Melitta chewed her lip.
‘My sister has taken against slavery,’ Satyrus said in disgust.
‘When you said we could end up slaves, it made me think. What about that girl? Kallista? I’m pretty,’ Melitta said in disgust. ‘Men would look at me the way you all look at her.’
Eutropios laughed. ‘Lady, that will happen anyway,’ he said. ‘Let me be a good host. Come this way.’ He led the way to another shed, where two men worked on long wooden benches while half a dozen younger men held things.
‘Whitesmiths,’ Eutropios said. ‘Finishers. See what they’re making?’ They were finishing small blades – knives shaped like swords but made the size of meat knives. ‘Look at them – no black on them any more. See what Klopi here – he has the knack – see what he’s got. The blade shines like a mirror. People pay money for hilts in bronze and gold – but it is the bladework and the finishing that costs the money to make. And a polish like this won’t rust.’ He swatted Klopi on the back. ‘Nice work. Master work, in fact. Come and see me tonight.’ He looked at the other blade. ‘Not bad. Klopi, help him finish and show him how you got that deep lustre.’
When they emerged from the sheds, Theron and Philokles had a mule with panniers loaded with bronze and iron. ‘We have a good deal of work to do ourselves,’ Philokles said.
They spent the ride back to Heraklea babbling like the children they were, while their tutors made plans.
6
No sooner were they back in the courtyard of Kinon’s house than Philokles set to work, borrowing labour from the house staff. He sent Zosimos out to find a leatherworker to make scabbards and belts and straps for the corslets, and he started with the shields, ripping the old leather backing off. Melitta and Satyrus were handed jars of rancid oil and scraps of linen and powdered pumice. They enthusiastically rubbed the surface rust off the blades of the swords, helped by various slaves who knew how to use the tools at hand. In minutes they were red to their elbows with rust.
Kinon came out into the working courtyard, dressed in an elegant chiton and with a heavy cloak over his left shoulder. He glanced around. ‘If he’s fobbed you off with a lot of old stuff-’
‘I think we’re entirely satisfied,’ Philokles said. ‘A little work won’t hurt any of us,’ he said with a glance at the twins.
Satyrus agreed. It felt good to be dirty – good to be doing something. He enjoyed the slow progress of his work, watching the red fall away from the steel, and then the rhythmic effort would widen the bright spot. There was a lesson there, he thought.
Melitta began to hum to herself as she worked – a Sakje song about drinking wine. Satyrus started to sing the words, and then they were both singing.
Kinon nodded. ‘I have an appointment,’ he said. ‘Tenedos is out listening for news. I’ll see you at dinner,’ he added. He stopped in the gate, where Zosimos was entering with a leatherworker, the man’s trade obvious from his apron and knife. ‘I’m reminded of my father,’ he said, looking around. ‘This was the way our courtyard would be when he made ready for war, and all his clients and friends gathered to fix their kit.’
Philokles raised his head. Satyrus followed his glance and saw tears on the Theban’s face, and he went back to singing.
Dinner was just as good as the first night, and Satyrus gazed on Kallista until his devotion was obvious to everyone there, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and fell asleep on his couch, to his own acute embarrassment.
Melitta stayed up later, listening to the older men make plans and watching the complexities of the interplay between the men. Friendship was growing between Philokles and Theron, and something similar between Philokles and Kinon, but Kinon and Theron didn’t seem to be getting along. She watched them carefully.
After the wine began to circulate quickly and the slaves were sent to bed, Kallista came and stood beside her. ‘May I share your couch?’ she asked.
Melitta moved aside and the older girl lay down. Melitta put an arm around her and they snuggled against each other.
‘I haven’t been dismissed, but Kinon won’t want me listening,’ the beautiful girl said. ‘He’s flirting with the Spartan. Why don’t they just say what they want?’
Melitta peeked over the back of her couch. The men had forgotten them altogether. They were laughing in the way that Melitta associated with jokes about sex, or women. In that respect, Sakje men and Greek men were little different.
‘Philokles doesn’t know what he wants,’ she said.
‘My master wants him,’ Kallista said.
Melitta held her breath a moment. ‘I thought that – that is to say, it seemed. Oh dear. I thought that he loved you?’
Kallista laughed. ‘First, mistress, I’m a slave – he can have me when he pleases, or send me to pleasure his guests. I’ve done all that. But no – in this house I’ve never been asked to oblige my master in any way, except to wait at table. I am an adornment. Much like the silver pitchers.’
‘Oh,’ Melitta said. ‘Do you-Is it better? Than – obliging?’
Kallista laughed. ‘How old are you, mistress?’
‘Twelve,’ Melitta said.
‘I’ve had men since I was eleven,’ Kallista said. ‘Sometimes it’s nice. Sometimes it’s big, drunk men who want me on their cocks in the middle of a party.’ She shrugged, turned away so that Melitta couldn’t see her face. ‘But I’ve never kindled, Aphrodite be thanked, and Kinon hasn’t pushed me at a man since I went into this house. Perhaps my hymen will grow back,’ she said. She rolled over carefully so that the couch didn’t make a noise. ‘Have you? Had a man?’
Melitta felt herself blush. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It all looks – silly.’
The older girl chuckled. ‘You don’t know the half of it. And your brother? Has he?’ The girl pulled her a little closer.
Melitta felt an alarm bell begin to ring softly in her head. ‘Why do you ask?’ she said.
‘No reason,’ Kallista replied. ‘He’s pretty enough, for his age. Men would want him – girls too.’
Melitta thought about that for a moment. ‘I don’t think he’s given it much thought,’ she said.
Kallista stiffened, then rolled away again. She lay with her back to Melitta for a little, and then rolled to her feet. ‘That must be nice,’ she said bitterly, and vanished into the darkness.
Melitta lay by herself for a moment, and then followed the other girl. She could hear the sound of her feet on the colonnade, and she tracked her. The older girl was crying very softly. Melitta caught up with her at the entrance to a dark room by the simple expedient of running a few steps and grabbing her shoulder.
‘I’m stupid sometimes,’ Melitta said.
The older girl collapsed in her arms, sobbing. Her sobs were very quiet. Melitta realized that when you were a slave, you didn’t even own your sobs.
‘Hey!’ Melitta said. She came from a family without a great deal of patience for tears. ‘I’m sorry!’
Kallista put her head on Melitta’s shoulder.
Then she started kissing the nape of Melitta’s neck.
Melitta froze for a moment, and then wriggled out of the other girl’s embrace with all the skills that her brother had taught her. ‘Hey,’ she said again, the sound of her voice threatening to get louder if required.
‘Oh,’ Kallista said. ‘I thought-’
‘Aphrodite,’ Melitta said.
‘I’d like to be friends,’ Kallista said.
‘Do you always chew on your friends?’ Melitta asked.
‘It’s fun,’ the older girl breathed.
‘Listen, Kallista,’ Melitta said, stretching a hand out. ‘I ride with the spear-maidens in the summer. I know what girls do.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe we can be friends.’ She pushed away from the column at her back. ‘But not lovers. I’m twelve, not five – I know how all that works.’