He did not smile and he barely looked at Alkibiades.
“So this is the lady in question.”
“Yes. My wife’s sister, Aspasia of Miletus. Out of the goodness of my heart, I brought her with us to Athens when I was able to return from exile. She is under my guardianship.”
It pained Alkibiades to pretend that he cared for me at all, but he was afraid that if he revealed to Perikles how awful he thought I was, it would foil his plans for getting rid of me. Perikles said nothing, but stared at me, and I, against my brother-in-law’s instructions, stared back.
Nervous, Alkibiades continued. “I had hoped to find her a respectable husband, but thanks to the law you passed while I was away, no citizen can marry her.”
“Well, then. There it is,” Perikles said, as calmly as if he were commenting on the weather. Barely looking at Alkibiades, he took me by the arm and ferreted me away. I did not look back, but smiled to myself, imagining the look of shock on Alkibiades’ face. It took me a few moments to realize that the most powerful man in Athens was taking me away and that I should consider being afraid of what he would do with me. But I could not fear him. I felt—and without any reason—that I was under his protection.
We walked a short distance, saying nothing. Somehow, the quiet was not uncomfortable. Then he turned to me and said, “I almost lost a great friend yesterday.”
“Did he malign you in some way?” I asked, surprising myself with how natural my tone sounded, as if talking to a great statesman was something I did every day. I cannot explain it, but I felt that I had immediately connected with some essential thing inside this man.
“No. He is a great man, a great friend, and a great mentor. He might have died in my neglect. I should have been sending him money. By the time I remembered to look in on him, he was very ill.”
“Was he elderly?”
“Yes, quite so.” Now he was looking at me with his great chestnut eyes.
“Then perhaps he was merely sick with old age and not because you were not there to tend to him.”
“But he blamed me. I went to his bedside and begged him not to die, for I could not continue without his wise counsel. He answered, ‘Perikles, even those who use a lamp must put oil in it so that it gives light.’”
“Are you his only resource for sustenance?” I asked, for it seemed impossible that a man held in esteem by Perikles would not be taken care of by other men too.
“He was a great teacher. Unlike the sophists, he prefers not to take money for his labors. He is dependent upon me now. His neglect is a stain upon my character.”
“Why is he so special to you? Is he an elder in your tribe?”
“His name is Anaxagoras. He taught me to reason and to inquire. He showed me—and many others—that the mysteries of the world had solid explanations that one might decipher with enough investigation. The world needs minds such as his. I do not want to be responsible for the loss of him.”
“Oh? I am interested in pursuing these sorts of inquiries myself,” I said. “Might you give an example of some of his ideas?”
He looked down at me from his position of greater height, skepticism on his face.
“He has demonstrated that the sun is not a god but a very hot rock that is larger than the Peloponnese. He taught that the universe is not ordered by the whims of the gods, but by a pure intelligence that suffuses all things.”
“I believe that he must have been under the influence of my teacher, Thales of Miletus,” I replied. “I am certain that he devised this theorem first.”
“Are you trying to make me believe that you studied with Thales?”
“I am not trying to make you believe anything. The sophist tries to convince. The philosopher merely inquires. I am rather stating a fact, which you may believe or not according to your desire. Whether you believe me, sir, does not make what I say either true or false.”
He did not answer me, but walked with me in silence. I had no idea where he was taking me, and I did not think I should ask. We walked up a hill to a dwelling not much larger than the one I had grown up in.
“This is my home,” he said. I was surprised. I thought that the leader of the Athenian people would live in a grand mansion. “I’ll have the slaves bring us a tray of food and some wine. Come with me.”
We walked through the courtyard and up the stairs to a bedchamber, and I, all the while, noticed the plain décor. “This is your room,” he said. “I am sure you’ll be comfortable. Ask for whatever you like.”
He shared a bowl of dates with me, and some cheese and bread, asking me various questions about Thales and my early life in Miletus. Then he left the house, and I wondered what I was supposed to do. The slaves were reluctant to speak with me. I explored the house in search of the women’s quarters where I might find a grandmother or aunt or sister to indoctrinate me in the ways of the household, but there seemed to be no other women living on the premises. I remembered that Perikles had recently divorced his wife. Perhaps she had taken all of the women of the house with her back to her family’s home. I resigned myself to confinement in the room he had said was mine and waited to see what was going to become of me. Perhaps he would offer me to one of his friends, or marry me off to some lesser man in his service. Finally, darkness settled over the household. All was quiet, so I lay on the bed and went to sleep.
Late into the night, I heard Perikles come into the room. “Why is a lamp not lit?” he asked, standing over me in the dark.
“Because I do not sleep with a light,” I answered.
“Why are you not prepared for me?”
“Because you did not share with me your plans for the evening.”
He pulled the sheet from my body. I was not wearing any clothing. He looked at me dispassionately, sliding his hand up my leg. I pulled away, grabbing the sheet and hiding my nakedness.
I braced myself, waiting for an outburst of ire, but he looked more baffled than insulted. “You are not honoring the terms of my agreement with Alkibiades.”
“What terms?”
“We had agreed that if I was pleased with the sight of you in the marketplace I would take you for my concubine.”
“Your concubine?” I pulled the sheet tighter against my body and looked around the room for a means of escape. It was not a rational reaction, but all I wanted to do was run away.
“Alkibiades assured me that you are highly experienced in the ways of the courtesan. He said that you had pleased him many times.”
“My own sister’s husband? That would be depraved!”
Perikles shrugged. “I have heard of such things.”
“Sir, I am as virginal as Athena herself. I’ve never been touched by any man, much less engaged in a sexual act.”
“Surely you are lying,” he said, pulling away from me but scanning my face for a sign of dishonesty. “I must tell you that money has changed hands, compensation for all the food you’ve eaten since your father died, and for the two dresses that your sister made for you—one out of linen and one out of wool of good quality.”
He certainly had all the facts. Kalliope had squeezed the money for the fabric out of her meager household budget so that I would look nice.
Perikles looked bewildered, a sentiment that I both appreciated and welcomed as I let this information wash over me. After all, he could have done with me whatever he liked—taken me against my will; returned me in a fury to my brother-in-law, who would surely have punished me severely for not pleasing the mighty Perikles; sent me to a brothel; or beaten me in anger and thrown me out into the darkness.
“He said you were an expert in the sexual arts,” Perikles insisted, trying to make sense of it all. “I believe that is the precise word that he used.”
I quickly assessed my options. Here was a man who was not, at least at this moment, using the supreme power that he held over me to bully me. With the exception of my father, I had not had the acquaintance of such an individual. Even the wise Thales lorded his superior status over me, always
making me grateful for being allowed to listen to his words. I looked at Perikles’ hands, which were surprisingly slender, with long tapered fingers and clean square nails. They were altogether delicate for a man who had distinguished himself as a general. I decided that I could imagine, in fact would invite, those hands laying themselves on my body.
“I am not lying. I have never done this before. But I am willing to learn.”
AFTER WE FINISHED, I began to cry. “I’ve hurt you,” he said. But he had not. I had gasped at the moment of entry, but less because of the startling pain than because I realized that along with his thrust, he was delivering a definitive outcome to my life.
“I am crying because my virginity is lost and my fate is sealed. Never will I be a bride. Never will my groom lift the veil from my face, and never will I raise my eyes to show that I have accepted him.”
My mind continued: Never would I offer him my left hand to take at the wrist as a sign that I submitted to him. Never would I receive the bridal gifts from my community of women. I had never consciously wanted these things, but something deep inside me must have longed for them. Entrance into the traditional female world, with its rituals and quotidian chores that I had abhorred, was barred to me. Moreover, I was also forbidden membership in respectable Athenian society. If that door was forever closed, what was left for me?
“Never will my father—may the gods keep him safe in the realm of the shades—give me to another man for the sake of having legitimate children,” I said, crying premature tears over my unborn children.
“I suppose that is true,” he said. “But you are a woman unique among women. You have just given yourself away of your own volition.”
And so our arrangement began. At first, all I could manage in bed was the art of compliance. As time passed, and he came to me more regularly in the evenings, I asked him to show me the ways in which I might better please him. He did this, and also shared with me the ways in which I might please myself. He showed me how pleasure is enhanced by the use of oils and ointments, and encouraged me to tell him the ways that would bring me to the most intense climaxes. I soon came to take as much pleasure in our carnal desires as in our conversations, and he, I believe, came to take as much pleasure in our conversations as in our carnal delights. With every passing evening, he further unburdened himself to me after we made love.
But as soon as I left the sanctuary of the bedroom, the insults began. I could hear them muttered by the slaves under their breath, though Perikles was never around at these times, and I could not prove a thing. Concubine. Whore. Slut. Courtesan was the nicest among them. At first, the balm of his affection could not salve the insults and hurts. Later, as I grew in power both in the home and outside of it because of his attachment to me, the derogatory words stopped—that is, until much later, when they escalated again in a more public fashion.
But soon enough I realized that these slurs constituted my freedom. Now I was free to traipse about the marketplace—a freedom denied to me since I was fourteen years old. I was free from the sequestered life of a respectable woman, locked within a shadowy existence in the female quarters of a house. I was free of the tyranny of Alkibiades, and under the protection of a man who seemed to want me in his household because of, rather than in spite of, those very attributes that my brother-in-law had promised that other men would consider my flaws.
ONLY A FEW WEEKS after coming to the house of Perikles, I learned that one of the primary duties of a courtesan, which set her apart from a wife, was entertaining the men at dinner and drinking parties. When Perikles announced that he had invited some of his close associates for one such event, I knew that it was to be a test of my worth in my new position. I had no idea how to begin to organize the evening. I knew that I would probably be one of the only women present. Women were rarely, if ever, invited to dinner or drinking parties. Even if they were, a married female, or a female otherwise on the inside of the social realm of “decency,” would never agree to attend, much less attend one being hosted by a concubine—even if the concubine was being kept by the most powerful man in the state. I tried not to worry over these things. Though my sister was as blind on the subject of being a hostess as I was, fortunately Alkibiades was a picky eater and a gastronome, and Kalliope was well trained in ordering and presenting fine cuisine. I insisted that she come to the markets with me to select premium ingredients for the meal. She agreed, though she would have to keep the adventure a secret from her husband, for respectable women always sent their slaves to market. But I would not give the sneaky slaves in our home an opportunity to sabotage me on this important occasion.
Perikles had been on a campaign to invite wealthy foreign investors to move their businesses—and their money—to Athens, and the guest of honor on this evening was a rich manufacturer of weaponry, newly arrived from Cyprus with thirty slaves, who was setting up a factory in the city.
“Who else is to come?” I had asked so that I might send the slaves into the market to gossip with the slaves of the guests and discern their tastes.
“Oh, various wits, fops, and politicians,” he said. “Speak to the steward and make sure he hires enough whores and entertainers. The men will want to have their fun.”
He was clearly not in the mood to give me specific directives, and I had wondered if he wanted me to fail so that he could get rid of me. I asked no more questions of him and prepared as best I could. As the guests poured into the courtyard, I pretended that I was a sophisticated and gracious hostess, but I had no idea what to expect. The slaves had filled me in on the protocol at Perikles’ gatherings, but I did not trust them to tell me the truth. Though I was dressed and perfumed and smiling broadly, my stomach and my mind were in a turbulent state.
The dinner itself went very well, with everyone complimenting me on the expensive ostrich eggs imported from Africa, the eels wrapped in beet leaves, and the spiced, roasted tuna belly. I must admit that never had I eaten so well. In the house of Alkibiades, the women did not eat the same quality of food that was served to the men, but subsisted on simpler fare.
Some of the men brought professional courtesans—daughters and granddaughters of the educated class of women kept by the wealthiest and most demanding men—who wore fine silks and too-big jewelry. They sipped their wine most delicately while they asked studied questions of the men. The men loved this because the courtesans made it easier for them to expound on the subject at hand, helping them feel more intelligent than they actually were. We women did not speak to one another as women who live in the same household would do. Rather, we smiled at the men’s humor, occasionally commenting on their observations. One of the women recited a poem while the flute girl played her instrument, and another did a dance. I had none of these sorts of skills, and I wondered if I was supposed to be developing them. The prostitutes were kept in a separate room through the dinner, were fed lesser-quality food and wine, and were invited into the dining room only as the dishes were being taken from the tables.
I was terribly embarrassed as they brazenly entered and plopped themselves into the men’s laps, as their breasts spilled out of their dresses and their legs went wide open so that one could see all the way up to their thighs. Would they have intercourse right here in front of us? I did not think I could watch such a spectacle. I did not know whether Perikles would select one of the women and couple with her while I sat watching, or, indeed, whether I was expected either to straddle him as these women were doing to his guests or, worse, to service his guests. What would happen if I refused to do it? I could not believe that the tender man under whose roof I lived would throw me to his associates, but life in Athens was full of surprises. I was relieved that the men who had brought courtesans remained with them, while the others coupled with the whores and began to disappear from the tables to attend to their iniquitous business in private. Perikles seemed to have no interest in such diversions. He ignored me and settled in with Kephalos, the manufacturer, to discuss business.
&nbs
p; The night wore on. I was sitting alone, trying to maintain the smile that had been frozen on my face all night like an icy half-moon, when an older man sat next to me, dramatically throwing the flow of his robe of expensive white linen over the back of the couch. “Are you as bored as I am?” he asked. He did not wait for me to respond. “I do not know why Perikles insists on wasting my time at these boorish events when I should be working. Do I look like a man who cares to entertain merchants?”
“Not at all,” I said. He was most grand. His head was bald at the top, with light brown waves at the sides, falling well below his ears. His brow was very fine and deeply furrowed, and he had a full, well-manicured beard, though his eyes dominated his face. He possessed a certainty that would make it very difficult to contradict him.
“We are having enough trouble with our funding for the buildings, and if momentum is not kept up on the construction, we will have to answer to the Assembly. Those idiots already think we are doing all of this to get rich!”
From this I discerned that the speaker was Pheidias, the architect and designer of Perikles’ ambitious plan to rebuild the Akropolis, and by all accounts the greatest sculptor in the world. I continued to smile, assuming that he would carry on the entire conversation by himself, as the other men had done throughout the evening.
“Do you even know what I am talking about?” he asked impatiently.
I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself before I opened my mouth. “The building project is much discussed in Athens and beyond, sir, where city-states dependent on Athens for their security are not so gleeful about being forced to contribute funds. I am from Miletus and heard talk of it in the marketplace. But as to details of the plan and its funding, I must confess my ignorance.”
“You are a well-spoken girl. And you have a most interesting face.”
I knew that I was pretty, but I had never thought of my face as interesting. My features were well formed and well defined, but nothing out of the ordinary. I had wider eyes than the average woman, and my lips were pink and full. I suppose that when my father was alive, he used to tell me I was a lovely girl who would steal hearts. But after he died, all I heard from my new guardian, Alkibiades, was how unfeminine I was.