by Tessa Afshar
“Your mother would not allow it.”
“Because of your secret?”
He blinked. “My secret?”
“The reason she was angry with you that night. On Dionysius’s birthday.”
“Yes. Because of that.”
“You promised me, when I was a little girl, that you would always be there when I needed you. That this would always be my home. Do you remember, Father? You promised.”
His eyes flooded. He opened his mouth and closed it again, speechless.
“Keep your promise now.” I reached for his hand and grasped it. “I beg you. Find a way. I cannot be a bride to Draco. Nor a prisoner to my mother and grandfather any longer. I feel like I am choking, one day at a time. I can’t go back.”
He sank into a chair, his movements slow. “I won’t send you back.” Pulling a fresh piece of parchment to him, he began to write. His fingers trembled as he held the stylus. Curious, I moved behind him and bent my head to read.
The letter was addressed to my grandfather, Dexios. As the sentences accrued, I gasped. “You can’t do that.” I spread my hand flat on the parchment to prevent him from writing further.
According to a contract made between my parents years before, Dionysius remained legally under Grandfather’s guardianship until the age of twenty-one. He was already considered an adult as far as Roman law was concerned. The contract kept him under Grandfather’s supervision for another eighteen months. Once the terms of the guardianship were completed, he could choose where he wished to reside. He could return to my father, and no one could do anything about it. My mother and grandfather had no scruples about blackmailing Father. Over Dionysius, however, they had no hold. In eighteen months, they could lose him, if he so chose.
The letter sitting on the ebony table before me changed these terms. In essence, Father was giving up his right to Dionysius in order that he might keep Theo and me.
“You can’t do that,” I said again, the lump in my throat choking me. I knew the affection my father held for his son. If he sent this letter, he would not see Dionysius again until my brother turned twenty-five, when he gained full majority. At that age, every form of guardianship would dissolve and he would be free to make his own decisions. By the terms of this letter, Father effectively put four additional years of separation between them.
This was no slight delay. It was an amputation.
He pulled my hand away with a gentle movement. “It’s the only way, Ariadne. They will not release you to my care for a lesser incentive. Dionysius is happy with his grandfather. His letters to me are full of enthusiasm for his friends and his studies. Last year, when he managed to visit me for a few days while traveling with Dexios, he assured me of his happiness. He leads a fulfilling life.”
“He misses you! Grandfather cannot replace you.”
He sprang to his feet. For a moment he swayed, and I thought he might topple onto the table. His hands turned into fists, and with visible effort, he regained his wavering balance. “I cannot have you both. You will not survive in that house. Dionysius will.”
He sat down again and put the stylus to the parchment. He signed his name, a sprawling stain on the ivory sheet, and without further delay, rolled the missive closed. His seal was in the wax before I could think of an argument that would change his mind.
My dream had come true. I was going to be released from tyranny. I was going to live with my father, free from the torment of my mother’s constant harassment. Instead of feeling overjoyed, I tasted ashes.
My freedom came at too great a cost. The expense was laid in its entirety upon my brother and father.
“Dionysius was made for Athens,” Theo said later, when he found me huddled on my bed in the dark. “He has his studies and friendships to keep him content. He probably would have made the sacrifice willingly if you had asked him.”
“That is the point. He had no choice in the matter. By coming here, I robbed him of his father.”
We both knew that although Dionysius did not wear his feelings on his sleeves as I did, he was devoted to our father. This separation would hurt. Worse yet, Father had chosen me over him. Dionysius was a man of logic and reason. But he had a heart. Even if his logic understood the decision, his heart would feel abandoned.
I wrote a letter to my brother, begging his forgiveness. He wrote back, his words civil and gracious. His decorum cut deeper than his anger would have.
Dionysius behaved as if his life had not changed by my hands. He helped by writing frequent letters, regaling us with tales of his success. My brother was a prodigy. In time, Athens fell at his feet in worship. He only had to open his mouth and young men fawned and wished they could be like him, while older men admired his talent and called him the flower of their city.
Father would read his letters out loud to visiting friends, laugh at his jests, acknowledge that most of his quips were over his head and show him off with the pride of familiarity, as if the years had never driven them apart. And if he sometimes wept silently into his chalice of wine, I turned a blind eye and told myself it was the drink and not a broken heart.
CHAPTER 5
AFTER THE COPIOUS RESTRICTIONS of Athens, the freedom of Corinth felt strange to me. Years of being locked up in solitude for days at a time had left a mark. Now I found myself uneasy among strangers and fretful in large crowds. One day, when we were attending a feast given by one of his friends, Father discovered me hiding behind the foliage in the courtyard.
He dragged me from behind the shelter of the greenery and introduced me to Diantha, a pretty creature with long, dark lashes and artfully arranged hair. I think he expected us to become instant confidants. My father had a talent for making friends with enviable ease and could not understand the rest of us mortals who stumbled about in the dark, hoping for genuine camaraderie and meeting with rare success.
I cleared my throat. The language of Corinth was Latin. After years of speaking Greek, my Latin, though very correct, felt rusty. Carefully, I formed the words. “Your shoes are pretty.”
She stared at me as if I were a buffoon. She was barefoot.
“I saw them when we came in,” I explained.
“They’re ancient. I only wore them because my father forced us to walk here. Our house is at the end of the street.”
“Glorious afternoon for a walk.”
“It is horrible. We should have arrived in a chair like all the other fashionable people instead of traipsing around like peasants.”
I scratched my ear. We had come on foot.
“What is wrong with your hair?” Diantha pointed at my shockingly short coiffure.
“Er . . . a misadventure.” My mother’s voice echoed in my ear. You are an embarrassment.
Diantha smirked as though she could hear those words as clearly as I. I cast about desperately, looking for reprieve from this awkward conversation, when I spotted Theo standing alone and waved him over. “This is Theo,” I said proudly, expecting Diantha to be impressed by his good looks and unimpeachable manners.
“Theo?” Diantha studied my foster brother’s face for a moment. “Oh, I remember. You are the foundling.”
Blood surged to my face. Theo placed a calming hand on my shoulder. “I am,” he said, his manner amiable.
I forgot my intention to make a favorable impression. “He is my brother,” I hissed. “And your toes are crooked.”
Grabbing Theo’s arm, I walked off in the opposite direction. He shook his head. “Why did you lie?”
“I did not! Her toes are more twisted than the streets of Athens.”
“About me being your brother.”
“You are my brother.”
He expelled a short sigh. “You should not have provoked her. She has many friends with important connections.”
“I don’t care if she’s Zeus’s cousin. She has the tongue of an adder.”
Later, I saw Diantha whispering to a group of fashionable young women. They turned and stared at me, their necks sw
iveling together like a five-headed beast before bursting into laughter. I answered them with a frosty smile as if being the butt of their jests meant nothing. But something inside me wilted. My mother’s daughter hungered for friendship, longed for acceptance. Their public rebuff hurt like an unset broken bone, a throbbing wound that time could not fix.
A few months after our arrival in Corinth, Theo began attending the palaestra, a specialized school for athletic training where young men learned the art of wrestling and practiced boxing and other sports. In the afternoons, when the weather allowed, we made our way to the fallow tract of land that sat between our villa and our neighbor’s property.
Theo practiced wrestling with one of Father’s servants, a man who had once served in the arena, while I hitched up my skirts and ran barefoot through the grass.
I loved to run.
When I ran, I felt as if I could outstrip my past. All thought left me but this one exulting reality: my body could soar. I ran until my calves throbbed; my muscles quivered and stalled. Then I pressed through the pain and ran until I felt myself almost splitting. When I persisted beyond the physical agony, I found a strange elation.
I could beat both men in a short race, whipping into top speed from the first step. This was not an unusual occurrence. I had been beating boys in footraces since I had turned eleven. When we set a longer course, however, their stamina proved superior and they won every time.
One afternoon, Theo’s wrestling partner was busy with an errand and I challenged my foster brother to a race. I took a flying start, winning the short-distance race with ease, and came to a stop, hands on bare knees, trying to take in more air than my lungs seemed able to consume.
“I think you need more serious competition,” a voice drawled somewhere above me. I leapt upright, staggering in my haste. I knew that voice, knew its warm timbre. It belonged to Justus, our neighbor.
When we were children, Justus had been my brother’s closest companion. I had been too young and female to be worthy of his note then. He had maintained his friendship with Dionysius, visiting him whenever his father’s business took him to Athens. But he remained aloof toward me.
Now that I lived in Corinth, our villas separated only by this fallow piece of land, I saw him often, as he was fond of my father and a regular visitor to our home. For some perverse reason known only to himself, Justus still treated me with the tolerance one displayed toward precocious children. Though he was twenty-two to my sixteen, I was considered a woman grown in the eyes of the world. He had no cause to act superior in my presence.
“I suppose you think you can do better?” I challenged.
He smiled. He was not handsome in the classic sense, not like Theo with his straight nose and chiseled mouth, nor like Dionysius with his finely drawn features. Justus had a craggy face, with golden skin and a crooked nose that had been broken in an old wrestling match. When he smiled, his teeth flashed white and his cheeks split into two deep lines. I would have called them dimples, but didn’t dare, even in my own head. There was something too hard and masculine about Justus. And somehow, that odd assortment of imperfect features proved irresistible. I was not the only girl who felt it. Justus left a trail of swooning women in his path. I had determined I would not be one of that silly brood.
“Modesty forbids me to boast.” He pointed to the tree Theo and I used as a marker. “Shall we?”
I tucked my skirt higher into the ribbons at my waist, too engrossed in the challenge to care how much bare leg I had put on display.
Justus’s smile widened. “Theo, would you do us the honor of calling the winner? In case it is a close race.”
Theo took his stance at the tree and signaled the start. I felt confident. My feet flew in the air, each step falling in glorious precision. I ran a perfect race. To my utter chagrin, I saw Justus go past me by half a stride, and then a whole stride. It took me a moment to fathom that Justus had unequivocally defeated me.
“Impressive, for a girl your age,” he said. “Don’t lose heart. I am sure that eventually, with the right training, you will improve.”
Heat traveled up my neck until I thought I might breathe fire.
He gestured at my legs. “You might want to let your skirt down now. The mosquitoes are coming out. I am sure they will be tempted by the flesh you have put on display.” How could it be possible to turn even redder? I had become a lump of vermilion.
To my further vexation, Theo ran up to him. “Will you participate in the chariot race at the next games?” Justus was a three-time champion of the Isthmian Games. He had been catapulted into the kind of fame that is reserved for few in our world. His fierce driving style and seemingly unbeatable record had turned him into a legend in Corinth. Theo, whose greatest ambition was to become a successful charioteer, adored Justus. No one was perfect, but I thought this misplaced affection indicated a dangerous slippage in Theo’s moral fiber. I would have to speak to him about it.
“No more races for me. I have retired.”
“Surely not! There is no one in Corinth who can replace you.” Dismay leaked out of Theo’s pores.
Justus patted Theo on the shoulder. “My father’s health is declining. He needs help with the business, and I must set aside youthful pastimes. It’s your turn now, Theo.”
Theo looked crestfallen. “Galenos does not keep racehorses. He says they are a needless expense.”
“He is a wise man. I will make you a proposition. Why don’t you come over and help me exercise the horses? The ones I use for practice. I will coach you whenever I can.”
If someone had handed Theo a dog that turned wood into gold every time it barked, he could not have looked more thrilled. His smile flashed so wide, I could see all the way to the back of his head. I was embarrassed for him.
“Did you hear, Ariadne? Justus will teach me how to race war chariots.”
“And gain a free groom in the bargain, no doubt,” I said and, turning my back, started to walk home.
I found Father flush with pleasure, poring over a new letter from Dionysius. “He was invited to a private supper at the house of Ephialtes, the man who rules the council of elders in Athens,” Father said. “My son is entering into exalted circles.”
“So is my brother.” I grinned.
Father read in silence for a moment. “He sends regards to you and Theo,” he said, reading Dionysius’s parting words aloud.
Remember me to my sister with love, and tell Theo I long to see him. I send you all my deepest affection. How I wish I could be with you, my dearest father.
With care, Father rolled up the scroll and wrapped it with a crimson ribbon. Opening an alabaster box, he laid the scroll atop a mount of similar letters. He had preserved every scrap of correspondence from Dionysius and knew most of them by heart. Theo’s and my letters were there also, though having us with him meant he no longer needed to reread our missives to ease the ache of absence.
CHAPTER 6
ONE EVENING, Father came home with news that made my jaw drop to my toes. “I have decided to formally enter you in the Isthmian Games.”
Attempting to stand, I lost my footing, collided with a table, and sprawled back into my chair.
One of the four celebrated Panhellenic festivals, the Isthmian Games were honored by people throughout Graecia. Though they were not as highly esteemed as the famed Olympic Games, the Isthmian Games held a favored place in Corinth. Every other spring, the world gathered to admire the athletic and musical talents of the young.
“The last time I tried to play the harp, the ducks stopped laying eggs,” I croaked. “Please, do not humiliate me.”
“I do not wish to enter you for the musical competition. I have my heart set on the short sprint race.” If I had not been on the chair, I would have landed on the floor.
To the outraged disapproval of conservative Greek families, women were permitted to participate in some of the athletic games in Corinth. They even raced two-horse war chariots. While I could not handle a
horse, I knew how to run.
The short sprint—or stadion race—could be run under one minute and was one of the events in which women were allowed to participate.
“You can’t mean it!” I gasped, sounding like a frog. The idea of running a race before thousands of people when I could barely carry on a conversation in public seemed ludicrous.
He ruffled my short hair. “This will be good for you.”
I slapped a palm against my sweating forehead. “I have a mother who rarely permits me to step outside and a father who has no scruples about my participation in one of the Panhellenic festivals. Couldn’t the gods have given me just one normal parent?”
“The people of Corinth love their athletes. True, some of the older conservatives will cringe upon seeing a woman enter a race. But the young will applaud your courage.” He buffed his nail with a corner of his toga. “Especially if you have reasonable success at the stadion. It would be a good opportunity for you to make some friends.”
So he had not missed the debacle with Diantha and her friends. I still felt small when I remembered the sound of their cutting laughter. The thought of winning the admiration of Corinth, and of rubbing Diantha’s face in my victory, made me reevaluate my intention to refuse Father. If, as he suggested, a modicum of success opened opportunities for me to make a true friend or two, then I had every reason to agree to his plan.
I tamped down the twinges of unease that made my stomach swirl like a restless eddy, and focused on my dream of victory. To run, to race, to show those pale-faced girls what I could do. To win! The possibility breathed new life into me. To my delight, Theo entered the chariot races. We had almost two years to prepare ourselves for the games. They seemed too far away to be real, a distant dream I could push to a recess of my mind and forget.
Later that week, our neighbor Servius, Justus’s father, invited us to a formal banquet at his home. Dressed in our best tunics, we traipsed over to Servius’s villa on foot, forgoing a carriage for such a short distance. It had rained most of the morning, and though the downpour had ceased, steel-gray clouds continued to cover the sun, and in their shadow, I missed a puddle. My foot sank up to my ankle, smearing mud over my sandals, squishing between my toes. Father handed me a handkerchief. It was like trying to dry a pond with a sponge.
