“You will not deny my request, Mistress Thais,” he began directly, fanning himself with a perfumed purple handkerchief.
The Athenian instantly disliked the tone of half-request, half-statement carelessly uttered by the Lydian’s handsome lips. She did not like him, either. Still, by the rules of hospitality she asked what his request was.
“Sell me your slave,” the Lydian said insistently. “She is more beautiful than anyone I have ever seen, and thousands have passed through my hands.”
Thais leaned against the railing of the verandah, no longer hiding her disdainful smile.
“You mustn’t laugh at me, Mistress. I know the value of a good thing and brought you two talants,” he said, then pointed at his mighty slave who was sweating under the weight of the sack of gold. “It is an unprecedented price for a dark-skinned slave, but I am not used to being denied. Having seen her, I was consumed by unconquerable desire.”
“Aside from the fact that nothing in this house is for sale,” Thais said calmly, “or the fact that Eris is not a slave, this woman is not for you nor for any mere mortal.”
“But I am not a mere mortal,” the Lydian said imperiously. “I understand a thing or two about love. And if she is not a slave then who is she?”
“A goddess,” Thais replied seriously.
The Lydian laughed. “A goddess serving you? That is too much even for such a famous and beautiful hetaera as yourself.”
Thais straightened. “It is time for you to leave, guest. In Athens those who cannot watch their tongue, and do not know the rules of proper conduct, are tossed down the stairs.”
“And my people tend to remember what is said, and obtain what they desire by any means. The prize justifies the means,” the man said ominously, but Thais ran up to the upper balcony, no longer listening to him.
A day later, when Eris and Okiale went to the market, the Lydian connoisseur of women stopped Eris and attempted to seduce her away with various promises. Eris continued on without listening to him. The enraged slave trader grabbed her shoulder, then froze when he was faced with the blade of a dagger.
Eris laughed when she told her mistress about the failed admirer, and the Athenian laughed along with her. Unfortunately, both young women turned out to be lacking in insight. They did not realize the extent of the intense and petty anger of the Asian traders in living merchandise.
A new caravan arrived from Bactria. Thais was dressing up to go see the chief and find out the latest war news. Much to her vexation, she realized she was out of the dark crimson paint made of Cyprus seashells, and used for tinting nipples and toes. Eris volunteered to run to the market. Only a horseman could make it faster than she, and even then he would have gotten stuck in the market stampede. Thais agreed.
Eris was gone a lot longer than expected. The Athenian became worried and sent a swift-footed girl, Roykos stepdaughter, to find out what had happened. The girl rushed back, out of breath, pale and with her sash missing. She told Thais that Eris was tied up and surrounded by a crowd of men who were about to kill her.
Thais had long since sensed a shadow hanging over Eris, and now the trouble had come. Roykos had already taken out Boanergos and Salmaakh and armed himself with a shield and a spear. Thais hopped onto Salmaakh. They dashed down the steep narrow street at breakneck speed, the way Eris always went. Thais was not mistaken in the path she chose. She saw a small crowd in a wide semi-portico, a niche within a tall wall. The crowd surrounded five huge slaves who were holding Eris. Her arms were twisted mercilessly behind her back, her neck was pushed back by a thick rope, and one of the slaves was trying to catch her feet. The Lydian who had visited Thais was sprawled in the dust at Eris’ feet with his stomach cut open. Thais instantly knew what to do.
“E-e-e-e-eh!” she screamed right over Salmaakh’s ear.
The mare went mad and rushed at the people, bucking and biting. The stunned slaves let go of Eris’ arms. At the same moment Thais cut the rope with her left hand, and Salmaakh’s front hooves landed on the back of the man trying to tie Eris’ feet.
Roykos also took active part. One of the slaves who had held Eris’ arms crashed on the ground from a hard hit with the shield right in the face. Another one jumped aside and grabbed his knife, but the old warrior raised his spear. By then, people were running in from everywhere, yelling and screaming. Thais held out a hand to Eris and turned the rearing mare. The black priestess hopped easily behind Thais and the horse carried the two women out of the crowd. Roykos would have covered their retreat, had it been necessary, but the slaves didn’t dare follow Thais and Eris because the sympathies of the crowd were entirely on the side of the women.
Thais ordered Roykos to tell the people who surrounded the wounded man not to touch him until help arrived, and to get him the most famous doctor in Ecbatana.
The Athenian rushed home, examined Eris, then ordered her to go bathe in the pool. She put medicinal lotion over the many scratches in Eris’ dense and supple dark skin. Eris, who was extremely pleased that her sacred dagger was safe, told her mistress about her adventure.
The Lydian with five strong slaves had waited for Eris, having spied on her during prior trips. They grabbed her so that she couldn’t break free, and started dragging her under the portico. The Lydian knocked and the door at the back of the portico opened. Apparently, they intended to drag Eris inside and tie her up. Unfortunately for them, the Lydian was too quick to celebrate and decided to rip off the black priestess’ clothes right there and then.
“In the case of rape we carry this in our sandals,” Eris said, and lifted her right foot. There was a small roll of leather on the sole, in front of the strap that went between the toes. Shifting her big toe to the side, Eris tapped her toes on the floor, and a razor-sharp blade that looked like a leopard claw popped out of the leather roll. One swipe of such a terrible talon could inflict a huge wound. The Lydian’s exposed intestines were a good example of that.
Thais finished tending to Eris, gave her some poppy broth and put her do bed despite the protests. Roykos arrived with a note from the doctor, who had already been informed of what had taken place.
“I sewed up the scoundrel’s stomach with a coarse thread,” Alkander wrote. “He’ll live if his fat doesn’t interfere.”
The day after the attack, Thais asked for Eris. Her slave stood, unusually serious and solemn. Lysippus and Cleophrades sat in the comfortable armchairs of Babylonian craftsmanship with the look of judges. By the fluttering of her nostrils, Thais noticed the hidden concern of the black priestess.
“I hereby testify before the two respected and well-known citizens above the age of thirty,” the Athenian recited the established formula, “that this woman named Eris is not my slave, but is a free person. She is not obligated to anyone in her actions and is her own mistress.”
Eris trembled. The whites of her eyes looked enormous on her bronze face.
Cleophrades, being the elder, rose. He hid a grin in his grizzled dark beard.
“We should examine you to establish the absence of any markings or brands. But there is no need for that, as we have all seen you without clothing as recently as five days ago. I suggest we sign.” He leaned over the document that had been prepared in advance, and scratched his sign with the long-lasting ink made of walnuts. Lysippus signed as well, then he and Thais approached a frozen Eris. With his strong sculptor’s fingers, Lysippus opened and removed the silver bracelet above her left elbow.