HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods

by Coffey, J. A.

  What is the point of such sorrow, a small voice inside me whispered. You were meant to please gods, not craftsmen.

  The small voice reminded me of another voice long ago--the words of Merikos the priest. My mother had been trained to pleasure the gods. And yet she was as blind as I when it came to the struggle of love. Was I destined to her same fate? To betrayal?

  I wished I had Mara to comfort me. She was older than I, and certainly a woman by now. How many nights did we whisper to one another about the dreams and desires of our hearts? She would have known what to do, even if my mother would not.

  For the first time in many years, I was completely alone, without even a master to order me about. It had been four years since I was free. The elation I’d felt earlier at my freedom melted away to uncertainty and fear. I found myself longing for Thrace, for the rocky hillsides and rough hands of Thracian warriors. I ached for the language of my forefathers, spoken from the tongues of dour Perperek women. What would the forests look like at home? How did the villagers fare after the Greeks attacked?

  Home. How long had it been since I’d seen my beloved homeland? If only I could reach Naukratis, surely I could find a way to gain passage home. I was so heartsick for familiar sights and sounds. I needed to leave Sais, with all its memories of Charaxus, Hori, and unfulfilled dreams.

  Tomorrow, I vowed. Tomorrow I will find a way to Naukratis.

  *** ***

  In the morning, I rose well before the sun, lest someone spy me hunkered down in the empty workshop. I was stiff from my night on the floor, and hungry besides, but I dared not barter my cosmetics and trinkets for food or drink. I had a more important purchase to make--passage home.

  I slunk through the alleys toward the river where a few slaves already awaited cargo barges. Several young men trapped birds and fish with nets for the daily market. Much further down the bank, a band of ragged women dug up cattails and papyrus roots, keeping a close eye on the docks. No doubt they’d be shooed away.

  I moved closer, thinking I would be more welcome amongst my own sex. Perhaps they could tell me how to buy passage to Naukratis.

  The women glanced at me, but said nothing. I suppose my grimy skin and bruised face gave them enough of a reason to include me in their company. One by one, they dropped the starchy roots in a battered pot. When I saw one woman feasting on the flesh of the cooked tuber, my stomach rumbled again.

  I rubbed a hand over my empty belly, and one of the women jerked her chin towards the rushes. When I dug up some roots of my own, she nodded to the pot. I scraped off the mud before plopping it into the hot water. In a few minutes that felt like forever, she handed me a cooled, white root on a flat lotus leaf. The meal was bland, but filled my growling appetite well enough, though my mouth watered at the smell of the fresh fish and the sight of fowl trussed not twenty paces away.

  I wandered along the market’s edge as they unloaded cattle, people and goods from the various docked vessels. Further out on the quay, a barge floated listlessly in the river’s current, biding its time until space cleared on the dock. A thin Egyptian man made marks on papyrus as slaves massed a pile of goods, spices, and temple furnishings at the edge of the market. When one of the men pointed to the barge, the thin man nodded his head and said a word that stopped me in my tracks.

  Naukratis.

  The barge intended to sail for Naukratis, a one day journey by barge upriver. I could secure passage to Greece--perhaps even Abdera or Perperek! My heart pounded. How to get aboard?

  “Excuse me,” I said to the man with the papyrus. “How much to sail?”

  He frowned at me and said something in rapid Egyptian. I shook my head indicating I did not understand.

  His brow furrowed deeper. “No,” he said, pointing to my hair. “Not for you.”

  Not for me? I didn’t know if he meant because I was a woman or because I was not Egyptian, but his words stung. I had to get to Naukratis. I retraced my steps, this time calling out to the various skiffs and boats along the water’s edge.

  “Naukratis?” I called hopefully to each. My heart sank lower with each response. I trudged up and down the sandy dock, scuffing my heels as I went. No one, it seemed, was headed to Naukratis, save for the thin Egyptian man’s barge--which I could not barter passage on.

  I returned to the thin man, this time determined to win my way onto the barge.

  “Please,” I begged him. I drew my trinkets out of my knotted peplos. “To Naukratis?” I smiled winningly, in the same manner that had gained me favor in Charaxus’ eyes.

  The Egyptian man pushed my hands away. “No,” he said. His eyes were hard as granite. He made an abrupt motion with his hand.

  So, he would not be moved. I retreated to a shady overhang to think.

  Several slaves gathered as the barge at last made its way to the dock. Under the orders of the thin Egyptian, black Nubians, pale Greeks, and golden skinned foreigners from a country I could not name hefted amphorae and sacks of grain to be loaded. As I watched them, I formulated a plan.

  The thin man strode off towards the barge captain, shouting and gesturing in the air towards the sky and the diminishing pile of goods. The slaves mounted the gangplank to the barge, emerging from the darkened interior minutes later for another round. No one took the slightest interest in what they did, save for me. Who would notice if there was one more slave in the bunch? It would be dangerous…what if I couldn’t find a way to escape? No, I had to try. This could be my only chance to leave the pain of Sais behind me, my one opportunity to find a way back to Greece.

  I tore a piece of linen off the bottom edge of my long skirt. The ragged threads now hung to my knees, a perfectly acceptable length for a laborer, no matter their sex. The scrap I tied around my long hair to hide its color and length. There was little I could do about my pale flesh, but hope to be lost in the mass of Greek, Nubian, and Egyptian slaves huddled around the gangplank.

  I hunched my shoulders to disguise my height, and shuffled along with the other slaves towards the huge pile of goods waiting to be loaded on the acacia barge. There were a few sacks of grain left, carved temple effigies of stone or metal, several goats and sheep huddled together, dozens of amphorae filled with flax oil or beer, hemp rope, papyrus rolls, coiled baskets and chests of spice and more. Once I was aboard, perhaps I could find a place to hide during the journey.

  When it was my turn, I hefted a medium sized basket of cumin seed. My mouth watered at its musty scent. Balancing the basket on my hip, I shuffled up the wobbly gangplank into the lower hull, where men and women deposited their loads and returned for more. The ceiling was very low and I immediately felt cramped into the small, dark space. The bottom of the boat bucked and heaved. I stumbled into the woman in front of me. She did not even turn around, it was so crowded, but I heard her murmur something sounding like a curse. The air inside was hot and stuffy, and reeked of sweat and spices, but I did not care. I had to secure passage to Naukratis.

  On the first trip, I scouted the belly of the ship for any cranny that might conceal me. Already, three double deep aisles of carefully stacked ceramic vessels of various sizes were positioned so they would not tip. They ranged from knee to chest high and were piled almost to the ceiling to create an aisle. In between the aisles of goods, narrow walkways were left uncluttered so someone could count the cargo and inspect it during the journey downstream.

  As I positioned my basket, I glanced into the almost completed third aisle. In the farthest shadowed corner gleamed two huge alabaster jars, each easily as high as my waist, similar to the ones I’d seen in the temple of Neit. When the season ended, the jars would be shipped back to Sais for Pharaoh to peruse.

  “Move,” grunted the slave behind me.

  I ducked my head and returned back to the quay to heft another load. I wondered if the jars were already filled--surely not for they were headed away from Sais, not towards. Alabaster is quite heavy. The jar would not tip or wobble during the voyage for the Nile is fairly s
mooth, unlike the cresting sea. I could hide inside without tipping it over.

  I made another trek into the barge, this time with a small wooden chest carved with four winged goddesses. I glanced over my shoulder at the gleaming alabaster jars.

  Each jar bore a pearly cap, as papyrus will spoil if it becomes damp. This could work to my advantage. I returned to the diminishing pile of goods on the dock, thinking all the while. I could leave the lid propped just so and still breathe during the day’s journey. My legs might cramp, but I could manage it. Did anyone stay below deck during the voyage? With the heat and stench, I doubted it. And if they did, well, I could be silent as a mouse when I wished.

  At the end of the journey, I could escape when the other slaves began to unload the cargo. It would be a great risk if I was discovered, but at least I had the opportunity. I could get to Naukratis and sail for home.

  I was forced to make five trips before an opening came for me to hide myself. We’d neared the last loading of the amphorae, and all that remained were pieces of statuary. I’d almost given up hope as I scooped up a carved, painted statue. But, when no one followed on my heels, I swallowed hard and scooted towards that third aisle, now completely covered by a fourth, fifth, and sixth row. I could hear the slosh of water against the boat’s hull. It sounded very near my feet. Hastily, I removed the lid and crawled over the edge of the translucent jar, replacing it so I was completely concealed.

  My heart pounded in my chest. All was dark. My head brushed the top of the jar, even with my bowed posture. The walls were completely smooth, and I had to balance with my knees touching my nose in order to fit all the way in. I wondered if anyone could tell the jar was now filled. Did my red-gold hair show through the near translucent stone? What if someone noticed?

  I heard guttural Egyptian and almost cried out in fear. What if they came looking for me? Oh, the punishment that would befall me if I were discovered. The muffled voices sounded close, very close.

  There was a horrendous scraping, followed by a pronounced thump. The pat-shuffle-pat of retreating footsteps. Then silence. While the interior surface of the stone jar was smooth and cool, the air inside rapidly became unbearably hot. I forced myself to slow my breathing. Sweat beaded on my forehead and soaked my underarms and back. I crouched with my knees touching my chin and my back against the hard curved side of the jar. Minutes passed and felt like hours. Then I heard the far off shout and the barge lurched.

  We’d set sail for Naukratis.

  Chapter Twenty

  I curled in my alabaster hideaway as the rocking of the barge and the stifling heat made me drowsy. I don’t know how long I slept, but it wasn’t long enough to dream. I awoke with a start of fear, confused and disoriented, only to realize I was still undiscovered in my cramped jar.

  After a few more moments I had to ease the ache in my back. My legs were numb as I carefully braced the backs of my heels against the smooth surface. I paused, gathering my courage and straining my ears for any sound. Hearing none, I maneuvered the lid off the jar and stood. My knees were stiff. One minute passed, then two, before I dared to slip over the edge and onto the floor of the swaying craft.

  With a sigh of relief, I stretched my limbs, just as I had long ago in Lukra’s dance class. Could there be any water aboard? I wished I knew which amphorae held wine; my throat was so dry! I dared not risk peeping into any of the vessels, for surely the whole stack would tumble down if I were to unsettle them.

  I poked my head around the corner, fully expecting to hear a shout of alarm. My nervous heartbeat hammered my chest like Boreas’ forge. But there was no one about. I paced a few turns up and down my hidden aisle. My heart fairly leapt out of my chest when I heard the scuffle of steps above my head and I dashed back to my jar, climbed over the edge, and pulled the lid on top.

  Three times during the voyage, men came to check on the goods. The last time, I’d barely made it inside my jar when I heard someone sneeze at the far end of the aisles.

  I gritted my teeth and tried to slide the lid as over the opening. To my own ears, the grind of stone on stone sounded impossibly loud.

  “What was that?” I heard a voice say. Footsteps drew nearer.

  Lady, I prayed, save me. I held my breath. There was a long pause, where I imagined them hovering over my jar, ready to capture me.

  “Filthy rats,” the voice said at last.

  When their footsteps retreated into silence, I exhaled and swore not to leave my jar again.

  It was a short-lived promise, although I did my best to stay hidden as long as possible. The trip to Naukratis took most of the day, and when the heat of my confinement grew unbearable, I propped the lid on the edge and gulped the cooler air like a hooked fish. At times, my back and legs cramped so much tears poured down my cheeks. I tried flexing my fingers and toes to keep blood flowing into my numb extremities. My throat was so dry I had not even enough moisture in my mouth to lick my dry lips. I thought I would die of thirst before we ever reached Naukratis.

  As luck would have it, I did not die of thirst, but awoke from my second heat-induced nap to the bump of the barge striking the dock. Shouts sounded from outside, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We’d reached Naukratis at last!

  I waited until I heard the rustle of slaves descending into the far aisles of cargo. There would be no way to tell if someone stood within view, so I whispered a prayer and eased the lid off the top of the alabaster jar. Nothing happened. I exhaled and gathered my courage. One, two, three…I stood up.

  The hold was empty.

  Whispering thanks to my Lady, I replaced the lid of my jar and moved towards the diminishing aisles of amphorae. Two slaves descended and loaded themselves with sacks of grain. One of them gave me a questioning look as I emerged from the dark recess of the ship’s hull, but I ignored him, straightened my kerchief and hoisted the nearest vessel. The liquid inside sloshed against the sides of the amphora, much like the river crested against the barge.

  I breathed deeply as I walked down the gangplank towards freedom. How thankful I was, when at last I could draw a breath that was not musty or rank with rat feces or body odor.

  The cool breeze sifted over my sweaty skin as I waited my chance to tread on dry land. The air reeked of pitch, fish, and wet rope, but to me it smelled like freedom. I balanced the amphora on my hip, and tucked my knotted peplos under my arm. Sweat began to dribble down my forehead. I shook my head like a dog, but the salt of my skin stung my eyes and blinded me. I yanked off my damp linen kerchief to wipe the stinging sweat out of my eyes.

  “You!” shouted a voice behind me.

  Dread raced through my veins like chilled wine.

  The thin Egyptian man hovered over my shoulder, his hollow reed still poised above the papyrus where he marked the tally of each load. Our eyes met, and his gaze was as cool and slimy as the oil I carried.

  “Guards,” he said, not loud enough for any of them to hear. I think the angry shock of finding me aboard had closed his throat so only a furious hiss escaped his thin lips. His dark glare bored into my skull.

  I dropped the amphora. It shattered and oil splashed my ankles and the stringy hem of my torn gown. Pale golden oil coated the gangplank and dripped into the Nile rippling below. The thin man’s mouth opened wide to shout.

  In a flash, I took to my heels, slipping a little on the oily, sun-baked gangplank. The Egyptian bellowed in rage. Clutching my sodden bundled peplos, I pushed a slave carrying a large wooden chest out of the way. The unfortunate wretch tipped off the end of the gangplank and into the swampy shallows near the docks. Curses broke out behind me, but I did not stop. I ran as fast as I could, with no clue to what direction I headed.

  The streets were a blur of white plaster buildings, copper bodies, and hot sandy streets burned my bare feet. Scents assaulted me as I gulped for air--the fishy brine of the river, burning pitch, and animal dung, gave way to the clearer scent of spices and baking bread.

  My chest burned like flame. I turn
ed a quick corner and paused to catch my breath, my back pressed safely against a building. Over the din of the marketplace, I could not tell if I was being pursued. A sharp pain in my left side flared each time I gulped for air and my legs started to cramp. Here, in Naukratis, I was free and yet more afraid than ever of being caught. I laughed until I cried.

  Once the tears started, they would not stop. I slid down the side of the building and collapsed on the sandy ground. I wept for those I’d left behind at the temple--friends, teachers, and family. I wept for the sorrow of slavery, for the years I’d been beaten and starved into submission. I wept for love, for the loss of Mara, my near sister, for my family. I wept for passion, for Charaxus, a man in search of love himself, and for Hori. How much I’d misjudged them both!

  I sobbed until I had no more tears left in me. Thank the gods there was no one about then; they would have thought me mad, although I would not have cared.

  At last, with my eyes almost swollen closed, and my nose running, I ceased weeping. Though I could hear the clamor and din of a nearby market, the noise and stench were muted. I rested against a private home. The houses here were further from the stink of the river. I could hear children laughing around the corner.

  I did not know how long the thin Egyptian man would be on the docks. No doubt he planned to stay the night in Naukratis; it was already late in the day. Egyptians fear to travel the Nile at night for it is a perilous undertaking with hidden sand bars and floating islands. I could not go back to the docks, so I spent the few remaining hours of light searching the area to get my bearings. I discovered a cold, dark corner nestled between two ramshackle buildings where I could rest, hoping I would not be accosted by thieves.

  The night passed without incident, although I shivered both from fear and the cold. Hunger gnawed at me and thirst choked my throat. Though at last I grew numb to the discomfort, I was still much too afraid to sleep. I jumped at every sound, from the scratching of rats to the murmur of voices from three streets over. Heat leaches from the air when the sun sets. My joints were stiff when I roused the next morning, and my eyes bleary from lack of sleep. I needed to find water, so I set out towards the market near the river.