Killer of Men - Christian Cameron [64]
The satrap shook his head and rolled over on his couch. I thought that his trousers looked ridiculous. Greek men – even Ionians – display their legs to show how hard they exercise. A man in trousers looked like some sort of effeminate clown, but otherwise, I thought him the best figure of a warrior I had ever seen. I understood why Archilogos was so eager to impress him.
He held out his hand for wine. I cut off another house slave and filled it for him, and he flashed me a smile. ‘It is not Miltiades who really worries me,’ he admitted. ‘It is your windbag, Aristagoras of Miletus. My spies tell me he is to speak to the assembly in Athens.’
Hipponax yawned. ‘Ephesus can defeat Athens without help from any of the other cities, if it comes to that,’ he said.
Artaphernes shook his head. ‘Don’t be too sure,’ he said. ‘Their power is growing. Their confidence is growing. I do not want the westerners involved, if there is to be trouble in the islands.’
There was more of the same – indeed, an old man’s memory being what it is, I’m not sure that I even have what they said in the right order. But Hipponax and Euthalia took the parts I have given them. They were supportive, loyal subjects of the Great King.
As the companion to Archilogos, I was excused a great many duties in the house, but I was smart enough to know that it was by willingness to work and not by arrogance that I would gain the alliance of the other slaves and the steward. So I put my master to bed and then returned to the andron to help tidy up. It wasn’t bad work – there was plenty of wine going around among the slaves, and as long as we didn’t chip the ceramics or dent the metalware, Master didn’t seem to care much what we did. I took tray after tray down to the kitchens, and then I helped the girls wash the cups in hot water, which was what Cook liked to see.
My young master had a sister I hadn’t met yet, named Briseis after Achilles’ ‘companion’. People choose the oddest names for children, eh, honey? Greece is full of Cassandras – what kind of name is that for a girl? Anyway, her companion was Penelope, the same as my sister, and I met her that night. Penelope was just my age, had red hair like Miltiades and was of the same mind as me – to do some extra work and be seen as a help. So we washed cups and drank wine together, and we talked of our lives. She wasn’t born a slave, either. Her father sold her when her family lost their farm. He still came and saw her, though.
I listened, as well as talking. It was a new experience for me, and she commented on it. Emboldened, I tried to kiss her, and I put a hand on her breast, but she slapped my ear hard enough to make me see the stars. Then she flashed me a smile.
‘No,’ she said. And slipped away.
I liked her. I even liked the slap, and I’ll jump ahead of my story to say that I started to make excuses to see her. The house was big, but it wasn’t that big – it’s just that while Mistress came and went from the women’s quarters as she wished, we men weren’t allowed there.
I went to bed late and with much to think about.
And in the morning, we went for our lessons to the great Temple of Artemis. It was my first time inside the precinct. I climbed the steps with a certain awe, because they were so high and so much of the precinct was stone. In Boeotia, we put down a couple of courses of stone to raise the building clear of the damp, and then we build the rest in mud brick. But the Ephesian temple was all stone, with marble steps and marble pediments and lintels, and painted statues of Artemis and Nemesis – and Heracles. I think I spoke aloud in wonder to see my ancestor so nobly arrayed in a foreign land, wearing a helmet like a lion’s head and holding a club. I touched the statue for luck.
When we reached the top we passed beneath the magnificent portico, into the blinding sunlight of the courtyard, which was paved in pale golden stone. Gold and bronze statues caught the light reflected by the brightly coloured marbles.
Archilogos didn