Free Hetaera--Suspense in Ancient Athens by Suzanne Tyrpak Page A

soot mixed with water. Using bold strokes, he signed the papyrus and handed the pen to Diodorus. “Galenos will serve as witness to our signatures.”
    “What am I signing?” Diodorus asked.
    “Our agreement.”
    Diodorus scanned the scroll, his concentration wavering. From what he gathered, the agreement stated that, after one year of work, he would be free of debt. “I suppose I have no choice but to sign.”
    “You could choose poverty and ruin. Disgrace. Think of your poor mother.”
    Diodorus felt as doomed as the tragic hero, Orestes, his hand forced by circumstance beyond his control. Praying the House of Agathon might have a better fate than the cursed House of Atreus, he dipped the stylus into the inkpot and scratched out his name.
    With aplomb to rival an actor, Galenos blew on the papyrus before blotting their signatures.
    Lycurgus clapped Diodorus on the back. “In one year’s time, your debt will be cleared. This is cause for celebration. Let’s toast to the future.” He raised his wine bowl.
    Diodorus drank, barely noticing the wine’s taste. He told himself the stories he had heard about the silver mines must be exaggerated. Otherwise, how could his father—a man of integrity who cared about people, cared about slaves—have been involved in such a business? And how could he, a follower of Socrates, hope to reconcile his conscience?
    He allowed a servant to refill his wine bowl and told himself he should feel pleased, proud that he had struck out on his own with no influence from his mother. Besides, Lycurgus made a good point, the whole fabric of society depended upon slaves. Slavery was part of the natural order.
    Lowering the bowl, he wiped his mouth. “Five talents is a lot of money for one year’s work.”
    “I promised your mother I’d take care of you.”
    “My mother? What has Melaina got to do with this?”
    “You didn’t know?” Lycurgus chuckled. “The gods know that woman can keep a secret.”
    Diodorus stared at Lycurgus, hoping he misunderstood. “My mother arranged this agreement?”
    “She asked me to offer you work.”
    Diodorus set down his wine bowl. Bile rose into his mouth. In truth, he was no better than a slave—slave to Lycurgus, slave to Agathon’s debt, and slave to his mother. There was no escape.
    “Now tell me more about your girl,” Lycurgus said.
    “My girl?”
    “The girl you lust after, the fabulous slave. Is she a virgin?”
    He must mean Hestia.
    “Of course, she’s virgin.”
    Lycurgus raised a silver eyebrow. “You’ve never dipped into her honey pot? How can you be certain of her chastity?”
    Diodorus wanted to punch the man, but he managed to control himself. “I know her,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. “I’ve known her all my life. She’s not like other slaves, not like other women. She’s intelligent, cares about important things. My father taught her to read.”
    “Perhaps Agathon sampled her.”
    Diodorus clenched his fist. “He did not. My father was a man of honor.”
    “Was he?” Lycurgus appeared skeptical. “We all cling to our delusions.”
    “What are you implying?”
    “If the girl’s all you claim she is, I’ll pay twice the going price.”
    Diodorus slammed his fist on the table. “How many times must I tell you? Hestia is not—” His bowl crashed onto the floor, red wine spilling on the priceless carpet.
    “Hestia.” Lycurgus picked up the bowl, returned it to the table. “Named for a goddess. If she means so much to you, why don’t you bed her? Or do you lean the other way?”
    Lycurgus summoned the slave boy, pointed him toward Diodorus. “More wine for my guest, and whatever else he may desire.”
    “I’ve had enough.”
    Diodorus tried to stand.
    Lycurgus pushed him back onto the couch. “The night is young,” he said. “Surely, you won’t offend your host. You can’t leave before dessert.”
    Lycurgus clapped his hands.
    The shrill of flutes pierced the doorway’s curtain,