Heart, Faith, and Steel 2/8 ============================ Cassandra kept her head down as she walked behind her new master up the hill to the city of Corinth. She was pleased with the arrangement. She could live and work in this man's household, hidden from other Immortals. If she were wounded somehow, she would not have to explain to her new master why she healed, and he would not force her to his bed. This man had too much pride in his own abilities to resort to that. But she knew he would eventually suggest she join him. They always did. She would deal with that when it happened. She might even be able to use the Voice, the hypnotic power of persuasion she had learned when she had been a priestess at the Temple of Artemis seven centuries ago. Cassandra almost never used the Voice; it was too dangerous. She could not use it in public; people asked questions. It was not much use in escaping slavery, either, for too many people noticed missing slaves, and even if she did get away from her master, no one would help an escaped slave, and her recently-cropped hair made her status obvious. If she were caught, the punishment for escape almost always involved beatings--or branding or crucifixion or worse--and healing in public was bound to bring charges of sorcery or demonic possession. And if she were not a slave, what could she be? She was a woman with no money, a foreigner with no kin or tribe. She had lived among the Hellenes before; their women did not even go to the markets to buy food. A woman needed to have a male employee or relative to conduct business for her. Or a pimp. Cassandra did not want to do that. Not again. Thankfully, the whore-master who had tried her out earlier today at the slave-market had decided she was too expensive to be one of his pornai, the whores who walked the streets and catered to sailors. At least this master was not physically repulsive. As they climbed the hill to the city of Corinth, she looked him over more carefully, seeing the broadness of shoulders, the outlines of firm muscles in his calves. He was strong and healthy, even though he looked to be nearly fifty, with gray streaks in his dark hair and clipped beard, and fine crinkling lines about his brown eyes. His frame was tall and solid, even with the extra flesh around his middle. She suspected he enjoyed the pleasures of the table as much as he enjoyed the pleasures of the bed. A lusty man, this one, who laughed easily and often, and probably angered easily, too. She would be careful. Dust from the road floated about them, coating their legs and feet. At least she wasn't naked anymore. He had bought her sandals and a peplos, a simple brown tunic that came halfway down her thighs. Nudity was a casual thing among these people, and slaves often went naked in the homes, but men didn't like others to look at their property. Finally, they reached his home, a two-story dwelling of white stone. The porter, an elderly man with a short gray beard, came out from a small cubicle when they reached the entrance. "Greetings, Lord Xanthos." The old man looked at her, but said nothing more. Cassandra stared at the brightly colored tiles on the floor of the stoa, the outside porch of the house. Women did not look at men. "Theron," Xanthos said in return. "Any business today?" "The ship-builder Prolox came by this morning, to discuss your new ship, and the painters' Guild Master would like to see you tomorrow," Theron said, and at his master's nod, the old man returned to the cubicle. In the central courtyard, three slaves waited for their master underneath the shade of a fig tree: a short older woman dressed in a long gray wool chiton, obviously the housekeeper, and a pair of younger dark-haired women in revealing gauze peplos, just as obviously the two willing bedpartners. All three slaves were staring at her--the housekeeper evaluating, the bedpartners suspicious. "Kyrios," the older woman said, bowing low. "Welcome to your home." "Doria," Xanthos acknowledged with a smile, then said, "This one is called Cassia. She is a weaver. See that she is cleaned and fed, then bring her to me in the hall." "Yes, lord," Doria said, bowing again as Xanthos went through the columned porch and into the hall. Doria spoke briskly to the bedpartners. "Iola, Clesthes, the master is hungry and thirsty. Attend him." Iola, the shorter plumper one, flashed a small smile of vindictive triumph at Cassandra, then picked up a jar of wine and sauntered after her master, her hips swinging. Clesthes followed more sedately, carrying a plate of figs, goatmilk cheese, and bread. Cassandra kept her head down, already planning. She might have to get rid of Iola. For now, she followed Doria into the kitchen, eager to clean herself, and to eat. ~~ One month later, Cassandra made her move. Xanthos called her into the hall after his evening meal, as he sometimes did when no guests were present, and he wished for conversation or music. He lay on his side on the dining couch, while Cassandra sat on a small stool and played for him on the seven-stringed lyre. She was retuning the lyre when she casually remarked, "The women in the household are excited about the festival of Hera, but saddened, too." "How so?" asked Xanthos, leaning on one elbow as he set his goblet of wine on the three-legged table in front of him. "Hera is the goddess of marriage, and children." Cassandra plucked a string, then bent industriously to her task. "Doria was speaking of how quiet this household is, with no children in it. Iola has said she will make a special sacrifice to Hera, asking the goddess to make her fruitful." She strummed again, a discordant note among a minor chord, then looked at Xanthos. "She wishes to bear a child." Cassandra spoke with a completely clear conscience; this was all true. Xanthos smiled slightly. "You do not like Iola." He did not sound surprised. "She is not content here," Cassandra replied. Iola would probably not be content anywhere. "Her unhappiness disturbs the household." Iola flirted with Buphelis the kennel-keeper, tormented the three younger slave-girls, and constantly quarreled with Clesthes. Cassandra spoke the truth again. "Iola has often mentioned her longing to hold a baby in her arms." Cassandra felt that longing, too, but she knew better than to care about a child when she was a slave. Or even when she was free. No woman--rich, poor, slave, free--had any right to her children. Children could be taken from you at any time: exposed as infants, left to starve or to provide food for the dogs; sold as five-year-old slaves and dragged screaming from your arms, while you could do nothing. Cassandra strummed another chord on the lyre, a harsher sound this time. "Iola has been here nine years," she reminded Xanthos. "She is twenty-five." He said nothing, merely sipped at his wine. Arrogant selfish man! Even Iola deserved a chance to have a life of her own, and at least one child. Cassandra asked pointedly, "Will you keep her for your own pleasure until she is too old to have children?" Xanthos's dark eyebrows drew together at that, and he frowned. Cassandra immediately slipped off the stool and knelt on the floor, her head bowed. Masters had the power of life and death over slaves, and this master was an Immortal. She should never make him angry. "Your pardon, Kyrios," she said softly. "It is not my place to speak." "No," he agreed coldly. "It is not." Cassandra placed her hands on the floor and crouched there, submitting to him, the back of her bare neck tingling, cursing her lack of control. What was the matter with her? She knew she had no right to be angry. "Leave," he commanded. Cassandra bowed once more, touching her head to the floor, then hung the lyre from its hook on the wall and left the room. ~~~~~ In the early days of summer, Simon the cobbler paid Xanthos three minae for Iola, while Xanthos generously paid the fee due the State for her manumission. Simon made the customary gift of fifty drachmae to the temple for her freedom, and he and his new bride were married during the festival of Hera. It was an auspicious time for a wedding, and Iola was soon expecting her first child. A tanner bought Clesthes a few months later, and Xanthos also freed her. He had forgotten how quickly the years went by. He told Cassia to pick out his new slaves, and she found him two young woman: a fair one called Amesthestes, and a dark one from the south called Zidar. They were biddable and pretty, both enthusiastic bedpartners. They had no great intelligence, but they were good at spinning and weaving. The household ran more quietly and smoothly, and Xanthos was satisfied. Cassia had not been lying about her skills. She nursed Doria back to health when the older woman took ill that winter, and took over the management of the household until the housekeeper was better. She wove excellent cloth, sewed and embroidered clothes, painted the vases he brought home for her, and knew how to cook his favorite Egyptian dishes. In the spring, Cassia asked for permission to teach music to girls, both slave and free. Xanthos consented, and graciously allowed her to keep a third of the tuition the girls' families or owners paid. She was worth a great deal more than the four minae he had paid for her. He decided to see if she were skilled at fighting as well. "Would you like to spar?" he asked her in the courtyard one morning, as he came back from the gymnasium, his practice sword at his side. He did not use his katana for sparring; it shattered the other blades, and he did not like others to know of it. She balanced the basket of bread against her hip and spoke quietly. "It is ... unseemly, Kyrios." "We can practice here in the courtyard." Women were not permitted in the gymnasium, of course. "No one will see." She glanced at the three girls spinning in the shade of the porch and at Theron in the cubicle near the entrance, then looked toward the kitchen, where muffled voices could be heard. "No one?" He shrugged. "They are just slaves." "As am I," she reminded him. But she didn't say it as a slave. She was looking straight at him with a challenge in her eyes, direct and unafraid. Xanthos had always liked a challenge. "Do you want me to free you?" "I would rather free myself," she answered, lowering her eyes once more. "I do not have the full price of manumission saved." "Yet." He had no doubt she soon would; she had asked him to invest her money in various ventures and businesses. She heard the gossip in the kitchens of the other households, and with her information added to his own knowledge, the two of them made a good team. They were both making excellent profits. She inclined her head gracefully. "Yet. If you will permit it, I would like to buy my freedom." He bowed back to her in the same way. "I will permit it." Then he grinned at her. "Will you spar with me then?" "It would still not be seemly, for a woman to use a sword. There would be talk." "You should practice," he said, wondering if she even knew how to fight at all. She stared at the paving stones of the courtyard. "I do not like to draw attention to myself; we are different enough." "And just how long do you think you will survive that way?" Her lips curved in a smile, but she did not look at him. "I am older than you, Kyrios." She looked up at him, that quick flashing glance he had seen in the slave-merchant's tent, cool and mocking as before. "And I am still alive." "How old do you think I am?" he asked. He had not told her. "Between four and five centuries." At his quick blink of surprise, she explained, "It is in your speaking, Kyrios. Your Hellene is flawless, but when you speak your birth-language Egyptian, you use old words, old phrases." "I could be older," he pointed out, nettled that she had determined his age and origin, while he still had no idea of hers. "But you are not." She gave him another cool smile, another flashing glance. "And I am." She bowed her head again and waited, seemingly submissive once again. He nodded a dismissal and watched her walk to the kitchen, graceful and unhurried, back straight, head high, confident yet demure. What had she been, this woman, besides a slave? ~~ When she had been in his house for a year, Xanthos decided to ask her to share his bed. He had been biding his time, building trust between them, encouraging friendship. It was a delicate business between a master and a slave, and an especially delicate business between Immortals. But he had succeeded, and he knew she would be worth the wait. He could tell she was a passionate woman; he had seen the way her hand lingered in the softness of the finely woven cloth she made, and the pleasure she took in gardening, crumbling the earth between her fingers. Once, very early in the morning, he had watched her from his window as she had danced joyously in the rain in the courtyard, thinking herself unobserved. No woman could dance that way and not like sex. Their friendship had laid the groundwork; now he could build on that. He started smiling at her more, listening, giving her his full attention, letting her know that he found her intriguing. And he did. She was usually reserved and solemn, but this morning he had seen her playing with one of the puppies from the latest litter. He had knelt down beside her to let the puppy chew on his fingers, and Cassia had laughed at the faces he had made. Then she had smiled at him, the first real smile he had ever seen from her. Xanthos had been struck by that smile, the brilliance of her eyes, the open and eager happiness in her face. He wanted to see her smile that way again. That night after dinner, Cassia played the lyre for him. When she rose to leave, he stood with her. "You do not need to go upstairs," he said, then added an obvious invitation to his bed. "You could stay with me." She stood there, hesitating, and Xanthos deliberately deepened and softened his voice. "It would be most enjoyable," he said. "For both of us." Cassia did not respond to him at all. Her hair had grown long enough to fall forward and hide her face from him, as she stood there with her head down. Xanthos understood her reluctance. "It is an invitation, Cassia, not a command. You will be a freedwoman soon enough, and we are friends now." He looked her over in appreciation, his gaze traveling the long graceful lines of her, tantalizingly hinted at under the soft folds of her sea-green chiton. He ended at her face and waited until she looked at him. "We could be more than friends." "Kyrios ...," she began, standing more rigidly now, the grace gone to stiffness. Xanthos waved his hand in impatience. "You do not need to call me that." "Lord Xanthos," she amended, then dropped her gaze. "You do me honor, but it is not an honor to which I aspire." She looked at him again, straight-forward and earnest, then added, "With any man." Xanthos nodded slowly and sat back down, remembering now the way she had laughed with the other women in the weaving room, the kindness she showed the young slave-girls. "Sit," he said gently, and she did so. Xanthos knew Cassia had been forced by men, probably many men, and women lovers were safer, less threatening. Perhaps, long ago, she had liked men, but no more. He shrugged at the waste of it, then poured them each a goblet of wine. She murmured surprised thanks when he offered a goblet to her, then sipped at it carefully. "You have my permission to find a partner among the household, if you wish," he said. "They are more to your taste than to mine, Lord Xanthos." Xanthos nodded again. The chattering young women who shared his bed were pleasant diversions, nothing more, and Cassia was a woman of deep passions. He had hoped to learn how deep, for he was lonely, too. A pity. Well, they could remain friends. "Perhaps you might find someone in the slave market," he suggested. "Affection such as that is not something to be bought," she answered, her voice tight. "No," he agreed quietly, then swirled the wine in his cup. "It is not." He leaned back on the couch and studied her. "It is just that you seem ... so alone. I thought you might want a companion." Cassia met his eyes for an instant, and he was not surprised at the vulnerability and loneliness he saw in her, or by the gleam of tears she tried to hide by staring once more at the floor. Xanthos sighed and drained his cup, knowing that loneliness very well. "If you and one of your students form an attachment for each other, let me know. If she is in another household, I might be able to buy her from her master, and then you and she could be together." He decided to permit her to leave, even though he would miss her. "Or you could go to be with her." "Thank you, Lord Xanthos," she said softly, then she stood and left the room. Her walk was not confident now. ~~~~~