HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods (23 page)

I slunk through the alleys toward the river where
a few slaves already awaited cargo barges. Several young men trapped birds and
fish with nets for the daily market. Much further down the bank, a band of
ragged women dug up cattails and papyrus roots, keeping a close eye on the
docks. No doubt they’d be shooed away.

I moved closer, thinking I would be more welcome
amongst my own sex. Perhaps they could tell me how to buy passage to Naukratis.

The women glanced at me, but said nothing. I
suppose my grimy skin and bruised face gave them enough of a reason to include
me in their company. One by one, they dropped the starchy roots in a battered
pot. When I saw one woman feasting on the flesh of the cooked tuber, my stomach
rumbled again.

I rubbed a hand over my empty belly, and one of
the women jerked her chin towards the rushes. When I dug up some roots of my
own, she nodded to the pot. I scraped off the mud before plopping it into the
hot water. In a few minutes that felt like forever, she handed me a cooled,
white root on a flat lotus leaf. The meal was bland, but filled my growling appetite
well enough, though my mouth watered at the smell of the fresh fish and the
sight of fowl trussed not twenty paces away.

I wandered along the market’s edge as they
unloaded cattle, people and goods from the various docked vessels. Further out
on the quay, a barge floated listlessly in the river’s current, biding its time
until space cleared on the dock. A thin Egyptian man made marks on papyrus as
slaves massed a pile of goods, spices, and temple furnishings at the edge of
the market. When one of the men pointed to the barge, the thin man nodded his
head and said a word that stopped me in my tracks.

Naukratis
.

The barge intended to sail for Naukratis, a one
day journey by barge upriver. I could secure passage to Greece--perhaps even
Abdera or Perperek! My heart pounded. How to get aboard?

“Excuse me,” I said to the man with the papyrus. “How
much to sail?”

He frowned at me and said something in rapid
Egyptian. I shook my head indicating I did not understand.

His brow furrowed deeper. “No,” he said, pointing
to my hair. “Not for you.”

Not for me? I didn’t know if he meant because I
was a woman or because I was not Egyptian, but his words stung. I had to get to
Naukratis. I retraced my steps, this time calling out to the various skiffs and
boats along the water’s edge.

“Naukratis?” I called hopefully to each. My heart
sank lower with each response. I trudged up and down the sandy dock, scuffing
my heels as I went. No one, it seemed, was headed to Naukratis, save for the
thin Egyptian man’s barge--which I could not barter passage on.

I returned to the thin man, this time determined
to win my way onto the barge.

“Please,” I begged him. I drew my trinkets out of
my knotted
peplos
. “To Naukratis?” I smiled winningly, in the
same manner that had gained me favor in Charaxus’ eyes.

The Egyptian man pushed my hands away. “No,” he
said. His eyes were hard as granite. He made an abrupt motion with his hand.

So, he would not be moved. I retreated to a shady
overhang to think.

Several slaves gathered as the barge at last made
its way to the dock. Under the orders of the thin Egyptian, black Nubians, pale
Greeks, and golden skinned foreigners from a country I could not name hefted
amphorae and sacks of grain to be loaded. As I watched them, I formulated a
plan.

The thin man strode off towards the barge captain,
shouting and gesturing in the air towards the sky and the diminishing pile of
goods. The slaves mounted the gangplank to the barge, emerging from the
darkened interior minutes later for another round. No one took the slightest
interest in what they did, save for me. Who would notice if there was one more
slave in the bunch? It would be dangerous…what if I couldn’t find a way to
escape? No, I had to try. This could be my only chance to leave the pain of
Sais behind me, my one opportunity to find a way back to Greece.

I tore a piece of linen off the bottom edge of my
long skirt. The ragged threads now hung to my knees, a perfectly acceptable
length for a laborer, no matter their sex. The scrap I tied around my long hair
to hide its color and length. There was little I could do about my pale flesh,
but hope to be lost in the mass of Greek, Nubian, and Egyptian slaves huddled
around the gangplank.

I hunched my shoulders to disguise my height, and
shuffled along with the other slaves towards the huge pile of goods waiting to
be loaded on the acacia barge. There were a few sacks of grain left, carved temple
effigies of stone or metal, several goats and sheep huddled together, dozens of
amphorae filled with flax oil or beer, hemp rope, papyrus rolls, coiled baskets
and chests of spice and more. Once I was aboard, perhaps I could find a place
to hide during the journey.

When it was my turn, I hefted a medium sized
basket of cumin seed. My mouth watered at its musty scent. Balancing the basket
on my hip, I shuffled up the wobbly gangplank into the lower hull, where men
and women deposited their loads and returned for more. The ceiling was very low
and I immediately felt cramped into the small, dark space. The bottom of the
boat bucked and heaved. I stumbled into the woman in front of me. She did not
even turn around, it was so crowded, but I heard her murmur something sounding
like a curse. The air inside was hot and stuffy, and reeked of sweat and
spices, but I did not care. I had to secure passage to Naukratis.

On the first trip, I scouted the belly of the ship
for any cranny that might conceal me. Already, three double deep aisles of
carefully stacked ceramic vessels of various sizes were positioned so they
would not tip. They ranged from knee to chest high and were piled almost to the
ceiling to create an aisle. In between the aisles of goods, narrow walkways
were left uncluttered so someone could count the cargo and inspect it during
the journey downstream.

As I positioned my basket, I glanced into the
almost completed third aisle. In the farthest shadowed corner gleamed two huge
alabaster jars, each easily as high as my waist, similar to the ones I’d seen
in the temple of Neit. When the season ended, the jars would be shipped back to
Sais for Pharaoh to peruse.

“Move,” grunted the slave behind me.

I ducked my head and returned back to the quay to
heft another load. I wondered if the jars were already filled--surely not for
they were headed away from Sais, not towards. Alabaster is quite heavy. The jar
would not tip or wobble during the voyage for the Nile is fairly smooth, unlike
the cresting sea. I could hide inside without tipping it over.

I made another trek into the barge, this time with
a small wooden chest carved with four winged goddesses. I glanced over my
shoulder at the gleaming alabaster jars.

Each jar bore a pearly cap, as papyrus will spoil
if it becomes damp. This could work to my advantage. I returned to the
diminishing pile of goods on the dock, thinking all the while. I could leave
the lid propped just so and still breathe during the day’s journey. My legs
might cramp, but I could manage it. Did anyone stay below deck during the
voyage? With the heat and stench, I doubted it. And if they did, well, I could
be silent as a mouse when I wished.

At the end of the journey, I could escape when the
other slaves began to unload the cargo. It would be a great risk if I was
discovered, but at least I had the opportunity. I could get to Naukratis and
sail for home.

I was forced to make five trips before an opening
came for me to hide myself. We’d neared the last loading of the amphorae, and
all that remained were pieces of statuary. I’d almost given up hope as I
scooped up a carved, painted statue. But, when no one followed on my heels, I
swallowed hard and scooted towards that third aisle, now completely covered by
a fourth, fifth, and sixth row. I could hear the slosh of water against the
boat’s hull. It sounded very near my feet. Hastily, I removed the lid and
crawled over the edge of the translucent jar, replacing it so I was completely
concealed.

My heart pounded in my chest. All was dark. My
head brushed the top of the jar, even with my bowed posture. The walls were
completely smooth, and I had to balance with my knees touching my nose in order
to fit all the way in. I wondered if anyone could tell the jar was now filled. Did
my red-gold hair show through the near translucent stone? What if someone
noticed?

I heard guttural Egyptian and almost cried out in
fear. What if they came looking for me? Oh, the punishment that would befall me
if I were discovered. The muffled voices sounded close, very close.

There was a horrendous scraping, followed by a
pronounced thump. The pat-shuffle-pat of retreating footsteps. Then silence. While
the interior surface of the stone jar was smooth and cool, the air inside
rapidly became unbearably hot. I forced myself to slow my breathing. Sweat
beaded on my forehead and soaked my underarms and back. I crouched with my
knees touching my chin and my back against the hard curved side of the jar. Minutes
passed and felt like hours. Then I heard the far off shout and the barge
lurched.

We’d set sail for Naukratis.

I curled in my alabaster hideaway as the rocking of
the barge and the stifling heat made me drowsy. I don’t know how long I slept,
but it wasn’t long enough to dream. I awoke with a start of fear, confused and
disoriented, only to realize I was still undiscovered in my cramped jar.

After a few more moments I had to ease the ache in
my back. My legs were numb as I carefully braced the backs of my heels against
the smooth surface. I paused, gathering my courage and straining my ears for
any sound. Hearing none, I maneuvered the lid off the jar and stood. My knees
were stiff. One minute passed, then two, before I dared to slip over the edge
and onto the floor of the swaying craft.

With a sigh of relief, I stretched my limbs, just
as I had long ago in Lukra’s dance class. Could there be any water aboard? I
wished I knew which amphorae held wine; my throat was so dry! I dared not risk
peeping into any of the vessels, for surely the whole stack would tumble down
if I were to unsettle them.

I poked my head around the corner, fully expecting
to hear a shout of alarm. My nervous heartbeat hammered my chest like Boreas’
forge. But there was no one about. I paced a few turns up and down my hidden
aisle. My heart fairly leapt out of my chest when I heard the scuffle of steps
above my head and I dashed back to my jar, climbed over the edge, and pulled
the lid on top.

Three times during the voyage, men came to check
on the goods. The last time, I’d barely made it inside my jar when I heard
someone sneeze at the far end of the aisles.

I gritted my teeth and tried to slide the lid as
over the opening. To my own ears, the grind of stone on stone sounded
impossibly loud.

“What was that?” I heard a voice say. Footsteps
drew nearer.

Lady
, I prayed,
save me
.
I held my breath. There was a long pause, where I imagined them hovering over
my jar, ready to capture me.

“Filthy rats,” the voice said at last.

When their footsteps retreated into silence, I
exhaled and swore not to leave my jar again.

It was a short-lived promise, although I did my
best to stay hidden as long as possible. The trip to Naukratis took most of the
day, and when the heat of my confinement grew unbearable, I propped the lid on
the edge and gulped the cooler air like a hooked fish. At times, my back and
legs cramped so much tears poured down my cheeks. I tried flexing my fingers
and toes to keep blood flowing into my numb extremities. My throat was so dry I
had not even enough moisture in my mouth to lick my dry lips. I thought I would
die of thirst before we ever reached Naukratis.

As luck would have it, I did not die of thirst,
but awoke from my second heat-induced nap to the bump of the barge striking the
dock. Shouts sounded from outside, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We’d
reached Naukratis at last!

I waited until I heard the rustle of slaves
descending into the far aisles of cargo. There would be no way to tell if
someone stood within view, so I whispered a prayer and eased the lid off the
top of the alabaster jar. Nothing happened. I exhaled and gathered my courage. One,
two, three…I stood up.

The hold was empty.

Whispering thanks to my Lady, I replaced the lid
of my jar and moved towards the diminishing aisles of amphorae. Two slaves
descended and loaded themselves with sacks of grain. One of them gave me a
questioning look as I emerged from the dark recess of the ship’s hull, but I
ignored him, straightened my kerchief and hoisted the nearest vessel. The
liquid inside sloshed against the sides of the amphora, much like the river
crested against the barge.

I breathed deeply as I walked down the gangplank
towards freedom. How thankful I was, when at last I could draw a breath that
was not musty or rank with rat feces or body odor.

The cool breeze sifted over my sweaty skin as I
waited my chance to tread on dry land. The air reeked of pitch, fish, and wet
rope, but to me it smelled like freedom. I balanced the amphora on my hip, and
tucked my knotted
peplos
under my arm. Sweat began to dribble
down my forehead. I shook my head like a dog, but the salt of my skin stung my
eyes and blinded me. I yanked off my damp linen kerchief to wipe the stinging
sweat out of my eyes.

“You!” shouted a voice behind me.

Dread raced through my veins like chilled wine.

The thin Egyptian man hovered over my shoulder,
his hollow reed still poised above the papyrus where he marked the tally of
each load. Our eyes met, and his gaze was as cool and slimy as the oil I
carried.

“Guards,” he said, not loud enough for any of them
to hear. I think the angry shock of finding me aboard had closed his throat so
only a furious hiss escaped his thin lips. His dark glare bored into my skull.

I dropped the amphora. It shattered and oil
splashed my ankles and the stringy hem of my torn gown. Pale golden oil coated
the gangplank and dripped into the Nile rippling below. The thin man’s mouth
opened wide to shout.

In a flash, I took to my heels, slipping a little
on the oily, sun-baked gangplank. The Egyptian bellowed in rage. Clutching my
sodden bundled
peplos
, I pushed a slave carrying a large wooden
chest out of the way. The unfortunate wretch tipped off the end of the
gangplank and into the swampy shallows near the docks. Curses broke out behind me,
but I did not stop. I ran as fast as I could, with no clue to what direction I
headed.

The streets were a blur of white plaster
buildings, copper bodies, and hot sandy streets burned my bare feet. Scents
assaulted me as I gulped for air--the fishy brine of the river, burning pitch,
and animal dung, gave way to the clearer scent of spices and baking bread.

My chest burned like flame. I turned a quick
corner and paused to catch my breath, my back pressed safely against a
building. Over the din of the marketplace, I could not tell if I was being
pursued. A sharp pain in my left side flared each time I gulped for air and my
legs started to cramp. Here, in Naukratis, I was free and yet more afraid than
ever of being caught. I laughed until I cried.

Once the tears started, they would not stop. I
slid down the side of the building and collapsed on the sandy ground. I wept
for those I’d left behind at the temple--friends, teachers, and family. I wept
for the sorrow of slavery, for the years I’d been beaten and starved into
submission. I wept for love, for the loss of Mara, my near sister, for my
family. I wept for passion, for Charaxus, a man in search of love himself, and
for Hori. How much I’d misjudged them both!

I sobbed until I had no more tears left in me. Thank
the gods there was no one about then; they would have thought me mad, although
I would not have cared.

At last, with my eyes almost swollen closed, and
my nose running, I ceased weeping. Though I could hear the clamor and din of a
nearby market, the noise and stench were muted. I rested against a private
home. The houses here were further from the stink of the river. I could hear
children laughing around the corner.

I did not know how long the thin Egyptian man
would be on the docks. No doubt he planned to stay the night in Naukratis; it
was already late in the day. Egyptians fear to travel the Nile at night for it
is a perilous undertaking with hidden sand bars and floating islands. I could
not go back to the docks, so I spent the few remaining hours of light searching
the area to get my bearings. I discovered a cold, dark corner nestled between
two ramshackle buildings where I could rest, hoping I would not be accosted by
thieves.

The night passed without incident, although I
shivered both from fear and the cold. Hunger gnawed at me and thirst choked my
throat. Though at last I grew numb to the discomfort, I was still much too
afraid to sleep. I jumped at every sound, from the scratching of rats to the
murmur of voices from three streets over. Heat leaches from the air when the
sun sets. My joints were stiff when I roused the next morning, and my eyes
bleary from lack of sleep. I needed to find water, so I set out towards the
market near the river.

Everything was familiar and then not, in this
city. Naukratis was far different than Sais, and I felt a little lost among the
conglomeration of races. There were so many people here. I prayed at least one
vessel headed from Egypt.

I traded my cosmetics palette and mixing sticks
for some beer, dried fish and bread, figuring I could smear kohl around my eyes
with my fingertips. My mouth watered as I crouched by a trader of grapes, but I
dared not snitch even the fallen ones. I did not want to be chased out of this
city before I gained passage home, for then I truly would have nowhere to go.

I packed most of my food into my knotted
peplos
,
contenting myself with only a few bites of bread. I needed a plan to get to
Greece. First, I went to the docks, still leery of the thin Egyptian man, but
the space where his barge had been moored was empty. A heavy weight lifted off
my shoulders. I was safe.

I meandered between the traders and sailors,
trying to find a vessel I could barter passage on. Tongues babbled in odd
dialects, and everywhere was the noise of people. Cats streaked up and down the
dock and slaves loading and unloading goods took care not to tread upon them,
which is no easy feat with so many about. No wonder the rats kept a wide berth
on the quays, preferring to infest the houses or cargo boats instead.

By afternoon, my head rang with the noise of the
crowds. As the market began to shut down, I drew an irritated breath. I’d
learned nothing about gaining passage to Greece. Worse, when the market
cleared, the docks cleared as well. So, I trudged through the maze of streets
and alleyways, pausing at familiar doorsteps here and there until I found my
corner from the previous night. Hours crept by, as I crouched and swatted
insects and ignored my groaning belly.

As evening fell, I shadowed a group of sailors as
they ambled wearily to brothels and inns. Perhaps I could overhear who sailed towards
my destination, as the men guzzled their beer and wine. The innkeeper eyed me
as I padded up the narrow staircase. A few Egyptian girls trailed behind me,
their eyes heavily lined with kohl and cheeks rouged so fiercely they almost
appeared feverish in the dark interior. I envied them their well-fed forms and
finery.

Foreigners supped and drank inside the tavern. The
men at one table in particular stood out as quite unusual. They wore armor over
their midsections, and all had long, dark locks that cascaded like a horse’s
tail past their shoulders to their waists. One man had a young boy with him
whose sole job, it seemed, was to care for his master’s hair. He brushed it out
and arranged it, even at the table. The other men took no notice, but I thought
the grooming to be quite out of place. They were obviously not from this
country, nor any part of Greece that I could remember.

I tried to slip into the shadows, but the long
haired man spotted me and motioned me over. “Here, girl,” he called in a
heavily accented Egyptian.

The other men hooted and babbled in a tongue I did
not recognize. One of them pulled his slanted eyelids into huge circles. The
effect made hideous work of his brown, pockmarked face.

The long haired man called again. I did not wish
to make trouble. The innkeeper jerked his chin at me, so I went.

“How much?” he asked in broken Egyptian.

His question angered me. Had I changed so little
since Charaxus had freed me? Did I still look the part of a slave? Well, I
suppose I did. Still, who was he to barter for me? I was not a common street
whore! I was not one of those women who chased men for money!

I shook my head, but he repeated his question with
more insistence. One of the Egyptian girls went to him and sat on his lap,
glaring at me all the while. A second trod on my foot as she passed, though she
moved as gracefully as the rest of her race and had no reason to stomp on my
poor bared foot. I backed away, aware that this girl wished to encourage the
man’s attention.

My retreat seemed to satisfy them for the time
being, for they ceased to pay me any attention. I tried to listen to the
conversation, but all too soon, the long haired man and the girl rose and went
downstairs. He gave me a dark look as he passed and tightened his hold on the
girl’s waist. I tried to melt into the shadows of the nearest corner, where I
hoped to discover the ship that would sail me back to Greece.

The remaining patrons grew increasingly rowdy, and
sweat trickled down my back. I realized just how precarious my situation was. Who
would care if one of them should try to have his way with me? I was not such a
fool then that I had forgotten the lessons of Young Iadmon. A man would have his
dominance. I slipped away from the tavern feeling weak and lonely.

On my way out, I heard a grunt and shuffle from
around the corner. I froze. There was a small cry and then nothing, save for
the rustle of palm leaves in the breeze. I crept between the buildings, just in
time to see the long haired man thrust his hips against the plaster wall. No,
not the wall.

She was bent forward, her buttocks high in the air,
while he mounted her from behind like the animals do. I heard her sigh. It had
been a long time since I’d heard the sounds of desire. A budding tension coiled
between my thighs as I watched them. I think it was the heat of the day, or the
lack of food, but I was dizzy by the time they finished.

The long haired man withdrew and fished out a
bauble from his robes. I could not see what it was, but the Egyptian girl
rubbed her nose to his and straightened her skirts with a laugh. She clutched it
to her chest and murmured, low and guttural.