Hetaera--Suspense in Ancient Athens Read Online Free Page B

leave this house after my husband’s funeral.”
    “My father’s funeral.”
    “What did you say?”
    The girl’s probing eyes met Melaina’s.
    Heat drained from Melaina’s body, replaced by icy clarity. Hestia knew. Agathon had told her. “You have no proof.”
    Hestia turned to leave.
    Melaina followed her. “What proof do you have?”
    Before the girl reached the doorway’s curtain Melaina caught her by the arm. Tripping over her weak foot, Hestia stumbled. A small object fell from the folds of her chiton, rolled across the tile, circled once, and came to rest with a clinking sound.
    Melaina tried to snatch the gleam of gold, but Hestia reached it first.
    A ring of intertwining snakes glinted on her finger.
    Sickness gurgled in Melaina’s stomach. “Where did you get that ring?”
    “It belonged to my mother.”
    “Give it to me.”
    “This ring is proof of my bloodline. My father gave it to me.” Hestia’s eyes, disturbingly placid, like the sea before a storm, gazed into Melaina’s.
    Melaina licked her lips, noticing that they felt parched. Confronted with the girl’s vibrant youth, she felt her body shriveling. With annoyance, she noticed Hestia’s slender form beneath the folds of her robe. Despite her defect, men would find her attractive. She’d bring a good price at market.
    “Give it to me.” Melaina reached for Hestia’s hand. Her fingers brushed the ring, and sparks flew from the gold. A jolt of heat rushed through her body, and she cried out, “It burns!”
    Hestia watched, calmly. “The ring belongs to me,” she said.
    “That ring proves nothing except that you’re a thief.” Melaina sucked her scorched fingers. “If I claim you stole it, you will be stoned to death. But that would be a waste. Rather than see you dead, I prefer to sell you to the highest bidder.”
    Hestia’s eyes darkened to a blue as deep as lapis. Like whirlpools, they sucked Melaina in.
    “Sorceress!”
    She grabbed Hestia’s hair—annoyingly yellow—and yanked the girl against her chest. Hestia tried to scream, but Melaina clapped the cloth soaked in artemisia over the girl’s nose and mouth. With patience born of suffering, she waited for Hestia’s knees to buckle, for her body to grow limp, for the accusing eyes to close.

CHAPTER THREE
    D iodorus had seen death in battle, men speared through by a javelin or trampled by horses, but nothing prepared him for the sight of his father laid out on the bier. In his mind, he still heard his father’s voice, still saw his face. Agathon’s death seemed inconceivable.
    Unable to bear another moment in the claustrophobic house, Diodorus felt compelled to escape the pall of death and find respite in nature. He passed through the Archanian Gate and strode along the dirt road, glad to leave the city. He chose to walk rather than ride. Walking allowed him to notice details, an odd insect, the petals of a flower, unusual stones. He found nature fascinating. In any case, his father’s horses had seen better days and needed to be replaced.
    Farmers headed home from market, their carts rattling past him, wooden wheels splashing water from the recent rain. Up ahead, an old woman walked slowly beside an over-loaded donkey. His long strides quickly overtook hers. Diodorus greeted the woman with a nod and continued down the road.
    He paused at the Eridanos River and stared into the rush of water fed by snowmelt from the mountains. He thought of his father and said a prayer to ease Agathon’s crossing of the river Styx. Tears blurred his vision as he crossed the bridge and continued walking.
    The sun had passed mid-heaven. Soon relatives would be arriving—aunts and uncles, cousins, a gathering of the clan—to mourn his father, the one man he’d admired more than Pericles, more than Socrates. His mother expected him to stay at home to greet the guests as the new Master of the house. But the hives needed tending. He hadn’t visited the bees since his return to Athens.