Thief of Corinth

by Tessa Afshar

  “I will tear your name from my heart,” he said coldly. “I will burn your letters. Do not send more.”

  As he stepped over the threshold and turned to go, I clung to him, trying to hold him back. “Dionysius, please!”

  He shook me loose. “Leave me be.”

  “Will you listen to what I have to say?”

  He stopped for a moment and studied me. “To think, I used to be jealous of you for having him. Well, you are welcome to him. Enjoy him to your heart’s content.” As he stormed away, not sparing me a backward glance, I knew that I had lost my brother forever.

  Father looked like an old man, withered in the course of an hour. I drew him back into his tablinum and shut the door, lest someone overhear us.

  “Dionysius knows . . . who you are?”

  Father stared at me slack-jawed, his face thunderstruck. He took a gulping breath. “Celandine heard rumors of the Honorable Thief’s antics. She guessed they were my doing. What other criminal could write cultured Latin and quote our poets? Given what she knew, she connected the two. Until then, she had not divulged my secret to anyone save Dexios. Not because she wished to protect me, but out of concern for a possible scandal that might reflect on her.

  “When my . . . activities took such a public turn, she told Dionysius what I had done years before and showed him the letter she had intercepted as proof. I suppose it was her revenge because not only had I resumed stealing, now the public was justifying my actions. I had been bestowed a kind of virtue. No doubt that infuriated her.

  “Dionysius did not believe her accusations. So the boy came straight here. I could not deny his allegations, of course.” He went silent. I saw in his eyes the cost of that interview with my brother. Saw the humiliation of a man who had lost his son’s esteem. His throat convulsed. “Having put me on a pedestal, he could not bear the depths to which I had tumbled. Nor do I blame him, Ariadne. A man deserves better of his father.”

  He cradled his head in his hands. “Go,” he said. “I need time alone.” The one person who had always known how to comfort me, how to answer my cry for help, shook helplessly and sobbed while I stared, unable to help.

  I felt like I had been through a siege, a mutilating war, and I was on the losing side. My family had shattered, and I did not know how to restore it. I felt it in my bones. This schism could not be repaired.

  Years ago, I had seen a field devastated by locusts. The swarming locusts had eaten the crop, followed by the hopping locusts that had attacked and swallowed the leftovers. I felt like that field, stripped bare of everything good, stripped to the knobby core, and stripped again until nothing was left. Everything I wanted had been taken from me.

  First Theo and now Dionysius. Our money was about to run out. Soon, we would lose our land and home into the bargain.

  CHAPTER 13

  CLAUDIA, JUNIA, FOURTH, AND I were poring over the story of Midas, the king who had been blessed by the gods to turn everything into gold with one touch. That ability, it turned out, proved more a curse than a blessing, for even his food congealed into the precious metal when he touched it. Delia came to sit in one corner, listening to the story.

  “Are you well, Delia?” I asked.

  With Theo gone so often, Delia had become like a pale ghost, floating through our house with shadowed eyes. The blinding headaches that plagued her—a condition we believed was the result of the cruel beatings she had endured at the hands of her former master—seemed to come with more frequency.

  She doted on Theo. It had not escaped her notice that my foster brother had little personal wealth. His purchase of her had come at a considerable sacrifice for a young man who could have found a hundred better ways to squander his silver. He was to her a savior, son, and master all in one. He had become her reason for living.

  She nodded her head and pointed at my hair, which had grown long and hung in an untidy braid to my waist. “What do you call that?”

  “A braid.”

  She sniffed. “A disgrace, that’s what. What a waste of perfectly beautiful hair.” She walked over to tuck a strand into place with surprisingly gentle fingers. “I could make you look a goddess instead of a scarecrow. All of you.” She pointed at the four of us and nodded. “I can make you look lovely.” Given her manner, one quickly forgot that Delia was a slave. I believe she herself forgot that fact with admirable regularity.

  “Delia is a hairdresser,” I explained to my friends.

  “Truly?” Fourth looked like I had just introduced her to the empress of Rome. “Please, Ariadne. Will you let your slave style our hair?”

  “She is not my slave.” I shrugged. “I don’t suppose Theo would mind.”

  With childlike glee, Delia sent the other girls home to fetch what pomades, combs, pins, and curling irons they could. She knew there were few such things to be found in our house. After my mother’s suffocating efforts to turn me into a replica of herself, I had given up on feminine frippery. She had always managed to make me feel like a failure as a woman.

  But I had to admit—to myself if to no one else—that I longed to be beautiful. To fit in with the likes of Claudia the Elder and Diantha. And to turn Justus’s head a little. Perhaps more than a little. If Delia was able to transform me into the kind of woman who could win his admiration, I was willing to give her cosmetics and combs a try.

  The rest of that morning and well into the afternoon, Delia worked on the four of us. We were willing victims as she massaged, plucked, painted, braided, looped, and scraped us until we shone and glittered like Aphrodite rising from the foam of the sea. Junia’s wispy hair turned into golden loops and whorls, much of it still hanging loose down her back to indicate her unmarried status. Fourth had short curls at the front of her face that accentuated her striking eyes, and Claudia’s delicate features came into ravishing focus when Delia wove a ribbon over the crown of her head, pulling her hair away from her face. She applied a subtle layer of cosmetics that made our eyes larger and our lips fuller, and our skin smoother.

  My mouth fell open when I saw myself in a mirror. Delia had transformed me into a new creature. It was like Ovid’s Metamorphoses. I hardly recognized myself. As I perched on the sofa next to my friends, it occurred to me that we made as beautiful a sight as Diantha and her five-headed monster ever did.

  “Delia, can you do this again, next week?”

  “With my eyes closed.”

  For the first time, the pall that had cast its weight upon me since Dionysius’s visit lifted. Here was something I could look forward to. Justus, having settled his business affairs, was finally rising out of mourning. He had invited the hordes to his home for a banquet. And my friends and I were invited. Only, we were not going to attend as ourselves. We were going to arrive as whatever it was Delia had transformed us into.

  Claudia, Junia, Fourth, and I wasted a whole day getting ready for the banquet at Justus’s house. We bathed in hot and cold water. We sat in steam and let Delia exfoliate our skin before rubbing it down with aromatic oils. We washed our hair and drenched ourselves in perfume. Delia shaped and crimped and curled our tresses.

  For me, she chose a linen tunic the color of the Aegean Sea. It had no adornments save for a narrow band of gold embroidery at the hem. I asked her if it seemed too plain for such a grand occasion.

  “A woman with your figure does not need a hundred embellishments. If you were Venus, I would say go naked. But since you are merely human, a simple tunic will be your best ornamentation.” Using green ribbons, she cinched the soft linen below my bosom and crisscrossed them lower down so that the curves of my figure were displayed with some exaggeration. The linen clung and flowed in all the right places.

  Claudia and Fourth had to make do with old hand-me-downs, though Delia did her best to freshen the old wool with colorful bands of ribbon. When Delia finished with us that evening, we looked like four fashionable young women ready to conquer the world.

  Father and Theo were drinking watered wine in the dining
room when we joined them. Father set down his cup slowly. “Ravishing!” he pronounced, beaming.

  Theo’s response was a little harder to read. He choked on his wine and stared at me for a long moment.

  “Well?” I said, prompting him to speak.

  “I’m going to sell that slave,” he said with a scowl.

  “Good. I will buy her from you,” I said, hurt.

  My friends and I made a minor sensation at the banquet upon our arrival. We were astonished to find ourselves surrounded by a boisterous group of young men. They paid us more compliments that one night than we had received the rest of our lives put together.

  One of Justus’s friends, a man with broad shoulders and thinning black hair, fell on his knees before Junia. “Love me, sweet nymph, and I will be your devoted servant.”

  “‘If you want to be loved, be lovable,’” she said, quoting Ovid.

  The man rose slowly. “This one has thorns.”

  She gave him her dimpled smile. “‘The sharp thorn often produces delicate roses.’” Ovid again. I could see the youth was charmed, though whether by her intellect or dimples, I could not say.

  A Roman with an angular jaw, garbed in a toga and expensive purple tunic, approached me. “You won the stadion at the Isthmian Games, I believe. Am I right?” I nodded. He kissed my hand and hailed me a daughter of Artemis. Why this old news should raise such fresh excitement was beyond me. That night, men called me incomparable and worthy of worship. I liked the sound of that.

  Justus kept his distance once he had discharged his duty as a host and welcomed me to his home. Tired of waiting for him, I cornered him as he ate pastries and talked about horses with a friend.

  “Greetings, Justus,” I said, making my voice sweet like honey. Arching my back, I pushed out my chest the way I had seen Claudia the Elder do with laudable success.

  Justus studied me with an air of amusement. “Ariadne.”

  “Do you like my attire? I am told it makes me look like Artemis.”

  He took a bite of his pastry. “Never met that particular deity.” He took another bite. “These are excellent. Just the right combination of almonds and figs. I am thinking of buying a grove of almonds. They taste so good in everything.”

  “They give me hives,” I said.

  “Perhaps you will outgrow them when you are more mature.”

  I imagined shoving the pastry into his face. My efforts were clearly wasted on him. I gathered the frayed edges of my dignity and walked away. My only consolation was that Justus assiduously avoided Claudia the Elder all night. At least he had deigned to talk to me. She had not fared so well.

  The physical transformation I had worked so hard to achieve catapulted me into the heights of a popularity I had once dreamed of. I was declared a rare beauty, the jewel of Corinth, the offspring of Aphrodite. Overnight, I became a sensation. Justus might not want me. Other men did.

  But this new acclaim came at a cost. I lost our school for women. Junia and Fourth had found serious admirers at Justus’s banquet. It was not long before they celebrated their betrothals. With weddings to plan, our daily meetings came to a halt.

  With the school gone, I became like a rudderless ship anchored to nothing. So many of the sure foundations of my life had been cracked. I had lost Theo. I had lost Dionysius. Without friends and family, the glamour of my newfound acclaim derailed me.

  Popularity can dull the senses like a drug. It can numb the heart. It robs one of truth. I flitted through life, moving from one circle of friends to another, from one thrilling event to the next. I ate up praise like a starved man. Accolades gave me a few moments of satisfaction. Then I found I was hungry for more. I careened from joy to wretchedness with astounding speed.

  I had dozens of acquaintances and no true friends in this new world I had chosen to inhabit. I knew no one and no one knew me, not truly. We spoke of superficial things, laughed about mundane matters, and coasted through our days in a meaningless succession of banquets, festivals, and drinking parties. I led a fruitless life.

  Women were permitted to mingle with men in Corinth as they did in Rome. Feasts with exquisite music, supple dancers, and wondrous performers from all over the empire became ordinary to me. I saw leopards on golden chains, bears dancing to the flute, men swallowing flames. I drank wine without water, learned to flirt without blushing, and grew accustomed to the bold gaze of men.

  When the dizzying pace of my life allowed me a rare moment of reflection, loneliness pierced me. I lived in an enigma, always accompanied and yet utterly solitary. Flattery and adulation had become my daily bread. My belly was full and it ached and twisted, still unsatisfied, growing sick.

  Before my parents divorced, I thought my mother cool, but not unloving. The separation changed her. Without Father’s softening influence, my mother began to approach motherhood as Caesar approached Rome, with a dictator’s imperiousness. I had to conduct myself by her standards or face punishment, usually in the form of imprisonment in the women’s quarters at the back of Grandfather’s house, where the lack of windows and fresh air was worse than her beatings. I knew that place as well as my own face, for I had spent many miserable hours there.

  Nothing about me seemed to please my mother. My taste in clothes was abominable; my skin turned too dark in the sun; my love of athletics was deemed unbecoming in a woman. My manners irked her; my boisterous speech shamed her. The fact that I ran faster and jumped higher than boys my age seemed a sacrilege to her. She turned sour at the mere mention of my name.

  In the early years of my life in Grandfather’s house, I was determined to win my mother’s approval. I thought if I tried hard enough, managed to be good enough, I could convince her to cherish me. Make her realize I was worthy of her love.

  Once, I spilled a jar of oil. The punishment, nine lashes of my mother’s whip—one for every year of my life—had seemed inequitable when I had not meant to be unruly, and I objected to the injustice of her discipline. This was my mistake, of course. She could not bear to be challenged. So she gave me another nine lashes and said it would teach me to be graceful if I knew that gawky manners would have consequences.

  In retaliation, I refused to speak to her for a whole week. One afternoon, as I sat alone weaving wool with unwilling fingers, I remembered a night, years before, when my mother had nursed me during a bout of childhood sickness. She had sat next to my bed and sung Greek songs and wiped my face with a cool towel. I remembered the smell of her, like lilies, sweet and clean in the stale sickroom. Tenderness welled up in me. I missed her. For all her hardness and intractable temper, she was the only mother I had. The only parent I was allowed. I determined to seek her out and apologize. To tell her that I loved her.

  I found her in the olive grove conversing with one of her attendants. I could not wait to demonstrate my love, to pour the balm of forgiveness and healing that overflowed from my memories.

  “Hello, Mother,” I said, my heart in my eyes, my tongue tumbling over the words I wanted to say.

  She gave me a cold gaze. “How many times have I told you never to interrupt me? Nine more lashes for you.”

  Day after day, lash by lash, my mother taught me an unforgettable lesson. She wove a paradox in me, that woman. I grew desperate to win approval. When I won it, it tasted like ashes. Meaningless and futile, because in my heart, I would always be the girl who could not gain the love of the one person who knew me best. No approval in the world could wash away the sting of that wound.

  CHAPTER 14

  A NUMBER OF MEN began to pursue me with relentless determination. Their attentions meant nothing. Then an alarming truth dawned on me. They could never mean anything because I cared for another. I loved Justus. He thought me juvenile, while I . . . I had thrown my heart at his feet. Despair licked at me like a flame when I thought of him. He did not want me. It was enough to drive me deeper into my reckless habits.

  The feasts blurred one into another, growing indistinguishable in my mind, wearing me dow
n. One night, a supple dancing girl held all the men mesmerized with her sinuous movements. I had drunk too much honeyed wine out of boredom and a desperate desire to fit in. I pushed myself into the center of the crowd and began to imitate her gyrations. Catcalls and applause urged me on.

  An arm clamped about my waist and I felt myself lifted off my feet, propelled out of the crowd. I heard the complaints of a dozen voices behind me as I struggled to get myself free. In the shimmering lamplight, I saw Justus, tight-lipped and pale, towering over me.

  “Let go of me,” I hissed, trying to pull myself free from his hold.

  “No.” His hand tightened around me, and he pulled me closer into his arms. “You can come with me willingly, or you can come yelling like a fishmonger’s wife. Either way, we have an audience. What would you prefer?”

  I became aware of eyes following my every move. Pasting a smile on my face, I stopped squirming. “I do not wish to leave,” I said through my teeth, my voice quiet so that we could not be overheard.

  He stared at me wordlessly, his chest rising and falling as if he had run the long race in the Isthmian Games.

  I thought of how he had found me, dancing in a way that would have shamed my father, and blushed. Giving in, I allowed him to pull me out the door. We were in his chariot in a flash.

  “What are you doing?” I squeaked as he shoved me in front of him in the chariot, flattening me against the front wall with his body while taking the reins.

  “You have drunk too much. Once I start moving, you will lose your balance. I can’t risk having you tumble out and get crushed under the wheels. You will stay here, where I can keep an eye on you.”

  I felt heat from my neck down to my ankles, wherever our bodies came into contact. I tried to object, but all that emerged from my lips was a faint peep.

  He held the reins, his fingers playing with the leather, but made no move to start. Bending his head, he whispered in my ear. “You disappoint me, Ariadne. I thought you had enough sense to withstand their empty adulation. You have lost yourself.”