HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods (24 page)

Well, I would not be so low! I tried to picture
myself trading such trinkets and sailing away to Thrace. It would not be such a
bad bargain, but my flesh crawled at the thought.

*** ***

The next day I had even less luck finding passage
home. The seas were rough, and there were fewer ships moored at the docks. I
called and called to the sailors, but no one was headed out of Egypt. Two
weeks, they told me. The harvest will be finished in two weeks and ships will
sail from Egypt. It seemed an eternity to me, with hunger, thirst and fear
shriveling my body. But I would wait. I had to.

The docks were well patrolled and I could not dig
for cattail or papyrus bulbs to boil. I was so famished I could think of little
else but how to fill my belly. I eyed my knotted
peplos
bundle, thinking
of the rose-gold slippers. Surely they would be enough to trade for passage
home. I parted with the last of my cosmetics, my precious, eye-protecting kohl,
to buy some beer and bread. I’d not noticed, sheltered in Charaxus’ home, how
much the kohl protected my light eyes from the glare of the sun and blowing
grit. Out on the streets, my eyes watered and burned and I stumbled about like
a blind drunkard.

To make matters worse, I was forced to trade away
my last trinkets, a small tattered fan and a green faience cat, for a place to
sleep. My corner had been discovered. Peacekeepers prodded me with staffs until
I got up and moved. I wandered blearily through the moonlit streets, fear
driving my weary steps until daybreak when I sank into the sandy marketplace
and dozed for a few precious hours. During my nap, a thief tried to pry my
knotted
peplos
from my grasp, but I woke and he ran off. I was too
exhausted to shout for help. Besides, the peacekeepers would only ask me to
move on.

I knew I would not last long without rest, so I
bartered for two weeks’ space on a filthy hovel floor. I dared not leave my
peplos
there, for there were a number of unsavory characters, twenty of us in all,
packed into a tiny, sweltering room. How different than the rented room I’d
stayed in with Charaxus. I took to drowsing in the afternoon, instead of
evening; there were fewer bodies crammed on the dirt floor.

The first week passed like grains of sand in the wind—timeless
and dreary. My shoulders and forehead blistered from the sun’s rays. My stomach
ached constantly for food, and my mouth was too dry to even wet my chapped,
bleeding lips. Once, I went to drink from the
shaduf
, a bucket
contraption that drew water from the Nile. After a few swallows of scummy,
foul-tasting water, I left. That afternoon, my stomach rumbled audibly and my
bowels turned to water. My limbs trembled and I was sick. I vowed not to drink
of the river water again.

I went without food for the next three days, and
my bowels stopped their cursed cramping. And then luck found me the next
morning. I overheard some sailors discussing a barge set for Cyprus on the next
day. Cyprus was not so very far from Thrace. Infused with excitement, I dared
to approach one of the sailors.

“Please,” I begged. “I wish to go to Greece. How
much for a place on the barge.”

The men eyed me with interest. Their dark eyes
traveled up and down the length of my body.

“You alone?” one asked. I did not like his tone,
and although I counted them as dangerous, this was the best and perhaps only
chance I might get to barter passage to Greece.

“I am a slave,” I lied. “My master, Charaxus of
Mytilene, bids me come to him in Greece. H-he is waiting for me.” I forced my
chin up a notch.

“Why does he not send a ship for you himself?”
asked the other, stroking his whiskered chin. His eyes narrowed.

“He…he did. I was separated from our household. And…and
now my master is ill. I must get to Greece. Please, I can pay.” My lies grew
more convoluted by the minute. These men would surely see right through me.

The first man raised his brow at the other. “She
says she can pay.”

“Show us then,” replied the other.

Did I dare to hope? Swiftly so they might not walk
away, I unknotted the
peplos
and drew out my slippers. I saw
their faces change from skepticism to disbelief to awe. The slippers were
magnificent. They would believe me now.

“Fine,” said the first, wiping his hand over his
cheeks. He threw a glance over his shoulder. “But we have no use for slippers. There
is a trader who deals in goods at the end of the next street. You get the coin
for these, and passage you shall have.”

Oh, great fortune! I thanked the men profusely
before racing to the recommended trader. The men waved before heading towards a
knot of sailors mending ropes near the docks. They gestured to me and grinned,
no doubt telling their companions a place should be reserved for me. I strode
down the street, filled with purpose, and scanned the signs for the trader’s
mark.

The interior of the shop was cool and dark. It
smelled of earth and metal. Piles of goods were stacked haphazardly--polished
granite effigies, bronze baubles, bright blue and gold faience cosmetic pots,
papyrus and hollow reeds, and some jewelry.

The trader was shrewd. He took one look at my
ragged appearance and said, “Get out. I have no use for you.”

I cleared my throat. The merchants in Sais, well
aware of Charaxus’ deep purse, had been quite accommodating. What a difference,
now that I had only myself to rely on. Still, I remembered my lessons from
haggling in Abdera. I must not appear overeager, or he would short my exchange.
I straightened my shoulders and used my most graceful walk to draw near to him.

“I wish to trade.” I pulled out my slippers.

He blinked. “Stolen, no doubt,” he replied,
crossing his arms over his chest.

“They are not, they are mine. See here!” I put the
slippers on so he might see they fit me well. His eyes glimmered when I did a
little dancing step. The bells on my slippers jangled and a wave of guilt and
heartache took me. I stopped mid-position and let my hands fall to my sides. I’d
been loved once, not by the man who made these, but by the one who purchased
them. I took the slippers off and handed them to the trader.

He named a price that was obscenely low. I could
be insulted and leave, but then I might never have another chance to barter for
I knew no other traders.

“I’d heard you give an honest price.” I took back
the slippers. He released them with slight hesitation. “I paid over three times
that amount for them, from a craftsman to the Pharaoh himself! You will find
nothing like them anywhere in Naukratis.”

“You are tall for a woman,” he said with a shrug.
“And your feet are large. A buyer will not be easy to find.”

My feet were not large! I was taller than most
Egyptians, true, but my feet were delicate compared to some I’d seen in the
temple. His words were an attempt to cover his ridiculous offer under the guise
of sensibility. Well, I knew how to barter.

“We shall see what the next trader has to offer,
then. Perhaps his wife has large feet, too.” I moved towards the doorway, straining
my ears for the sound of his voice, but he did not speak. A bead of sweat
trickled down my forehead. Would he let me leave? Perhaps he really did not want
the slippers? What was I to do now?

I took one step outside of his shop before he
stopped me.

“Wait,” he called. I turned to see him shuffling
after me. “Wait! I might’ve been mistaken. Ah, see! The sun shines here, and
your feet are not half as large as I thought. My old eyes.” His eyes bulged and
he blinked. I could not help but smile. We returned to the shop to haggle on a
price.

In the end, he gave me much less than what
Charaxus had paid, but I did not care. The sailors had marked him as fair, and
so I hoped the coin he gave me was enough to satisfy them. I fidgeted as he
counted out his offer, coin by coin.

I started back to the docks with the coins
clutched to my chest. I ran as fast as I could through the alleyways and narrow
side streets, avoiding the throng of the market and thinking all the while that
tomorrow I would be closer to Thrace than I’d been in years. Something snagged
my foot, and I tripped.

The coins flew onto the alley as I toppled face
down. Quickly, I scrabbled in the sand for them, just as a foot stomped on my
hands. I jerked it away with a yelp and looked up.

Three men stared at me, their mean eyes full of
greed. I recognized them. They were companions of the two sailors who
negotiated passage with me. I’d seen them in the crowd mending ropes.

“Tell them I’m coming,” I said, thinking they’d
been sent to hurry me along. I nursed my sore fingers.

One of them grunted and hauled me up by the arm
with a grimy, chapped hand. “Give ‘em over.” He jerked my arm.

A second man gathered up the rest of my fallen
coins, while the third looked beyond us to the corner.

“Please,” I said. “I will take them now. If you
just let me go, I will br-”

His hand clamped over my face. He shoved me back
against the plaster wall and placed his other hand around my neck. Then he
started to squeeze.

I could not breathe. His palm covered my mouth and
his fleshy fingers smashed my nostrils. I squirmed, trying to get free, but he
held me fast. The second started to look nervous.

“Give us the coins!” growled my attacker.

I shook my head as much as I could with his meaty
palm holding me in place, and tried to kick him in the groin. He sidestepped
and his fingers slipped off my nose. I gulped a mouthful of air before he
clamped over my mouth again. My heartbeat pounded in my head. It felt as if my
skull would burst.

He called for the others to search me and clamped
his hand around my throat. Black fog clouded the edges of my vision. My lungs
ached for air. I wheezed, trying to suck air between his fingers. The second
man whispered a curse and pried my balled fists apart. His nails dug into my
palms, like burrowing insects. One by one, he pilfered away my precious hopes.

When all the coins were stolen, my attacker
laughed. I gathered my strength and kicked him, this time connecting with his kneecap.
He yelped and released me. My lungs felt like lead. I fell to my knees, gasping
for air. The ground spun beneath me, and pounding pressure mounted behind my
eyes. If I’d had anything in my stomach, I would have been sick.

“Someone approaches. We go, now!” called the
third, who’d watched me with pitiless eyes. I heard the pounding of footsteps
and dust sifted into the air. I pushed up to my knees, trying to stand. The
sand burned my hands and stuck to my bloody scratches.

“Stay away from the docks,” my attacker threatened
as he made his escape.

I could not let them rob me of my homeland!

As soon as I was able to follow, I went to the
docks. My knees trembled, but I had to try. With no money, and nothing left to
barter, my last chance rested on the ship bound for Greece in the morning.

The sailors were nowhere in sight. I walked up and
down the docks and poked my head into the inns, but I did not find them. I
checked the long stone jetties and weedy fields along the river bank. I even
went to the Egyptian whore house, but they would not let me in. So, I waited
outside and scanned the face of every man until I could not see their faces,
even by the faint light of the crescent moon.

I stumbled to my rented, stinking hovel and
crawled into a miserable ball. Then I cried. I’d lost my dearest treasure--my
rose-gold slippers. I’d bartered them for passage home, and even that had been
stolen from me. What would I do now? How would I survive?

In the blackness, a voice echoed in my memory.
Live
free
.
Live free
.

I would. I swore I would.

Tomorrow, I would rise before the sun and go to
the ship. I would demand passage from those treacherous brutes. They could
steal my coin, but they could not take my spirit.

I went to the docks the following morning, well
before daylight broke over the sand dunes to the east. A group of sailors
gathered there. My knees trembled, but I searched for the pair who had promised
me passage. At last, I found them, lounging near the jetty.

“You promised me passage,” I said to them. “But
your companions stole my coin before I could pay it.”

“Do you recognize this woman?” one asked the
other. The second picked at his teeth and looked me up and down.

“No,” he said. “I’ve never seen such a sorry
creature before.”

“You have!” I protested. My heart raged with
injustice. Just then, I saw a familiar man swagger down the gangplank. His mean
eyes widened when he saw me. It was the man who’d kept watch in the alley.

He whistled over his shoulder. A flock of sea
birds shrieked in the distance and the faces of my two attackers popped over
the edge of the ship. They’d cheated me. This pair had set me up and stolen my
livelihood.

The sailors began to laugh and one of them cracked
the knuckles of his hammy fists as he strode down the gangplank. I took to my
heels with my heart pounding, certain they meant to kill me. When I hid around
the corner, I heard the creak of wood and calls of farewell on the dock, I knew
my last chance to leave Egypt sailed with the sunrise.

For the next hour, I battled black despair. With
nothing left to trade, I had no way to live, let alone barter my way back to
Greece. My cheeks were bruised where the thief had ground his meaty fingers
into them, and my palms stung from scratches. I had no food, no drink, no
shelter and no way to gain any of them. I’d never felt more forsaken in my
life.

So, this was freedom. Aesop was right.

I begged for work along the side streets, where
I’d be less likely to find respectable homes bursting with plenty of slaves. I
rushed over to an old woman setting out lengths of woven linen and hemp, but
she shooed me away, muttering curses. I must find work. I raced to the market,
where I located the nearest spice stall.

“See here,” I called to the crowds, giving the
spice merchant my most winning smile over my shoulder. “The finest spice in
Egypt. Here! Here!” If I won him customers, perhaps he would give me a little
spice to trade in exchange for my efforts.

“Get away,” he growled. “I have no need for you.” His
hands reached out to push me away, but I persisted.

“Look,” I called, desperate to show my worth. “Smell
the cinnamon. Who needs some red cumin?” I danced just out of his reach. He
hefted a stick and shook it at me, clearly at a loss between chasing me off and
staying near his stall. The sweet smell of melons from a nearby stall clogged
my nose. I wanted to faint from hunger. I must show this trader how useful I
could be! A few slaves going about their business chuckled, but no one came to
buy.

“Ah!” I cried. “Have you ever seen such cloves? Just
the thing to scent a lover’s kiss. Who will buy?”.The spice trader was just
behind me now. I could feel his anger radiating over my bare neck. I sidled
away and the crowds laughed louder. A few shook their heads, but still no one
made a purchase. My shoulders slumped in defeat as the last of them moved away.

“You’ve cost me a morning’s trade with your
antics.” A hand manacled my upper arm.

“Please,” I begged. “I need to work. I have
nothing.”

He shook me until my teeth rattled. “Get away,” he
snarled.

I fled from his anger and crouched in an alleyway
as far away from the food market as I could get. I must stay close to the docks
or the market, in order to find work. The smell of spices and roasting meat
made my mouth water. I heard a soft jingle, and I glanced toward the nearest
side street.

A young woman with tattooed breasts sauntered past
me in the direction of the docks. Her perfume tickled my nostrils. I watched
her sidle up to a man coiling rope. She muttered to him and he paused and shook
his head. She shrugged and moved onward, passing like a shadow over the alley
until at last, one man nodded. She jerked with her chin over to the side street
where I’d seen her emerge. I remembered the girl I’d seen at the tavern and had
no question what she was about. She was a
pornai
, a common street
whore.

Naukratis was a busy sea port. Every ship wishing
to send cargo for trade into Egypt had to dock and make an accounting of his
goods. The streets of Naukratis teemed with traders who were willing to
bargain, and after so many weeks at sea, hungry for a woman’s company…I bit my
lip. No! I could not. She was not a priestess, who gave honor to the gods
through her body, and I was a temple devotee no longer. This was a base
occupation. And yet, what would be the difference between what I did for
Charaxus and selling myself, save for this time, the choice would be my own? Aesop
and my old master were right—I’d truly discovered the price of a woman’s
freedom.

I’d achieved my father’s dying wish, and yet I’d
never been sorrier. Pitiful, but at least I still retained the power to choose
my own path. I was my own master. I could choose to curl into a ball and die
here on the streets, or I could live. Surely my Lady had other plans for me,
even if I could not see them yet?

Yes, I decided. My fate was my own. A whore
Charaxus named me. A whore I must become. Until I gained enough wealth to
barter my way back to Thrace I would humble myself. I would not honor the gods
with my service, but I would fill my aching empty stomach. I watched the
Egyptian woman emerge time and time again until I was certain how she’d done
it.

I strode towards the morning throngs about the
docks. A large ship had recently unloaded and there were an unbelievable number
of traders swarming the quay--all of them haggling, passing goods, and tallying
debts on papyrus and pottery shards. Surely one or two of the departing sailors
would be enticed by the sight of my scantily clad form. I tore a strip of my
linen dress, this time until the hem reached well above my knees. I used the
strip to tie up my hair, in some semblance of style.

Crowds of people clogged the docks, making it
difficult to move further than two paces at one time. Perfumed women flirted
with haggard men of the sea. I swallowed the hard rush of panic clogging my
throat. I did not think I could do this…a man caught the back of my skirts as I
tried to escape the throng. By his features and voice, he was a Greek.

“See here, a Thracian flower!” he called. He
wrapped his arms around me and I struggled as he planted a sloppy kiss on my
cheek. “How much?” He shouted over the din. “How much for you?”

Bile rose in my throat. I could not answer, but I
let him lead me into an alleyway, where he pushed my head low against the mud
brick wall. I turned my face away as he fondled my breasts. His hands grasped
my waist and he splayed my legs apart and speared me with his phallus.

“Ah,” he groaned as he pushed inside me. “Ah, your
sweet rosy flesh.”

He took me there, with unsurprising quickness. It
is my opinion all men are quick when they take no pride in their attentions. The
juncture between my legs was sore when he finished, for I was as dry as the
desert. But he, drunk and delighted, handed me a coin and staggered out of the
alleyway. Coin. Coin meant food and drink for the next few days at least, but I
could not help but feel a twinge of anger my attentions were worth so little.

‘
Rhodopis’
, he’d called me.
Rosy
cheeks
.
I suppose after the tawny, sun darkened natives, my pale
pink flesh was a welcome draw. I’d use it to my advantage. I bought some beer
and dried fish, and tried not to think of the sums Charaxus had squandered on
me.

How foolish I had been.

I had many men in those early weeks. Faceless,
nameless men, sailors who escaped the solitude of the sea and the company of other
men. Foreigners who dreamt of home and called me by any name they chose. Egyptians
who cursed my unfamiliar features even as they plunged themselves into me. I
was a mere receptacle to assuage male lust.

The other whores roaming the streets spit on me
when they sauntered past. I did not care. I hoarded my coins to buy only the
scarcest amount of food necessary to live. The rest I spent on dried crocodile
excrement and a tincture of honey to prevent unwanted babes from forming in my
womb. The pungent mixture stung when I inserted it, but since my Lady had not
visited me since I’d left Charaxus, I was not certain if her promise to “close
my womb until Love should open it for me,” would hold true. I suspected
Charaxus was infertile and I’d never tested my faith by lying with Hori; as
much as fertility is revered in Egypt, I must be cautious now.

I serviced sailors and tradesmen who stank of fish
and sweat. Sometimes one, sometimes many at one time. I pleasured them without
adulation to the gods on my lips, true blasphemy. At the end of each day, I
crawled into a filthy corner of the deserted market. How well I deserved this
fate! To eschew a fine home and adoration of a kind man, to be the whore of multitudes.

A season passed, endless days of living in the
slums and whoring in the back alleyways. I never seemed to have enough coin to
feed my growling stomach. For being a common street
pornai
, meant
the lowest of coins to be paid to use my body. I was a thing, an object—nothing
more. How I lamented the memory of how Charaxus had tried to woo me with gifts!

Though the air and heat were stifling, a deep,
barking cough kept me awake, even when I prayed for rest. I grew thin and
snappish. Ill humors rattled in my chest when I breathed, and I was hot and
cold by turns. I suffered on a ragged mat until the sun burned high in the sky.
The few times I dozed, I dreamt of my poor dead family.

Doricha, my treasure
. It was my
father’s voice.
Do you hate me for it?

“No, Papita,” I whispered. I awoke with a jolt,
disoriented in the afternoon sun. “Papa?” White flashes speckled my vision. I
blinked them away.

The trader in the nearest stall traced the Eyes of
Ra in the air.

My reddened eyes and fevered brain kept most of
the potential patrons at bay. The few times I did manage to snag a sailor too
drunk to be concerned with my appearance were not enough to sustain me. My once
lovely hair was lank against my skull.

As dusk threatened overhead and the breeze grew
chill, I lounged against a shaded spot near the docks, but not so near as to be
tempted by the smell of food and drink in the nearby
agora
. Flies
buzzed around my eyes. I was too listless to shoo them away.

Plying my services became nigh impossible, as the
Egyptian whores had banded together like a pack of jackals. They lived in a
rented house like queens where they could lure the wealthiest clients into
congress away from the stink, noise, and heat of the crowds. I was not
Egyptian, so they would not accept me into their den. They laughed and hissed
and sent the derelicts and the worst of the men out to prowl the streets for
women like myself, too heartsick and weak to fend them off. I loathed the smell
of laborers and sailors, their unwashed bodies, rough hands, and the fishy salt
of their seed, but hate or no, I had to work, though I could no longer remember
why.

The traders in the market grew tired of my
loitering.

“Get away,” they yelled. “You’re frightening the
customers!”

I shuffled away, desperate for something to fill
my empty belly and to quench the burning thirst in my throat. The only free
drink was the Nile water, where animal offal, human waste, and any number of
other undesirable things were tossed from the ships in the docks. A person
would become more ill from drinking unclean water as from not drinking at all. Besides,
I had nothing to gather water in.

As I moved towards an alley, I stumbled into a
corner stall. A pile of pomegranates tumbled to the street.

“Oh,” I mumbled, my mouth watering at the sight of
the red skinned fruits. “My apologies, I…”

I reached a hand out, fully intending to clean up
my accident. When my fist closed around the firm fruit, I felt the spittle
stick in my throat.

I risked one look at the angry trader, bent over
and gathering his wares. Then I stared at the fruit, round and fragrant,
clutched in my palm. I could almost taste the fruited seeds, bursting sweet and
tangy in my mouth.

“Hie!” shouted the trader. He hovered over me with
his cheeks mottled. “Thief!”

“Wait,” I tried to say. “I’m not steal-” but the
words would not come. I dropped the fruit into the dust and fled with fever
pounding in my head like a club.

They caught me just around the next corner. One
man raised his hand and struck me in the face.

“Thief!” he yelled.

My nose gushed blood, as crimson as pomegranate
juice. Another brandished a stick and clubbed me in the side. I stumbled
backwards into the dust and scrambled to my feet clutching my side. More shouts
came from the nearest alleys and I darted away from the noise.

I turned left, then right. I couldn’t breathe
through my nostrils without sucking blood into my throat. I panted like a dog,
with my mouth open, and darted down another side street and turned again. There
were so many dead end streets. My lungs ached and I coughed so hard tongues of
flame spread along my back and ribs. Pink sputum flew from my lips.

“Over here!” I heard a muffled cry. My heart leapt
into my mouth. I forced my trembling legs to move.
Please, please
….
I prayed as I ran.
Let them never find me
.

Another cross-street lay just ahead, and by the
noise I’d reached the marketplace again. I might lose them in the crowds.