Author's Note
Okay, well this chapter has proved to be a little problematic! I have been re-reading and adding to this so much my eyes have gone square. I am not even certain that the latter part makes much sense! Oh well, I though **** it, post it anyway!
-0-
I sensed that the messenger approached even before he could be seen through the leafy, overgrown cypresses that lined the avenue up to our door. It was the little bells I could hear, they were hung from the chariot he rode upon and were even attached to the bridle of his fine horse. They jangled brightly, announcing his arrival, a cheerful noise that cut through the grey, misty air of a world just awakening. By the time he had pulled the handsome beast to a halt in the courtyard of our villa, mother and I had abandoned the parlour and (I am ashamed to say), were literally gawping at our visitor from the front window of the reception room, partially concealed behind the drapes in the way in which children hide from strangers behind their mother's skirts.
The man immediately reminded me of a bird of prey – posture straight and alert, his movements small, jerky and precise. He briefly looked about himself with a somewhat blank, professionally unreadable expression as he took a thick, yellow parchment scroll from where it was stored in his left belled sleeve. Pausing for a few seconds to give his greying temple a scratch, he quickly undid the ribbon tie and unrolled it, appearing to check the details it must have contained against his whereabouts. Finally satisfied he had made no mistake (it seemed unlikely to me that this man ever made an error), he deftly rolled the scroll back up, tied the ribbon with a quickly flick of his wrist and set forward to knock on our front door.
I was in awe of his grand appearance which definitely denoted how official his position was. He wore a formal Peplos robe, an intricately folded garment of a rich green, almost the same deep colour as the ivy that recklessly climbed the back wall to our villa. His long woollen cloak was luxurious, lined with sable fur. Peeking out from these layers of expensive fabric was a gold pendant, hung around his neck on a very weighty looking chain. It clearly bore, in relief, an insignia of concentric circles. This was familiar to me, yet I could not place it. Mother, however, immediately knew of its meaning.
"He's from the palace!" she hissed through her teeth as she turned to me, her delicate hand raised to her throat in alarm. Her rapid, panicked heartbeats caused her fingers to flutter there and I thought she might faint if it was not for her weary eyes, so wide and unblinking.
My own heart felt like it had sunk somewhere past my knees. What had Stepfather done now?
Mentally, my mother pulled herself together in a matter of seconds and had already donned her public mask in readiness for the visitor. I watched as she ironed out the creases from her plain gown using her palms and then hurriedly tried to tame her loose, silvering hair without so much as a pin or clip to hand. She pinched at her own cheeks to pinken her sallow pallor and smoothed out the arcs of her thin eyebrows with her fingertips. Her eyes flickered to me, I suppose expecting that I was similarly primping myself into some sort of respectability but she was to be disappointed. Mother sighed in exasperation as she took in the state of me, barefoot with my thick, wavy dark hair straggling down my back and my gown without a girdle to pull it into my waist, which made the sheer linen billow out around me like a cloud. "You look like you are wearing a sack, Phile!" she rolled her eyes at me reprovingly, knowing that it was too late to do anything about it now.
I suppressed delight at her comment. Displaying myself was the last thing I had wanted to achieve as I had not so much blossomed but exploded from child to woman. Although I remained petite in height, my breasts were full, my hips wide and my bottom round. My narrow waist did nothing but highlight all these traits. I noticed that strange men would stare at me in the street; worst of all Sophus was starting to gaze at my body in a way I can only describe as indecent. I felt like an oddity with all this sudden and unwanted attention.
Yet it ran even more deep than that. My metamorphosing body was a constant reminder of impending change, an uncertain future and the person I was expected to be – I was fearful of leaving mother alone, of being married off to some chauvinistic tyrant, spawning baby after baby until my body and mind were spent. Childhood, on the other hand, to me meant comfort – a sensation that held ringing echoes of my father's unconditional love. Father had only known me as a child so to step into adulthood was also taking a shaky leap away from him. How I wished he was still there to advise and protect me.
Two sharp raps at the door quickly followed before mother could nag me further. She greeted the visitor with such calm and professional warmth, even I was surprised. Once upon a time, she had been a very apt hostess and it seems that it was a knack that had not deserted her. With all the courtesy she could muster, mother warmly invited the man inside our home as it would have been the height of rudeness to keep him at the threshold. To his credit, he graciously accepted, tactfully not staring or remarking on our sparse and scruffy reception room.
I stayed quietly attentive in the background as was befitting my station. Mother offered to see to his horse and enquired whether he would care for refreshment, so quickly in her anxiety that the words tumbled out of her mouth seemingly in less than two breaths. The man politely declined with a raise of his even palm, assuring us that his would be a short visit.
"Can I see the gentleman of the household?" he asked suddenly, even before mother could offer him a seat in the parlour. Time, that constant traveller, seemed to suddenly halt.
Before she could even respond to his request, the man wasted no time in producing the scroll from his sleeve. I saw a shrouded fear in mother's eyes. She looked to the ominous roll of parchment and quite unexpectedly, dropped to her knees, bowing submissively before our visitor.
She had assumed that the scroll contained a royal warrant for Sophus' arrest.
"My husband is still asleep" she informed the man quietly without looking into his stern, smooth face. Sophus was indeed festering in bed, sleeping off the excesses of the previous night. He wouldn't surface until the afternoon.
I sighed heavily. It was only a matter of time, I supposed, before Sophus' greater indignities failed to go unnoticed. Of course, it would have been an absolute blessing for him to be imprisoned, kept away from mother and me. Yet what had made mother so desperate was the inevitable public shame this would bring upon the family, moreover to be branded a disgrace by the palace - it was all too much for her to bear. It pained me to see my beloved mother so distressed, she had already endured so much. She looked very frail I realised then, the thin skin on her back that was pulling tightly over her jutting shoulder blades was almost transparent.
"Madam ..." the man entreated melodically. He crouched down to where mother bowed and encouraged her to get up off the floor with the gentlest touch on her arm. She followed him up to her feet, bewildered, searching his face for some sort of answer or reprieve.
"Madam ..." he continued in a soft voice so as not to alarm mother any further: "My name is Timon; I am a messenger from the palace. I only seek the permission of your husband to speak with your daughter, Phile."
Suddenly and rather illogically during this pivotal moment, I managed to place the symbol on the medallion he wore from deep within my memory – the breastplate of father's regimental armour. When he used to sit me on his lap I would trace the circular reliefs continuously with my tiny finger.
"My husband is not Phile's father, sir. The gods took him from this earth a few years ago now."
It was only when mother mentioned my name that I finally awakened from my musings. Daydreams were something that were all too common to me in those days, my only form of escapism. Realisation pinched at my chest. It became tight. What could Timon – and the palace – possibly want with me?
Still, I was not called upon to step out of the shadows and present myself. Mother was being wary. I had spent the last few years wishing I was invisible, now when it was finally granted to me, I felt insignificant even though I was evidently to be the subject of any ensuing conversation.
"I am sorry for your loss." Timon said earnestly with a nod. "Then as Phile's mother, perhaps you will be able to help me? I wish to speak to your daughter to deliver an invitation." he smiled pleasantly. I noticed how perfect his teeth were. They were whiter than pearls, testament to the clean water and finely-milled bread served at the palace, no doubt. "Would you like me to discuss this with you privately beforehand?" he posed to her.
It was an oblique way to register my presence I considered, a little insulted and mistrustful of Timon. Little did I know that the revelation about to be presented to me would place me firmly on the road destined towards my often-pondered 'purpose'. I have sometimes imagined that the Fates had Timon suspended and controlled on their famous threads, much like a puppet.
Mother quickly replied to him, a little off-hand perhaps but her patience was wearing thin and all of Timon's pomp was beginning to irritate her. Believe it or not, she was a woman who would never skirt around an issue if she could just pass straight through it:
"As you see sir, my daughter is present. Deliver your message for both of our ears, if you please."
Timon nodded at me with just a cursory once-over, finally acknowledging my presence before untying the scroll again and unrolling it grandly. He took time in holding it before himself as he cleared his throat to read from it. I remember my frustration at this point, how I wished he would make haste as the suspense was literally making my heart pound like a fast drum beating against the wall of my chest.
"Priam, great King of our fair city has acquiesced to request your presence; Phile daughter of Erymas and Ariadne. The King's eldest son, Crown Prince Hector will choose his Hetaerae. Your name has been drawn from the ballot; therefore you are required to arrive at the palace at sunrise tomorrow for the selection process. May the gods offer you good grace."
I did not hear the very last part. My head swam. My legs felt like they wanted to buckle with the shock.
It could not be!
'Hetaerae' were concubines, courtesans, extra-marital companions, mistresses, 'kept women' – every culture has a different term. Please do not confuse Hetaerae with the common prostitute: we were defined as highly educated, sophisticated attendants for married men of prominence. Far from being frowned upon, to be a Hetaera was a significant and revered position.
In a male-dominated society where men alone create the laws and customs, it is not at all surprising to find that they tend to have much freedom and entitlement - sex being no exception, as you may expect. The phallus was a potent symbol, representing life, fertility, strength and power and in view of this, men were encouraged to express themselves sexually. To do so was seen as a badge of masculinity.
Unwed men could take whomever they wanted to their bed at whatever frequency took his mood, however for a married man, there was a clear distinction between the types of women he could keep: hetaerae for pleasure, pallakae (a casual lover, usually a servant) to care for the man's daily body needs and gynaeke (a wife) to bear legitimate children and to be faithful guardians of the household.
The lower classes, I suppose, would seek extra-marital pleasure in women of the night. I know second-hand of the existence of brothels and women of ill-repute hanging around the taverns of the city. However, for privileged and particularly royal men, it was a different matter. There were set customs.
A royal only took one wife. Because she would bear his heirs, a suitor was considered and discussed by the royal family and palace council - she would need to be fertile, strengthen the bloodline and the security of her husband's country (she was usually accompanied with some sort of treaty). It was rare that the marriage was arranged for non-political motivation. Attraction or even love was not usually a factor in the choice.
Hetaerae on the other hand were chosen of the man's free will, and they were so for any number of reasons: her beauty, her skills at music, dance and song, her wit, even her subservience. He would want to spend time with her; she existed for his amusement, in whatever whim that may take. It was not unusual for a royal man to keep a whole harem of Hetaerae.
Pallakae were lowest in the chain and purely circumstantial lovers (for example a servant bathing her master, inadvertently awakening his ardour).The use of a Pallakae was considered quite taboo and therefore was kept strictly private and not talked about. There was something quite demeaning in laying with a servant.
You may have noted that a 'ballot' was mentioned, so for clarity I shall also tell you what I understand of this:
Hetaerae were selected from a strict criterion, from good families who already held connections with the palace.
Palace Courtiers: the clergy, high-ranking soldiers (like my father), clerks, secretaries, agents and middlemen of all sorts with regular business at court - who had produced female offspring - would be invited to enter their daughter's name into a ballot. The ballot existed to ensure the selection was fair. As you can imagine, it was possible for more than a hundred men to put forward his daughter, however only a maximum of fifteen girls could be considered (as where would such a busy and important man find the time to have any more women in his life?). Therefore the hundreds were narrowed down to fifteen by being drawn from this ballot.
At a symposium (men's drinking party - and at the palace I hear that there were many of these) these courtiers would receive a stone tablet, bearing their daughter's name – an invitation to enter her into the Hetaerae ballot. I can only imagine the excitement and sheer competiveness rising through the drunken atmosphere on the auspicious night that Prince Hector, a prodigy of his time and heir to the throne, was the subject of the ballot. To be his Hetaerae was significant for the father, both in social progression and accolade.
I digress. If the courtier chose to submit his daughter (most still only children at the time), he tendered the tablet into a ceremonial amphorae. This could remain untouched for years, until the man married. When the time came, the amphorae would be broken open and fifteen names chosen at random by a blindfolded priestess. These girls would be summoned to the palace for the man to choose from.
During the intervening years between tendering their daughter's name and the amphorae being broken open, the girl's family had ample time to prepare their daughter for the role of Hetaerae – providing an extensive education, training her in refined manners, teaching her the many aspects of the Arts and the skill of clever conversation so she could delight and entertain her 'Kyrios' (master). In the meantime, the family would pray to the gods and give offerings in the hope that their precious one would be chosen for such an honour.
All would pray to the gods apart from my father of course.
My father, the idealist, had been against the notion of Hetaerae. In fact, he was against a man being unfaithful to his wife completely. He argued that he who remains faithful to his wife shows true strength and conviction. He would not have wished for me to be secondary in a man's affections. He wanted me to be loved and cherished by a devoted husband as he had my mother, not exploited for my body - which he believed Hetaerae (along with pallakae and whores alike) suffered, because of course giving pleasure to a man is not primarily in a woman's fresh opinions, her skill with a weaving shuttle, the subtle wiggle her of hips when dancing or her intonation when reading poetry aloud.
Father would have chosen to endure both of his hands being hacked off and fed to him above even entertaining the thought of his daughter as a Hetaerae, I certainly knew that much.
So how had the situation progressed this far?
How could a name not even tendered be chosen?
It was true that I fitted the criteria (loosely): I was of pure Trojan blood; good stock of the upper classes; between the ages of fourteen and twenty (although as I was right at the end of this scale, I only just qualified), and – most importantly – pure. I was educated although I would not say to anything above average for my station. I was fairly literate, although I could not sew or weave competently, sing a note in tune or play a musical instrument to even the poorest of standards (mother had tried in vain to encourage me to learn to play the lyre but I had lost interest very quickly – I never had the patience to work at anything that I was not immediately talented at).
As for stark fact of pleasuring a man – sexually I mean - I was obviously aware that males and females were very different physically (a fact hard to ignore in a city full of partially clothed people and naked statues). To be honest with you, sex was not something I contemplated at any great length. Even a whisper of that word felt wicked so to put it out of my mind seemed like a safe option. I was taught, like most proper girls, that I should keep away from the thing between a man's legs at all costs. I was raised to be painfully aware that my virginity was of paramount importance to my value as a woman - it was a precious commodity, a sacred status to be protected until the time came to gift it to a husband, not to be given away frivolously or allow myself to be corrupted (or else be branded a ruined woman and cast out from society). I had little idea of the actual mechanics of sex, apart from that it was essentially not dissimilar from the way animals procreate. Procreation – I knew it was necessary for that – yet I did not realise quite why it was such a driving force in the male world.
Succinctly speaking, I was certainly anything but prepared for being Hetaerae
I was silenced in my utter astonishment as Timon waited for the light of joy to shine in my eyes, a gracious bow and the emphatic acceptance that he was probably now accustomed to after visiting many of the other candidates.
On the contrary, I wanted nothing more than to explain to him that the invitation had been a grave mistake – until I glanced over at mother who had that kind of intense warning in her eyes that would silence any daughter.