Thief of Corinth

by Tessa Afshar

  “How is that?” Theo asked.

  “Run faster than everyone else when you see trouble.”

  Delia’s suffering achieved what I could not. It convinced Father to consider my plan. “I will try to arrange things as we discussed. If the first part does not fall into place, we must abandon the idea.”

  “You will succeed,” I said.

  “We shall see.”

  The evening of Aniketos’s banquet, I dressed with care in a loose forest-green long-sleeved tunic that had a tight row of buttons from the shoulders to the elbows. We had withheld our destination from Delia, saying only that we were attending a banquet. When she saw my tunic, she frowned. “Is that new? It makes you look shapeless.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I had chosen to dress without her help and did not expect her to laud my efforts. She styled my hair simply as I requested and with her skilled, light touch, applied cosmetics to my face. Father gave the servants strict instructions to retire early and told them that we had no need of them upon our return.

  A hired carriage came for us by midafternoon. Formal banquets started fashionably early in Corinth and went on late into the evening. The main meal lasted several hours, and light snacks and wine were provided throughout the evening.

  Aniketos’s wife greeted us at the door. She was wearing a blonde wig styled in intricate loops and folds, its hair no doubt plucked from the head of a poor captive from some faraway Germanic tribe. It made her look like a bruised pear with blonde hair. Having spent so much on her head, she barely covered it with a diaphanous veil, a nod to the modesty required of married women. She preened and cavorted from guest to guest. Many of them were strangers to her, my acquaintances and friends, there at my request. They had come motivated by curiosity more than out of loyalty to me, sensing the promise of entertainment. Some were aristocrats, others belonged to influential families, and most were wealthy. Their collective consequence had the desired effect on our hosts. They grew bloated with self-importance. Poor Dryops seemed a little lost in the exalted company. He told bad jokes and tried to ingratiate himself with an excessive eagerness that pushed the crowd away even more adroitly than his powerful perfume.

  For dinner, Aniketos provided a spectacle calculated to impress. Roasted pig stuffed with sausages, and dormice, which were considered a delicacy. When a white hare decorated with swan’s wings, arranged to resemble the fabled flying horse Pegasus, arrived on a large platter, the guests burst into applause. The sound did not quite cover their chortles. Like everything else, this exhibition was one step too far.

  Two beautiful girls played the flute and lyre, while a young man sang in a melodious voice. Between them, the musicians did not wear enough clothes to cover a toddler.

  I coaxed my hosts to drink as heavily as their guests, so that by midnight, most of the company was far from sober. According to Roman custom, guests mixed their own wine and water, choosing the level of each. Father and I drank mostly water that night, pretending to pour wine into our silver chalices, while only splashing a dribble.

  At midnight, we took our leave, showering our hosts with vapid compliments on their social success. Just before stepping outside, I slipped into a cubicle built as an annex to the vestibulum, where the guests had left their shoes and cloaks upon arrival.

  Galatea waited within to help us with our shoes. I motioned for her to draw the curtains, providing the cubicle ample privacy. Father stood outside, chatting with anyone who might decide at that moment to retrieve their own sandals. We were finished in moments and pushed the curtain aside.

  Father left Aniketos’s house, and any observer would have seen me on his arm, my shawl wrapped firmly about my head, warding against the chilly night. Those inside the house saw Galatea emerging from the cubicle with a towel draped over one arm, head bowed, eyes on the floor as befit her station.

  Dressed as Galatea, I worked for another hour before my duties concluded for the evening. On bare, silent feet, I snuck into the room with the carved mahogany box and pulled the partition curtain closed.

  I lifted the lid of the box, thankful that someone had oiled the hinges. It was filled with linens of various sizes: napkins, bedspreads, towels. With haste, I grabbed an armful and shoved them under the bed. One more armful, and I was ready. Peeking outside, I ensured that there was no one in the corridor before swishing the curtains open again, leaving the chamber as I had found it. Swiftly, I crawled into the box and closed the lid behind me.

  I could hear the boisterous commotion of the guests diminishing. People were taking leave and the house was growing empty of noise. Father and Galatea would be home by now.

  All I needed was to wait. Wait two hours for the household to settle into deep sleep so that I could leave my hiding place undisturbed. Long enough for Aniketos to check on his treasure one final time as was his habit before crawling into bed.

  I became aware, with a sudden itch of discomfort, of how dark it was in my box. How close. My breathing quickened. I could feel my heart racing uncomfortably.

  I was going to suffocate.

  My mind told me there was plenty of air for me to breathe. But my mind could not rule me. Heat like fire spread through my skin. My breaths turned into gasps. I was a caged bird, wild with the unreasoning need to burst out.

  I could run faster than the greatest champions of the land, I could climb a tree, hang upside down from a branch, walk on my hands. But I could not lie still in a little box that enfolded its walls around me like a tomb.

  I began to push at the lid. It opened, a crack at first, and then wider, enough that I could breathe again, when I heard the sound of footsteps. Hurriedly, I snapped the lid shut. The steps were heavy and slow. I felt them pass the box and heard the rustle of fabric. A man burped noisily.

  Dryops.

  My unexpected distress had caused me to forget all else but the need for open space. Of course, this was his chamber. I had no way out now but to wait.

  Sweat drenched my body. I lay in a lake of my own making, shivering with unreasoning fear, one heartbeat away from screaming.

  I tried to control my gasping breaths, to silence the whoosh of air that passed in and out of my tortured lungs. Blood pounded in my ears.

  It was a matter of will. Willing myself to be still when every part of me shrieked to smash out of that benighted box and run. I ached for a taste of fresh, clean air.

  I grew dizzy and lost track of time. Had it been only moments since I scrambled into the box? Had an hour passed? What if I fainted? Would this box turn into my sarcophagus, bearing my corpse with the household linen?

  I could see a thin band of light through one of the joints in the box. Dryops had not blown out the lamp yet. Did that mean he was still awake? Or was he in the habit of leaving it lit all night?

  A loud sound made me jump. I clamped down on a cry of surprise. Then the source of the clamor became apparent. Dryops snored. An earthquake had nothing on him. His nose was a military trumpet. It could awaken legions.

  I started to laugh. Tears leaked from beneath my eyelashes. I loved that sound. It made me want to kiss Dryops. It was the proclamation of my freedom. That sound meant that soon, I could open this chest of horrors and escape.

  I remained still for what felt like a whole century but must have been under an hour, before creeping out of my hiding place. By then, I hoped, his sleep would be deep, and not easily disturbed by my movements.

  At the door, I hesitated. The corridor looked deserted, and holding my breath, I slipped into the darkness. The room where the jewels were kept was a diminutive annex, separated from Aniketos’s bedchamber by a diaphanous curtain. I could hear husband and wife snoring. A family trait, obviously. They had left a lamp burning in their chamber and weak light passed through the gauzy fabric of the curtain. It provided paltry illumination. But my eyes, after so long in that dark chest, had grown accustomed to the shadows and could distinguish objects in the gray light of the narrow room. I found the jewel box with ease.

/>   My father had once seen a similar casket. The base, which looked like a squat, gilt column, was a hollow repository. I needed to find the hidden clasp that would open it. Find it in near darkness without awakening my hosts or drawing the attention of one of their multitude of guards.

  I ran my hands along the column and found it smooth. No clasp. The casket that sat on top, posing as the true jewel box, also proved smooth on the edges. On our tour, I had seen Aniketos press the golden lion that perched at the edge of the box, springing the lid open. I pressed the lion and the box snapped open with a popping sound.

  Aniketos moved restlessly in bed and stopped snoring. I froze. He sat up, running a hand over his face. I crouched low, trying to hide the bulk of my body behind the base of the column.

  “What?” his wife croaked.

  “Nothing, woman. Go back to sleep.”

  The man rose out of bed and stretched. My heart stopped. There was no good hiding place for me. He walked toward me. My stomach turned into a knot. Bile rose in my throat.

  Just before passing through the curtain, he turned to the side and relieved himself in a chamber pot, noisily passing gas for good measure. Another military trumpet. Father and son could have led a host of armed forces between them. I dropped my head in relief.

  I had to wait another hour to ensure Aniketos fell back into a deep sleep. At least this time, I was not suffocating in a coffin. When Aniketos’s snores became thunderous, I returned to my task. I had unclasped the lid before my host awoke, and now it opened smoothly to reveal the same cheap jewelry as before. I felt the sides, the top, the bottom panel of the box, hoping to find a latch to the secret compartment, but discovered nothing.

  I was running out of time.

  The box had defeated me. Then my eyes fell on the lion again. Instead of pressing, this time I tried to push it to one side and another. It held firm. More out of frustration than intention, I pulled on that lion as if it were a lever, and to my giddy relief, the bottom panel opened. I bent low to peer inside.

  It was filled with gold coins.

  For a moment, I stood paralyzed. Then, one at a time, avoiding the noisy jingle of metal crashing against metal, I placed the coins in the cloth bag I had brought. When the bag filled, I pressed the secret compartment and the jewelry box shut. I had stolen Aniketos’s treasure.

  All that remained was to get away. I said a prayer to the Unknown God, asking for his help.

  CHAPTER 18

  THERE ARE MANY USES for a chamber pot if only one has enough imagination. Struck by sudden inspiration, I placed the coins on the floor and pushed aside the curtains enough to creep into my hosts’ bedchamber. Grabbing the pot, I returned to the annex.

  A basin of feathery ferns adorned one corner of the room. I poured out the chamber pot’s contents inside it, whispering a silent apology to the ferns, shoved my bag of coins into the emptied chamber pot, and arranged the fabric to look like a towel covering.

  It was almost dawn. I was a familiar slave carrying my master’s chamber pot. No one stopped me as I made my way to Galatea’s tiny chamber, where she had told Father she slept.

  At sunrise, one of the guards came to fetch me, as I had expected. “A man named Galenos says his daughter has a present for the master. Says he won’t give it to anyone but you.”

  I rose from my pallet, head lowered, my hair a long curtain around my face. Grabbing the basket Galatea had prepared for me, I whispered, “I know the gentleman. He left his cloak here last night. I will take it to him right away.”

  The guard shadowed my steps out of the side door, where Father’s litter waited. The curtains on the litter were firmly shut. I approached and offered the basket to my father. “Your cloak, master. You left it behind last night.”

  A hand bid me to go inside the litter. I gave a quick look to my guard, seeking permission. Dawn’s light was hazy, hiding my features in its shadows. The guard yawned and motioned with his hand that I could go. I climbed inside the litter. A moment later, Galatea alighted from within, wearing her familiar bright-pink tunic, her basket now bearing a note of thanks for my hosts, written and sealed by my hand, along with a glass platter of rare dried peaches all the way from Persia.

  That morning, a letter from the Honorable Thief was discovered, posted in the public square. As always, it was written in impeccable Latin:

  Plato wrote: “When men speak ill of thee, live so as nobody may believe them.” You have proven the opposite, Aniketos. For when any speak well of you, we only have to look at your life to disbelieve them. Your coins, which you have made by causing the powerless to suffer, shall serve a better purpose in my hands than yours. Besides, I have far better taste in . . . well, everything.

  Father and I went to visit Aniketos and his wife a week later. To commiserate.

  “I am horrified by this violation,” I said. “It happened on the night of the banquet!” I buried my face in my hands. “I insisted you should have that feast. It distresses me beyond words.”

  Aniketos’s mouth turned down. “None of your party is responsible, you can be sure of that. I checked the coins myself after everyone had left. They were safe then.”

  “How did it happen?” Father asked.

  “That is the worst part.” Aniketos’s wife wrung her hands. “We cannot fathom how he did it. Everyone had left the house. The doors were barred. We had guards at every window and door.” She shook her head with a violence that made her wig move, tilting it askew onto her forehead. I itched to reach out and straighten it.

  “I suspect the guards slipped some of the wine meant for our guests into their own cups and were asleep on the job.” Aniketos spat on the floor. “That fiend of a thief must have crept in under their noses. I have dismissed the lot and hired fresh men.”

  Galatea brought us a plate of miniature sponge cakes, drizzled with honey. “She is a sweet girl,” I said to Aniketos. “Did you train her yourself?”

  “Yes. I take a hand in training all my slaves.”

  “So I had heard. Is she for sale? I need a personal slave, one with good manners, pleasing to look at, and obedient. It is so hard to find a trustworthy slave these days.”

  Aniketos, smelling profit, sat straighter. “Galatea is all those things and more. A jewel in my house. I would find it hard to part with her.”

  “But for the right incentive?” Father asked, biting into a cake.

  Aniketos smacked his lips. “Perhaps.” He named a price that would have ransomed a Caesar.

  Father raised a brow and named a lower price.

  Back and forth it went, until Father pretended to lose interest. Aniketos, aware that Father’s final offer was still a fair bit higher than the girl would fetch elsewhere, gave in. “Only for you, Galenos. And your exquisite daughter.”

  We walked out of the house, Galatea in tow, the Honorable Thief’s profits reduced by a substantial sum. Father stopped on the way and ordered Galatea’s manumission documents on the spot. She wept, the poor girl, when we handed them to her and assured her that she was free.

  She threw herself at Father’s feet. “Please, my lord, may I work at your house? As a servant? I will do anything. Work in the kitchens. Help with the laundry. Clean, sew, weave.”

  We did not need another servant. If anything, we were trying to diminish the household. Cut expenses. But we suspected that for a girl like Galatea, who had been born into slavery, a life of sudden freedom without the protection of a virtuous master could lead to disaster.

  Father sighed. “You can work for us, though your wages will be modest. I will keep you for as long as I can afford. I promise if a time comes that I cannot bear the expense, I will find you a worthy mistress amongst my own friends.”

  Galatea thanked us with tears. She would not have a hard life in our house. Her work would be light, and she would be treated with kindness. Nor did she need fear the unwelcome advances of any man, young or old.

  She did not know our secret, of course. Father had told her that I was
caught in a tragic romance, and that my lover and I were meeting for one final night to bid each other goodbye at Aniketos’s feast. Father had solicited her help two weeks before the banquet and received the information we needed, as well as her cooperation with our plan. In exchange, Father had promised her freedom, if Aniketos proved willing, or money for her, if he could not. Even slaves found a pouch full of coins handy. Galatea had given her help willingly, though she could not have known for certain that my father would honor his word to her.

  She had heard of the theft since then, no doubt. If she connected that event with my absent night, she never mentioned it. I suspect she would have cheered had she known. She despised her old master and would have welcomed the opportunity to give him a sharp kick on the way out.

  I had committed my first intentional crime. When the excitement of it evaporated, I had a hard landing. My life would never be the same again. I could not recover my innocence.

  Galatea settled into the routine of our household with ease. After two weeks, it was as if she had been with us for years. In the same way that Delia had grown attached to my foster brother, Galatea formed a special connection with my father. Her eyes followed him with adoration wherever he went. She had an almost-prescient sense of his needs, so that before he asked, she would serve him. If he thirsted, watered wine found its way to his fingers; if he hungered, food appeared on his table; if he grew cold, a blanket spread over his lap; if he felt hot, she showed up with a fan.

  We heard from Theo that he planned to return home in a week. At first, I worried for Galatea. My foster brother, with his undeniable beauty, his newfound confidence, and his solicitous manners had grown nearly irresistible for young women. Galatea, though six years our senior, was still young enough to drown in Theo’s charms.

  I need not have worried. She barely seemed to take note of Theo’s presence when he came. He told us he did not plan to travel for several months. With the onset of winter, the seas were impassible and the roads uncomfortable. He could work for Justus in Corinth until late spring.