Hetaera--Suspense in Ancient Athens Read Online Free

Athens. Her heart swelled with pride. Diodorus was now Master of the House of Agathon. His fortune, and hers, shone brighter than a comet.
    Spots danced before Melaina’s eyes as she slipped through the curtains and stepped into the annex. Compared to the courtyard, the workroom seemed dark. She considered calling a slave to bring an oil lamp, but decided against it. She preferred no interference. No well-meant mumblings of condolence, no reflections on the swiftness of her husband’s death.
    No unwanted observations.
    Setting her basket on a table, she glanced at her husband’s corpse. His eyes flashed and her heart jumped. Pressing a hand against her chest, she told herself it was nothing, just the play of light on the coins.
    Again, she wondered if he’d guessed her secret.
    Using a pestle, she mashed the greenish-yellow artemisia flowers against the mortar’s rough stone, releasing their unpleasant odor. But the smell didn’t bother her.
    Herbs were reliable, unlike people. People could be unpredictable.
    She thought of Hestia. Thanks to Agathon, the girl didn’t know her place.
    Melaina dipped her finger into the flower paste and brought it to her lips. She recoiled at its bitterness, recoiled at the memory of her marriage. She had come to Agathon at age fourteen—the usual age. He was twenty years her senior, a hero returned from the wars. She’d known nothing of the world and even less of men. She had tried to be a good wife, tried to please him. She ran an efficient household, kept the larders well stocked. But they’d had little in common. More often than not, he found reason to travel far from home. Like Jason had done to Medea, Agathon had strayed, leaving Melaina for another woman. But what recourse did she have? A woman’s word held little weight against a man’s.
    Small wonder she had come to rely on another. At first, Lycurgus had sent messengers, offering in Agathon’s absence to be of service regarding financial matters. Initially, Melaina refused his help. But Agathon’s departures grew more frequent, and the bills kept mounting. Weeks turned into months. Meanwhile, Lycurgus remained persistent—and delightfully charming. Though a woman of her stature was forbidden male visitors, it was deemed acceptable for her to meet with her Kurios. A woman could engage in no transactions involving property valued over a week’s supply of barley. Someone had to pay the bills, see to business in her husband’s absence.
    Naturally, she’d come to rely on Lycurgus. And, like a Spartan wife, unable to conceive with her own husband, she’d bedded her husband’s closest friend.
    Having been away for six months, Agathon returned to find Melaina four months gone with child. Of course, she’d claimed the child was his, padding her belly to appear further along and avoiding his caresses. Agathon never questioned his paternity. Diodorus arrived two months later than expected, and Melaina paid the midwife well to claim his birth an anomaly.
    She might have spared herself the trouble, spared herself the expense of bribery, because Agathon hardly noticed her. He spent his time lost in ideas, constantly scribbling and reading or giving money to the poor. Yet, sometimes she sensed he’d guessed the truth. Sometimes she caught him staring at the boy—wondering, perhaps, at his sculpted nose and high forehead, so different than his own. But if Agathon suspected the child wasn’t his, he remained silent. After all, Melaina had produced the mandatory heir, leaving her husband free to roam. And roam he did. After the boy’s birth, claiming to have business in the north, Agathon embarked on yet another extended journey.
    Melaina crushed more artemisia with her pestle, pounding the fern-like leaves into a pulp, mashing the yellow flowers, as she thought about her marriage.
    After a year of absence Agathon returned—not alone, but bearing an infant in swaddling. His whore’s. He’d pleaded with Melaina, begged her to