Hesiona immediately understood what is was Thais wanted to know.
“Yes, I remained alive, Mistress. At first it was from sheer shock and the sudden fall of the great city. Our house, open and defenseless, was invaded by insane hordes who trampled, robbed and murdered. We were unarmed people who had grown up in honor and glory, well-respected citizens only moments prior. We were shoved into a crowd like a herd, beaten mercilessly if we lagged behind or were stubborn. They knocked us out with blunt ends of spears and shoved us behind a fence like sheep. It is impossible to think in this situation. It is as if a strange paralysis overcomes the people from such sudden turn of fate.”
Hesiona shivered and sniffed, but forced herself to continue. She explained that the place where they had been held was a livestock market. Before her eyes, Hesiona’s mother, still a young and beautiful woman, was dragged off by two shield bearers, despite desperate resistance. She vanished forever. Then somebody took Hesiona’s little sister away. Hesiona, hidden under a trough, decided to make her way to the walls and look for her father and brother. She hadn’t even been two plethors away from the fence when she was grabbed by a soldier who had only just dismounted from his horse. The man wished to have her right there and then, at the door of some empty house. Anger and desperation gave Hesiona such strength that the Macedonian couldn’t subdue her at first. He moved with experience, however. He must have raped and pillaged in many an invaded city, and had soon tied Hesiona up and tethered a horse’s harness on her so she couldn’t even bite back. After this, the Macedonian and one of his companions took turns raping the girl till late night. At dawn the dishonored and exhausted Hesiona was taken to the slave traders who followed the Macedonian army like vultures. One of them sold her to a Brauron noble, who in his turn sent her to the Pyrean market after unsuccessful attempts to get her to obey. He had been concerned that the girl might lose value from the constant beatings she was receiving.
Hesiona hung her head, shamed. “I was dedicated to the goddess Biris, and I was not to be with a man before I was twenty-two.”
“I do not know this goddess,” Thais said. “Does she rule in Boeotia?”
“Everywhere. She has a temple here in Athens, but I no longer have access to it. The Minians, our ancestors, who were a seashore people from before the Doric invasion, considered her to be a goddess of peace. Those who serve her are against war. I was already a wife to two soldiers and hadn’t killed either of them. I would have killed myself had I not felt obligated to find out what happened to my father and brother. If they are alive and in slavery, I shall become a port prostitute and will rob scoundrels until I have enough money to buy out my father. He is the wisest and kindest man in all of Hellas. That was the only reason I stayed alive.”
“How old are you, Hesiona?”
“Eighteen, almost nineteen, Mistress.”
“Do not call me Mistress,” Thais said, rising to her feet in the grip of sudden inspiration. “You shall not be my slave. I am setting you free.”
“Mistress!” the girl exclaimed. It was a moment before she could find her voice, then it was almost lost in her sobs. “You must be from the family of gods. Who else in Hellas would do such a thing? But allow me to remain at your house and serve you. Since I came here I have eaten and slept a lot, but I am not always like that. It’s was just after all the hungry days and the long standing at the slave trader’s platform …”
Thais fell into thought again, not listening to the girl, whose passionate plea momentarily left Thais as aloof as a goddess. Hesiona shrank away, then opened like a bloom at the sight of the hetaera’s attentive and mischievous gaze.
“You said your father was a famous philosopher? Is he famous enough to be known around Hellas and not only in the Hundred-gated Thebes?”
“Former Thebes,” Hesiona said bitterly. “But yes. The entire Hellas knows philosopher Astiochus. Not as a poet, perhaps. Have you not heard of him, Mistress?”
“I have not. But I am not a connoisseur, so let’s leave it be. Here is what I came up with.” Thais shared her plan with Hesiona, making the Theban shake with impatience.
After Philip of Macedonia was killed, his guest Aristotle left Pella and moved to Athens. Alexander provided him with money, and the philosopher from Stagira founded a school in Lycea, the sacred grove of Apollo the Wolf. The school held a collection of rarities and was a home for his students, who explored the laws of nature under his guidance. Aristotle’s establishment was dubbed Lyceum after the name of the grove.
Using her connection with Ptolemy and Alexander, Thais decided she could turn to Stagiritus. If Hesiona’s father were alive, then wherever he was, word of such a famous slave would have reached the philosophers and scientists of Lyceum.
A walk of a mere fifteen Olympic stadiums separated Thais’ house from Lyceum, but Thais decided to take her carriage so she would make the right impression. She ordered Hesiona to put a slave’s bracelet on her left arm and carry a box containing a rare jewel, a green chrysolite with yellow sparkles brought from a distant island in the Eritrean Sea. Thais had received it as a gift from the Egyptian merchants. Ptolemy had told her of Stagiritus’ great greed for rarities from distant lands, and was hoping to open his heart with this key.
Thais had wanted to eat her dinner with Hesiona that night, but the girl convinced her not to do that. She feared the role of a servant, which she honestly wished to uphold in Thais’ household, would become false and deprive her of a good opinion of the hetaera’s servants and other slaves. So Thais ate alone again, since Egesikhora had not appeared for dinner for some unknown reason.
The sacred pines silently and motionlessly soared into the scorched sky. Thais and Hesiona slowly approached a gallery dwarfed by ancient columns, where the old scholar studied with his students. Stagiritus was out of sorts when he met the hetaera on the broad steps of crooked stone slabs. Construction of new buildings was only just beginning.
“What brings here the pride of Athenian whores?” Aristotle asked haltingly.
Thais made a sign, Hesiona handed over the open box, and the chrysolite, the symbol of Cretan Crown, sparkled against the box’ black fabric. The philosopher’s disdainful mouth drew up into a grin. He picked up the stone with two fingers and examined it in the sunlight. Finally, he looked up and studied Thais, who waited quietly for his attention.
“So you are Ptolemy’s lover? I must say, he wasn’t a gifted student. His mind is too occupied with war and women. So. Now you have come. You need to find something out from me?” he asked, throwing a sharp, piercing glance at Thais.
The hetaera met his eyes calmly, then dropped her head modestly and asked whether he knew anything of the Theban philosopher’s fate. Aristotle pondered briefly.
“I heard that he either died of wounds or was captured and became a slave. But why does he interest you, hetaera?”
“And why does he not interest you, great philosopher? Does the fate of your brother, famous in Hellas, not concern you?” Thais demanded, then flushed when he frowned at her.
“You are becoming disrespectful, girl.”
“Have mercy, great Stagiritus. Due to my ignorance, I was surprised by your indifference to the fate of a great philosopher and poet. Is the life of such man not precious? Perhaps you could save him.”
“What for? Who dares to cross the path of fate, the will of gods? The defeated Boeotian fell to the level of a barbarian, a mere slave. You can consider that philosopher Astiochus no longer exists and forget about him. I do not care whether he was thrown into silver mines or is milling the grain for Carian bakers. Each free person chooses his fate. The Boeotian made his choice, and even the gods dare not interfere.”