Hetaera--Suspense in Ancient Athens (Agathon's Daughter) by Tyrpak Suzanne

Author:Tyrpak, Suzanne [Tyrpak, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Adytum
Published: 2011-12-10T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Melaina sat at her table amidst jars of creams and bottles of perfume. She grasped the handle of her mirror and stared into the polished bronze as if hoping to see her future. She hardly recognized the woman she had become. Tears streaked her face, tracks of kohl cutting through the white lead powder. Using a sea sponge dipped in rosewater, she wiped away the evidence.

Diodorus had been gone for ten days. Granted, she had contrived her son’s departure, but now the house seemed empty. Despite her loneliness, she had no privacy. Where in this world might a woman hide except in her bedchamber? She felt the maid’s dark eyes watching her.

“Check with the cook, Calonice. See what she intends to serve for the midday meal. Nothing too heavy.”

“Yes, Despoina.”

Grateful to be left alone, at least for a few moments, Melaina drew a sandalwood comb through her hair, stared at the resulting clump. Cleaning the comb, she rolled the hair into a ball. Alopecia, Doctor Baraz called the condition, a fancy way to say that she was going bald. She peered into the mirror, seeking evidence, but the polished bronze seemed cloudy and a grayish cast appeared around the edges of her reflection. She squinted at her image. Nothing seemed quite solid, as if a fog had rolled in off the ocean and settled on her shoulders.

She took a sip of wormwood wine, attempting to calm her thoughts and untangle her memories. The past kept getting jumbled with the present.

Fanning herself she wondered how much more heat she could bear. The night sweats had crept into the day. Noticing a brown spot on her hand, she searched through a basket of jars and found castor oil. She rubbed a glob into her skin.

She had plans.

First on her list was marrying Lycurgus. But what seemed probable only a week ago now seemed out of reach.

Once again, the problem was Hestia.

What had possessed Lycurgus to buy that slave? She’d sold Hestia to get rid of her, and now, once again, the girl had wormed her way into Melaina’s life.

She held the mirror at arm’s length. At a certain angle the polished bronze made her appear youthful, but when she brought the mirror close, years of disappointment showed. Selecting another jar from her collection, she dipped her fingers into brownish grease and smeared the cream onto her forehead. Despite daily applications of crocodile dung imported from Egypt, despite weekly baths in asses’ milk, red blotches marred her complexion. That’s what came from working in the garden. She touched the corners of her eyes where lines had taken hold, ran her fingers along her jaw where the flesh had loosened.

Her thoughts turned back to Hestia.

If Diodorus discovered that she had sold the girl, he would be angry. Well, let him be. Hestia had been born a slave and she would remain one, no matter what her heritage. Like a chariot with a loose wheel, Diodorus had been racing toward disaster. And, as his mother, it was her job to divert him from his reckless course.

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