After Praegon unlocked the nursery early the next morning, Nerissa used the privy, then washed with water from a bucket. The household was in an especially desirable location, because a spring seeped from the ledge behind. Anywhere else throughout this neighborhood, slaves had to carry water from the central well in Polis.
When she entered the kitchen, a rough-dressed man was talking to Praegon. His back was turned, so Nerissa couldn’t see who it was. She went to the hearth to warm her hands. From there, she recognized the man in profile. Without his huge friend swamping him, he wasn’t nearly as short as he’d seemed at the auction. He was about average in height, with a wiry build. His hair was newly cropped, but just as unevenly as before.
“What’s the swineherd doing here?” she asked Thea.
“Who?” said Thea, looking up from a loaf of barley bread that she was cutting. “The man with Praegon. He tried to buy me at the auction. Lady Phyllis outbid him. I
thought he was a swineherd because of his stench.”
“You’re right, he stinks just like a boar. But he’s no swineherd. We buy his cheese. It’s
very good, despite his filthy ways. Fortunately, he leaves all the work to his slave Hesper. And
usually, she’s the one to deliver it.”
“Nerissa, get over here!” ordered Praegon. He’d never spoken so sharply to her before. She looked at him, surprised. But then she thought of Theoton. She’d say yes to him
tonight. She’d never have to bear Praegon’s scorn again. Or fear what Lady Phyllis would do to
her. Instead, she’d live in her own house. Theoton would treat her very well. Her fears of the
bleak night had scattered like dank mist at dawn.
She’d leave this place as soon as possible. She’d miss Vasy, but she could ask Theoton
to bring him by. Lady Phyllis would have no power to stop him. A father could take his son
anywhere he wanted, as often as he liked. They’d be almost like a family. And on those times that Theoton came to her house alone, they’d be like newlyweds. A soft smile of anticipation
crept onto Nerissa’s lips.
“You have nothing to grin about, you slut,” said Praegon as she approached. He shoved
her hard. “This is your new master. Don’t expect a fraction of the tolerance we gave you here.” The weedy man grabbed her arm and dragged her through the door. Nerissa was so
shocked, it didn’t occur to her to struggle free and run for Theoton’s bedchamber. “Told you I’d get you for a song,” her new owner said when they stood outside on the
portico. He smirked with pleasure, delighted with the craftiness of his transaction. “This time, it
didn’t even cost me eighty.”
Nerissa’s thoughts spun with confusion. She couldn’t understand how this had happened.
Why had Lady Phyllis risked Theoton’s threat of divorce? And much closer to her heart, why
had Theoton allowed this?
She knew she’d sinned repeatedly in her short life, by abandoning Euredon, by resenting
Mother, by letting desire for Andrastus cloud her judgment, by feeling joy rather than regret
when she’d orphaned the children of opposing warriors, by failing to adequately honor the
Gods… but must they hate her so completely? Wasn’t the loss of all her family punishment
enough? And then the rapes and mutilation she’d accepted on the Thallia.
And now she’d have to bear this, too? Was it possible that Theoton had betrayed her?
She’d imagined that Lady Phyllis might succeed in sending her to Stenarch’s mine someday, but
that sentence, though cruel, would be mercifully brief. She might have to endure this new,
repulsive master for many, many years.
“What do I call you, sir?” she asked as the weedy man groped her body with his shifting
eyes.
Her answer was a crunching backhand to the jaw. It landed on the same place that
Chymides had struck her. Though almost two months had passed, there must have been an
unhealed crack beneath the bruise, and now she felt it snap completely.
“Shut it!” said the weedy man. “No slave of mine may speak unless I bid an answer.
And then be sure to give it quick.”
He picked up a length of chain that he’d left by the door. Swinging it, he made a leg iron
at its end whistle through the air. A clear demonstration of the punishment if answers weren’t
prompt. His eyes unable to hold steady, he tossed the chain to Nerissa. With a motion of his
hand, he indicated that she should fasten the leg iron. Nerissa did this without delay, then caught
the lock he tossed at her and snapped it shut. As she returned the loose end of the chain to him,
she noticed that he smelled as bad as ever.
He tugged Nerissa down the tiled walk, then marched up the street at a brisk pace. She
stumbled on a rut, causing the chain to jerk out of her owner’s hand. He wheeled at this
resistance, fury blossoming across his narrow face.
“Forgive me,” said Nerissa. “I’m dizzy from your blow.”
He brought his staff down with a resounding thwack across her shoulder. Townsmen up
and down the street turned at this sharp noise. He glared at them, daring them to interfere. But
he must have feared that someone would. This neighborhood was full of Ithaca’s most important
citizens. Nerissa recognized Lady Philomena step through her gate. She was the woman who’d
spoken out for justice at Evander’s trial. The weedy man’s arm froze where he’d cocked it for a
second strike.
“Not another word,” he said in a low tone. “Last warning. I won’t be soft on you next
time. I’ll tolerate no talk and no excuses.”
He led Nerissa through the northern side of town. A more optimistic possibility occurred
to her. Just because Stenarch wasn’t the buyer, that wouldn’t stop Theoton from retaliating. In
fact, it was much better that a poor man had bought her. He’d certainly accept a sizeable profit
to sell her back.
But how long would it take? Maybe the Mistress had struck now because she knew that
Theoton was leaving on another trip abroad. He hadn’t mentioned a voyage to Nerissa, but then,
he was convinced that the mundane details of his business couldn’t be of interest to a woman.
She said a silent prayer to see him soon, and Vasy, too. Praegon hadn’t even given her a chance
to say goodbye to the boy.
They headed up a dusty lane until they reached a brook of greenish water. After crossing
at a pebbled ford, they wound through rocky fields. Half an hour later, they came to a wooden
farm house topped with thatch. Not much different in construction from the fishermen’s humble
homes outside Smyrna’s walls. But there, all similarities ended. Not one upstanding man among
the fleet would have let his house fall into such disrepair.
The thatch gave off a reek long past musty, the walls sagged inward, and the lintel above
the door had cracked in two. An outbuilding that Nerissa guessed to be the ewe shed leaned
against a pile of manure that almost reached its roof. The sloping fields were stripped of fodder.
Meanwhile, sheep were loose among a grove of lemon trees on the steep slope behind. Their
branches should be full of green fruit at this time of year, but Nerissa saw only bare limbs with
few leaves.
Her new master pulled Nerissa into the ewe shed. Without a word, he clubbed her
shoulders five more times.
“That’s for defying me in Polis. You don’t deserve an explanation, but I want you to
understand me well. My father always said a smart man beats his women every day. If you
don’t know why, she will… But I’m a better man than that old sot. Give me no cause to beat
you, and I won’t. Is that clear?”
“Yes, lord.”
“Yes, Master. I’m no leeching toff. It’s the right form of address for a common citizen.
But I wouldn’t expect a barbarian to know, so it won’t earn you another beating. See, I told you
I’m a fair man.”
“Yes, Master.”
She’d like to say, I’m no barbarian. Do my words all sound like bar bar bar? I come
from Hellene stock through countless generations -- can you claim the same thing? But she
didn’t dare. One more beating and she might be unable to rise. A man like this wouldn’t feed her
if she couldn’t work. And she must stay alive until Theoton learned of this.
For that matter, Nerissa wondered what kind of work he wanted. This man didn’t look
like he could afford the luxury of a slave used only in the bedchamber. Blessed Olympus! She
hoped he didn’t intend to rent her out at some low wine shop. She’d heard all about such things
from Berenice.
As a girl, she’d also overheard much of Aunt Cythera’s anecdotes about her work.
Mother’s older sister was a hetaera -- they’d decided that Geneia showed great promise of
acquiring the sacred calling, too. Had the drought not struck, Geneia would have begun her
training in another year. Now, that would have been a great honor. But the difference between a
temple courtesan and a tavern whore was like the sparkling Elysian Fields compared to the
darkest corner of Erebus.
Her new master didn’t explain what Nerissa’s work would be, merely chained her to a
post and left. When she felt certain that he wasn’t coming back, Nerissa sank down to the muck.
The pain from her jaw was more severe than anything she’d ever felt. It was worse than when
Captain Hycron slashed her breasts. A pulsing ache that seemed to throb with every heart beat.
Because of it, she could hardly feel the deep bruises on her shoulders.
For the first time since her capture, Nerissa allowed herself to cry. She’d lived through
misery that made this mild in comparison, but she’d never been so alone. She worried that
Theoton wouldn’t buy her back. Lady Phyllis wouldn’t have risked his anger if she didn’t know
something that prevented him from coming.
If I have to live out my days serving this foul swine, she thought, I’d just as soon bite into
my veins right now.
Nerissa lay within the murky shed so long, she began to imagine the dripping of a water clock. Finally, an old woman came to leave water in a footed skyphos. Nerissa drank it gratefully, though the wine bowl wasn’t clean. The old woman introduced herself as Hesper. She said she was the master’s cook. Housekeeper, cheese maker, and mutton butcher, too.
“I served his father until I got too old to bed. Then he gave me to Tragus. Who wasn’t so particular. Despite my age, he screwed me each night for the next five years. When he began suffering cold sweats, I told him that I'd passed my time of menses. It’s a well-known sin to bed a woman after this. By Zeus’s colossal balls, he feared I'd curse him for his lust! I let Tragus think that I'd become a witch. It's served me well. He's too stupid to realize I would have enchanted myself far away if I really had the power.”
“Tragus is our master’s name?”It hurt to speak, but Nerissa found that she could do it if she opened only the right side of her mouth.
“For short. The whole name’s Tragophagus, son of Tyrus. But instead of Goat-eater, people hereabouts all call him Sheep-fucker. Just don’t let him hear you say it. He’ll smear you with shit, and stake you by the cesspit where the beetles feed. Or chain you in the river’s shallows soon after a rain. You’ll scream when you see the surge of water coming. You’ll gasp for air while higher and higher waves wash over you, but nobody will come. Or maybe he’ll just screw you to death. Once, I saw him do that to a ewe.”
“Does he really copulate with sheep?”
“He makes no secret of it. He claims it churns the milk before it even hits the air. Maybe there’s something to it. The cheese I make is considered the creamiest around.”
“He really prefers sheep to girls?”
“I didn’t say that. Until this spring, he’s had no funds to buy a girl. He must have stolen someone’s purse.”
“So I’m to be his bed slave?”
“You’ll never see his bed. But yes, you’ll serve him every night. And every day, your duty is to tend the flock. Plus while you watch them, you must pick apart tarred ropes. Tragus buys old ones at the port, then sells oakum to the shipyard. They pound it into seams for caulking, so they’re a steady customer. He’ll expect you to produce a barrel every day. That’s what he demanded of the last girl.”
“The last girl? What happened to her?”
“She died. Poor thing -- Lydia was only ten. She couldn’t fill the barrels, so he beat her every day.”
“Tragus beat her to death?”
“No, he raped her. It was legal, since Lydia was an early starter. The law says a master may sleep with any female slave, so long as she’s begun her bleeding. But Tragus got her with child, and she had no hips to speak of. As Lydia grew big, anyone could see there’d be no room to let the baby pass. But he wouldn’t let me give her Cyrene parsley to end the pregnancy. He wanted a live heir. They say he killed his wife because she couldn't give him one.”
“Tragus had a wife?”
“Yes, before he let this place go all to shit. He inherited some money from his mother. It passed down through her line, so old Tyrus couldn’t touch it. The wife was a young beauty, looked a lot like you, in fact. Except for your bloated jaw. That doesn’t look good, girl. You should put something on it.”
“I will. Soon as I can find plantain and wild garlic for a salve. I’ve done it before, and it worked well. This time, I’ll have lanolin from the sheep, too… You were saying about his wife?”
“I hear he treated Daphne well at first. I didn’t live here then, but that’s what people say. They also say he poisoned her with sap from an oleander that grows behind the ram’s pen. No one could prove it, though, so the law left him alone. All I know is that Daphne finally quickened, then the next thing we hear, she’s fallen ill and died. What I think is that Tragus had stopped sleeping with her months before. He’d gone back to his ewes, so he knew the baby was another man’s. When a rage gets hold of Sheep-fucker’s mind, there’s no stopping him. Cross him and you’re dead.”
Nerissa woke at the first pale crack of light before dawn split night’s shell. She heard chickens scratching in the dirt outside. Cock’s-crow hadn’t sounded yet, but fishermen’s children learn to be light sleepers. To catch outflowing tides, it’s often necessary to rise before the sun. A race to best Apollo’s chariot, Father used to say. She didn’t really believe it pulled Helios across the sky, but still, the story might be true. In the last two years, she’d seen far stranger things.
She felt sad that Theoton hadn’t come for her yet, but not terribly surprised. Her guess must have been correct. Lady Phyllis had waited until she knew her husband would be traveling abroad. Still, Nerissa thought it strange that this had come so soon after he’d offered to make her his courtesan. If Theoton knew that he was leaving Ithaca on an extended journey, why wouldn’t he have told her? But one way or the other, all she could do was bear up for as long as it took for him to find her. She must give Tragus no reason to abuse her further.
Chained to the post, Nerissa had to stretch to reach a heavily chipped basin sitting by the doorframe. Last night, Hesper had said her first duty every day would be to bring Tragus milk to break his fast. She hadn’t explained how Nerissa was to do this while shackled in the byre. The best she could do was stretch her chain toward the nearest ewe, kneel by its side, and set to work filling the basin.
The large ewe was cooperative, eager to have her full udders relieved. She was a placid, doe-eyed creature. In need of a good washing, true, but very gentle. Nerissa doubted that Tragus had bothered to give them names, so she decided to call this one Geneia, after her lost sister.
She’d never milked before -- fishermen’s families rarely kept cows or sheep or goats. They were often gone at sea for days or even weeks on end. But Andrastus had grown up on a farm before his widowed mother’s death. Among the countless things they’d talked about while clinging to a mast from Father’s ship, she remembered Andrastus describing how to coax milk out of udders. Though she still felt dizzy from Tragus’s blow, it proved to be an easy chore. Even limited in motion by her bruised shoulders and the chain, she quickly found the rhythm.
After Geneia’s milk filled half the basin, Nerissa coaxed two more ewes within reach. By the time she finished with them, it was full light outside. She stretched her chain as far as it would go, then peered through the doorframe. There was no sign from the house that either Tragus or Hesper had risen. She heard no noise -- she doubted Tragus was capable of silence while awake. He’d be bashing something, berating Hesper, or cursing his ill luck. Meanwhile, Nerissa saw no smoke curling from the cracked chimney. No light from an oil lamp or brazier shone through the windows. Tragus had probably gotten drunk last night. It wouldn’t surprise her if he slept past noon.
Now what was she supposed to do? He’d beat her if she followed his example. No, he’d expect her to get the flock out to pasture. And fill a barrel with picked oakum, though she had no idea where Tragus kept the ropes. He’d beat her also if she didn’t bring the milk up to the house before he woke. And milk the other ewes, so Hesper could make cheese.
How was she supposed to do any of this while chained to the post? It didn’t matter. Tragus wouldn’t consider it a good excuse. After collecting her from Praegon, he’d used the first mistake to beat her.
It must have started when I stared at him haggling with the fishmonger’s daughter. He’s stoked his rage ever since Lady Phyllis stymied him at the auction. Now that he owns me, the backhand to my jaw and the six strokes with his staff were only a foretaste of my life here in this foul place. But Tragus wants to prove he’s, no despot like his father. When he finds a satisfying cause for punishment, he seems the sort who’ll thrash me within a dactylos of my life.
Hesper didn’t shuffle across the yard until Helios had climbed high into His cloudstreaked vault. The old woman’s careful step told Nerissa that she was unsteady. Last night, she’d likely guzzled whatever wine Tragus left unfinished when he passed out. Nerissa didn’t call out loudly, for fear of irritating Hesper. She’d rarely seen Father drink, and Mother never, but Uncle Clemon had a great taste for barley beer. He was famed among the fleet for all-day hangovers. Many mornings, he’d roar if one of his sons so much as spoke above a whisper.
Nerissa waited until Hesper reached the ewe shed before she spoke.“I’ve filled this basin for the Master’s akratismos. But that was hours ago. Should I do it over?”
“Yes, he likes it warm with his wine bread.”
“He soaks his bread in wine?”
“Right, to cure his aching head. I’ll use this batch of milk for cheese.”
“But it’s been sitting out. Doesn’t that make milk turn sour?”
“No, except in summer. The rest of the year, I leave it out to cool off slowly. Cheese tastes much better this way. Just pick out whatever flies have drowned in it.”
“There aren’t any. I haven’t let them land.”
“You needn’t have bothered.” Hesper eyed her with a cynical expression. “He’ll beat you one way or the other.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not give him additional excuses. Will you unchain me, so I can attend my duties?”
“Can’t help you there. Sheep-fucker keeps the keys.”
“And let me guess. You don’t dare to ask for them.”
“I haven’t lived this long by being a fool. He may fear my ‘witchcraft,’ but he’ll stake me in the cesspit if I wake him from a drunk.”
Hesper took the milk and shuffled off. Nerissa couldn’t replenish the Master’s breakfast milk, because Hesper had neglected to leave an empty basin. The untended ewes bleated piteously, their udders bursting now. Nerissa suspected it would mean her life if she did them the favor of emptying their bags onto the filthy straw. So she waited another two hours in the byre’s stench, surrounding by the ewes’ nerve-shredding cries. It was like having twenty babies wailing, unable to help any of them.
Except for one. Nerissa eased a small ewe’s pain by squirting its milk into her own mouth. She drank her fill. It was warm and rich and very good. At least, she wouldn’t starve here. She remembered the gruel they used to scoop directly into her hands aboard the Thallia. The slaves felt lucky if they got a clump of maggots, because it was the only way their meager portions provided enough energy.
She wondered if the small ewe was a first-time mother. It looked not much bigger than a yearling. She stroked its flank. This one was a little cleaner than the others and its wool was surprisingly soft. She wondered what had happened to its baby. Usually, male lambs were sold for meat. Female ones, once weaned, were separated from their mothers and allowed to live. From the forlorn look in the young ewe’s eyes, Nerissa sensed its lamb had been a boy. She decided to name it Irene after her youngest aunt, who’d lost her first son, too.
It was two more hours before Hesper returned with the chipped basin. Nerissa filled it again, but still couldn’t relieve most of the ewes. Then shortly before dusk, Tragus finally appeared.
He ignored the basin full of milk. The look across his sallow face told her that he had a sour stomach. But his eyes held steadily on her for once. In them, Nerissa saw he had a different hunger. Without a word, Tragus shoved her down. He thrust both hands under her stomach and pulled Nerissa to her knees. He raised her long chiton, grunted with satisfaction to see she wore no undergarment. At the household of Theoton, her habit had been to finish dressing after her morning wash and meal. Tragus spat on his hand, wet Nerissa with his fingers, then mounted her from behind.
The pain was so sharp, Nerissa gasped despite her determination to stay silent. Tragus was practicing the kind of perversion that men like Peiton did with boys. No one had ever told her there were deviants who’d do this to a girl. Even on the ship, no sailor had been such a demon that he’d subject her to this kind of degradation.
Nerissa felt moisture sliding down her legs. Since Tragus wasn’t done and he’d only used a small amount of spit to start, she realized that it must be blood. But now she made no sound, refusing to cry out no matter how this hurt. She stayed as still as possible, though she’d learned aboard the Thallia that her assaulters finished quicker when she moved her hips.
It went on for so long, her knees began to add blood to the reddened straw. They hurt worse than her jaw. They were such agony, the pain throbbed more than where he raped her. Back there, Tragus felt enormous -- Nerissa thought that she’d be torn in two. But still she couldn’t bring herself to press against him, even if the motion would have prompted him to finish.
Opening her eyes, she caught Geneia’s steady gaze. The ewe told her this was bearable, even if Tragus did it every day. What did brute males matter? The only thing that counted was survival. No matter how many days it took, Theoton would return, and then he’d punish Tragus.
When he’d finally finished, Tragus noticed the basin full of milk.
“What’s this?” he demanded.
“Hesper told me that you like it for akratismos, Master. It’s fresh. Still warm. Should I carry it up to the house for you?”
“It’s far too much. Are you implying I’m a swine? You may as well have filled a trough.”
“No, Master. Hesper didn’t say how much. And the ewes’ bags were very full. You can hear how they’re still crying to be milked.”
With a vicious kick, Tragus knocked the basin flying. Milk splattered over Nerissa, dripping down her hair and face and soiled robe.
“Now you’ve wasted half the day’s profit. This will come out of your hide.”
Tragus didn’t have his staff, so he beat her with closed fists. He pounded Nerissa until she fell, then hauled her back by the chain still fastened to the shackle on her leg. He knocked her down again and again. She tried to count, but all of Father’s numbers flew out of her head. Hesper had been right. He’d been looking for any excuse to thrash her thoroughly.
But Nerissa noticed something. Tragus beat her much harder when she landed with the good side of her face visible. It must be true that she resembled his dead wife. So she always tried to fall with her discolored, swollen profile facing Tragus.
Eventually, it worked. Tragus grew disgusted, knowing that he’d coupled with this ugly creature.
“I should stick to ewes,” he muttered to himself like countless times before. “A filthy slave can never bring Daphne back to life.”
He stamped out of the shed, then thought better of it and returned. After unlocking Nerissa’s chain, he kicked the empty basin to her.
“Milk the black-face one,” he ordered. “She gives the richest milk. Exactly one quarter full, mind you, not one drop more, then bring it to the house. After you leave it on the table, go find Hesper in the cheese shed. Ask for enough basins to finish milking, then get my flock up to the hillside. There’ll be plenty of moonlight tonight, so they’ll be safe. But you watch close. I’ll make you regret it if any sheep are lost to wolves. And don’t imagine you can fool me. You’re not to bring them back until they’ve fed well. Then find Hesper again. She’ll give you something to eat. I provide my slaves with deipnon, whether or not it comes at nightfall. Is all that understood?”
“Yes, Master.”
By now, Nerissa had struggled to her feet. She faced him without anger. Though Olympus had ignored her while she’d lived in Polis, this was just another punishment. Tragus was no more responsible for it than a blown-down tree that crushes a sleeping family. She held a palm against one eye to keep it from leaking blood.
“Don’t even dream about escape. Ithaca’s a small island -- I’ll search everywhere until I find you. You’ll think this beating was a mother’s soft caress.”
Nerissa didn’t answer, not sure if one was required, or if another word would start him up again. The last thing she could think of now was flight. She could hardly remain standing, let alone try to run.
The rapes and beatings continued every day. Theoton still didn’t come. She heard no news from town. Tragus shackled Nerissa to the post each night. Entrusted with the key, Hesper came at daybreak to release her. Though Nerissa tended the sheep alone, there was no chance of escape. She was too sore to move at any speed greater than a hobble. What’s more, Hesper had been ordered to come outside and scan the hillside every hour. This meant Nerissa couldn’t get a large enough head start. The only opportunity would be if she somehow earned the privilege of sleeping unchained. Then the cover of darkness might give her enough time to reach Polis. If Theoton was still away, she’d have to sneak onto a ship.
That chance never came. Nerissa lost count of the days, but the moon had waxed and then eroded to a sliver. If she spent another month like this, Nerissa knew she’d waste away to nothing. She’d vanish like the white orb in the sky. But unlike far-winged Selene, she wouldn’t begin anew. Death was a tempting thought. Which only gave Nerissa another reason to loathe herself. It meant she’d given up on Theoton. She couldn’t let herself believe he knew of her condition and chose to leave her here. Besides, she’d vowed to stay alive and preserve her family’s memory.
Late that night, Tragus staggered in, reeking of sour wine. Good. She hoped his pizzle would stay limp tonight. Maybe he’d leave her alone for once. Or maybe he’d fall down if he tried to beat her. Maybe he’d crack his head against the post.
Instead, Tragus sprawled over a sleeping ewe. His flagon of wine went flying and smashed against the wall. Tragus staggered to his feet, cursing drunkenly. He cornered the guilty e