Killer of Men - Christian Cameron [55]
He took me into the main entrance of his house, and it was so magnificent that I stopped behind him and looked.
In the entranceway, under the gate that led from the street to the courtyard, there was a fresco of the gods sitting in state, painted in colour on the plaster. On either side, carved as if from life, there was a maenad on my right and a satyr on my left. Once I walked two more steps under the portico and into the courtyard, I saw that every column was a statue of a man or a woman, each standing like slaves awaiting service, holding the roof, and under the arches there were more painted scenes – scenes from the Iliad and scenes of the gods. Zeus ravished a very willing Europa, and the only cowlike thing about her was her eyes. Achilles held his arms high in triumphant revenge, and Hector lay at his feet.
‘Welcome,’ my master said. He smiled. ‘Let’s have a look at you.’
He pulled my chiton off. The beautiful woman came out into the courtyard, followed by two female slaves. All three of them were perfumed, and all three were wearing garments better than Plataea’s finest wedding dress. The lady had gold earrings and a necklace as broad as a soldier’s girdle that seemed to be tied with the knot of Heracles in gold, although I didn’t think that was possible. I caught her name from my master – she was Euthalia, and that name was right for her, for she was beautiful and well-formed, and child-bearing had not touched her, except to give her the strength of face that most matrons get when they have had the rearing of a child.
I took the knot of Heracles as a sign. Heracles was the family patron, and there was his sign in the home of my master. Heracles had been a slave. I took it as a sign and I still think it was.
They ran their hands over me and played games. The slave girls fetched a ball and threw it at me. I caught it. The man nodded. Then he swung a stick at me – slowly, but with some force. I moved. I ducked. I ducked a blow and caught a ball without dropping my crutch.
Finally, the man nodded. ‘What do you know of horses?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ I said.
Both Master and Mistress looked disappointed. ‘Nothing? Speak the truth, boy.’
I shook my head. ‘I have touched a horse,’ I said.
That made Mistress smile. ‘He could be taught,’ she said.
‘He will be too tall soon,’ Master said. ‘But it is worth a try.’ He put a finger under my chin and raised my face, the way a man does with a shy girl. ‘What’s your name, boy?’
‘Arimnestos,’ I said. ‘Of Plataea.’
‘You’re a Greek,’ he said.
‘Yes, master,’ I answered.
He shook his head. ‘Well, I’m glad to have a Greek slave, but the man who sold you is a fool. You were a free man, weren’t you? And you were trained to be an athlete.’ He glanced back – he almost treated me as a person and not a household object. ‘I am Hipponax. You’ve heard of me?’
‘No, master.’ I hung my head. He had expected me to know of him. He had expected me to know of horses, too.
I had never thought of Calchas’s training as training for sport. ‘I was trained to hunt and fight,’ I said. ‘Master.’
He pursed his lips and looked at Mistress.
She smiled back at him. It was good to see them together, they were so much of one mind. ‘Don’t be offended because a slave does not know your poetry, dear. He can’t read, after all.’
I wondered if I was foolish to brag about my skills – but I did not want to go back to the priests. And they seemed like good people.
‘I can read and write,’ I said.
‘You can read and write Doric?’ master asked. ‘Or Ionic? Or both?’
‘I can read the Iliad and the Odyssey and Alcaeus and Theognis,’ I said.
Mistress smiled broadly. ‘I think you owe me a new robe of my own choosing, dear. Oh, that Daxes will be so angry.’ She clapped her hands. Then she came and ran a hand down my flank, and I shivered, and she laughed. ‘You can fight, catch a ball and read. Fine accomplishments for a young man. But your name is barbarous. I think we shall call you Doru. A spear – a Dorian. An intrusion to our family.’ She smiled at me and turned back to Master. ‘I am going