blew her a kiss. A porne knelt in the mud of a street, servicing a client while he dictated orders. A pair of dirty children sold sweets off a broad leaf.
The twins drank it in as if they had been starved. Philokles told an abbreviated version of their adventures to Crax, and introduced Theron, who seemed as stunned as the children at the spectacle around him.
The Getae man pointed to a magnificent pavilion in scarlet and yellow that towered over every other tent in the central area. ‘Banugul,’ Crax said. ‘Remember her?’
Philokles laughed. ‘It’s rather like muster day for old friends,’ he said. Satyrus couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not. But his attention drifted when Kallista threw back the shawl on her hair and immediately drew whistles and more vocal attention. She smiled on every admirer.
Theron watched her. ‘Going into business?’ he asked, his voice tense.
She pouted and flipped her shawl back over her head.
Philokles shook his head. ‘You can’t transform a porne into a wife overnight,’ he said. ‘And I believe that she is the slave of my mistress.’
Theron glared at the Spartan. ‘Ahh, the philosopher is back,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you would like to give me some sage advice?’
‘I would,’ Philokles said. ‘But you wouldn’t take it. I scarcely ever take my advice myself – but that doesn’t mean it isn’t good.’
‘Did you find all this wisdom in your amphora of wine?’ Theron spat.
‘There, and elsewhere,’ Philokles returned, but the comment hurt him, Satyrus could tell. ‘She will not do well with jealousy,’ Philokles said.
‘And you are an expert with women, I find!’ Theron said. ‘Really, it is a pleasure to have you sober!’
‘Theron, shut up,’ Melitta said. ‘Philokles, please don’t be offended. Theron is as happy to find you returned without your ill-daimon as we are. He has forgotten his place and will apologize. Theron, if you ever wish to lie with my serving maid again, you’ll apologize.’
Theron shook his head. ‘You are going to be a formidable woman, Melitta. Mistress. Philokles, I’m sorry.’ He extended his hand.
The Spartan took it. ‘As am I.’
Kallista glared at all of them from under her shawl. ‘I was only playing, ’ she said.
Melitta nodded. ‘Ask my permission next time,’ she said. ‘Your actions reflect on me.’
Satyrus watched it all with admiration, but while they were dismounting, he said, ‘I thought that you were against slavery.’
‘I am,’ his sister agreed. ‘But if you are going to do a thing, do it well. Kallista needs a mother. Since she doesn’t have anyone but me, I’ll do it as her owner.’
And then they were led into a tent with cool, dark panels of blue-green canvas.
Sappho – a family friend since they were born – reclined on a couch, fanned by a pair of children. She sat up as soon as they were escorted in.
‘Children! I have wine and cakes for you. I heard that Srayanka is – dead. I’m sorry to be so blunt – my wits are astray and I’m an old woman.’ She spoke at random, her arms wrapped around both of them.
Satyrus had forgotten her smell – a wonderful smell of incense and musk and flowers. No one in the world smelled like Sappho, and she was as beautiful at forty-five as she had been at twenty-five, her beauty the outward form of a hard-won happiness. Her shoulders were held high and her skin soft, her face lined with both laughter and pain, but more enhanced by the lines than aged, especially when she smiled. Her eyes were unchanged, large and liquid.
They both kissed her and allowed themselves to be held while slaves bustled around them, and then they were taken away to another tent to be bathed. Satyrus was mortified to be bathed by women, as if he was a child, but he was clean for the first time in thirty days. He found his riding boots and a fresh chiton on a stool and he put them on.
Melitta had beaten him to it, although she seemed embarrassed to be dressed in a long woman’s chiton and gilded sandals. To Sappho, she said, ‘I cannot ride like this. Please, domina – I am not a Greek woman.’
Sappho shook her head. ‘You are while under my tent, my dear,’ she said. ‘There is likely to be a battle. Women dressed as men will be in danger.’
Melitta’s brow furrowed. ‘I can be raped to death as effectively in this kit as in my trousers,’ she shot back.
‘Where did you learn such things?’ Sappho asked. ‘War is awful – but no one is going to be raped to death here. Sold into slavery is more likely.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I would know.’
‘From my mother,’ Melitta answered. But she had lost the initiative. Sappho, who had endured the sack of Thebes, had survived rape and worse, and Melitta had no answer for her calm.
‘If you wish to go riding,’ Sappho agreed, ‘I will see to it that you dress appropriately. In the meantime, you will be a Greek maiden for a while. And that slave of yours?’ she said, reaching out a long white arm to point at Kallista. ‘She is a hetaira, not a maidservant. Why do you have her? She’s worth a few talents.’
‘It is a long story, despoina,’ Satyrus said. ‘Melitta – inherited her from Kinon, Uncle Leon’s factor in Heraklea. We promised to free her.’
Sappho crooked a finger at the beautiful girl – more beautiful still, now that her hair was clean and she had on a clean gown. ‘Come here, my beauty. Can you dress hair?’ she asked.
Kallista nodded.
‘And perfumed oil? I imagine you know how to apply it?’ she asked.
Kallista looked at the ground under her feet.
‘Your mistress came into my tent looking like a cross between a barbarian warrior and a ragpicker. Do you have any excuse?’ Sappho asked. She had the other girl’s wrist between her fingers.
‘Please, mistress! We were in disguise! People tried to kill us!’ Kallista’s voice was breathy.
‘Hmm,’ Sappho said. She looked at Melitta. ‘I can give you a far better maidservant and have this one sold. She’d benefit herself – with that body and voice she’ll be free before she’s twenty.’ Sappho’s look at the girl was not unkind. ‘You’ll never purchase your freedom as a maid, dear.’
‘We promised to free her,’ Satyrus said. ‘We owe her.’
Sappho nodded sharply. ‘Very well. We’ll discuss this later. Satyrus, you are to go with Crax to see the elephants. Melitta will stay with me. I see that I have a great deal to catch up on.’
‘Despoina,’ Satyrus said in his new-found voice, ‘we are not children. Please, Aunt, don’t be offended, but we’ve spent a month being chased and poisoned. We’ve killed men and seen – things.’ He kept his voice steady by force of will. ‘Melitta is not a child. Neither am I.’
Sappho reached out and took their hands in hers. ‘I hear it in your voices, dears. But it is exactly because you are not children that I must be so careful, especially with your sister. She could be married – any day. And her reputation will matter to her.’
Melitta stamped her foot, which didn’t do her case any good at all.
Satyrus, feeling like a traitor, slipped out of the complex of tents with a cleaner Crax by his side. ‘It’s not fair,’ he said to Crax, and to Philokles, who was waiting by the horses, ‘It’s not fair,’ he said again. ‘She’s always been allowed to ride and hunt. She’s braver than I am!’
Philokles gave him a hard look. ‘I doubt it, boy,’ he said.
Crax shrugged. ‘Greeks hate women,’ he said. He shrugged again. ‘I don’t know why. Afraid, maybe.’ He smiled. ‘We’ll break her out, lad. But listen. Lady Sappho – well, she’s the only wife in this camp. There’s some soiled flowers of various shades, but she’s the only wife. She needs somebody to talk to. Hear me?’
Satyrus shrugged.
‘Want to see some elephants?’ Crax asked, vaulting on to his mare’s back.
Satyrus banished thoughts of his sister. ‘Yes!’
The elephants were huge. Not only were they the largest animals Satyrus had ever seen, they were many times larger than anything in his experience – horses and camels. They had long, wicked tusks that looked like curved white swords and they made noises that all but panicked his horse.
On the other hand, their eyes had a curious intelligence. ‘Are they as smart as a horse?’ he asked Crax.
‘Fucked if I know,’ the Getae replied. ‘Let’s ask a mahout. Hey – India-man!’ he shouted at a wrinkled brown man sitting in the shade.
