Athenian Steel (Book I of the The Hellennium)

by P. K. Lentz

  Eurydike went to fetch wine while Thalassia walked to a wall of the megaron, placed an open palm on its surface and walked absently from corner to corner, dragging the hand behind her. Perhaps she was comparing her new home to whatever sort of dwelling it was to which she was accustomed. Demosthenes and his cousin meanwhile retired to the couch. Phormion lowered himself on his ebony cane, and they began to quietly converse.

  Phormion explained that since the Spartan invasion force had been recalled to deal with the capture of Pylos, Athens had known its first summer of peace since the war's outset. Harvests were being brought in, flocks multiplied, and men and goods came and went between city and countryside as they pleased. Demosthenes' own family estate in Thria, where his father Alkisthenes dwelt in ill health, had borne its first fruit in many seasons.

  Demosthenes in turn spoke of the battle, but Phormion, sensing his cousin's exhaustion, did not remain long. Just before he departed to his own home, discharged from his duties as the keeper of his cousin's, Phormion asked, “Shall I stay for the welcome of your new slave?”

  Ordinarily, a new slave would sit before the hearth, swear allegiance to her new master and be showered with sweets and nuts.

  “Perhaps tomorrow,” Demosthenes said. He was in no hurry to ask Thalassia to submit to such a ceremony.

  The door shut, and Demosthenes turned to find both females seated by the hearth. Thalassia watched the dancing flames, and Eurydike watched the other woman with a look of consternation. At Demosthenes' approach, Eurydike shook off that look and leaped to her feet.

  “My lord,” she said, grabbing Demosthenes' hand. “Come upstairs and see that everything is in order. That one”—she nodded at Thalassia—“can tend to the hearth.”

  As was frequently the case with Eurydike, her true intentions were transparent, if only because she wished it that way. Demosthenes had learned long ago that Eurydike only played the fool, when in reality she was no such thing. She simply loved life, unkind as it had been to her, and sought to enjoy it.

  Demosthenes let her lead him up the timber stair. He went not because he craved sex—though he would not refuse it, not least because it was easier to give in than to defy Eurydike in that regard—but because he hoped to share words with her in private. As soon as they had passed through the home's disused women's quarters and into the master's bedchamber, which was, as promised, in perfect order, Demosthenes said to Eurydike, softly, but gravely enough to penetrate her girlish excitement, “You have no cause for jealousy.”

  Eurydike's lip curled in an exaggerated sneer. “Me, jealous? Of her? You're crazy. Why would I be?”

  “Precisely,” Demosthenes assured her. “So be kind and try not to work her very hard. Between you and me... I think she is mad.”

  “She would have to be, wouldn't she?”

  Demosthenes chuckled nervously. “Why is that?”

  Caught in a bluff, the Thracian shrugged. “I don't know, lord, I was just agreeing with you. I'm glad you're back.”

  Her tongue reappeared, and it came forward to lick the skin of Demosthenes' chest where it was exposed above the drape of his loose chiton. She pressed her warm body into his. During the embrace, an idea crossed Demosthenes' mind which might simultaneously allay Eurydike's fears of displacement and reap practical benefit besides.

  Conscious of Thalassia's better-than-human senses, he whispered directly into Eurydike's ear: “I believe she has secrets. Learn what you can from her and bring it to me. Consider it a special mission vital to the safety of Athens.”

  Eurydike drew back with a sly smile on her lips, delight in her emerald eyes. She put her lips to his ear and nibbled the lobe before whispering back, “She will not have secrets for long, lord. I'll break her!”

  When she drew back, Eurydike's best dress was a pile on the plaster floor.

  “Enough about her,” she said too loudly for Demosthenes' taste, and she kissed him. “You need reminding that there are enough holes in this house to be filled without adding more.”

  Demosthenes promised, when the other's insistent lips allowed his a moment of freedom, “Her holes hold no interest for me.”

  Eurydike walked him to his wide, low bed and straddled him on its wool- and feather-stuffed mattress. Surrendering to her, there were two ironies which her master did not bother to address, knowing it futile: one, that although slaves in Athens had more rights than those elsewhere, sexual exclusivity was not among them. And two, Eurydike was not even faithful to her master, as she freely admitted.

  Pushing him onto his back, she came down atop him on all fours so that her hanging curls of deep red formed a tunnel between their faces. Pink nipples brushed the chest that one of her freckled hands worked to bare of its linen covering. When the other found his cock, Eurydike frowned.

  “Why are you not pleased to see me, lord? You already want her, don't you?” It was mostly performance, but edged with a note of genuine insecurity.

  “I was only thinking,” Demosthenes admitted in a cautious whisper. “I do not think you ought to try to break her, exactly...” He did not dare speak Thalassia's name, knowing that only a floor of plaster-covered beams separated her from the conspiracy above.

  “Arrgh!” Eurydike groaned. “Enough about that brown bitch. Leave her to me!”

  She descended on him, and quickly made him 'pleased' enough to see to matters at hand in spite of the exhaustion of the voyage. He even managed, he believed, not to let his concubine sense as they fucked how conscious he remained of Thalassia's presence alone in the megaron below.

  He was being paranoid, he told himself. If Thalassia was going to dwell here, he needed to try to trust her.

  As was the norm, Eurydike climaxed first, some number of times, then deftly spilled her master's seed by hand and mouth so as not to spawn a bastard in her womb. Afterward, they lay in a tau-shape with Eurydike's head resting on his abdomen.

  “I'll need some money tomorrow,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “My mission, lord. I'll need to take Sea-thing shopping.”

  Demosthenes flicked a copper ringlet. “That is a convenient plan.” He spoke in normal tones now, abandoning hope of secrecy. “For you.”

  “I know what I'm doing! Half a mina ought to do.”

  Demosthenes laughed. For a moment, looking into Eurydike's wide, green, honest eyes, he managed to forget about challenges to Fate and hot-tempered otherworldly traitors bent on revenge. “The price I paid for you was scarcely more than that,” he lied. “If only I had been told that your upkeep would drain my coffers dry.”

  He was only teasing her; she knew as well as he that his resistance was but a show.

  “I drain other things. And don't start throwing numbers at me. You're hurting my brain!” Eurydike was quick to use her illiteracy as a defense when it suited her. “I only know I can't be lending the bitch my clothes all the time. She needs her own.”

  “Fine, take it,” he said, as was inevitable. “Just promise not to try to 'break' her, all right? And don't call her a bitch.”

  Eurydike blew a raspberry. “Whatever, lord.” The Spartan dagger he had given her appeared from somewhere, and she absently prodded at her own navel with its dull tip. Staring at the blade, she said quietly, “I'm glad you're back.”

  II. ATHENS 3. Alkibiades

  The next day, Demosthenes rose earlier than he would have liked given the prior day's sea journey, and left his house praying that Eurydike would manage to treat her new housemate well enough to avoid falling victim to the latter's explosive temper. With luck, he hoped, the disaster to which he returned would be less than total. Would that he could have stayed and averted it, or even just helplessly watched it unfold, but there was much business to attend to. There were families of the fallen to visit, pay and spoils to distribute, reports to give to officials of the democracy, and any number of other minor tasks which resulted either from the battle or his long absence from public life. Most importantly, perhaps, the c
itizen body would just expect its returning hero to be seen, especially after his sudden absence the day prior.

  Seen he was, and he made his excuses for having deserted the festivities, while in the meantime even managing to accomplish his business. Towards midday, he was leaving the law-courts, having there made the pretense of his ownership of Thalassia official, when an arm snaked around his shoulders from behind. A familiar, smiling face and sculpted locks the color of chestnuts thrust into sight over his shoulder.

  "Demosthenes!" a pretty mouth greeted him.

  "Alkibiades," Demosthenes returned, stopping to receive the younger man's embrace.

  "Listen," the younger man said urgently, "if Little Red told you I molested her, I swear by Zeus she begged me to do it—three times. You can ask Socrates. He was there, watching and polishing his knob, as usual."

  Demosthenes winced and resumed walking while trying his best to forget what he had just heard.

  Alkibiades fell into step beside him. "Sorry I couldn't make your homecoming. Had some pressing matters, you know."

  "There's no need to tell me what you were pressed up against."

  It was obvious enough what Alkibiades had been up to. Events like the return from Pylos drew male citizens out of their homes, leaving wives and daughters guarded by little more than maids who were obliged to turn a blind eye if the mistress ordered it, even if doing so put them at risk of torture and death should the matter come to trial.

  "Too right!" Alkibiades laughed. He clapped a hand on Demosthenes' shoulder. "You'll have to tell me all about Pylos, friend, since I'm certain the tale Kleon is spreading like a bad rash bears little resemblance to the truth."

  "What tale is that?"

  "Have you not heard?" Alkibiades raised a sculpted brow. "According to him, you sat in Pylos sulking and whining all summer long, until your savior Kleon arrived to finish the job."

  Demosthenes grunted distaste, but the matter fled his mind quickly enough. Let the demagogue say what he would. Athens was ever harsh with her most outspoken men, even when their reputations were built on deeds and not just words. Solon, Themistokles, Aristides, Demosthenes' own tribemate Kimon—all had been heroes one day, outcasts the next. Had the plague not cut down Perikles, the people doubtless would have done the deed themselves, if in a less deadly fashion.

  "Bah!" Alkibiades exclaimed with the dismissive wave of a manicured hand, likely having mistaken his companion's silence for irritation. "I'm far more interested in an interesting rumor I've heard..."

  "And that is?" Demosthenes asked without particular enthusiasm.

  "It seems there's a new piece of tail in town, and she lives in your house."

  "Really? That comes as news to me."

  "Hmm," Alkibiades intoned. "Well, as it happens, I was heading to your home right now to investigate. Care to tag along?"

  ***

  They entered the megaron of Demosthenes' home and found Eurydike by the hearth mending a cloak brought back from Pylos worse for wear. There was no sign of Thalassia. Seeing them, Eurydike leaped to her feet, ran across the room and delivered a kiss of affection on each man's cheek, starting with her master.

  On receiving his, Alkibiades patted her round backside and asked, "Where's your new sister, Red?"

  Eurydike feigned gagging. "She is not my sister."

  "True," Alkibiades conceded. "One would not want to do with one's sister what I hope that you and she soon will..."

  Demosthenes interrupted loudly, "Eurydike, where is Thalassia?"

  Relaxing the nose which had been wrinkled in disgust, Eurydike answered, "The cow is on the roof, lord. She has been making drawings, or some such useless crap. She took all the parchment you had in stores. I tried to stop her."

  And probably failed deliberately, Demosthenes thought, in the hope of seeing her rival punished.

  "Go easy, sweet," he chided. "Remember what I told you."

  "I didn't call her a bitch. Even though she—"

  Eurydike cut herself short when at the top of the timber staircase at the megaron's rear, Thalassia appeared. She wore an ankle-length chiton which Eurydike had been persuaded to lend her, a long, well-pleated one of soft flax linen. Its color was a pale blue-green like frothing sea-foam, a hue that suited Thalassia's golden flesh better than it did the speckled Thracian's, and it made her wintry eyes sparkle like twin crystals. She had washed her skin and too-short dark hair clean of their salt haze, and styled the latter with a borrowed hair clip of silver and bone.

  Reaching the floor, she came forward with head bowed demurely, eyes downcast, looking the part she had agreed to play. Smudges of ink showed on hands held folded in front of her.

  "Greetings, my lord," she said.

  Alkibiades' expression became instantly that of the wolf into whose path a lost ewe has strayed. And not knowing that this ewe was herself at least half wolf, he pounced, stalking a great circle around his prey with predatory gaze locked upon her. Halfway through encirclement, this less-than-helpless quarry raised her eyes and fixed her would-be devourer with a return look of mild curiosity, turning her head to track him.

  Completing his inspection circuit, Alkibiades came to stand beside Eurydike, who leaned against a smooth column of the megaron with arms folded petulantly on her chest. Alkibiades asked her, without removing his eyes from the object of discussion, "What do you make of her, Little Red?"

  "Not much."

  "Try to be impartial," Alkibiades reprimanded. "I want an honest evaluation. Let us start with the most obvious. Her skin."

  "Color of dirty bathwater," Eurydike decreed.

  "No, no." Alkibiades stepped in closer to Thalassia, appraising her. "Surely it is autumn barley." Thalassia's level stare said she was anything but intimidated. "Or toasted almond." He brushed the length of Thalassia's arm with the backs of his fingers. "And soft, too. Have you felt it, Red?"

  "I've petted a bitch before." She shot her master a glance of faux apology. "Sorry, lord, I meant goat."

  Demosthenes only sighed and surrendered control of events, taking a seat to watch. There was never any stopping Alkibiades anyway, rarely any harm in letting Eurydike vent, and as for Thalassia, well, this would if nothing else be a trial-by-fire of her forbearance with the inferior denizens of this lesser world in which she had stranded herself.

  And if Demosthenes was not mistaken, although Thalassia scarcely let it show, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

  "Let us move on," Alkibiades continued. "Hair?"

  "Where's the rest of it?"

  "Short hair on a woman," Alkibiades mused. "It's kinky," he ruled. "I like it. Eyes?"

  "Evil eyes," Eurydike said. "And whorish."

  "A bit cold, to be sure," Alkibiades agreed. "But that only inspires a man to work harder to warm them. Now we work our way lower. Demosthenes, any chance of asking her to drop the dress?"

  "Ask her yourself." Demosthenes half wished Alkibiades would try, just to find out which would wind up on the floor first, the sea-green chiton or Alkibiades. The odds for either seemed about equal.

  "We'll make do," Alkibiades conceded, failing for once to live up to his bold reputation. Perhaps he sensed the danger in those cold eyes. "What do you think, Red?"

  "Hips too narrow," Eurydike declared after a moment's thought. "Tits..." She snorted. "Boring."

  "Be fair, Red!" In his most daring approach yet, Alkibiades placed a cupped hand under Thalassia's left breast, just grazing the linen pleats which hung from it. "She fills a hand well enough, and then some. And gods, those legs, they'd wrap around me twice. But now to aspects of womanhood almost as vital, the tongue and the mind. Thalassia, was it? Odd name. Do you read and write Greek, Thalassia?"

  After seeking silent permission from her nominal master, she asked the questioner, "Do you?"

  Alkibiades thrust up an eloquent brow. "My, my, she has both looks and wit," he said. "If all barbarians were as you, every home would have one."

  "Like bugs," Eurydike inserted.


  Alkibiades ignored her. "Music, poetry, rhetoric?" he asked, falling into a close orbit of Thalassia.

  She deigned to answer: "Physics, mathematics, medicine, history, engineering, geography... anatomy."

  Alkibiades' chestnut mane whirled round. "Zeus' left nut, Demosthenes! What have you got here?" He turned back to Thalassia. "I need to let Socrates loose on this one."

  Eurydike's face wrinkled. "Blabeddy-blah-blah-blah." She made a farting sound with her mouth.

  Heaving a puzzled sigh, Alkibiades returned to the column and asked his fellow judge, "So what do you make to be her final score, Red?"

  "One? Two? No, definitely zero."

  "Come now," Alkibiades objected. "Much higher than that. She is but a few points shy of you, in fact."

  He boxed his favorite Thratta's chin affectionately before putting bright, hungry eyes back on Thalassia. The two gazed steadfastly at one another across the megaron, each waiting for the other to be first to blink. Thalassia emerged victorious, but then bowed her head and became again the good little slave she had proven herself able to resemble when she saw fit.

  Retreating to the corner to stand beside his seated host, Alkibiades ran a hand through his mane and blinked rapidly, as though stunned by a blow. He looked thoughtfully at Thalassia, who ignored him.

  "Believe me, friend," Alkibiades said, loudly enough for even normal ears to overhear. "I know something about women, and I can tell you this one is something special. A fallen goddess, even, and the path to her sanctuary is warm and slippery. Because I have a sense for such things, I gather you have not yet made the pilgrimage, but I advise you to get started. She is your slave, of course, so I shall give your head a start, but be warned: I am not one to sit idly by while a ripe spoil spoils."

  At that, Thalassia looked up at Perikles' ward, and they shared one final, impenetrable look before Alkibiades clapped his host's shoulder, acknowledged Eurydike's feral snarl as though it were a blown kiss, and made his leave.

  "He's full of shit, lord," Eurydike remarked the moment he had gone.

  "Watch what you say about citizens," Demosthenes chided. "But... yes, he is."