CHAPTER 1
Poseidon’s Fury
"Io Poseidon, Lord of the Seas!" the captain called out to the ominously
darkening sky. The first drops of rain were just beginning to fall onto the deck, and the
cowering line of slaves tied by the neck to a long rope clutched each other in fear. One
of them, a fair-haired waif from north of the Danube, was thoroughly trussed at the
captain’s feet, struggling in vain against her bonds. In a few moments she would be
sacrificed, thrown to the waves in order to appease the god who was sending the great
storm upon them. The slaves were on deck to witness the sacrifice, because the captain
believed in killing more than one bird with a stone, and it was also to be an object
lesson to them. The girl had fought with another captured slave girl, and the two of them
had scuffled so violently that a torch had fallen, and the ship only saved by the quick
thinking of a crewman close to the wash bucket. The captain had deemed the fair-haired
girl the less valuable of the two, not being a virgin, and so it was she whose life would
be offered to save all their own.
Tied between two other shivering female slaves, Nyxa cowered and wept, pressing her palms
to the rough wood of the deck. She had spent the last two weeks living body to body in the
crowded, foul-smelling below-decks area, only allowed out once a day to wash, eat, and
take some exercise, which meant pacing in a line around the deck. The female and male
slaves, on separate ropes and in separate compartments, hardly saw each other, but today
they were all on deck, all forty of them. And a sorry lot we all look, she thought to
herself.
Some of the slaves were recent captures, like the two feisty girls who had started the
brawl, and were not used to the idea of slavery. The remaining member of the fight, in
fact, a tall, lean, muscled girl with short-cropped dark hair, did not look at all
repentant. She knelt with her eyes rebelliously glaring at the captain and her bound
former opponent, and her face was a reflection of the thundercloud that swept towards
them.
Nyxa wondered at her courage and arrogance. She herself had been sold twice since her
capture and enslavement, which had taken place eight years before. She had been barely
eleven, and had seen her father killed and her mother and sisters enslaved and sold. The
first few years were uneventful if painful, working as a servant in the garden of a large
household in Ephesus, and then she was sold off to another household that needed some
extra kitchen help. That family had lost all their money in speculation on the gold-dust
fleeces of Colchis, and had to sell everything in order to pay their debts. All the slaves
had been taken to the market, and so it was that Nyxa found herself on a slaver’s ship
headed for parts unknown.
The captain finished up his makeshift litany to the God of the Sea and motioned to his
men. Every slave in the coffle flinched as they reached down and seized the screaming
girl, and half of them dropped their heads to the deck. The other half stayed watching,
horrified, their eyes glued to the thrashing bound figure as it was swung upwards in a
clean arc and fell. There was a great splash as the victim hit the water, and the wind
suddenly picked up. The waves lifted the ship and rocked it, knocking everyone to the
side, and the slaves crashed into each other. The crest of the wave splashed over the edge
of the deck, and the rain suddenly increased. "Poseidon has heard us!" one of
the crew cried. The ropes of the two slave coffles were seized by other crewmen and they
were dragged down into the hold of the pitching ship, back into the stinking darkness. For
the first time, Nyxa was grateful to be there instead of on deck.
They lay there in the dark, quietly, listening to the howl of the wind and the creak of
the ship, trying not to vomit as it pitched and yawed. The captain held a hurried
conference in the room between the slave holds, loud enough for them to hear most of it.
"If only this had struck while we were still in the Hellespont! We could have made
port at Abydos!"
"We can’t turn back! The storm is passing that way. And we’ll never make Samothrace,
not at this rate!" Nyxa clutched the slave next to her as the ship rocked again.
"We’ll have to go south. Troy? Not much market there right now."
"There’s Lesbos. We could make for Mytilene. There’s plenty of market there."
"Ha! And deal with women who act like they’re men? The wives of Lesbos are brazen
and improper. I know, I’ve had to deal with them before. Harridans! I’d rather keep trying
for Samothrace. I have a friend there–"
"Do we want to sell this lot, or not? It’s better than fetching up on the rocks.
Come on, we’ll make enough to get us to Chios, and from there past Andros to Athens.
There’s better cargo out of Athens – oil and wine. Less likely to die on you."
"Well, fine then. Let’s make for Mytilene and get rid of this sorry bunch. But you
bargain with those bitches; I’ll have none of it." The door to the holds banged and
there was the tromp of feet to the deck. For a long time there was silence except for the
faint weeping of some of the slaves, and then finally the storm began to let up. Nyxa
carefully sat up, helping the sobbing girl next to her to a sitting position as well, so
as to ease the strain on her neck.
Her companion on the other side was a small, quiet, plump woman who rarely spoke or
cried. Nyxa was so used to her silence that she started when the woman touched her on the
shoulder and said, "Did I hear rightly? Are they taking us to Lesbos?"
"I think so," said Nyxa. "Wherever that is. I’m sure I have no
idea."
"It’s an island off the coast of Aeolia," said another woman. "That means
that we must be beyond the Hellespont, and into the Aegean Sea. So far away..." Her
voice was wistful in the darkness.
"They say that women rule equally with men in Lesbos," said the woman next to
Nyxa. "It is the home of Sappho, the greatest of the poets."
"Sappho?" came a voice from across the room in the darkness. "I’ve heard
of her. But I’ve not heard her poetry; little use I’ve had for such in the
kitchens."
"They call her the Tenth Muse," said the woman. Nyxa was amazed to hear her
speak so much, and in so educated a voice. As if she could hear her thoughts, her
companion turned to face her, her head a shadow in the dark. "Yes, I can read, and I
am educated," she said. "I was nobly born once, before the war came and my house
was thrown down and I sold into slavery. But I remember Sappho. They say that she has a
circle of young women gathered about her whom she ... teaches, and trains in her ways. And
sometimes, they are her lovers as well as her students. I learned some of her poetry
before..." She trailed off.
"Speak it," came a surprisingly commanding voice from the corner. "I want
to hear it. Tell me the poetry of this woman who rules equally with men." Nyxa was
sure of the identity of that voice the moment she heard it; it was unmistakably the tall
girl with the muscled body who had so narrowly missed death today.
The woman beside her cleared her throat, and it seemed as if every slave in the room held
their breath. "I do not remember much, only a few lines," she said. She paused,
and then began to speak.
"Fortunate as the gods he seems to me, that man who sits opposite you,
And listens to your sweet voice, and your lovely laughter:
That, I vow, has set my heart within my breast a-flutter.
For when I look at you a moment, then I have no longer power to speak.
But my tongue keeps silence, straightaway a subtle flame has stolen beneath my flesh,
With my eyes I see nothing, my ears are humming,
A cold sweat covers me, and a trembling seizes me all over.
I am paler than grass, I seem to be not far short of death.
But all must be endured, for you have turned your face from me,
And I am cast down into the dark earth."
There was reverent silence for a few more minutes, and then the tall girl spoke again.
"She writes about love, then? Not about wars, or epic battles, or great hunts?"
"Yes, only about love," the woman answered. "She is the Chosen of
Aphrodite, the love goddess, and works in her service. People come from far and wide to
see her."
"Not that we’ll have the chance, being sold on a block in Mytilene," another
girl snapped ungraciously. There was shifting and rattling, the murmur of exhausted and
frightened women and girls, and the woman added, "Unless we don’t get sold there, and
end up on Chios or Athens."
"Athens might not be so bad," said another woman, and then the ship gave a
great lurch and seawater leaked in through cracks in the low ceiling above them, and
several of the girls screamed, and there was no more conversation for a while.
After a few more hours, the storm stopped, and there was heard much cheering aboveboard.
Lying on her side curled up like an unborn child, Nyxa wondered vaguely if the sacrifice
to Poseidon had helped at all, or if it had merely been wasted. Then the door opened and
two of the men tromped down the stairs, and she froze, knowing what was going to happen.
They were going to choose one of the women, as they had every few days, to take aboveboard
with them and violate. It had already been her turn twice; she had no virginity to raise
her price and was fair game. Shuddering, she ducked her head down between her arms and
waited for them to pass her, which they did. Another girl was cut from the coffle and led
upstairs, and then the door shut ominously behind them. No one spoke the rest of the
night.
* * *
Nyxa stood with her head down in the coffle at the slave market. Part of that was the
sunlight; after days in the ship’s hold, the brightness could hardly be borne, and even
after a few hours she was still squinting. The traders had addressed the slaves all at
once, telling them brusquely that they were all to stand tall, speak not at all unless
addressed, and must not look anyone in the eye unless ordered to. They were to keep still
while in line and not fight or jostle each other. Then they were unloaded from the ship
still tied together, and marched unsteadily down the plank form the wobbling ship. After
weeks at sea, the land seemed to wobble even more than the ship’s deck, and several of the
slaves in both coffles lost their balance and stumbled, taking several others down with
them. This created a lot of roaring and lashing about with the seawater-stiffened leather
strap, and it took a lot longer to get them all moving together than their captors had
apparently considered.
Mercifully not among the slaves who had fallen, Nyxa simply stood quietly with her eyes
closed, trying to adjust to the brightness, and ignored the jerks on the rope around her
neck. She slowly forced her eyes partway open, taking in the well-trodden dirt of the
road, and then lifted them slightly to see the view. Between the blurring of tears, she
saw green mountainsides set with cascades of houses, sparkling white in the sun with
clay-red tiled roofs. It was not unlike her own home, and she briefly wondered about the
slaves who had been captured, who had come much further than her. Did they look on this
with their hearts sinking in unfamiliarity? She sneaked a look back at the tall, defiant
girl, and caught the look on her face. It was like that of a trapped animal who has just
realized that there is no escape from the box.
The slavers yelled at the two ropes of frightened or apathetic human beings, poked at the
leaders with staves, and ordered them to follow. The procession passed slowly – too slow
for their hurried tormentors – up the hill towards the busy marketplace, which Nyxa could
see in the distance when she lifted her eyes from the dirt. The hubbub of voices grew
louder, and the road become more crowded with people bearing burdens – boxes, baskets,
amphorae – who often shouldered aside the line of pathetic slaves, throwing off their
pacing and creating a ripple of unsteadiness down the line. A few stumbled and were struck
again by the slavers’ sticks or strap. Nyxa nearly courted such treatment herself, eyes
wide and distracted as she took in the scenery of the approaching town of Mytilene, the
largest city she had ever been to in her life.
The slave market was apparently not in the center of the city but on the outskirts,
because the barely glimpsed marketplace sank behind buildings as they rose on the road,
and never showed its face. Instead, they found themselves penned in a fenced area that was
unpleasantly near other pens full of cattle, goats, sheep, and other domestic livestock.
The comparison was not lost on Nyxa, and she flushed hot with shame. The slavers began to
call out to the passing crowds of people, beckoning them over to inspect the wares.
Then it was just the long, boring work of being on display. The slaves sat disconsolately
in the pen, waiting until one of their owners made them get up and turn about, perhaps
speak to a prospective customer. Nyxa had never been sold in a market before, only as a
private sale between landowners. She was torn between both the fear of being sold to a
cruel owner who would work her – or beat her – to death, and not being sold at all, which
would entail being bundled aboard ship and carted ashore again at the next market, and the
next. If she did not sell after Athens, surely the sailors would become tired of her, and
perhaps she would end up the next sacrifice to Poseidon. Shivering, she put her head down
on her knees to hide her face until it could be raised composed and smiling.
The woman who had recited the poetry, the one who had been formerly high-born, was being
bought by a man whose sheaf of papyrus pages marked him either as a scribe or a writer. He
had made her write a line on one of his papyri with a quill, and seemed satisfied enough
with the result to buy her. He seemed oddly effeminate; Nyxa thought to herself that it
was probably better for a woman to be owned b y a man who preferred boys. She sighed and
looked down, and then looked up again at the sound of a rich, clear voice. "I’m
looking for a girl to help with the household chores. Strong and willing." The owner
of the voice was a woman wrapped in an elegant himation of dark green, barely visible
except for her eyes. "Pretty, too, if it can be done, although I’d rather skilled
than beautiful at this point. Oh, and I will be needing a strong youth to escort my
girl-slaves to market and make sure they don’t get attacked."
There was a noise of bare feet scuffling on the sand, and Nyxa turned her head to see the
tall girl who had defied the sailors scrambling to her feet. "I am as strong as any
youth, Lady," she called out over the noise of the slave market. The slaver in charge
turned to her in surprise. "I am trained in weapons, too, and I would make a fine
guard for your girls. You could be surer of their safety with me," she added
hurriedly, clearly trying to get out her words before a stick fell on her shoulder.
Her audacity seemed to please the woman, as she motioned for her to come closer. The
slaver grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward, as if to attempt to show some kind of
control over the situation. "Strong and willing, Lady," he grinned. "If not
pretty. I like ‘em with some meat on their bones, myself."
"Where are you from, girl?" The woman pulled back the fold of the himation that
fell forward over her face. Nyxa caught a glimpse of red hair smoothly drawn up into a
coiffure of many braids. She looked to be aproaching her thirtieth year, but was still
quite handsome.
The tall girl opened her mouth to speak, but the slaver cut her off. "We picked this
one up out beyond the Bosphorus, in the land past the Istrus," he said. "Got her
from a horseman who’d shot her mount from under her the day before. She’s from one of the
horse-tribes, the ones where the women ride too, and fight." He was clearly trying
not to show how he felt about that, perhaps remembering that he was on Lesbos now.
The red-haired matron put out a hand and took the tall girl’s chin, turning her face from
side to side. "Are you an Amazon, then? Why, how quaint! Surely you are a
goddess-send. I had been worrying that a slave lad would put unwanted babes in the bellies
of all my girls, the moment my back was turned. And your name, little horse-maiden?"
"Andromache, Lady." Her stance was like nothing Nyxa had ever seen on a woman
before, balanced on wide-spread feet, shoulders squared, hands at her side like a lad.
Nyxa imagined her with a sword, or a spear, and a little ripple of excitement ran through
her.
Then the image was upset as the slaver grabbed the tall girl by the hair and bent her
cruelly over the edge of the fence, flipping up her tunic to expose her nether regions.
"This one is still a virgin, my lady," he said eagerly. "Comes from a tribe
where they must kill a man before they can lie with one."
"Is that so?" The woman seemed taken aback.
The Amazon girl straightened up slowly. "It is true, milady," she said. "I
must remain virgin until I have killed an enemy in battle. Or at least–" she cast an
eye at the woman– "I must remain virginal of a man’s member."
Her potential buyer was smiling. "How much?" she asked the slaver, and they
started to dicker over the girl’s price. The man had apparently not realized the cachet of
an Amazon slave on a matriarchal island, but he now intended to take full advantage of it.
It was unlikely he’d go too high, though; Nyxa thought sourly that he probably didn’t want
that troublemaker on his ship for a second journey.
Gold was exchanged, and a halter looped around Andromache’s neck and handed to the buyer,
who then moved on to look at a fragile-looking waif with her hair in long brown braids.
Nyxa lowered her head to her knees again, thinking about the Amazon girl who had been
sold. It was such a pity to make someone like that a slave, she thought; she would be much
finer if she was free, standing with a blade in her her hand ... over Nyxa’s prone,
trembling body. The image crept unbidden into her mind. The rumors said that the Amazons
raided and looted their neighbors on horseback. Did they take slaves, Nyxa wondered. Would
they capture a likely-looking girl to sling over their saddles and haul back to their
camps? And what would such an unfortunate girl have to so to please an encampment of
Amazons?
She was jerked suddenly and unpleasantly out of her reverie by a vicious yank on her
hair. One of the slavers dragged her forward, on her hands and knees, to the edge of the
fence. She gasped, tears coming to her eyes, but managed to scramble to her feet and stand
straight. To her surprise, the two clear gazes that she met were that of the red-haired
woman and the tall Amazon, still haltered and standing behind her new mistress. "My,
her hair is lovely," the woman commented, smiling. "And look at those breasts!
No doubt she has become thinner than she was though, since her captivity."
Embarrassed, Nyxa brushed wildly at her hair, wishing she had been able to comb it out.
It had always been a great wavy mass that stood out like a cloud about her, the color of
midnight against her olive skin. "This one has an eastern look about her," the
woman said.
"We bought her in a market in Tyre, Lady," the guard said obsequiously.
"Clearly she had come a long way, and had been a slave since childhood."
"Are you Syrian, then, little one?" the woman asked, reaching out and stroking
the hair that had caught her notice. Nyxa flushed and looked down, the woman’s touch
making her turn red and hot from forehead to toes.
"No, Lady," she whispered. "Although my last masters lived there, for a
time, before coming to Phoinikia. My mother was Persian. My father was Medean, from
Pontus. After he died, we were sold into slavery and marched to Syria."
The woman’s expression softened. "You name, girl?"
"Nyxa, Lady."
She frowned, and Nyxa quailed. "That is a Hellenic name, not Persian, although it
does suit you, with that hair dark as Night."
"I – my – ah, my name was Peri, Lady. But my new masters were Hellenes, from
Chalcedon, and they renamed me Nyxa, and so I am known now." After years of being
referred to by a different name, it had become her own. She suddenly felt a flush of shame
for that fact.
The woman nodded. "I never saw any use in renaming slaves, unless their names were
unpronounceable. You have served for years, then? Can you cook, do you know your way
around a kitchen? Have you cared for children?"
This was familiar ground. "Yes, Lady, I worked in the kitchens from the age of
eleven on. I cared for my mistress’s new babe from its weaning to its walking, and often
watched the others as well, although I have not been given full care of children above
ten." She added, hopefully, "I can also garden, and I am told that I have a gift
for growing things."
"Well, that will stand you in good stead, as my garden has been sorely neglected
since our old gardener passed to Hades." The woman’s tone was practical, as if it was
already a decided fact that Nyxa would be a part of her household. ...as indeed it seemed
to be, since her focus turned immediately away from the girl before her and toward
dickering over her price. She was sold for a much smaller amount than the Amazon, but she
was so dizzy with amazement as the halter was passed over her head and cinched around her
neck that she hardly cared.
The woman loaded them down with the burdens she had been carrying, informed them that her
name was Dejaneira, and that they were to follow her closely, but not so closely that they
trod upon the hem of her himation. Then, with no more burden but a halter in each hand,
she set out across the square and into the upper city, the two newly sold and apprehensive
girls in tow behind her.
* * *
After what seemed interminable hours of shopping in the market, and being loaded down
with even more burdens, they returned to a manor on the west side of the Mytilene hill,
surrounded by gardens and enclosed by a prim white wall. Nyxa’s fingers itched to do
something about the choking weeds overrunning the abandoned beds, and she vowed to make
her mistress’s new home bloom. She was promptly overcome with another wave of
embarrassment; she had no idea whether the woman would be cruel, and she would come to
hate her and everything she owned. Still, even if her life was hard here, the gardens
would be a source of comfort, as they had always been at the homes of her past owners.
Next to her, Andromache looked about alertly. She had not yet spoken to Nyxa, and Nyxa
had been too shy to say anything, especially since every time the tall girl brushed
against her she remembered her abbreviated fantasy and flushed anew.
They were led into a spacious kitchen, where a grey-haired woman was ordering some
drudges about. "Rapessa," their new mistress said decisively, "these are
new girls that I have bought in the market. Please make up a pallet in one of the slave’s
quarters for them. You can share a bed, yes?" She flicked a glance at them, and Nyxa
blushed, but both girls nodded. "And fetch them each a decent peplos, and feed them.
Then you can work them into your daily routine. This one–" she pointed at Nyxa–
"is to be our new gardener, and will aid me with the children. The other one is
strong, and can be put to any sort of labor." She placed the halters into the old
woman’s hands, and turned to go. At the doorway she paused and added, "Tonight, after
they’ve eaten, make sure they bathe, and then send them to me."
"Yes, my lady," the old woman said with a bow, and then the Lady Dejaneira
vanished into the tiled atrium, barely seen through the door, and the two slave girls were
left to begin their new life.
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