“You scoundrel!” the Syrian yelled, showing good mastery of the Attic dialect.
Grabbing the girl by the hand, he found the marks of leather straps that had been used to tie her hands. He then lifted the cheap necklace dangling around her neck and uncovered a scar from a leash.
The trader jumped forward, placing himself between the Syrian and the girl.
“Five minas for a stubborn bit of a girl, who has to be kept on a leash?” the Syrian demanded. “You can’t trick me. She is only good to be a maid or to carry water. After the destruction of the Hundred-gated Thebes the girls here have become cheaper. Even the beautiful ones. Houses all around the Inner Sea ports are filled with them.”
“Let it be three minas. A real bargain,” the subdued trader tried.
“No.” The Syrian frowned at the Thebans, thought it over, then said, “I’ll give you half: ninety drachmas total. I’ll take her to entertain my sailors on the way back. That is my last offer.” To show he was serious, the Syrian stepped decisively toward another group of slaves sitting on a stone platform a few paces away.
The trader hesitated, and the exhausted girl paled, or rather grayed through the layer of dust and sunburn covering her face.
Thais approached the platform. She lifted the light gauze scarf that was commonly worn by wealthy Athenian women to protect against dust, so that it slid off her raven black hair. The golden-haired Egesikhora stood next to her, and even the eyes of the slaves being sold shifted toward the two beautiful women.
While Thais watched, the dark, stubborn eyes of the young Theban widened, the fire of troubled hatred went out of them. Thais recognized before her the face of a person taught to read, appreciate art and comprehend life. Teonoa, the divine understanding, had left its trace on this proud face. The Theban saw the same reflected in Thais’ face, and her eyelashes fluttered, barely able to contain the insane sense of hope that suddenly flared within her. Thais couldn’t look away. It was as if an invisible thread stretched between the two women.
The trader glanced around, looking for the carriage which had brought the two beauties. When he saw none, a smug grin touched his lips, but it was immediately replaced by a look of respect when he noticed Thais’ two male companions just catching up. They were well-dressed and shaved according to the latest fashion, both striding imperiously through the parting crowds.
“I am offering two minas,” Thais said.
“No. I was here first,” the Syrian exclaimed. At the appearance of Thais, he had returned to stare at the two Athenian women. Now he already regretted, as would most people, that someone else might walk away with his potential purchase.
“You were only offering a mina and a half,” the trader objected.
“I’ll give you two.” He turned to Thais. “What do you need this girl for? You won’t be able to manage her.”
“Let us not argue,” she replied and faced the trader. “I’ll pay three, as you wanted. Send someone for the money or come to the house of Thais between the hill of Nymphs and Ceramic.”
“Thais!” exclaimed a man standing nearby, and a few more voices echoed, “Thais, Thais!”
The Athenian held out her hand to the Theban slave girl both to help her off the platform, and as the sign of her ownership. The girl clutched at it like a drowning person at a rope and hopped down, still holding Thais’ hand.
“What is your name?” Thais asked.
“Hesiona,” the Theban said proudly.
“It is a noble name,” Thais said. “Little Isis.”
The girl stood straighter. “I am the daughter of Astiochus, a philosopher of the ancient family,” the slave girl replied.
Thais was so weary she didn’t even realize she’d fallen asleep. She woke only when the window shutters were being opened toward Not, the southern wind from the sea that lifted the heavy heat from the Athenian streets this time of year. Scorching temperatures weakened the passions of Aphrodite’s admirers, and not a single symposium was scheduled over the next few days. In any case, Thais had at least two or three free evenings. She realized it had been many days since she’d last gone to read proposals at the Ceramic wall, and thought she might do that later on.
Thais, feeling fresh and rested, decided to dine alone. She knocked on the table twice and ordered Hesiona to be brought to her. The girl entered, smelling healthy and clean. Thais could see she was embarrassed by her dirty himation. Keeping her eyes lowered, she knelt at the hetaera’s feet with an awkward mix of shyness and grace. She had apparently gotten used to rudeness and beatings, and clearly did not know how to behave with the sweet, gentle Thais.
Thais asked her to toss off her cape, then examined the flawless body of her purchase and picked out a modest linen chiton from her own wardrobe. A dark blue himation she normally wore for her evening outings completed Hesiona’s outfit.
“You do not need the mastodetona, the breast binding, I do not wear it either. I gave you this old stuff.”
“To avoid distinguishing me from others,” the Theban said quietly. “But it’s not old at all, Mistress.”
The slave girl dressed quickly, skillfully arranging the folds of her chiton and straightening the ties at her shoulders. She was instantly transformed into the very picture of a dignified young lady from the educated upper classes of society. Looking at her, Thais realized that the beautiful Hesiona had caused inevitable hatred among her former mistresses, since they would have been devoid of all the qualities with which their slave was endowed. Education must have been at the top of that list. That was a thing no longer possessed by the Attic housewives, who were forced to lead a secluded life poisoned by bitter jealousy.
Thais chuckled inadvertently. They would have been jealous in their ignorance of every facet of Hesiona’s life, not realizing how defenseless and easily hurt a tender young woman could be when she found herself in the power of someone who acted like a pig.
Hesiona misinterpreted Thais’ chuckle. She flushed and hurriedly smoothed her clothes with her hands, looking for flaws and not daring to look in the mirror.
Thais smiled. “Everything is fine,” she said to the girl. “I was just thinking. But I forgot…” She leaned to the side and picked up a pretty silver belt, then wrappe it around the slave girl.
Hesiona flushed again, this time with pleasure.
“How can I thank you, Mistress? What can I give you for your kindness?”
Thais wrinkled her nose merrily, her eyes twinkling with mischief, and the Theban became wary again.
“Much time will pass,” Thais thought, saying nothing out loud, “before this young creature will acquire the human dignity and calm possessed by all free Helenians. Was this not the main difference between us and the barbarians who were destined for slavery? That they were in complete power of the free? The worse they are treated, the worse the slaves become, and in response, their owners turn beastly.”
It was strange, pondering these thoughts for the first time. For a long time she had simply accepted the world as it was. What if Thais and her mother had been kidnapped by the pirates, of whose cruelty and cunning she’d heard so much? Then it could have been her, standing on a platform covered by lash scars, being groped by some fat trader.
Thais hopped up and gazed into the hard, pale yellow, bronze mirror which had been brought by the Finikians from a country whose name they kept secret. Frowning slightly, she tried to make the expression of a proud and menacing Lemnia, but couldn’t do it because of the merry twinkle in her eyes.
She wanted to send Hesiona away and return to her own private thoughts, but her mind was taken up by one question, and she couldn’t let the girl leave without an answer. Thais began asking her new slave girl about the terrible days of the siege of Thebes and of her capture. She tried to hide her puzzlement, but couldn’t help wondering why this proud and well-bred girl hadn’t killed herself, instead opting for the pitiful fate of a slave?