amtes had never given Rhodopis any reason to doubt her. But Rhodopis still felt the sting of betrayal, the pain of a shattered friendship. Despite her reluctance, she must find the will to trust again. She had come back to Memphis a pawn in a dangerous game. If she hoped to survive, she would have to rely on the people who claimed to be her allies. Rhodopis could only pray that the gods would not play her false again.
“I do trust Phanes,” Rhodopis said. “He told me his story—how he came to be in Babylon. It was a harrowing tale. I could have exposed him to Amasis through one of your letters, and that would have been the end of him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Of course not. You know by now, I’ve got no love for Amasis… or his family.” Rhodopis glanced at her handmaid uncomfortably. She said casually, “Have you?”
Amtes snorted. “Phanes worked me over thoroughly, and you know it. It’s Kmet I love, not our present Pharaoh.”
“I’ve no cause to doubt you. I suppose… it’s difficult for me to put my faith in anyone. You mustn’t mind me if I’m wary sometimes. I don’t mean any offense.” She considered Amtes for a moment. “Why did you do it, then? Why go to Babylon, to serve the Pharaoh’s ends, if you don’t love him?”
Amtes answered without hesitation. “The same reason you went: I had no choice. What is any woman to do, when a powerful man tells her she must go here or there, must do this or that?”
They both lapsed into silence. Out on the river, a night fisherman sang. The tiny boat was too far away for Rhodopis to make out the words, but she could hear the man’s voice rise and fall in a comfortable rhythm. He sang as if no one in the world had any cause to worry.
Rhodopis said, “Phanes told me it hasn’t always been this way in Egypt. He said that once, many years ago, women stood as high as men in all things.”
“That is so. It was before my time, of course, so I don’t remember it, but my mother and grandmother often spoke of the way things were before the Greeks came. I would like to see Kmet restored. Maybe the gods will curse me for interfering with the Pharaoh—after all, one must believe the gods put Amasis on the Horus Throne for reasons of their own. But there’s no way for me to know how the gods will react, until I’m dead and walking through the Duat. I suppose it makes as much sense to do what my heart tells me, as to assume I know what the gods prefer.”
“And your heart tells you to do… all that we plan to do? Even to the Pharaoh?”
Amtes smiled coolly. “My heart tells me Kmet must live again. I admit, my lady: you and I do seem unlikely allies in that work—a Greek and a Kmetu.”
Rhodopis laughed shakily. “That we do.”
Amtes seemed to sense her growing discomfort; she changed the subject, tossing her hair over her shoulder as if they discussed nothing more consequential than the price of figs in the market square. “Did Phanes and the king roast you with questions as thoroughly as they did me? I thought they’d never stop asking me this and that. They pried out every imaginable detail of my life.”
“Indeed, they did! After I confessed myself to the king, he took me back to his chambers, and there he and Phanes spoke to me for hours. The king was ever so angry, and it’s no wonder to me. But he kept his temper well. He questioned me on everything—everything he could think to ask. I told him what my position was in Amasis’ court and harem, and which other women lived there, and how well I knew the king and the chief wife. And… the king’s heir, Psamtik. Then he set in on Memphis, and my time as a hetaera. He wanted to know every moment of every encounter I’d ever had with a man. If I hadn’t known why he wanted to hear those tales, I would have assumed he found them motivating.”
Amtes laughed loudly. “Motivating?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Did you tell him everything?”
“Of course,” Rhodopis said. “I held nothing back. I had this terrible, prickly sense that if I left out the smallest detail, he would know—and he was already furious enough with me. If I’d made him any angrier, he likely would have killed me on the spot. But I didn’t mind telling him.
I had already decided the night before, while you were off bathing, that I would commit myself to the cause. I’ve reasons of my own to wish for the restoration of Kmet.” Or, failing that, at least the destruction of Amasis’ power, and any hope that creature Psamtik might have of ruling in his father’s place.
Amtes yawned, stretching her arms above her head in a comfortable way. “I’m glad the king decided to trust Phanes’ plan.”
“So am I. When the king finally agreed to try it, I broke down and wept with relief. Only I wasn’t sure until then, you see, that I wasn’t to be killed after all.” Now, though, the fate of Egypt hung from Rhodopis’ shoulders. It was a great, heavy expectation, and despite her eagerness to cast Psamtik into the Underworld, she felt entirely too small and fail to bear the burden. She had been certain Cambyses shared her suspicion—certain he thought Rhodopis far too young and weak to carry out the work. Phanes, though, had seemed entirely confident in Rhodopis’ potential.
Or perhaps, she thought wryly, Phanes is willing to sacrifice me on the chance his wild scheme will work. After all, it’s hardly his own skin he’s risking.
“It’s good to be back in Egypt again,” Amtes said.
Rhodopis murmured a noncommittal response. For her part, she would have preferred to be anywhere else—the tossing sea and blistering desert included. Yet that vicious hunger, the drive to bring Psamtik down, still gnawed at her. The sharp teeth of rage sank into her spirit, making her keen for action even as her heart pounded with fear. Her goal was plain—to drive a wedge between Greece and Egypt—but the way she must go about her work was anything but clear. Somehow, she must endeavor to turn men’s hearts and minds in secret, picking apart their alliances with Egypt, uniting them to Persia, so that when Cambyses’ blow came and Amasis turned to Greece for aid, the Pharaoh would be left stranded, without a friend in the world.
Simple as that, she thought bitterly. Easy as blink. How in the name of Ishtar was Rhodopis to meet enough many Greek men and influence so very many minds? Even if she seduced a different man every night for the next year, her efforts might not be enough to deter an alliance with Greece.
But I can’t give up, nor despair. I won’t let Psamtik have his throne easy as that.
“Look,” Amtes said, breaking into Rhodopis’ thoughts. “They’ve lit the lamp in your room. Your bath must be ready.”
“Good. Gods know I need it.”
They started toward Eulalia’s estate. Rhodopis felt a thrum in her stomach, the first rising rush of confidence, like a flock of birds taking to the dawn sky. “Tomorrow morning we’ll begin,” she said to Amtes. “You must go to the nearest marketplace and start making friends.”
“What sort of friends?”
“Other handmaids, of course—women who work for hetaerae. You’ll find them around the peddlers’ stalls, buying up cosmetics and perfumes and fine silks. Get to know them. Learn whatever you can from them. But most of all, you must spread the word that a new hetaera has come to Memphis, and that she is ready to make new acquaintances among the better sort of Greeks.”
15
An Unexpected Appearance
Amtes was as skilled a handmaid to the hetaera Eulalia as she had been to Lady Nitetis, King’s Daughter of Egypt. Only a few days after returning to Memphis, Rhodopis had her first request from an admirer—an invitation for Lady Eulalia to attend a very select dinner party on the north side of the city. There she would serve as exclusive companion to a certain young merchant called Drakon. His was a name Rhodopis recalled from parties of the past, though she was all but certain she had never entertained him personally before. Drakon was rising quickly through the opulent strata of Memphian Greeks, it seemed. She hoped his focus was more on his business and his future than on his past. The risk that he might recognize her was not insignificant.
Rhodopis prepared for the party with cool resolve. Amtes draped her body in fine, pale-green silk, blousing out its soft folds here, tying more tightly there with fine wool sashes and belts of thin, soft leather. The effect exaggerated the meager curves of Rhodopis’ body, aging her by at least two years. Phanes and Cambyses had certainly provided Rhodopis with plenty of excellent clothes. Her chests and cedar wardrobes seemed full enough to burst, packed with every garment and guise a high-class, well established hetaera could hope for. Silks dyed in the most fashionable shades, embroidered at neck and hem; wool so light and fine it was as soft as the petal of a rose. And linens, of course, for this was Egypt, after all—linens sheer or solid, pleated or plain, all made after the most current Memphian style.
“You look brilliant,” Amtes said, stepping back to admire her own handiwork. She turned Rhodopis about by the shoulders, so the latter might appreciate her reflection in the mirror.
“It is positively frightening, how much older I seem.” Rhodopis felt pleasantly surprised.
“I’m not half done yet. Sit down; I can add two more years with your face paints. Yesterday at the marketplace, I found a new, darker shade for your cheeks. It will damp down some of your girlish glow.”
“Not too much, I hope. My clients won’t like to find a venerable grandmother lying on their couch.”
Amtes laughed. “Place a more trust in me than that, if you please.”
“Before you paint my face, we had best decide on a hair style.” Rhodopis sighed. “How I wish I could leave it be! I got used to letting it hang free back in…” She paused, glancing toward her chamber door. There was always the possibility of a hard-working servant scrubbing the walls or sweeping the floors, and although the estate’s staff had been carefully chosen by Phanes, still Rhodopis felt that no amount of caution would prove excessive. “Back in Lesvos,” she finished.
“Of course. But loose hair is not the fashion here. Everyone will think you too strange, maybe even mad, if you don’t put it up. I believe even the men would think something was amiss, and you know they never notice the details of a woman’s appearance.”
Rhodopis sighed again, deeper this time. “That’s true enough. Why must we go to all the bother, then?”
“That’s an easy question to answer.” Amtes worked a bone comb through Rhodopis’ long, black hair. “You do it so you may intimidate all the other women.”
“Like a dog pissing on a garden wall,” Rhodopis said with a wry smile.
“Exactly. But this new perfume oil smells much better than dog piss. I found it at the market, too. It’s made from irises, marjoram, and cumin spice. Put it on while I fix your hair up, like a proper lady of Memphis.”
When Amtes had finished her work, Rhodopis chose a necklace from her jewelry cask and held it up to her throat, considering the effect of translucent, milky-pink chalcedony against her soft-green dress and pale skin. She nodded and handed the chain to Amtes. The handmaid fastened the clasp, then brushed her hands together with an air of satisfaction.
Rhodopis smiled at her reflection. Between the artful dressing and deft, subtle touches with the paints, Amtes had managed to make Rhodopis look twenty years old, at least. “I hardly recognize myself. Well done, Amtes. I will have no trouble concentrating on my work, since I won’t need to worry that someone might remember me from my early days in the city.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased,” Amtes said. She glanced out the window, noting the low slant of evening sun. “But now you had better go. Your litter should be ready and waiting in the courtyard. It won’t do for Lady Eulalia to arrive too late for her first appointment.”
Rhodopis felt secure enough in her disguise that she kept the curtains of her litter tied back, the better to take in Memphis as she progressed along its bustling streets. An alley’s mouth, a market with its painted carts and stalls, a particular arrangement of flat, yellow-gold rooftops standing against the sunset sky—each scene was familiar, as ordinary and expected as if she had never left the city. But even with that routine comfort, how strange it felt to return to the north end of Memphis! There all this curious mess had begun nearly four years ago; there, t
he tangle of Rhodopis’ life had tied itself in the first of many knots. A wide lane marked by two pylons, each shrouded in white-flowering vines, caught her attention as she passed. She stared at it for a moment, then, as the lane fell away behind her, she pushed the curtain back farther to look more hungrily. It was the entrance to Iadmon’s estate. Wonder what he’s doing now, Rhodopis thought. And I wonder if Aesop is still with him.
As the litter sailed on, Rhodopis turned her back on Iadmon’s estate. She would have had to turn upon her cushions and crane her neck if she wanted to see it now. She would not put on such a display of curiosity or longing; Rhodopis had no interested in looking backward. Whatever fate had in store lay ahead—but she could not help wondering how Aesop fared. With a pang of sympathy for her previous self, Rhodopis recalled her own terrible heartbreak when she’d failed to send Aesop word of her departure from Memphis. Did she dare to write him now? Surely it was too risky. A letter might be intercepted, and then everyone would know Rhodopis had returned, and that the hetaera from Lesvos was nothing but an elaborate fraud. The lady Eulalia could not risk breaking that delicate, crucial mask.
Persian Rose (White Lotus Book 2) Page 22