forced
water between my cracked and bleeding lips, I gave up the gods altogether. The
days were a blur of piercing azure skies and rocky terrain. They passed in a
haze of despair and desperation that never gave me respite from my guilty
conscience.
I was utterly alone.
Once Cyrus came to me at night and laid on top of
me, stinking of sour wine and murmuring filth and curses into my ears. I fought
at him with my bound hands. He pinched my nipple so hard I thought it would
burst. I remembered how Mara and I had giggled about taking a lover. So, this
was to be my first.
Tears leaked from my eyes into my hair and my
cracked, bleeding lips moved in a soundless wail. When the old Samothraki
remarked into the evening air that I would fetch a better price with my
maidenhood intact, Cyrus rose from my motionless, stiff body and dealt the old
man a blow that should have killed him. The trader let me be afterwards.
For the old Samothraki’s sake, I managed to
swallow a bit of dried meat with water that morning.
*** ***
We marched for almost a week. Seven hundred stades of blistering trek over snow-covered mountain passes and ragged countryside
until at last, bleeding and emaciated, we arrived in the port city of Abdera.
After months of frigid earthy air in the temple
depths, the lure of the sea breeze in Abdera was a welcome change from the
desperate cold of my despair. Abdera, the city founded by Herakles after his
companion, Abderus, was slain by Diomedes’ mare. It was larger than any city I
had seen. Not even Perperek compared to its size and bustle. Our pace quickened
as we wound our way down the mountains to the city.
We passed the main gates with little trouble. The
cacophony was deafening. Abdera was arranged in a maze of paved streets and
stone walls, much like the fortress of Perperek, and segregated patches of land
into property. The main roads and alleyways led down towards the large open air
marketplace, the agora .
Birds screeched and wheeled over the mobs clogging
the roadway. Scents of humanity, exotic spices and perfumes, and filth of
beasts assaulted my nose. My empty stomach churned, but I could not stop
gaping. That is, until Cyrus laughed unkindly at my open mouth and tugged
harder on the ropes binding my wrists together.
Then I remembered the purpose in my journey and I
closed my mouth with a snap.
“The slave market will be nearer the water,” said
the old Samothraki. “On the far side of the agora .”
I shrugged. What did I care on which side of the
marketplace it was? My family was dead. I wanted to join them.
I’d violated my father’s dying wish and I’d lost
my family and my heart forever.
We trudged through the side streets, dodging other
beasts and travelers. Around the agora on all sides stood several
temples, military headquarters, the city records office and a prison—like the
fortress of Perperek but on a much grander scale. The inner walls were
decorated with murals depicting the city’s history. As we passed the law
courts, I heard the crowds shouting at the unpopular speakers at the morning’s
assembly.
Market stalls constructed of timber, rope, and
cloth or straw canopies afforded some shade from the oppressive heat. Slaves
carried baskets of strange fish, eels, and mussels through the crowds. They
stacked jugs of wine, olive oil, and vinegar for sale and hung twisted ropes of
onions and garlic from wooden pegs. Slave boys darted through the crowded
market place, avoiding the curses and cuffs of citizens and house slaves alike.
One winding, lopsided avenue held the stalls of
the metoikoi , the tradesmen. The poor also labored in workshops
beside the metoikoi , crafting leather sandals, dyeing
cloth and other tasks, in hopes of learning a trade or gaining enough coin to
feed their families. The two worked in such harmony that it was difficult to
tell the difference between metoikoi and those too destitute to
claim citizenship.
I was so preoccupied with the stalls that
water between my cracked and bleeding lips, I gave up the gods altogether. The
days were a blur of piercing azure skies and rocky terrain. They passed in a
haze of despair and desperation that never gave me respite from my guilty
conscience.
I was utterly alone.
Once Cyrus came to me at night and laid on top of
me, stinking of sour wine and murmuring filth and curses into my ears. I fought
at him with my bound hands. He pinched my nipple so hard I thought it would
burst. I remembered how Mara and I had giggled about taking a lover. So, this
was to be my first.
Tears leaked from my eyes into my hair and my
cracked, bleeding lips moved in a soundless wail. When the old Samothraki
remarked into the evening air that I would fetch a better price with my
maidenhood intact, Cyrus rose from my motionless, stiff body and dealt the old
man a blow that should have killed him. The trader let me be afterwards.
For the old Samothraki’s sake, I managed to
swallow a bit of dried meat with water that morning.
*** ***
We marched for almost a week. Seven hundred stades of blistering trek over snow-covered mountain passes and ragged countryside
until at last, bleeding and emaciated, we arrived in the port city of Abdera.
After months of frigid earthy air in the temple
depths, the lure of the sea breeze in Abdera was a welcome change from the
desperate cold of my despair. Abdera, the city founded by Herakles after his
companion, Abderus, was slain by Diomedes’ mare. It was larger than any city I
had seen. Not even Perperek compared to its size and bustle. Our pace quickened
as we wound our way down the mountains to the city.
We passed the main gates with little trouble. The
cacophony was deafening. Abdera was arranged in a maze of paved streets and
stone walls, much like the fortress of Perperek, and segregated patches of land
into property. The main roads and alleyways led down towards the large open air
marketplace, the agora .
Birds screeched and wheeled over the mobs clogging
the roadway. Scents of humanity, exotic spices and perfumes, and filth of
beasts assaulted my nose. My empty stomach churned, but I could not stop
gaping. That is, until Cyrus laughed unkindly at my open mouth and tugged
harder on the ropes binding my wrists together.
Then I remembered the purpose in my journey and I
closed my mouth with a snap.
“The slave market will be nearer the water,” said
the old Samothraki. “On the far side of the agora .”
I shrugged. What did I care on which side of the
marketplace it was? My family was dead. I wanted to join them.
I’d violated my father’s dying wish and I’d lost
my family and my heart forever.
We trudged through the side streets, dodging other
beasts and travelers. Around the agora on all sides stood several
temples, military headquarters, the city records office and a prison—like the
fortress of Perperek but on a much grander scale. The inner walls were
decorated with murals depicting the city’s history. As we passed the law
courts, I heard the crowds shouting at the unpopular speakers at the morning’s
assembly.
Market stalls constructed of timber, rope, and
cloth or straw canopies afforded some shade from the oppressive heat. Slaves
carried baskets of strange fish, eels, and mussels through the crowds. They
stacked jugs of wine, olive oil, and vinegar for sale and hung twisted ropes of
onions and garlic from wooden pegs. Slave boys darted through the crowded
market place, avoiding the curses and cuffs of citizens and house slaves alike.
One winding, lopsided avenue held the stalls of
the metoikoi , the tradesmen. The poor also labored in workshops
beside the metoikoi , crafting leather sandals, dyeing
cloth and other tasks, in hopes of learning a trade or gaining enough coin to
feed their families. The two worked in such harmony that it was difficult to
tell the difference between metoikoi and those too destitute to
claim citizenship.
I was so preoccupied with the stalls that
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