HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods (28 page)

So, the mighty god-king of Egypt was but a
commoner. What did I care? My next toss was lucky. I made a noncommittal noise
and moved a majority of my pieces around the board.

“Great Zeus, I’m losing before I’ve half begun!” Praxitlytes
sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Come here, Rhodopis, I tire of this game.”

I stood and set the board aside. “How can the
nobles recant his decrees, when they have declared Pharaoh is a god?” I moved
to pour him more wine, but he waved me onto his lap instead.

“I do not know. You must take your dispute to an
Egyptian.” His breath was heady with the rich scent of wine. Praxitlytes
trailed a hand over my cheek. “For I owe my allegiance and good fortune to
Poseidon’s grace.”

Perhaps Pharaoh was not as fearsome as I believed.
My heart warmed a little for this soldier who was given a king’s power. He had
much to overcome, if he wished to rule over the bureaucrats in Egypt. They who controlled
the purse strings of the nation and could smite this former soldier without
ever lifting a spear.

Praxitlytes’ hands cupped my buttocks. He shifted
the position of his knees, spilling
senet
pieces off the board and onto
the floor.

“Amasis must be a consummate game player to have
withstood the displeasure of Egyptian nobility for so long,” I said, allowing
him a healthy squeeze. “They can be as close knit as a pack of jackals guarding
a scrap of meat.”

“Ha! Spoken like a true
senet
lover.
Tell me, would you care to match your wit against the Pharaoh’s, lovely
Rhodopis?”

It was an enticing thought. I am quite good at
games, especially
senet
, which is deceptively simple. But such a
meeting could not have a positive outcome, I was sure.

“I can only imagine Pharaoh would best me, as he
does the rest of Egypt.” I feigned an innocent shift in his lap, and felt his
body stiffen beneath his robes.

Praxitlytes’ eyes twinkled. “Come with me to the
banquet and see for yourself.” His hands stroked the small of my back.

Well, I could not help it. My vanity and my
curiosity were piqued by this bit of gossip, for all that it came from the
boisterous Praxitlytes. What would the Pharaoh be like? He was once a soldier
and thus likely to be fierce. An image of my father’s broad shoulders flashed
before my eyes. It had been a long time since I’d met a true warrior, a man to
rival my father’s memory.

“As you wish.” I slipped off his lap and stood. “But
you must furnish me with jewelry and suitable finery to be presented to
Pharaoh. I will not be seen in this.” I gestured to my outrageously expensive
pleated gown.

Praxitlytes unwound my shawls and veils, loosened
the ties of my girdle and let the cloth puddle on the marble floor with a
whisper. “So be it.”

*** ***

Praxitlytes brought me a present in addition to
the fine clothing and jewels he sent before the feast. Perhaps he felt guilty
over nagging me into attending. Whatever his reasons, he presented me with a
cunning little grey monkey on a golden leash. The monkey had a white face and
quick brown eyes. I named him Kyky.

Mara helped me prepare for the feast in Pharaoh’s
honor, for in Egypt, much status is perceived by one’s appearance and finery. Security
could vanish in an instant if a courtesan was not careful, and I intended to
keep mine for as long as possible. As Mara dressed my hair in an elaborate pile
on top of my head--a thoroughly Grecian style--I sensed her unease.

“What is it?” I asked, admiring the long locks
spilling from the top of my coif to halfway down my back.

“It-it’s just this Pharaoh. He is the king of this
land.” Mara licked her lips. “What if he does not approve of you?”

“Why should he take notice of me?” I finished
painting my eyes with kohl and white lead.

“How could he not?” Mara selected my finest golden
necklace, the new one with lapis lazuli beads and tiny scarabs made of polished
green agate. She let her hands linger on my bare shoulders as she clasped it on
me.

I rested my hands over hers. “I am a courtesan,
and nothing more. Pharaoh will have no reason to take notice of me.” I studied
my reflection one last time in the large polished bronze disk. Egyptians love
to adorn themselves, and I must admit I quite enjoy it myself.

Mara rolled her blue eyes at me. “There are few
who can withstand your beauty, near sister. I am the least of them.” She kissed
me on the lips. Her breath was sweet with thyme and mint. “You are as lovely as
a goddess. Remember me, when the Egyptian king and his court are begging for
your favors this evening.”

“Of course, my dearest,” I said, distractedly. For
though I clothed myself in finery as light as gossamer, my heart was heavily
weighted with more serious matters. “Mara, have you sent round the extra
resources to the temple of Neit? I hear they have even more refugees swelling
for charity. We should add them to my lists.”

It disturbed me to see men, women and children
sold into the hopelessness of slavery, as I passed through the streets in my
litter and trappings. I understood that economic circumstances required it, but
I still abhorred the very practice. I’d vowed never to house a slave, and after
Mara (who was less a slave than my shadow), I never had. So, it was that often
I’d secretly made donations to temples that housed the low and indigent. And I
used my burgeoning coffers to support physicians that I knew attended those who
could scarce afford to pay.

“As you asked, I have,” she replied. “With a
courier not from our household. I had Zahouri hire someone in the market that
he knew to be reputable.”

“Hmm, “I said. “I would rather remain anonymous. Advise
Zahouri not to use anyone who can be traced back to us.” Unlike my more public
temple offerings, I did not know what this private support would do my standing
as a
hetaera
. Still, if word got out, then so be it. I knew only
that I must do something to aid those who could not help themselves, for I had
been one of them--alone and unloved-- myself.

Kyky clambered up my shoulder quick as a wink and
snatched a slice of melon from my fingers. Mara screeched at him. When he
burrowed under my red-gold tendrils, I could not help but laugh, which made
Mara a tad sulky.

“He will ruin your gown and void his bowels on
your fine necklace.” Mara put her hands on her hips. “What will Pharaoh think
of you then?”

The thought sobered me. I unlatched my adorable
monkey with some difficulty, and although he did not void on my shoulder, he
did entangle himself in my long hair. Mara was forced to redo the whole
elaborate coif while Praxitlytes waited for us with some measure of impatience.

At last, we departed. When Praxitlytes turned
towards the door, Mara kissed me swiftly on the cheek. I saw the crease forming
between her fine brows.

“All will be well,” I promised her with a squeeze
of my hand.

She looked doubtful, but gave me an unsteady smile
which did nothing to allay my nervousness.

On the way to the festival, I fidgeted with my
attire as the litter bearers rushed us to the god-king’s door. The feast was in
full swing by the time we were delivered to the temple. With trepidation, I
allowed Praxitlytes to escort me to the dining tables. Men lined one table, and
women, the other in traditional Egyptian fashion. Egyptians and foreigners
mingled freely, eyeing one another’s finery with thinly veiled calculation. I
held my breath and glanced for anyone who might look the part of a god-king,
but found neither clusters of sycophants gathered, nor any knot of royal guards
in formation.

Praxitlytes noticed my preoccupation as we passed
between the tables. He leaned over to make certain I heard him over the din. “Pharaoh
has not made his appearance yet.”

I could not tell whether it was disappointment or
relief fluttering in my breast.

We circulated through the thronging crowds. Furthest
from the dais were the more common folk of Naukratis, higher levels of
craftsmen and minor politicians, all hoping to gain recognition, and thereby
increase their status. The next echelon was the lesser nobility, of which I
navigated easily through a wave of their awed sighs, for I was well above their
status, now.

Wives whispered behind their hands and eyed my
attire. By the week’s end over half of them would have gowns and jewels made
just the same. Several of the women even sported elaborate wigs. They imported
henna from Assyria and rinsed it through their black hair. I supposed I should
be flattered, but in truth, it was a poor comparison to my red-gold locks, and
leant their copper skin no favors.

“May I come to see you tomorrow?” A man whispered
into my ear. I tore my gaze away from the women. It was the governor of
Naukratis. He was not particularly clever or comely, but he had much influence
in the city.

“We shall see,” I responded with a smile,
wondering what the governor of Naukratis might offer. Perhaps I could entice
him to establish more support from the temple priests to help the sick and the
destitute. Through the governor, support could be given, without attaching it
to my name.

The governor rubbed his hands together and gave me
a short bow, before moving away.

Praxitlytes chuckled beside me. “And so the sphere
of Rhodopis grows,” he said without rancor.

“We are all whores in our right, Praxitlytes. Even
bureaucrats.”

“Most
especially
bureaucrats!” He laughed
and led me away.

The festival continued for another hour, as the
guests feasted and drank, forgetting the rumors of invasion from the mighty
Kourosh of Persia. More than once, I heard voices lifted in heated debate, and
not song. They argued over what should be done, what
could
be
done and I blessed our god-king his military training. It was tiring, and I
began to lose hope that for tonight at least, I could forget playing politics.

At last the musicians stopped their playing. A
great expectant pause arose from those seated nearest the raised dais. Feast
goers elbowed their way into a better position of the dais and courtyard.

“What?” I whispered to Praxitlytes. “What is it? Is
it him?”

My heart thudded in my chest.

“It appears the game has begun, Rhodopis,” he
murmured and grasped my elbow. “Shall we play?”

I did not see Pharaoh enter the festival, but the
rushing whisper of homage marked his arrival. As the last sistrum jingled and
fell silent, I found my nerves tingling with anticipation. At last, I would see
this god-king of Egypt. I felt certain he would not live up to my expectations.
After all, he was only a man, and I had those in droves.

What did Amasis look like?

I had one quick glimpse of him as he passed
through the colonnade, clad in a fine linen
shenti
that hung to
his knees. Armed guards lined him on all sides. He wore a huge pectoral of gold
and a headdress that brushed his shoulders, which were unusually broad for an
Egyptian. He seemed rather tall, although from my prostrate position, even the
craven vizier would’ve seemed a giant. It was a very imposing sight.

The courtyard fell silent. I focused my gaze on
the rosy compacted gravel and swallowed the lump lodged in my throat. Would he
speak? Would he have an affectation I found annoying or the high, whiny voice
of so many of the royal families?

“Rise and be welcomed,” said a deep, gruff voice.
“Oh Nile, whose Waters Embrace Us. Be Fruitful. The Exclusive One Shine his
Rays upon you Forever!”

I cannot tell you how his voice went through me
like a thunderbolt. When the people stood and cheered, nervous sweat broke out
on my palms and my stomach fluttered as if I’d swallowed a moth. We sang the
prepared song and Amasis spoke another blessing in Egyptian. I had trouble
hearing, over the cheers of the people. Then the throngs surged forward, some
towards Pharaoh to make obeisance, and some towards the tables laden with food
and drink. Slaves flooded into the area, laden with sweetmeats and pastries,
wine and beer.

I lost Praxitlytes in the crowds. No matter, I
thought, he would find me soon enough. I slipped away to the beverage casks and
a slave offered a brass cup filled with sweet red wine.

The musicians struck up a lively tune and crowds
parted to make room for the scantily clad Nubian acrobats and dancing girls. I
envied them their gay eyes and long limbs, so dark against the white of their
linen tunics. They had no pressing concerns to make their steps heavy. I moved
to a spot under the open colonnade where I could enjoy the performance without
scrutiny from half the noble houses. But even better, across the open courtyard
of entertainers, I had a much clearer view of the god-king Amasis.

He was a dynamic man, powerful and dark, and bore
his years well. He wore a blue and gold
Menes
headdress. His
white teeth flashed in the torchlight when he smiled, which was not often. I
wondered whether he was naturally somber, or just cautious. Heavy kohl, drawn
out to his temples, lined his eyes and gave him a very feline appearance. His
eyelids were painted with jade. An aquiline nose, hooked like a falcon’s beak,
dominated his face, but I did not find it to be unattractive. Quite the
contrary.

He looked every inch a warrior; and unlike most of
my patrons.

My mouth went dry.

Here was the epitome of a worthy adversary, I
thought. I would not be able to wend him round the crook of an elegant finger. For
this man was, as my father had been, a fighter at heart.

His was not the softened beauty of a politician or
even a lowly craftsman!

Amasis was all long-limbs and hard, angular
planes. He was muscular, sitting straight and tall as a soldier would, without
shifting on the cushioned seat of his gilded throne. Still, he seemed pleased
by the festival, which boded well for Naukratis. A high priest came and Amasis
gave over the symbolic crook and flail. The priest deposited them into a finely
carved and painted wooden box. The music ended with a flourish and the dancers
pattered away to disappear into the night beyond the torches’ glare.

I decided now was the time to make my obeisance,
to offer him homage as was his due. I stepped out of the shadows of the column,
and wiped my hands on my skirt. My stomach fluttered nervously. How much easier
this meeting would be, if he were ugly.

Amasis clapped his hands. “Oo-ay, Oo-ay.” Silence
fell. “Well done.”

He signaled the musicians to play again, but the
performers had exited. We waited, but they did not return. The crowd began to
murmur in puzzlement, for the festival was far from ending. Even the lowliest
among us could sense something was amiss. Amasis turned to his advisors.

“Bring on the entertainment,” called a wizened
priest. A sheen of sweat marked his face. He clapped his hands, but the dancers
did not return.

Amasis’ brow furrowed. Unlike the other nobility
he did not puff his chest or hoot his displeasure, the mark of a subdued man. His
reserve pleased me. For certain, the upper strata in attendance did not hold to
such decorum.

“Where are the girls?” called the princes of
Egypt. The minor nobles took up the cry.

“Who is to entertain Him who Shines with the
Morning Sun? Who will dance for Nesu Ahmose?” I thought I heard a note of
sarcasm in their pleas.

The crowds grew restless, and the musicians picked
up the threads of another hymn. Again, no dancers came. The music died away. I
saw one of the priests frown and gesture to a set of guards behind the throne. They
marched off. The murmurs grew louder. People began to mill about in some
confusion, and there was more than one angry face on those closest to Pharaoh.

I scanned the crowd, just in time to see several
of the noble princes and princesses smother knowing looks. My heart skipped a
beat. Those simpering serpents had designed this plot to embarrass the Pharaoh.
And just like
senet
, I feared an underlying purpose.

For, this was no game. Word would spread that the
city of Naukratis had insulted the god-king…oh! I leaned against the limestone
column and struggled to see beyond the haze of anger clouding my vision. Pharaoh’s
power must be absolute, to hold the public together against the impending
threats from invasion. He could declare our city to be razed to the sand dunes.
How was this to play out? Who would use this to their advantage?

I risked a glance at Amasis. His eyes seemed to
penetrate the crowd, and though I knew he could not see me, hidden half behind
the column as I was, a wave of nervous perspiration slicked my hands.

“Is this the best Naukratis can offer?” said a
wizened priest. “To offer insult to the gods?”

Amasis stood, his body a stiff arrow of
displeasure, on the point of exodus.

Naukratis was doomed.

“Great majesty,” a voice from the crowd called
out. My heart stopped. It was Praxitlytes! “Beloved son of Ra, demand that
which is worthy of you. The Treasure of Naukratis. She is with us tonight. If
only you will bid her dance, she will please you as no other in our city can.”

I had a sudden sinking sensation in my stomach, as
if I’d been pushed off a cliff.

“Who has spoken?” asked the priest angrily.

“Yes,” called another voice. The governor! “To
honor Him Who Holds the Light, we call for Rhodopis, the Treasure of Naukratis,
to dance!”

Whispers behind me crested like a wave, engulfing
my ears with their rasping accusations. I saw the commoners on the fringes
begin to nod. Some pointed towards me. A few shouted approval. I felt a little
dizzy and set my cup of wine on a stool before it sloshed on my fine attire. I
motioned to a slave with a large ostrich feather fan to come and fan my hot
face, but he did not see me.

I put a hand to my head. It could not be! Just as
Charaxus had intended so many years before, it seemed now that I should be
called to serve upon the Pharaoh’s pleasure.

I would strike that idiot Praxitlytes down for
bringing me into this!

Rho-do-pis
,
some took up the
chant.
Rho-do-pis
. They clapped and chanted until I was sick of
my own name.

I turned and put my forehead against the cool
pillar and thought I would be sick. Those nearest me grabbed my arms and thrust
me forward calling:

“Here she is! Here comes the ‘Treasure of
Naukratis’. Make way!”

My cheeks burned. I heard my father’s voice
echoing in my memory, like birdsong.
You are my treasure, Doricha. Do you
hate me for it?

“Papita,” I whispered.

People moved aside. Praxitlytes emerged, whispered
loudly, “Go!” and pushed me forward.

I had only a second to gather my courage before I
stumbled into the courtyard facing the dais of Amasis.

I stopped and tilted my chin high as I’d been
trained. Silence fell like a thunderclap. The chanting and clapping ceased. The
governor nodded at me, his face pale and sweating.

Amasis stared. No one spoke a word. Even the
cicadas were still. I forced my trembling legs to still beneath my skirts. In
truth, all I wanted to do was to flee back to my safe garden and weep to Mara. No,
that is not quite true. First, I wished to smite Praxitlytes for his cruel
joke. Then, I would run home and weep. Instead, I knelt and bowed so low, the
long hanging tail of my hair slithered over my shoulder to tickle the dust and
gravel.

“Rise,” Amasis bade me. I could tell nothing from
his vocal inflection. Every eye fixed upon us. He looked very stern. “You are
she? This…Rhodopis of Naukratis?”

Well, he was a soldier once. I looked him squarely
in the eye as my father had taught me, and fixed a smile on my lips. “I am.”

A priest whispered furiously in his ear. A flicker
of amusement passed over the Pharaoh’s face and he waved the priest away.

“We have…heard…of the legendary charm that
Rhodopis possesses. Will you dance for Pharaoh’s pleasure?”

“No!” said a voice from beyond the throne. With
some difficulty, I wrenched away from Amasis’ gaze and saw a royal scribe step
forward out of the shadows of the dais. No, not a scribe.

“I say this
Greek
,” Neferenatu, the Grand Vizier,
spat the word as if it were a curse, “is not a suitable tribute to the mighty
Nesu, may He live Forever.” He glared at me, and his cheeks were flushed, but
in my mind I saw him as he’d appeared in the Sais marketplace--greedy and
utterly arrogant atop his curtained litter. He’d wanted me then. “Call for your
ladies, Nesu Ahmose, call for our Egyptian Princesses!”

“She is the Jewel of the City,” yelled a man
behind me. I think it was a patron from two weeks prior who spoke. “Let her
dance.”

“She disgraces Egypt,” called a reedy Egyptian
nomarch bedecked in gold. “Where are the royal women? Let them perform!”

Discord reigned over the courtyard, a cacophony of
jackals’ howls. I surreptitiously scanned the crowds looking for Praxitlytes so
I could give a few angry glares myself, but he had wisely hidden himself from
view. At last, Amasis held a hand up for silence. The noise ceased.

“You have been questioned. Will you answer?”
Amasis asked me.

I glanced at Neferenatu, who shook his head. His
posture was so taut that his earlobes touched his shoulders. I could not think
of a way to refuse gracefully and without offending half the court. And the
city of Naukratis needed me.

“I dance for the gods’ pleasure, Oh Honored King
of Egypt. If it pleases Nesu that I should dance, I shall.” And I bowed again.

Amasis nodded once. “She speaks like a devout
subject.” He settled back onto his cushion and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I will allow this.”

Angry crimson blotches bloomed in the Vizier’s
cheeks and he turned his back to me as the musicians lifted their pipes and
drums to play.

I danced as I never had before. I called on every
ounce of my temple training to perform a complicated, and thoroughly Grecian,
dance. Somehow I knew in my heart my adulatory tribute would endear me to
Amasis, though it might infuriate his vizier.

I spared one brief second to mourn the fact that I
had not worn my rose-gold slippers to the festival. Then I was lost in the
rhythm, twisting my figure to its best position in time to the music. I twirled
and leapt. I let my limbs sway like a graceful willow. Naukratis wished me to
honor them with dance--I would do more than that. I used my eyes, my hips, and
my smile to entice the Pharaoh. My fingers curled gracefully, my feet skipped
through the steps like sunlight upon the Nile. My hair was the fronds of the
grasses on the riverbank. My arms were the arch of the waves. I was a woman in
her element, and I danced solely for the pleasure of one man—the god-king
Amasis.

When the song ended, I froze motionless in
position. The silence was deafening. I paused, my arms trembling as I held my
stance, and waited for Pharaoh to condemn or applaud me. Every inch of my body
tingled in anticipation as Amasis opened his mouth to speak.

“So,” he said, while I drew a shuddering breath. “If
she is the treasure of Naukratis, then the city is wealthy beyond belief. Such
beauty demonstrates the blessings of the gods. You have done well, Rhodopis of
Naukratis. By the Light of Ra, I say it is so.”

The Greeks in the crowd burst into cheering, and I
felt my cheeks burn anew at his fine praise. Naukratis was redeemed. Pharaoh
could have ruined me forever with the slightest insult, and yet I knew my
substantial business would be trebled by the morning.

I reveled in the joy of the crowds, the frown on
Neferenatu’s face, and yes, even the smirk of Praxitlytes. He wished to gain
notice for himself through me. Well, I would allow him this moment, but he
would have much to atone for in my eyes. I beamed at Amasis the god-king,
unable to contain my pleasure, and swept a graceful genuflection. He smiled
back without showing his teeth and leaned over to speak to his nearest advisor.
I peeped through my lashes and read his lips.

“Have her brought to me.”