HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods (25 page)

I raced around the corner and ran headlong into
the hard bulk of a man. My side hurt so much I thought I would faint. He
grabbed me by the shoulders. I yelped and stumbled away, seeing little but the
flutter of his robes. Had my pursuers cut me off? I could not tell.

In my haste, I fell backwards into the closest
market stall and overturned a ceramic jar of preserved black olives. The trader
cursed me with such vehemence that I lost my balance. I slipped in the spilled
oily juice and collapsed to the ground.

Oh, I was tired, so tired. My body ached. The hard
pits of the olives and broken pottery shards bruised my hip when I fell, like a
hundred sharp stones. The trader kicked me, spewing curses all the while. I
groaned and covered my face with my hands. My limbs trembled and the sand
wavered before my eyes.

“Father,” I groaned in my native tongue. “Protect
me.”

A pair of rough hands hauled me to my feet. I
flinched, awaiting another blow, but none came. Instead, a voice struck me
harder than any fist.

“Great Zeus! Doricha? Is it you?” After my shock
wore off, the melodious voice settled over my ears like music.

It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

“Aesop,” I gasped, cracking an eye open to see. The
noise of the market roared in my ears. My head felt thick and I was woozy from
my attack and lack of food. I staggered a little and he, bless him, caught me
in his arms.

He hugged me fiercely and I inhaled the dear scent
of his stale sweat, dust and wine.

“Aesop,” I wept into his robes. Relief made me
weaker. I clutched at him, half afraid my pursuers would find me, and half
because I did not think I could stand without his aid.

He patted my back and I felt the beloved scratch
of his whiskers prickle the top of my scalp. “Your skin burns like fever,” he
whispered as he held me tight. “And your face? What has happened to my lost
little Crab?”

I cackled like a crone, and pain flared along my
ribs. “Living free.”

The trader rounded on us. “Stupid fool! Who will
pay for this mess?”

“I will pay, you buffoon!” Aesop shouted back. “Can’t
you see the girl is ill?” His voice echoed in my head like thunder.

I thought I would faint from the pressure in my
skull and chest. Tiny lights flashed in my vision. A thousand insects buzzed in
my ears.

“Here.” Aesop tossed the man a coin. The trader
eyed it greedily. “I am housed not far from here,” Aesop said, leading me away.
Black clouds encroached on the edges of my vision. “Can you walk?” His voice
sounded very far away.

I tried to nod my head. “Yes,” I whispered through
dry, cracked lips. My legs were so heavy and then suddenly, they felt as if
they’d no weight at all. “Yes. Of course.”

“Doricha?
Dori
?” Aesop called.

Why was he so far away?

The sand turned to mush beneath my feet, and I had
the oddest sensation of falling, though I could not see anything beyond the
haze of black clouding my vision. I waited for the moment when my body would
strike the ground, but it never came.

It was the last conscious thought I had.

My body floated through an impenetrable black void.
Voices whispered, just out of reach. I tried to call to them, but could not
form any words.

How you will pay
. The dulcet voice
of my Lady reverberated in the aching cavern of my skull like a thousand golden
bells.

My Lady?
I thought.
I am here
!

She did not answer.

Pain…everything hurt. I sweated and itched. My
ears were clogged with the rushing wind. Was I dead? Had I passed to the
Underworld? Did my family await me?

“She’s coming round,” said a deep voice.

I struggled against black waves that bore me
onward toward a prick of light in the distance.

“Doricha, can you hear me?” Something brushed my
cheek. I knew that voice.

I floated towards the glow. “Aesop?”

“I am here.” His deep voice soothed me. “You’ve
been unconscious. How do you feel?” I heard him move nearer.

I cracked an eye. We were in a small, darkened
room with little furniture. Moonlight beamed through the wooden grill of the
high narrow window.

“Better, now you are here. Where are we?” I tried
to sit up, and found I could not muster the strength. My ribs ached.

“My room. At least until the end of the week. After
that….” He shrugged.

“Have you any coin?”

“I did. It was stolen.” I coughed hard enough to
make my back ache. Pain sliced across my ribs like a knife. I thought they were
broken. “Everything I have is gone. I do not think freedom agrees with me.”

Aesop winced. “And I have used the last of my
goods to barter for a healer from the temple. He will be here soon. You should
rest.”

“You used the last of your coin on me? I cannot
let you…” I coughed again. “I should go, Aesop.”

“Go? Where?” he asked. His gaze held me and I
realized I had nowhere to go.

I tried to sit up again, only to fail a second
time. Aesop dipped a scrap of linen into a basin and held it to my forehead. The
cool wet cloth soothed me.

“We will think of something,” he promised. “Do not
worry.”

The healer grumbled at being called in the evening
but pronounced me in need of purging. He wanted to slather cow excrement on my
forehead, but I couldn’t tolerate the stench on an empty stomach. In the end,
he prescribed a tonic of honey and calves’ blood, which was horrid.

“I will bind her midsection.” The healer pointed
to a purpling bruise on my ribs. He used a wide piece of linen to wrap my
aching torso. “It should heal in a few weeks.”

“I must leave this place, Aesop.” I said when the
healer left. “I want to go home.”

Aesop stared at me as if I’d grown horns. “Why? What
fond memories can that place hold for you?”

“It’s the last place I remember being happy,” I
said. The last place I felt loved and safe.

“And who will take you in, now your family is dead?
Ah, Doricha, have you never listened to my wisdom? In avoiding one evil, care
must be taken not to fall prey to another. Greece is no place for a woman. In
Greece, you will be subject to even less freedom than you had as a slave. Is that
the life you would choose?”

“It is better than being a whore!” I raged.

“You truly think so?” When I glared at him, he put
both his hands in front of him and said no more.

Well, he was a man and could know nothing more
than what he felt in his own skin. He did not suffer as a woman. He was not a
target for every brute that trod upon the earth. I rested in sulking silence
well into the evening.

Later, after my temper cooled, we sat together and
sipped at the last of our beer.

“Do you remember the night you danced for me, in
the garden?” He took a swig.

How could I forget? “Yes.”

“I was struck then, by your loveliness.” He took a
swig of beer. “And later, by your mind. We could make a life, here--you and I.”

I stared at him and could think of nothing to say.

“This Egypt is not the land of our forefathers. But
it has its own beauty, does it not?” Aesop toyed with his cup.

“I suppose.” I thought of my journey down to Sais
with Charaxus, the glorious green and gold desert. “I have not noted its
beauty, as of late.”

Aesop took my hand. “Did you know, here, a woman
can own property, just as a man? That is heresy by Grecian standards.”

“What you are suggesting is heresy to my ears,” I
said. My stomach rumbled. “Please, no more. I am too hungry and tired.” I pulled
away from him and rolled onto my unbruised side.

Aesop sighed and left. I tried to stay awake until
he returned but I’d been without a safe place to rest for so long, my eyes closed
almost before our door did.

*** ***

“Come with me,” Aesop said the next morning.

We stopped to clean our hands and faces by the
river. I was bruised and underfed, but healthy enough to walk. He took my hand
and led me to, of all places, the Egyptian brothel. This time, they opened
their home to me, and I could not help but wonder what Aesop had done to change
them so.

I wandered through rooms of half-clothed, perfumed
and painted beauties. They eyed me with little interest but tittered behind
their hands at Aesop. I felt a pang of jealousy. Why should I be so beneath
them? Once, I’d been beautiful and beloved.

Two of the women came over to me. One of them put
her arms around my neck and kissed me on the lips, but Aesop called them away. I
rubbed away the taste of her honeyed lips and slipped free of Aesop. I
meandered into the next room, my mouth watering.

The tables were loaded with all measure of
delicacies, nothing overly fine, but still extravagant to my hungry gaze. I
knew the food was for patrons with coin, but I snitched a fig and a few grapes.
I was desolate and famished. Here they had a low set of benches surrounded
feasting tables, a sweet little courtyard garden with a round pool.

These women seemed more than content. When Aesop
returned with carmine smears all over his cheeks and lips, I did not comment. He
whistled as we walked back to our rented room. We had two days left of shelter,
and no food. I thought back to the grilled fish, salat, and wine I’d seen at
the Egyptian brothel. I’d done worse, much worse, alone on the streets.

“How did you pay? We have no money for food and yet
you squander resources on women.”

“We came to an…arrangement. I let them ply their
trade during my assembly yesterday.” Aesop gave me a sidelong glance, and wiped
the carmine from his cheek. “You could be like them. Better, for you are a rare
jewel in this desert. Egyptian women are as common as dust. Why even the
Pharaoh himself de-”

“Oh, do not start in on me again. I do not wish to
hear about the god-king’s love of Greece.” Why must Aesop nag me so?

“Give it thought, Doricha.”

We walked on in silence, but my head was full up
with the thought of a fine house and good food and wine to drink. As we turned
onto our shabby street, to a shabby inn we could not even afford past tomorrow,
I realized Aesop was right. I’d been so angry at being forced into being a
whore, I had not taken advantage of opportunity. Perhaps, I could have been so
much more…if only I’d used my head. This time, no man would force me into
servitude; I would make my own choice. I’d given up on thoughts of Love, that
which Sappho sang of, and focused my arts on my own survival.

“I will consider it,” I said, as we passed under
the wooden lintel of our threshold.

“I thought you might.” Aesop patted the edge of
the cot. “Now, listen well. This is what I propose….”

I sat next to him on the cot and tried not to
close my mind to his words.

*** ***

“It is a complicated illusion, this catering to
man’s desire. To be a true
hetaera
, you must accept only gifts
from your patrons, and never coin, for Naukratis is a truly Grecian settlement
here in Egypt,” he said. “Coin is crass and low; you must be above such to be a
respectable courtesan. So, we shall accept only wooing and gifts from your
patrons. Each gift must come after an appropriate time, so as not to be
unseemly. It must never be seen as repayment for services rendered. And we
determine which assignations to take and which to refuse.”

“I do not understand the difference,” I grumbled. My
head ached with understanding of the complicated system of selling myself. “They
send the purported ‘gifts’ because of my services. What illusion is that?”

“Illusion, my dear Crab.” He tweaked my nose. “Is
everything. You will see.”

So, we went round, turning our rented abode into a
brothel, and making promises that I hoped we could keep.

“We will pay by the week’s end,” Aesop promised
the beer maker, leveraging his notoriety against the necessary supplies for our
plan. “Have you never heard of the great Greek Fabulist?”

So, the symposium was prepared. We waited until
I’d healed enough to cover my fading bruises with meager cosmetics. The banquet
was held in the inn where Charaxus and I had stayed my very first night in
Egypt. Aesop sent word he would be in the tavern later, and so by the time we
arrived the rooftop was bursting with a large number of Greek patrons who had
heard of the Fabulist and wished to see for themselves if his tongue was truly
magical.

Ah, how it was.

I think I am truly wooed by the words a man
speaks, if not the face behind them. My limbs were as pliant as melting wax. When
Aesop had heartily charmed and insulted them all good naturedly with his
tongue, he called for me to dance and serve.

We set a decent table, if not so very fine. The
wine was Egyptian, not Greek, but the patrons we invited seemed not to care. The
prosperous tradesmen, minor politicians, and merchants laughed heartily at
Aesop’s fables, pounding on the long benches until musicians were called. When
the music started, I slipped from my role of servant to seductress with the
ease and long practice of my years as at the temple and as Charaxus’ slave.

Make your spine a sarisa
, I heard
Lukra say in my memory. I held my chin high as a priestess and met the gazes of
men without fear.

If I fretted over the amount we owed for food and
drink, it lent my eyes a hunger the men found irresistible. Trouble, it seemed,
agreed with me, for I carried an air of sadness, despite the smiles I used to
encourage our patrons to beg for more.

“We yearn for Greece as much as she,” they
declared to Aesop.

He masked a smile, knowing full well I cared not
for the glory of Greece, but my own skin.

I used every ounce of my temple training to seduce
them--from the languid sway of my walk to the graceful sweep of my wrists as I
danced. The men, so far from Greece, hooted and shouted for me. They offered goods
to Aesop, for a kiss or more. He was discreet and shrewd in his dealings; I
will credit Aesop with that. Just as my days on the stocks, he insinuated a gift-price
that made my head spin.

“It is too high,” I whispered furiously to him.

“They will pay it,” he said. “Wait and see.”

“They won’t! They could’ve had me for less than a twentieth
of that a week ago.”

Aesop looked at me for a long moment. “You were a
pornai
,
then. Common and cheap. Now, you are more. Act like it. Do not forget--we have
pledged to repay the debts for all this food and drink. We’ll need a little for
ourselves as well.”

How could I fail to remember how he’d pledged both
our services to our extravagant bills? If the men did not pay, we’d be thrown
into prison, or worse, sold back into slavery to pay our debts.

I returned to my subtle flattery and fawning,
certain the patrons would be furious when they discovered how Aesop manipulated
them, but the men paid all Aesop asked and more. I could not believe how they sweetened
their offerings with gifts for me. By week’s end we had enough resources to pay
our bills and rent a small house not far from the docks.

The house was small, with no courtyard and no
garden, which I missed most of all. There was only a single window. The air
inside was dank and musty, but at least it was shelter for us. What did I care
if it was not the fine accommodations I’d enjoyed in my past life as Charaxus’
slave? I was buying my freedom daily, one assignation at a time. What did I
care if we ate only enough bland food to sustain us? I dreamt at night of honey
and figs, and roasted garlic and wine. Oh, I dreamed of wine, the good honest
blood of Dionysus.

But there was only enough coin for beer and meager
rations of bread. The rest we hoarded for our little gatherings. No gatherings
meant no patrons. After another week of modest comfort, I was not so willing to
return to my life on the streets. At least the men were somewhat worldly and
they had more coin to spare on gifts, than the cheap, rough sailors and traders
who littered the docks.

Another season passed. Our fame grew--Aesop’s and
mine. Not the name my mother and father had given me. I’d chosen a new one, one
to signify the change in myself--Rhodopis.
Rosy Cheeks
. I must
confess I blushed with pleasure to hear my name spoken as often if not more
than his.

“You must continue to rise above the common
chamaitype
,”
Aesop instructed. “A man will pay far more for that which he cannot get
elsewhere.”

“And what can I offer? I have two legs, two breasts
to suckle, and this,” I cupped my pubic mound, “the same as any woman.”

“You have a mind, Doricha, if only you would stop
to use it. Put yourself to this riddle. What does each man want?”

I yawned and waited for him to tell me. “Yes,
well…what is it?”

“I grow weary of playing your tutor. When will you
learn to think for yourself?”

“When you are no longer here to do it for me,” I
jested. “I’m tired, Aesop and you
are
here. Tell me what a man wants.” I
trailed my fingers over his chest.