Free Hetaera--Suspense in Ancient Athens by Suzanne Tyrpak

you’re a hypocrite.” Lycurgus laughed, his eyes glinting like a predator’s. “Freedom is for citizens.”
    “Please, tell me more about your business.” Diodorus noticed that his speech sounded slurred.
    “I trade souls.”
    “S-souls?”
    “I rescue the dead and offer them new life.”
    “Are you a priest?”
    “A priest!” Lycurgus laughed delightedly. “I suppose, in a way, I am.”
    “I thought you dealt in imports.”
    Lycurgus reached for a fig. “I import labor for the mines.”
    “The silver mines?”
    “Your father and I got into the business years ago, before the Persian invasion. We contract mines from the state, oversee their operation, supply slaves for labor. We export silver to Athens and beyond. Our silver allows Athens to mint coins—the most trusted coinage in the world. So, you see, the business provides a tremendous service.”
    Diodorus felt sick to his stomach. He’d heard about the silver mines, heard about the slaves who crawled through dark tunnels and never made it out—backbreaking work, with no reward except the prize of early death.
    He took another sip of wine, but now it tasted sour. “I’ve heard that many people die working the mines.”
    “That’s why we depend on slaves, those unsuited to any other work. At least we offer them means to eat. All labor is hard. Farming, building roads, do you think any of that work is easy?” Lycurgus bit into the fig, juice running down his chin. He dabbed his beard with a napkin. “New markets are opening and business is exploding. I can’t keep up with the demand. I need a man to oversee the operation. That’s where you come in.”
    “I want no part of the slave trade,” Diodorus said. “Bad enough we make slaves of those defeated in battle.”
    “Nonsense. You’re doing these slaves a service. They’re outcasts. No one else will buy them.”
    “What’s worse than loss of freedom?”
    “Hunger. Plague. Is death not worse than slavery? What good is freedom, if your family must eat dung? You’re a fool, my boy, too influenced by Socrates. We’re all slaves to someone.” Lycurgus pointed his finger at Diodorus. “And, until you pay your father’s debt, you’re slave to me.”
    The statement felt like a punch. Diodorus tried to rise. Unable to trust his legs, he sat back down.
    “Relax,” Lycurgus said. “I won’t make you crawl around the silver mines. You’ll be my right-hand man, and the work will provide you with more lucre than you can imagine. There’s trouble in the mines right now, and I need someone to set things straight.” Lycurgus snapped his fingers at a servant. “Fetch Galenos, and tell him to bring the papers.” He turned back to Diodorus. “You depart tomorrow. I’ve made all the arrangements.”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “There’s no time to waste. I have an oxcart carrying supplies to Piraeus in the morning. I’ll send the driver by your house first thing. My ship sails in the morning, and I want you to be on it.”
    More wine was poured. Lycurgus spoke about the business, outlining travel arrangements and work to be performed. Words swirled around Diodorus, but he felt unable to take them in, unable to concentrate on what the man said.
    After a time, the curtain opened and the steward entered, the slave called Galenos. Diodorus had seen him before, a man not easily forgotten—his eyebrows painted in an expression of surprise, his robe bright yellow. His milky skin appeared never to see the sun, and his muscles appeared slack. Everything about him seemed effeminate.
    “My prize from Samos,” Lycurgus said. “Galenos thinks himself above Athenians, don’t you?”
    The man said nothing, but handed Lycurgus a scroll.
    “A pen and ink?”
    “Yes, Master.” The slave’s voice sounded higher than most men’s. Diodorus surmised that Galenos had been captured in battle and made a eunuch. With a flourish, the slave set an inkpot and stylus on the table.
    Lycurgus dipped the stylus into the