Nerissa followed two steps behind Lady Phyllis. She wished she’d had a chance to say goodbye to Berenice, but her only friend was quickly led off in the opposite direction. She wondered if she’d ever see Berenice again. Maybe if she worked hard, her new mistress might grant this privilege. From what she’d seen, Ithaca was a small island. On feast days, slaves might be allowed to attend dramas, gathering in the amphitheater’s back rows, as they’d done in Smyrna.
To the south of the agora, they turned at the Temple of Poseidon. Above its sacrificial altar, smoke rose from the offering of bones and entrails wrapped in fat. As the nourished Gods looked down, a knot of widows waited for their share of meat. Other worshippers stood nearby in prayer, palms raised to the heavens, crying out aloud. One man stamped the ground with every phrase, calling out to Minos. The custom was familiar to Nerissa. It was reassuring, in fact. This land wasn’t very different from Smyrna, after all. Uncle Xolon had always done the same when he wished to attract the ear of Hades, another God who dwelt below.
Leaving the temple behind, they entered a wide street lined with cypress trees. Its houses were very large, immaculately maintained. Slaves were outside trimming hedges, scrubbing walls, and sweeping tiled walkways.
Lady Phyllis headed for the grandest of these residences. Two stories high, it was easily as large as the palace of Baron Iadros, who ruled the district where Nerissa had been born. But it made his home seem rude in comparison. Instead of brick, it was built of stone. These blocks easily supported a roof of heavy tiles. Nerissa could instantly see the advantage. They were far less prone to fire than the thatching used throughout Ionia. Since there was no need to protect mud-brick walls from rain, the roof didn’t have to extend past the walls.
She wondered if Lady Phyllis’s husband was a baron. Her mistress had the manner of an aristocrat. Maybe she was a younger daughter of the island’s king. She’d certainly been treated with deference by the slave dealer Antechron. Her gait was regal, her bearing so straight, she might have been a ship’s mast. She was very elegantly coiffed, fine strings of pearls woven through her hair. Her golden threaded peplos extended to her ankles. Since she wasn’t veiled, Nerissa had seen her face quite clearly at the auction. It also suggested she’d come with a rich dowry, since she was anything but beautiful.
Lady Phyllis had a noticeably large mouth. Her ears stuck out through the mouse-brown curls with which she tried to hide them. Nonetheless, there was great self-assurance in her doughy face.
An old slave opened the sturdy iron gates that stood between thick walls. Lady Phyllis didn’t thank her gateman. She passed two gardeners without a word, then entered the house through a door flanked by marble statues. Nerissa recognized one as Ares, God of War and the other as Hephaestus, the Divine Smith. Did these favored Olympians mean her new master’s fortune came from the implements of battle?
Lady Phyllis stopped in front of a tall, stern-faced slave who’d opened the door. This time, she acknowledged the man with a slight nod.
“Praegon, this girl is to serve Vasiledes. I don’t recall her name or country, but she speaks Ionian well enough. She can tell you all of that. Take her to the nursery, instruct her in her duties.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Oh, and one thing before you get settled,” Phyllis spoke to Nerissa for the first time since the auction. “Don’t use this entrance or this portion of the house in future. Your sphere is confined to the nursery, the kitchen, the store rooms coming off the east end of our courtyard, the well where you may bathe and wash your clothing, and the female dormitory should you need to enter it, though you’ll sleep in the nursery. You may not enter my husband’s library for any reason. In fact, stay out of the andron altogether. You have no business in my husband’s quarters. If Lord Theoton sends for Vasiledes, bring him to Praegon first. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And do something about your face. That swelling looks unhealthful. I won’t have Vasiledes catch a flux. We wash here every day, you know. I don’t care what barbaric practices slaves followed in their countries. I won’t tolerate filth in my household.”
“I understand, my lady.” Nerissa didn’t find it difficult to keep resentment from her tone. The insinuation that her people were any less clean than Ithacans was nothing next to everything she’d suffered.
Praegon led Nerissa through the reception hall. Its mosaic floor impressed her more than anything she’d seen so far. In Smyrna, even the wealthiest of families had floors of beaten earth. They covered these with woolen rugs. Looking down, she saw a scene of deerhounds fighting a wounded stag. One dog lay gored, while two had leapt onto the stag’s back, and another latched onto its throat. Ruby colored tiles dripped gouts of blood onto the stag’s hooves, reminding Nerissa of Captain Hycron’s blade.
She found her hand shielding her breast as they passed the courtyard’s peristylon. With a blush, she lowered it, but fortunately Praegon walked in front and hadn’t noticed. She glanced between two columns into the courtyard. Its only ornamentation was a sundial surrounded by four marble benches. It seemed a stern place, designed for contemplation, not for pleasure.
Nerissa recalled the yearly feast for townsmen at Baron Iadros’s palace. There, the interior was richly ornamented. A fountain played at the center of the baron’s courtyard, surrounded by lush gardens and many statues. In Ionia, the style wasn’t nearly as harsh as this Doric architecture.
Artwork had covered the baron’s wooden walls. Here, these walls were plastered into the pattern of an orderly stone fence. The ceiling was made of timber beams, whereas back home, a rich man’s ceiling would be covered with terra cotta tiles, each imprinted with a pleasing image. Even the house’s shape was different, rectangular, rather than a square. Overall, the effect seemed cold, unyielding.
“What’s your name, girl?” Praegon asked her.
He was white-haired and white-bearded, but with clear eyes and smooth skin.
“Nerissa, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir. I’m a slave like you. But I imagine you’ve been taught never to address your elders by name. You may call me Keys, since that is my position. I’ve been here so long, they’ve made me keeper-of-the-keys.
They came into the kitchen. It was a large room with stone flagging on the floor. There was a hearth at either end, where great iron kettles hung from hooks. Two young slaves worked chopping vegetables, while a fat cook stuffed a brace of ducks. Praegon introduced the cheerful, heavy woman, whose name was Thea. The two assistants were Dora and Aglaia.
“Come back when you get a chance,” said Thea. “I’ll give you a good bowl of porridge and cow’s butter. I know how those slave ships are. You look like they starved you half to death.”
“No, ma’am. I mean, yes, ma’am, I’d love a bowl of porridge. But I’m all right, though I know my face looks awful.”
“I’ve got something for that, too. My own salve, made from goose droppings and lime. Better than anything the apothecary could sell you.”
“Thank you, ma’am. That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s nothing, dear. Slaves have to stick together. We’ll get you fixed and fattened up right quick.”
Praegon jerked his head impatiently. Nerissa followed him from the kitchen, then around the back side of the courtyard. They passed two slaves scrubbing the floor, but Praegon didn’t stop to introduce them. When they reached the nursery, Praegon selected a large key from his iron ring, then opened the heavy door.
“It’s always kept locked?” Nerissa asked.
In Smyrna, it was rare for any room to have a door, let alone a lock. Nerissa didn’t like the look of this. To her, the heavy oak door seemed like a casket’s lid.
“The Mistress is particular that way. Vasiledes is her only child. She fears someone will steal him.”
“Then how do I get him out in an emergency? What if there’s a fire?”
“My instructions are to run here first and rescue him.”
“Or I could carry him through a window.”
“They’re too high for you to reach.”
“I could stand on a storage chest.”
“The windows are also very narrow.”
“I’m very thin.”
“You’ll wait for me.”
“What about on normal days?”
“I’ll let you out at meal times. You may use the privy, then.
“And the child? He also must contain himself?”
“Of course. It’s our honored lady’s rule.”
Inside the room, an old woman sat making yarn on a hand spindle. A pale little boy carefully piled blocks carved out of some dark wood. He looked about four years old, but for such a young child, he was very self-composed. He didn’t turn to watch them as they entered, but placed his next block precisely atop the tower.
“Szeta, you may go.” Praegon jerked his head again. “Vasiledes has a new gerula.”
The slave left without a word. It seemed to be a common habit in this austere household.
“This child’s only had an old woman for company?” Nerissa asked.
Apparently, she was to take care of the boy alone. It seemed odd because nursemaids usually were under close supervision. In a household as wealthy as this, there should be a Nurse Father. He should have many nursemaids, both wet and dry, reporting to him.
“Szeta was filling in,” said Praegon. “She never managed to learn much of our language. She’s from somewhere in the wild lands of Etruria. The southern part, I think, the place we call Oenotria because it’s full of grape vines. They’re very stupid there, you know.”
“What happened to the boy’s previous nursemaid?”
“The usual with young, pretty slaves, so she had to go.”
“What do you mean, ‘the usual?’”
“Got herself a great big tummy, didn’t she? We all know the Master was responsible, but Lady Phyllis convinced him the girl was also screwing our former gateman Zephilon.”
“Was she?”
“Hardly. Zephilon was a friend of mine.”
Praegon’s raised eyebrow made it clear he meant that they were catamites. It was also clear that Praegon had said nothing in Zephilon’s defense. Still, Nerissa knew better than to let her disapproval show. The last thing she needed was an enemy in her new life.
“What happened to them, Honored Keys?” she asked.
“They both were sold to Stenarch. Believe me, that’s the last job you want, so just be sure to watch your step.”
“What’s so bad about this Stenarch?”
“Owns the lead mine, doesn’t he?”
“Oh. His slaves must have a terribly hard life.”
“It’s a death sentence. I promise you that, my girl. He goes through so many that he usually leases slaves instead of buying them outright. For this, he pays one obolos per slave per day. No one lasts more than a year working down that pit. It comes from breathing poisoned air until they spit up blood.”
“Then I’ll be sure to stay on our Mistress’s good side. She’ll find me very capable at taking care of children. I like them and they like me. Lady Phyllis will have no complaints.”
“So long as you keep Vasiledes clean, she doesn’t care. She only sees him once a month. The main thing is to stay away from the Master. He can’t keep his hands off pretty girls. Once the injured side of your face heals, he’ll be all over you. So you’re best off sticking to the kitchen at meal times. He never goes in there.”
“Thank you. I’ll remember that… And my duties in the nursery? Lady Phyllis said that you’d explain them.”
“Just keep him bathed. And quiet, too. She doesn’t stand for noise.”
“He seems a very quiet boy, as it is.”
“That comes from being sickly. I doubt this one will live to be the heir.”
Once Praegon left, Nerissa sat down near the little boy Vasiledes. He had a sweet face with lank brown hair, a tiny nose, and soft gray eyes. His pale lips were pressed together in concentration. Though he seemed intent on the structure he was making, he also seemed terribly alone. Nerissa longed to wrap the boy’s thin body in her arms. He was the same age that her baby brother Mavros would have been.
“I’m Nerissa, your new nursemaid,” she said. “Would you like me to help build?”“It’s a temple,” said Vasiledes. His voice was surprisingly strong for a child who appeared so frail. “These are the pillars.”
“I see. They’re very nicely made.”
“I like them to be straight. Or the roof will fall.”
“What do you use for the roof?”
“My wax tablet. But don’t tell Papa. He said it’s for practicing my letters.”
“I won’t tell, I promise. But I can help you with the letters, later, if you like.”
“I don’t know them all yet, but I can make Alpha, Beta, and Gamma. Oh, and Papa showed me Theta. It’s the first letter of his name. He says that I must practice every day. Except, the holder of the stylus digs into my hand.”
“You mean the flat end? That’s for rubbing out mistakes. I’ll show you how to hold it in the middle so it doesn’t hurt. But first, let’s finish your temple.”
“It’s for Poseidon. Like the big one at the end of our street. I pray to Poseidon every day. When I’m big, I want to be captain of a ship. Poseidon will help me, I hope, but Papa likes Ares and Hephaestus better.”
“Is he a general?”
“No, he makes armor. Big shields, too.”
“You mean he owns a workshop where they’re made.”
“Yes. Papa took me there one time. He says that there are eighty slaves, but I can’t count that high.”
“It’s easy. I’ll teach you, young Master.”
“That’s not my name. It’s Vasy.”
“Is that what you like to be called? Instead of Vasiledes?”
“Only Mama calls me that. Papa calls me Vasy, and so did Rinea.”
“She used to be your nursemaid?”
“Yes. She was very pretty.”
“And was she nice?”
“Sometimes. Papa and her used to laugh a lot when he’d come in here. They’d play a tickling game. And once I saw them wrestling, like athletes do at the palaestra. Without their clothes, I mean.”
“Oh… I used to wrestle with my brothers. But I’d better not do that with your father. I’m sure he’s much too strong for me.”
“He’s very big. I ask Poseidon to make me grow up just as big.”
“You will. Don’t worry, Vasy. We can practice wrestling and other contests, too. All my games will be with you. We’ll turn you into a champion athlete.”
“Could you really? I’d like that very much.”
Nerissa tousled the boy’s thin hair, then stroked it back from his eyes. She resisted a powerful urge to cover him with kisses. He reminded her so much of little Mavros. No, he didn’t have her baby brother’s happy laugh. They looked nothing alike. Mavros had been blond-haired, rosy-cheeked, and very plump, at least before the famine. But they both had boundless trust and curiosity in their soft eyes. Of all the ones she’d lost, Nerissa felt saddest when Mavros visited her dreams. He’d never had a life. Without a proper burial, there was no guarantee he’d even have a place inside the realm of Hades.
They finished the temple, chatting about ships and naval battles all the while. Then Nerissa helped Vasy practice his letters. She showed him how to draw war craft on his tablet, then traced the words ocean, wind, and sail for him. There were wooden swords in the nursery, so they played a game of pirates next.
Two chairs turned seat to seat became a great trireme. A candle stand between them was its mast. It had no oars, because they’d been snapped off by an enemy vessel’s pass. Nerissa was a Cretan pirate, intent on taking hostages and plunder. But she’d met her match in the heroic captain Vasiledes. After an epic battle, in which they were the last survivors, Vasy ran her through and flung her in the sea.
Nerissa’s good impression of the little boy held firm. Throughout their fight, he was very careful with his sword, never attacking above Nerissa’s waist. He could see her jaw was injured, and though he couldn’t have known about her other injury, he must have sensed it was improper to strike a girl’s chest. Maybe his former nursemaid Rinea had explained it.
“How did you hurt your face?” he asked as Nerissa rose.
She didn’t want to talk about Chymides Eight-fingers and her suicide attempt. Instead, she told how a band of real pirates had attacked her family.
After the midday meal, Nerissa asked permission from Praegon to take her charge outside. The steward said that such a change in routine could only be decided by the Master, and he was still away.
“But couldn’t you ask Lady Phyllis? Surely the boy’s supervision falls under her domain at this young age. It won’t disturb the household’s peace, and the fresh air will do wonders for Vasiledes.”
“What does air have to do with it? Is that some Ionic notion? Where did you say you’re from again?”
“Smyrna, Honored Keys. And yes, we do hold fresh air to be very healthful.”
“There’s air in here. We breathe it, don’t we?”
“Yes, but outdoors, there’s the added benefit of mixing air with two other elements, earth and fire, the latter represented by Helios. And the fourth element, too, if one is near the sea, like here on Ithaca. A lake or stream would also do for water.”
“Those arguments will cut no weight with Lady Phyllis. She isn’t fond of earth or fire. You should hear her lay into Thea about hearth soot getting tracked out of the kitchen. But it’s true she values water highly. She might agree, if you could teach the boy to swim.”
“It would be my pleasure. I’m the daughter of a fisherman. I was swimming in my second year. Is there a protected cove where I could take him? Or maybe there’s a natatorium in Polis?”
“There is. But you’ll need permission from Theoton to use it.”
“Theoton is our master’s name?”
“Of course. Didn’t I tell you that already?”
“Maybe so.” He hadn’t. “But this is such a large house, I’ve been introduced to twenty slaves already. Their names must have squeezed Theoton out of my head. If you’ll forgive a foolish girl. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t. And remember to address the Master as Lord Theoton when you ask about the natatorium.”
“But can’t you ask him for me, Honored Keys? The Mistress made it very clear I’m not to bother him. And you told me yourself it’s best to stay out of the Master’s sight.”
“That’s only after you look human. Right now, you’d hardly tempt a man shipwrecked for years.”
“But still, I wouldn’t like to go against the wishes of Lady Phyllis. Besides, Lord Theoton might not return for days. I think it’s important for his health that young Vasiledes begin to exercise at once. Couldn’t you ask the Mistress now?”
“Impossible. I never bother her unless it’s necessary.”
By which Praegon meant he liked his elevated place too much to risk the Lady’s disfavor.
“She respects you, Honored Keys. And you’re the model of excellent health, yourself. I can see she’d listen to you on the subject of improving her son’s strength. You needn’t put it in terms of fresh air. But in a household that honors Ares, shouldn’t its son have the chance to exercise, so he might prove a strong and fearless warrior some day?”
“You’re a clever one, aren’t you, my girl? But tell me, why does it matter so much to you? Do you hope to escape when you’re outside? That would be very foolish.”
“Of course not, Honored Keys. I know that Ithaca is very small. I’d soon be captured, then sent to the mine. I fear that very much. And I know how fortunate I’ve been to gain a place in this esteemed household.”
“Then what’s your angle?”
“I had a little brother the age of Vasiledes. I played with him outside every day. He was the picture of good health and cheerfulness. I’d like to see Vasiledes enjoy his life as much.”
While this was true, Nerissa had her selfish reasons, too. She’d wither to dust if locked inside this room each day. Also, if she could take the boy on outings in the countryside, she hoped to find the herbs she’d learned about from Mother. At lunch, Thea had presented a vial of her goose dropping poultice. Not that Nerissa didn’t appreciate the cook’s kindness, but she’d rather be scarred for life than press the foul green stuff into her wounds.
“Can I bring my toy boat to the swimming place?” spoke up Vasiledes.
Nerissa hadn’t realized that he was paying attention to the conversation.
“I’m not sure,” she answered him. “But Honored Keys can ask your mother.”
“Yes, please ask,” Vasiledes said to Praegon. “I like boats very much. And water. When I get my bath, I’m not scared at all to put my head under.”
“Yes, but the Onoskolon might eat you in that great big pool,” said Praegon.
“He will?” The little boy’s voice went very soft.
“That’s right. He’ll swim out of the shadows.”
Nerissa gaped. She couldn’t believe the steward was mean enough to frighten Vasiledes. They had this tale in Smyrna, too. The Onoskolon was a grotesque monster with one foot of brass. It devoured children who refuse to obey their elders.
“That only happens to very naughty children,” Nerissa hurried to explain. “And you’re anything but bad. You’re one of the best little boys I’ve ever known. Honored Keys was just teasing.” She turned to stare at Praegon, but kept her expression neutral. “Isn’t that right?”
“Not at all. I happen to know the Onoskolon’s already eaten five children at the natatorium. Lamia lurks there, too.”
“Lamia, who’s that?”
Vasiledes was trembling now. His normally pale face was practically white.
“She was once a beautiful woman loved by Zeus. Jealous Hera killed their son, which drove Lamia mad. She endures her endless life by destroying other women’s children.”
“It’s only a legend,” Nerissa said at once. “I doubt very much she’s real. And she’s certainly nowhere near Polis. She hates water, anyway. So does the Onoskolon. You’re very safe at the natatorium, Vasy… And some monsters should find their fun in other ways than terrifying little children.” She glared at Praegon now. She didn’t care if he had the power to beat her. Then she turned back to Vasiledes. “Don’t worry. No one’s going to hurt you. Anyone who tries is an enemy of mine.”
Five days later, Nerissa had the opportunity to approach Lady Phyllis. The Mistress required her to serve at a banquet, since one of the housemaids was sick with ague and another was in her time of menses, making her unfit to handle food. Lord Theoton wasn’t home yet, but it didn’t matter since this gathering was for female friends of Lady Phyllis.
“You’ll carry platters and pour wine,” she said. “You do know how to do that?” “Yes, my lady. But who’ll attend to the young Master?”
“Get the crone to sit with him. What’s her name, you know, the one from Oenotria. She
may be a barbarian, but she’s clean enough.”
“Very good, my lady… And while I have your ear, may I ask permission to teach
Vasiledes to swim?”
“To swim, you say?”
“Yes, if you’ll allow it. The water and the exercise would be very good for him. I could
take him to the natatorium, if you’d speak to his father.”
“Very well. I’ll mention it to Lord Theoton, when he returns.” Her tone was
disinterested. It was of little importance to her. “See that your peplos is freshly laundered
tomorrow when you serve. And I thought I told you to do something about your face.” “Thea gave me a poultice, but I don’t think it’s working. My mother once showed me an
effective remedy, however. And there’s a plant called feverfew that could help your serving
maid. I could gather the herbs, if I might take Vasiledes for walks out in the countryside until
our swimming lessons begin.”
“The countryside? Certainly not. He’ll pick up all manner of dirt and filth.”
The banquet went from noon the next day until early evening. Five of Lady Phyllis’s elegant friends attended. Each was exquisitely coiffed with gems and silken ribbons and flowers in their hair. Lady Phyllis had chosen dark red as her color, with rubies shaped like tear drops and amaryllis blossoms. Nerissa wondered where she got them -- legend said this never dying flower grew only on the slopes of Mount Olympus.
The guests’ attire was equally beautiful, their shimmering garments trailing from the couches where they reclined. The banquet hall was as austere as the rest of the house, but the low table was handsomely carved. It showed a scene of Dionysus feasting at the right hand of Zeus, the most honored position in His pantheon. Nerissa helped serve seven courses, along with copious amounts of the finest wine.
It seemed strange that Ithacan women feasted in the banquet hall, which after all was part of the andron. It was even odder that they consumed intoxicating drink. In Smyrna, and everywhere she’d been thereafter, only medicinal wine was allowed for females. Here, they barely watered the potent Chian red. And the ladies had her pour bowlful after bowlful into each deep skyphos. Not for them the shallow kylix. Maybe this simply was the way of Ithacan aristocracy. At the servants’ meals, the women all drank water, while Praegon and the other men drank cheap wine made from the secondary press of grape lees.
While the ladies’ unbridled thirst disturbed Nerissa, she greatly admired the oenochoe from which she poured. It was the finest piece of pottery she’d ever seen. It’s deep black glaze was painted in white and ocher tones with scenes of women dipping their serving jugs into a mixing krater, then pouring wine onto the ground as a libation to the Gods. Its long, graceful neck flared into a lip shaped like a trefoil leaf.
She’d seen the amphora that held a large store of this red. Its pitch seal was marked with the stamp of Chios, that distant island so close to her home. If she got the chance later, it seemed almost worth the risk of madness to pour unwatered wine directly from this marvelous oenochoe into her mouth.
The food began with numerous propomata -- roasted chestnuts, honey cakes, soft boiled pheasant eggs, fried eggplant, salted olives, and many more. After these appetizers, Nerissa carried elaborate platters of smoked eels, octopus in a sauce of poppy seeds and yoghurt, roast boar dressed with figs and turnips, sea turtle stewed in thick, sweet Thasos wine. This last dish was especially distressing. Didn’t the Ithacans know these creatures were allied with sacred dolphins?
It was a far cry from the simple food she’d eaten all her life. The rich aromas sickened her. She wondered how Thea could bear to cook these things. Yes, of course tastes varied in every nation, but this diet seemed unhealthful. Even Baron Iadros didn’t serve anything like this at his annual feast for the villagers. She remembered what Father’s favorite poet Hesiod had to say about the food that made a perfect closing to his day. That great man recommended eating the most simple meats, such as "…flesh of a heifer fed in the woods, that has never calved, and of firstling kids.”
The ladies continued to drink as they ate many delicacies for tragemata. This was an Ionian word Nerissa hadn’t heard before. Thea said it meant dessert, or literally, “chewed with wine.” Later as she cleared, there was entertainment for the ladies in the courtyard. She listened to a poet’s booming voice as he declaimed:
Rage -- Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles, murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses, hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls, great fighters’ souls, but made their bodies carrion, feasts for the dogs and birds, and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end. Begin, Muse, when the two first broke and clashed, Agamemnon lord of men and brilliant Achilles.
Nerissa felt happy for the first time in months. Her nausea had vanished. This verse was excellent. She’d never heard its like, and Father had recited all the best poets. It must be a new work, though its subject was extremely old. She recognized the scene this poet painted with his words. She wondered if a long line of bards had passed the story through his family. Maybe the first of them had been there with Agamemnon and Achilles. His subject was the ancient war of the Achaeans against Troy. It had taken place not far from Smyrna. Father said he’d seen the ruins as a youth. After a short