The Coming of Aphrodite Pt. 01

Chapter 1

A Princess from Phoenicia

IN THE LANDS we call Ancient Greece, there was a city called Iolcos. This was where the great hero, Jason, had set sail in the Argo to begin his quest for the Golden Fleece. But that was five hundred years ago and Iolcos was now famous as a thriving port, with ships coming and going, laden with cargoes of wine, olives, salted fish, pottery, furniture, and a hundred other things besides.

On the day our story begins, the sun was shining and cirrus clouds were strewn across a brilliant blue sky like the discarded clippings of a white-haired god. The port was packed with vessels of all kinds and among them was a Greek merchant ship called the Hydra. It had arrived that morning with the tide and its hull was stuffed with fabrics, sweetmeats, boxes of papyrus, and a secret cache of weaponry from the Phoenician city-state of Byblos. That in itself was not unusual; Iolcos had good trading relations with the Phoenicians and the odd bit of smuggling was considered normal. What was unusual was its passenger - a young woman who was travelling alone.

The port master, an immaculately dressed official with a shaved head and single earring, was the first person to meet the woman after she had disembarked. He suspected she might be beautiful by the way she kept her head covered by the hood of a cloak, but when she finally pushed back that hood in the privacy of his office, even he caught his breath. She gave her name as Hypergamy kori-Adonis and presented a papyrus scroll of safe passage, signed by King Eshmun of Byblos himself. She also carried a letter tube bearing the Phoenician royal seal and claimed it was meant for the eyes of King Pelias, ruler of Iolcos and the kingdom of Aeolia. When the port master pressed her for more details, the woman politely--but a little haughtily in his opinion--refused to say anything further. She repeated that she would only speak with the king in person.

The port master had a problem. On the one hand, a letter from the ruler of a friendly kingdom was not something to be ignored. But this woman had no other sign of authority from that kingdom; she was not part of some delegation or group of foreign dignitaries. She didn't even have a bodyguard. A private theory was forming in his head that this woman was in fact a Greek princess, perhaps from Thebes, who was being forced to marry some highborn oaf and had decided instead to run away. There was probably a handsome young man involved--there always was--and he would no doubt appear at some point in the story. Although if the documents were forgeries, they were the best he'd ever seen.

Still, the port master, who was married, had a secret young man of his own and he was reluctant to pursue his suspicions. If the goddess protecting this woman's secret love was the same goddess protecting his own, then the last thing he wanted to do was provoke her displeasure. So he invited his guest to make herself comfortable and sent a runner to the palace to inform them of her arrival and to request further instructions.

'But be warned,' said the port master. 'It may take a few days before you actually get an audience with the king. Perhaps even weeks.'

'Where can I stay in the meantime?' asked the lady.

'Well, I don't recommend a tavern if you're alone,' he said. 'Do you really know no-one at all in Iolcos?'

'Not a soul. But I'm not without funds.'

'Well, if I were you, I would go to the Temple of Hera. The law requires the priestesses to offer sanctuary to any woman who seeks it.'

'Is there no Temple of Aphrodite?'

'If only,' said the port master sadly. 'The city used to have one when I was a boy, but it was closed years ago.'

'I see.'

The port master excused himself, saying he had work to do. The lady was invited to take a nap on a bunk in a room behind his office while she waited. She thanked him but remained in the chair, gazing at the large wooden chest that was her only possession. The port master left the room, closing the door and leaving the lady alone with her thoughts.

*

The moment the woman stepped off the ship, she became Hypergamy the Greek, long-lost daughter of Iolcos. Her old name, her old self, they were dead and gone, remnants of someone else's life. As she had stood on the ship looking out at the approaching city in the glorious sunshine--especially the magnificent Temple of Poseidon at the summit--she had been filled with hope and anticipation, a new woman approaching a new life. But now, sitting in a poky office lined with shelves of papyrus scrolls, wooden boxes and clays pots of various sizes, Hypergamy began to feel her optimism dissolve into cold, hard fear.

She was alone in a foreign city.

Even if King Pelias accepted her story and gave her citizenship, what in Hades was she going to do? Women generally became wives or whores, with only rare exceptions. She had enough money hidden in the chest to last maybe a couple of months, assuming no-one robbed her - and that could easily happen. It was frighteningly easy. Hypergamy began to realise how safe her old life as a king's concubine had been. Okay, she had been locked up and lonely and bored out of her mind, but she never had to deal with this cold fear, this terror, this realisation that she was alone in a world full of men. It would only take a single man to decide that he wanted her and that would be it. She began to imagine violent rape and Hypergamy slid from the chair, clutching her stomach, hunched up on the floor.

'Please, Goddess, help me!' she begged. 'I'm scared... I'm scared...'

She began to weep, wanting to howl but trying to keep quiet. Through the walls of the office, she could hear the shouts of men, the creaking of ropes, and the clop of horses' hooves; she didn't want anyone to investigate the sound of a woman crying. She knelt by her wooden chest, leant on the smooth varnished lid and cried quietly into her arm. She must have been mad to come here! Naïve, stupid little girl! Ungrateful! Ungrateful! Ungrateful!

The feeling of panic lasted several minutes. Then, the tears began to dry up. Hypergamy was annoyed to discover that she was starting to feel better. She thought about her previous life in the deserts across the Great Sea - bumped around in the camel trains as a girl, the men with clubs and scars, the women with missing teeth. There were many times when she thought she was going to die and yet somehow, by some miracle, here she was, all grown up, sitting in an office with a chest containing clothes and money. And in the pocket of her cloak, a letter from a king. If that wasn't proof of the Goddess's protection, what was?

'All right,' said Hypergamy to herself. 'All right, I'm okay now.'

She took the port master up on his offer to use his bunk for a nap. Afterwards, she felt rested and by the time he returned with news from the runner, she was back to her old self. But then the port master talked and the more he talked, the more her heart sank. She was to present herself to a magistrate called Syphon who would determine the authenticity of her sealed letter. Once he was satisfied it was genuine, he would arrange for an audience with the king.

'It's code for, he expects you to spend the night with him,' said the port master. 'I've heard of this Syphon. He's got a reputation as a womaniser.'

'Is this how things work in your city?' said Hypergamy.

'Unless you have friends in high places, then yes, I'm rather afraid it is.'

Hypergamy put her face in her hands. She felt angry and let down. Then a thought struck her.

'Is this man married?' she said.

'Of course,' said the port master. 'With a family of two children.'

'What a charmer.'

'Well, you know what they say about men with power.'

'That it corrupts them?'

'I was thinking more that power is an aphrodisiac.'

Hypergamy raised an eyebrow and the port master grew uncomfortable.

'Listen,' he said. 'You can leave your chest here if you like, but I still recommend you go to the Temple of Hera. They'll help you find a safe place for the night.'

'I thought I was supposed to present myself to this Syphon?'

'Oh, it's too late to do that today.'

'Not if I go to his house.'

The port master's eyes widened.

'You can't do that!' he said.

'Don't you mean, I'm not supposed to do that?'

'Well, yes, obviously...'

'Listen, where I come from, married men of status are allowed to have... how shall I put it?... additional women.'

'Well, that is most certainly not the case here!'

'Yes, but I don't know that, do I?' said Hypergamy. 'I'm just a silly girl who stepped off the boat. And after I realise my mistake, I can use my powers of persuasion.'

'On the man or his wife?'

Hypergamy leaned forwards, her gaze fixed on the man, and she spoke in a husky whisper.

'On anyone necessary,' she said.

The port master realised with surprise that he had a hard-on. This woman was an enchantress indeed. He smiled and nodded slowly.

'All right,' he said. 'I believe you.'

'Do you, by any chance, know where this magistrate lives?'

'He has the occasional deliveries of wine and delicacies. I'll have someone give you a ride.'

'Thank you.'

'I do have one condition.'

'And what's that?'

The port master leaned forwards, his eyes gleaming.

'You have got to tell me what happens!' he said.

*

Zoravelina was the eldest of four daughters, born to a wealthy landowner whose wife bore continuous children until she finally gave him a son. The girl was ten years old when her brother was born and she thought it grossly unfair that this screaming little brat was going to be heir to their father's entire estate just because he was a boy. Now that Zoravelina was twenty-six and living in a huge house with two children of her own, it bothered her rather less, but she secretly liked it when her husband was rude to her brother. Syphon would call him 'boy' to his face and because of his position as a governing magistrate, her kid brother had to put up with it.

Unfortunately, that was one of only a few things she liked about her husband. Syphon was thirty years old and his wife eighteen when they got married and the union was basically arranged because he was a grain merchant and her father owned large areas of farmland. That and her having a womb, of course. But after bearing two children by the age of twenty, her body seemed to say, 'That's enough of that!' and what was laughingly called their 'love life' diminished to virtually nothing. They presented a united front to the world, but the household servants knew that Zoravelina now slept permanently in one of the guest bedrooms and Syphon would sometimes not come home in the evenings.

Still, despite all that, Zoravelina loved her children and her home, a two-storey stone house painted white with a red-tiled roof, in a garden property surrounded by a perimeter wall. The building formed three sides of a rectangle, in the middle of which was a courtyard or atrium. This atrium had a tiled floor and flowerbeds planted with lavender, rosemary and oleander, and there was bougainvillea hanging from the second-floor balcony walkway. There were also three stone benches set facing each other, and small tables and cushions could be brought out whenever the magistrate wanted to entertain guests outdoors.

But on this day, there were only cushions for one. Afternoon was slowly turning into evening and Zoravelina reclined on a bench with a cup of spring water at her elbow. She was watching her two children. Four-year-old Castor was being shown by the matronly nurse, Sophia, how to roll needle-like rosemary leaves between finger and thumb to smell the fragrance. Meanwhile, his six-year-old sister, Callista, played alone, making shapes with the stones that she had gathered on the tiles.

A manservant, Yiorgos, came out from the house. He was thin with a solemn face and dressed in a simple grey chiton. He walked without hurry to Zoravelina, stopped at her side and bowed his head.

'My lady,' he said. 'I've been informed that there is a woman at the gate who wishes to see your husband.'

'What?' exclaimed Zoravelina. 'He's got a nerve sending them here!'

'What is it, Mummy?' said Callista from her spot on the floor.

'Nothing, darling. Mummy didn't mean to shout.'

She turned to the manservant and gestured for him to come closer. When he was almost bending over her, she spoke in a low hiss.

'Tell the guard to tell whoever's out there to get lost!' she said. 'And make sure she understands that if she comes back, we'll set the dogs on her!'

'We don't have any dogs, my lady.'

'Yes, but she doesn't know that.'

'Very well, my lady.'

But instead of leaving, the manservant stayed where he was and wore a pained expression. Zoravelina sighed.

'All right, Yiorgos,' she said. 'What is it?'

'Apparently, this woman has a letter from King Eshmun, my lady.'

'King who?'

'Eshmun. From Byblos.'

'This woman is Phoenician?'

'I don't know, my lady. But the guard thinks she might be royalty.'

'I highly doubt that.'

'I agree, my lady. But given that your husband works in the--'

'Yes, yes, I get the idea. Better safe than sorry.' She gave a great sigh. 'Well, you'd better show her in.'

'Yes, my lady.'

The manservant turned and walked silently back into the house. Zoravelina drained her cup, put it on the stone bench, and then got to her feet.

'All right, children!' she said, clapping her hands. 'Could you come over here and join me? Apparently, we have a royal visitor!'

*

Before leaving for the magistrate's house, Hypergamy had rearranged her hair and changed into another dress. She chose a green one, which complimented her eyes, but which also had sleeves. They were made of a gossamer material through which you could see her arms, but it was the closest thing she had to a formal dress. Aside from her travelling clothes--which badly needed washing--everything in her wooden chest was designed for seduction and that was not the kind of first impression Hypergamy wanted to make. To that end, she was sparing with her perfume and wore a minimum of jewellery. And just in case things didn't go well, the port master exchanged ten gold pieces for more manageable coinage. The Temple of Hera may be obliged to offer aid, but people who had money still tended to get it more quickly than people who didn't.

Hypergamy was given a ride on a delivery cart, and the port master instructed the driver to wait for her while she was inside the house. However, once the cart arrived at the perimeter wall of the magistrate's property, she gave the driver two bronze oboloi and told him that he was free to go. Despite that, the man sat waiting after his passenger had announced herself to the guard behind the closed gate. Only when she was taken inside by a tall manservant in a grey chiton did the cart driver flick his reins and drive off.

Hypergamy followed the manservant down a path and through a spacious house into an open-air atrium. She wore her travelling cloak with the hood down and as she navigated the beds of lavender and rosemary, she saw a small delegation waiting for her: an elegantly dressed blond woman with a fine forehead and a certain hardness around the eyes, a matronly older woman who looked like a nurse, and the two children themselves. The little boy was small and kept trying to put his finger in his mouth, while the nurse kept pulling it out. The little girl was slightly taller and she stared at the new arrival in boggled-eyed wonder. When Hypergamy stood before them and the manservant opened his mouth to introduce her, the little girl burst like an overripe fruit.

'You're beautiful!' she cried.

Her piping voice echoed around the atrium and was followed by an awkward silence. It was such an honest expression of the obvious that nobody quite knew how to respond. Then Hypergamy crouched down to the girl's level and looked her right in the eyes.

'Not as beautiful as you,' she said.

The little girl went pink with delight and looked up at her mother, as though wanting to share this exciting piece of news. The little boy frowned and addressed Hypergamy in an even higher pitched voice.

'Am I beautiful?' he said.

'A young man like you is handsome rather than beautiful,' said Hypergamy.

'Why can't a boy be beautiful?' said the little girl.

'Oh, they can be,' said Hypergamy. 'But beautiful boys tend to fall in love with themselves, and that's not very good for the girls.'

'Yes, thank you for that illumination,' said the lady of the house. 'But perhaps you would be so kind as to tell us who you are?'

Hypergamy rose to her feet and smiled at the woman.

'Forgive me,' she said. 'My name is Hypergamy, daughter of Adonis. And to whom do I have the honour of addressing?'

'I am Zoravelina, the mistress of this house.'

'Zoravelina? That is an uncommonly lovely name.'

'Um, thank you.'

'It means "morning light", does it not?'

'Dawn light.' The lady frowned. 'You speak Macedonian?'

'I would say I'm familiar with it,' said Hypergamy. 'I do speak Phoenician, Aegyptian and a little Etruscan. And the language of the Greeks, of course.'

She winked at the little girl, who went pink to be noticed.

'She's clever, Mummy!' said the girl.

'She's well educated,' said Zoravelina. 'That's not necessarily the same thing.'

'Your mother is quite correct.'

'And you're quite the flatterer, Hypergamy.'

'Flattery was part of my education.'

'It shows.'

Hypergamy laughed. She looked at Zoravelina with a smile of appreciation.

'I see I have met my match,' she said.

Zoravelina felt a rush of inappropriate pleasure at the compliment and fought to hide it. She was trying very hard to dislike this woman, but it was proving difficult. She reminded herself that this was probably one of her husband's conquests and decided that it was time to bring that out into the open before she liked her even more.

'Sophia,' she said. 'Would you take the children inside and give them some supper?'

'But Mummy!' protested the girl. 'You haven't introduced us yet!'

'Your mother and this lady have to talk first. Maybe I'll introduce you later.'

She gave Sophia a nod and the nurse led the children away; the little girl's protests were audible all the way into the house. Zoravelina gestured for Hypergamy to sit on the stone bench and then she joined her, sitting as far away as was polite. The manservant was still there, like a solemn living statue, waiting for the order for refreshments. Zoravelina sighed and waved a hand.

'Just bring some water,' she said.

'Yes, my lady.'

The manservant gave a nod and disappeared. Zoravelina turned on the seat and gave the other woman a very direct look.

'So how do you know my husband?' she said.

'I don't,' said Hypergamy. 'I've never met him.'

'Then why are you here?'

'I arrived at noon today on a ship called the Hydra which had sailed from Byblos. And I have a letter from the king of that city to the king of your city.'

'Yes, Yiorgos mentioned a letter.'

Hypergamy dug into a pouch in her travelling cloak and brought out a short leather tube. She showed Zoravelina the lid with its clay seal, but took care to keep it out of her reach.

'This seal has to be broken in the presence of the king,' said Hypergamy. 'Otherwise, he may doubt the authenticity of the letter.'

'I do understand how seals work.'

'Well, in order for that to happen, I need an audience with the king. And apparently... your husband is the man who will determine whether or not I get that audience.'

Hypergamy gave the other woman a long, meaningful look. Zoravelina stared back, her body stiffening, her face becoming hard. It was as though she had turned into an ice creature and cold was emanating from her pores. Hypergamy turned her gaze to the leather tube in her lap and spoke in a quiet voice.