Prologue:

In the midst of a deep and immaculate darkness, there was a consciousness, floating alone in the immense void that surrounded it, like a leaf in the middle of an ocean.

This consciousness was in a state similar to sleep, therefore, it did not know if it was in the afterlife, or if it had ever lived; if it really existed or if it was the dream of someone who did exist, or if it was the dream of the dream of someone who did exist.

All it knew for sure was that it was surrounded by nothingness. No matter how hard it tried to remember something, their mind (if they had one) could not bring up any memories, far or near.

The passage of time was also indifferent to them. It didn't know if it had spent its entire existence there or only a few days.

However, something urged it to leave. A voice inside screamed, desperately, to wake up from this dream. Telling them that its real life, its true existence, lies beyond the darkness.

But no matter how hard they tried, they could not get out of there. Their abstract existence remained trapped in darkness, while the voice continued to bother them. So much so that it was starting to get irritating. Now, it wanted to make it disappear. It wanted to make it shut up, now.

So the entity remembered, for the first time in a long time, something: Like closing its hand into a fist and throwing it at what was bothering them, with all their strength.

And against any expectation, their fist hit something. That being, felt something very hard breaking and where before there was only blinding darkness, there was a white point of light.

For the first time in a long time, it felt something: a strong fall and its body falling limply on a hard surface.

After the initial impact, the figure got used to seeing again, things that now seem obvious to him, like his gender and how to walk, blink and breathe came to his mind quickly. For the first time in a long time, the being had seen something more than darkness.

He was able to make out shapes near where he was lying. When he saw the stone floor beneath him, our protagonist noticed fragments of white marble surrounding him. A stone pedestal stood at one end of the room, it appeared that the presence had been enclosed in some kind of marble structure.

The being found himself in a spacious room filled with antiques. Some of them were vaguely familiar, but his clouded mind prevented him from confirming whether he had seen them before. Around him, laid ornate furniture and against solid stone walls, were displayed vases with elaborate scenes ranging from representations of philosophers debating to heroes fighting terrible beasts and deities granting favors to mortals. All the vases shared a distinctive feature: a blackened finish from the liquid clay. The individual's attention was also drawn to a set of dazzling jewels of various colors and shapes.

After being fascinated by the incredible amount of detail in the place, he could only come to one conclusion: this was in the house of someone very wealthy and he was a piece of their collection, or rather, the structure in which he was enclosed. The man tried to remember how he ended up in such a peculiar place, but his mind was blank as the void where he had been just minutes ago.

His mind was filled with thoughts swirling like a hurricane: fear, for not knowing where he was; frustration, for not being able to remember anything at all, not even his own name; and, last but not least, shame: for he was totally naked.

So his first objective was to cover himself. Our protagonist stood up to take one of the colored curtains that hung from the ceiling to use as clothing. Suddenly he heard footsteps; a group of people were approaching.

That entity quickly put on his loincloth and hid with a jump behind one of the pieces of furniture. As the footsteps got closer, a thought had been lurking in the man's mind since before he woke up...

—Who am...I?

As if his question was a prayer to a higher entity, the man closed his eyes tightly, hoping for a miracle. Suddenly, he felt a wave of images and emotions flood his mind. Those were the memories of a man who walked through earth many years ago...

 

 

 

Prologue 2:

Good morning, afternoon, or evening, dear spectator.

You must be confused by what you read in the previous prologue, but don't worry, everything will be answered in due time.

More importantly, I see that you have decided to take your time to read this story, and there are few things that I like more than knowing that you have decided to witness this work.

Perhaps you are wondering who I am and why I use this tone with you.

Or perhaps you are wondering if I am the writer of this story...

It is true that I had something to do with its creation, but in the end it is the characters themselves who weaved this wonderful tragedy.

Let's say that I am a character in this story, although I am also the closest thing you could find to a narrator...

I apologize in advance if you do not understand my words and I hope that, in the end, your doubts will be answered.

But enough about me, you have come to witness this story, and as your narrator I have the obligation to tell it.

You see, dear viewer, this story is about a group of humans, ordinary people like you, but from different times.

Yes, a time different from yours, but do not be fooled if you think that the characters you are going to see are terribly different from you. Despite the difference in time, these people had problems quite similar to yours.

Murders, thefts, wars, adultery, corruption, hatred, discrimination...

All these things are linked to human beings, whatever the time.

And this brings me to another aspect that has been with humanity for a long time...

Religion.

It is quite likely that these characters believe in a very different one than yours, and now that I have finally reached this point, I would like to ask you something:

Do you know the story of Icarus?

It is the story of a man who wanted to escape with his father using wings made of wax. The escape had no visible flaw. Yes, until Icarus got distracted by the sun and got too close to it, causing his wings to melt and then felt to his death.

A rather sad ending, typical of a tragedy, don't you think?

But there is more to this story than meets the eye. For it has a clear message. Apart from how effective those wax wings can be.

Ambition.

The moral of the story is that human beings cannot have an ambition so great to want something the gods have denied them, in the case of Icarus, wings. Made for birds and other beings, but not for humans. That is a law decreed by the gods.

But is this law unbreakable?

Approximately three thousand years after the myth of Icarus was created, humans invented their own means of flying, such as airplanes and helicopters. In the end, ambition won over the gods, who would have imagined it?

But I don't have to explain that to you, nor do I have to explain what Icarus has to do with this story.

I want you to please draw your own conclusions at the end of this story.

 

 

Episode 1 (486 BC)

Let me paraphrase a well-known writer: “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. The age of wisdom and foolishness... we had everything before us, we had nothing before us...” I think this is a perfect introduction to this era. I want you, my dear reader, to imagine yourself in ancient Athens: on the one hand, we had the aristocrats, powerful families of supposed mythical lineages who ran the city, from their grandiose buildings, and on the other hand, we had the oppressed. In between, we could count the average Athenian who was only concerned with working to eat.

But let's focus on oppression and poverty: in this bustling city there were a great number of slaves. It may surprise you, but at that time it was normal for an ordinary family to have more than one, who helped them with all sorts of daily tasks. These beings without rights could not go to the theater or listen to the most famous poems and stories. The arts and advances were only for the “real Athenians”, those who had the privilege of being heard.

That's right, simply by being born to slave parents or by bad luck, your life was ruled by your masters unless you could pay for your freedom. But that was not always the case, so let’s not get idealistic, these men, women and children were nothing more than someone else’s toys and tools, and believes me when I tell you that you could not even imagine what could happen behind the closed door of an ordinary house in this city. After all, I know better than anyone how far the evil of human beings can go.

Now that we've covered the background, let's delve into something other than my ramblings.

You have come to see this life through the eyes of the protagonists.

So, let me take you to a slave in Athens, I am sure his story will be more interesting than anything I could narrate.

...

..

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a morning like any other in Athens. The merchants opened their shops, the drunks came out of the bars singing obscene songs, the teachers reviewed the papyri of today's lessons, and the slaves had already been awake for a while, doing the morning chores before their masters woke up. All the slaves except one, Zenodulos of the house of the master Cleon.

Zenodulos was a boy of quite ordinary appearance. He had a not so flattery-inspiring face, brown eye with a touch of sadness, and short hair, neither very dark nor very light, typical of his servant condition. Only two details stood out from his appearance: an unusual thinness for a child of his age and a worn out garment, with stains that could no longer be removed.

However, this appearance was what would be expected of someone of his class. His clothes were donated by his master, and his physique could not be like that of the other children since he could not attend the physical education classes that citizens with rights demanded of their children. And since he was a servant, he could not afford to sleep in a normal bed, with soft texture and padding; but on a pile of straw.

You may find such a bed uncomfortable, and you would certainly be right. But Zenodulos had already become accustomed to sleeping on straw beds since he could remember, so he endured any discomfort that this type of rest caused. Starting with muscle aches at such an early age and ending with itching.

Slowly the child opened his eyes and quickly got up from his “bed”, walking through the small and dirty dwelling where he slept.

The room where the slaves of Cleon's house were lodged was a narrow room attached to the kitchen. This space, barely eight square meters, was built with rough unpainted mud bricks. The ceiling was made of intertwined reeds, forming an irregular and rough surface.

The only opening, apart from the door, was a small window that overlooked a tiny interior courtyard. Zenodulos went there, intending to guess the time of day. When he leaned out, he realized that the sky still had a reddish color and the sun could barely be seen from between the distant mountains on the horizon. It was a normal landscape of early spring.

Satisfied, he turned to observe his shared bedroom. Realizing that all the other slaves had already woken up, as there was no one else left. The young man walked with growing concern to the gardens of the house. There he had to wait for orders from one of his masters: the father of the family, Cleon; his wife, Charis; or their son, Demosthenes.

Zenodulos recalled the time he was late for one of his chores and Cleon forced him to be his son's sparring partner. The memory made the hair of his nape stand, prompting him to run even faster to the place where all the slaves gathered.

The house was not very large, consisting of only four rooms and the one that the professor used for his teachings. The servant soon reached his destination: the front garden. A small, but well-kept space that welcomed visitors. This entire residence was flanked by high stone walls, the only opening being a wooden gate. The most striking feature of the austere garden was a small fountain and right next to it was Cleon's favorite seat: a bench that received the shade of a low-lying pine tree, it was where the scholar felt most comfortable reading.

The rest of the slaves were already there, waiting in line for the arrival of their master. The unfortunate men and women who served the teacher stood for the daily ceremony that took place in front of the main door of the house. From there, their owner or his wife would come out to give the morning orders. Zenodulos decided to be as inconspicuous as possible so as not to bump into anyone and stood next to a tall, muscular man. Among all the servants, he and the Persian, a burly man with a shaved head (due to his slave status) and darkened skin, stood out above the rest. His short, thick beard framed a weathered face and his dark eyes shone with a bewitching intensity.

You will surely be familiar with the name Persia, a powerful eastern empire that was at war with Athens a few years ago. Some readers would love for me to tell you in great detail the socio-political context of the Greco-Persian wars and the Ionian revolt...

But you probably don't care much, I understand. All you really need to know is that Persia was large and prosperous and like any large and prosperous empire, it longed to expand, so it decided to conquer some Greek cities. However, these turned out to be quite different and problematic for the Persians. And they eventually rebelled, supported by the Athenians.

After quelling the rebellion, the Persians set their eyes on Athens, but the invaders were repelled. Currently, both nations are in a relative peace.

There you have it, no more backstory. The point I was trying to make was that this man's name is Arsames and by his appearance anyone could deduce that he was a soldier who was captured and sold as a slave. This happened about four years ago so our friend was already somewhat accustomed to Greek customs.

As the prisoner of war waited with the other servants, the arrival of his master was announced with the soft sound of the doors opening. Cleon walked, just as tranquil, along the stone path that led to the exit of his home to observe his servants with a look full of calm, the same that he showed his students.

Cleon, a man of about 60 years with a thin build and an aged face, contrasted with the robust figure of the slave who stood before him. However, his bright linen tunic and white beard gave him an air of great intellect. His small olive green eyes and thick eyebrows arched downward conveyed the impression of a thoughtful being, accustomed to discussing philosophical and artistic matters. This was not far from the truth. His clothes were simple but neat, indicating that he was a lower member of a wealthy family.

This man was one of the main reasons why Zenodulos had never tried to escape and worked without protest every day. He admired the vast wisdom of his master, who seemed to have a general knowledge of all imaginable subjects. In addition, his master treated him with paternal affection, something that the boy appreciated greatly, as he had no memories of his father.

Fascinated by Cleon's deep gaze, which now seemed lost in contemplation, his youngest servant waited anxiously for the master to speak. And he, without further ado, began his speech:

—Good morning, everyone. I hope you all slept well — Said the master, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere that he saw before him. It looked like something out of a military camp. But seeing no results and giving up, the teacher continued speaking. — I hope so, because today will be a busy day. Basil will be in charge of preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Apollo and Alypo, I want you to go help Charis. Arsames will guard the entrance and Zenodulos...

—Yes, sir? — - Asked the boy, not knowing why he had been left last.

—I would like you to guard the entrance to the room where Demosthenes and I are going to eat.

Zenodulos, breaking the formation of slaves, approached his master:

—And why is that, sir? — He asked — Do you have any enemies who want to do something to you while you eat? In that case, wouldn't Arsames be better for that task?

—It's not that, — he replied with great calm, befitting a teacher. —It's just... I can't think of what to order you.

Zenodulos nodded, still with some uncertainty. He usually took care of cleaning the corridors or the garden. Something unusual must be happening for his master to require him present during the meal.

Cleon, raising his voice to address all the slaves and concluded:

—Well, now that everyone has heard their orders, I expect them to be obeyed. This concludes today's meeting.

The slaves, in compliance with their duty to obey any order of their master, dispersed silently to their morning tasks. Without saying a single word.

Why were they so diligent? You might wonder, surely they hated their position. They did not expect the day they could buy their freedom, so they did their work mechanically: most of the slaves in Cleon's house only longed to do their tasks with the least effort and the least amount of trouble possible, in order to shorten their path to the exit of that house forever. Others hated their master and preferred to avoid any contact with him. While the Persian... No one really knew what Arsames thought, not even in his own land.

But for some reason that only the teacher knew, Zenodulos was the only one who could speak to his master in the way he did. Now he followed him, trying to hide any sign of insecurity or fear on his face. He not only feared for his own safety or that of his master, but he was also uncomfortable with the idea of sharing the same air as his master's son.

Quickly, they reached the room where the teacher and his son usually ate. It was a simple room, like the rest of the house. The walls were bare, except for a couple of shelves that housed a collection of water jars. The floor was made of unpainted stone, with a darker grayish tone. In the center of the room was a rectangular table large enough for six people to eat there. At that time, one person was already sitting at the table: Demosthenes, the teacher's son.

Demosthenes was a rather athletic boy. As anyone with functional eyes could observe, at the age of thirteen he had a physique comparable to that of a soldier or a sculpture depicting an athlete. Even his short black hair accentuated his stocky appearance. His pectorals marked folds in his tunic and his arms were wider than a spear.

It also goes without saying that this young man was quite feared and respected by the other children. They often sought him out to join their sports teams or in fights against other groups. His strength was one of the reasons why Zenodulos feared him, in addition to his short patience and his tendency to solve problems with violence.

When Cleon entered the room, the burly boy was happy to see his father. However, his gaze quickly fell on Zenodulos and his expression changed in an instant.

— What is he doing here? — He asked, pointing to Zenodulos with a gesture of disgust.

— Don't mind him, son — his father replied, trying to sound as natural as possible. — I just don't have any work for him to do at the moment.

— Then take him to collect leaves or fetch water, or whatever — Demosthenes replied, growing impatient. — Just get him out of my sight.

—Ummm… but other servants have already done that… yes… —said Cleon with a slow voice, as if he was looking for the right words.

Cleon was a person who hated to lie. However, he had no other way to convince Demosthenes to let Zenodulos stay in the room with them. Although neither of them understood what he wanted to achieve with this, they both assumed that the teacher wanted them to get along, as he had tried many times in the past, always with failed results. It was quite evident that this time would also end in disaster.

Meanwhile, the tension in the room was so evident that it could almost be touched. Cleon silently begged all the gods to provide him with an excuse for Zenodulos to stay or something to distract Demosthenes.

And as if the Olympus had heard his pleas, a slave suddenly entered with two bowls full of food. It was Basil, who had been sent to prepare breakfast. The teacher silently thanked the gods and promised to make them a sacrifice when he had time.

And in less than a blink of an eye, as soon as Basil left the room, Demosthenes began to gobble up the food quickly and without manners.

His father sat down silently and began to eat with the same calmness as always. These two were the best example of how children can be nothing like their parents.

In the meantime, Zenodulos stood near the door. In ancient Greece, it was customary for men, women, and slaves to eat in separate rooms and in that order. The mere fact that he was there was a possible breach of the rules. However, since it was his own master who had made him enter, he had no idea what to do.

Ignorant of what was going on in their slave's mind, father and son were having a pleasant conversation.

—… So we looked for something that could serve as a javelin and we started looking in the forest — Demosthenes narrated an event that had happened to him and his friends the day before. — That idiot Alexis only found some branches and the others didn't think of what else they could use.

— So you could not practice? — Cleon asked, still with his food halfway through.

— Of course we did, but it was thanks to me. I took out a knife and sharpened the tips of the branches so that they would be easier to throw — Demosthenes replied, about to finish his breakfast. — If it wasn't for me, they wouldn't have been able to practice — Demosthenes said without a shred of humility. — Those idiots, I don't know what they would do without me.

— Not bad, my son, you are very intelligent — his father praised him with a smile. He was one of the main people responsible for his son's behavior.

—I know if it weren't for my strength, I would be a philosopher like that one, the one who drew triangles. — The young man was possibly referring to Pythagoras.

—And I don't doubt it...— His father replied, ignoring his son's ignorance.

Both of them continued eating in silence, which did not last too long. Because Demosthenes, after finishing his meal with his usual speed, turned his attention again to the only child who, apart from him, lived in that house.

—Are you going to tell me why that slave is here? —asked to his father —and I hope you don't expect him to eat with us.

—No, no— Cleon denied with his head while moving his hands from side to side, as if to brush away the words. —I just wanted him to listen to the talk I want to have with you.

—Talk? If it's about how babies are born, I know that.

—Yes, I guessed you already knew that. These children today grow up so fast. I know you are still a young man and I would have liked you to continue playing with your friends a little longer, but...

—You want me to get married — Demosthenes quickly guessed, —isn’t it too soon for me?

—Yes, usually, men get married around the age of thirty, my marriage was at 34. But girls get married around your age, when they are able to have children. I think that's a little unfair, don't you think?

—Why is that?

—I just believe that marriage is very important for all people involved, not just for the couple's  parents, —the professor continued, standing up so that his voice could be heard better. —Even more so for the husband and wife, after all, they are the ones who must make the baby, raise it and manage the home. Given such responsibility, I believe that it is necessary for both to be friends, and I do not think it is something easy when they have such an age difference.

—You say that, but you hardly talk to Mom.

—I know, but that's a different story. I just don't want that to happen to you. I want you two to be friends.

—But that goes against all the laws — replied a somewhat upset Demosthenes —besides, I have never spoken to a girl my age.

—Don't worry, Athena is not so different from Zeus and Aphrodite is not so different from Eros.

—I don’t know if I’m ready, — whispered the professor’s son, suddenly losing the strength he had a moment ago.

—I told you not to worry about anything, — Cleon said, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder to calm him down. —We don’t have to rush things. For now, I just want you to meet the daughter of one of my friends: he is a brilliant academic and researcher of Persian culture. If you don’t like her, I’ll find you another one. That’s what you should do, for now.

—Really? — The boy said, surprised, looking up expectantly. —Can I choose whether to marry her or not?

—Of course, — his father replied with a smile. —I already told you that I want you to be friends before you are spouses.

The boy couldn’t help but smile at his father’s words, as he returned an even more radiant smile. In this way, the young bachelor could be more relaxed. Everything had gone as Cleon had expected. His experience with the boy’s tantrums and blows had taught him how to calm him down.

—Now I want you to go to school, — his father finally said. —When you come back, you will meet your future wife. If she is the right one for you, of course.

—And is Arsames going to take me to school?

Of all the slaves, Demosthenes got along best with the Persian, and that is why his father appointed him as his paidagogos. The guardian, who took him to school, sat next to him in lessons and reprimanded him if he misbehaved. A big job for a servant from enemy lands, but Cleon trusted the oriental man.

—Of course, it’s his job, — his father confirmed.

—Great!

And Demosthenes hurried to the exit, but his eyes met again with Zenodulos, who was listening with the greatest attention, but also with the greatest silence.

—Oh, yeah. You were here — growled the young master of the house with all the contempt he could muster in his voice. He immediately turned to speak to his father. —Are you going to tell me why he needed to hear all of that?

—Because at some point he will be free and I wanted him to know how marriage works. Although the Athenian freedmen and foreigners have other customs…

—And was it necessary to have him in the same room where we eat? — his son interrupted him, almost shouting. —What if his mere presence rots the food?

—I assure you that I order all the servants to have a certain level of hygiene. Besides, this way both of you knows about marriage. I am a busy man and I do not have time to explain these things separately.

—Very well — said the burly boy, not really wanting to argue with his father. —Then I’ll leave.

Finally, Demosthenes left the room without looking at his slave again.

You may be wondering why Demosthenes goes to school when his father is a teacher, and it is because Cleon trusted the teaching ability of one of his colleagues more than his own.

But let’s not get distracted by details again. Only Cleon and Zenodulos were left in the room, and it was the master of the house who broke the silence.

—Don’t take what he said too seriously. There will be time for him to mature, so just be patient with him.

—Yes, sir…

—What’s wrong, Zenodulos? — asked the father of the rebellious boy. Judging by the affection emanating from his voice, one would think he was talking to his other son.

—Do you really think I’ll ever be able to get married?

In ancient Athens, marriage was conceived more as the union of two families than as that of two people. The primary purpose of this union was the procreation of new members for both lineages. Therefore, slaves could not marry, since such a union did not bring any benefit or honor to their masters. In fact, the union of a slave and a free citizen was considered a crime and was punishable by law.

Of course, as is often the case, human nature prevailed over social norms. There were cases of slaves having children, driven by an instinct more powerful than common sense. These children were born to live in slavery, with little chance of surviving in the free world if they ever managed to escape their condition.

A great sorrow pierced the heart of the aging master. A similar thought had crossed his mind: as Zenodulos would never enjoy the same opportunities as he or Demosthenes have. However, he could not express such a thing to Zenodulos. Instead, the master said to him:

—Yes, of course. You are a very intelligent child. — Lied. —But, in the meantime, you are still my servant. Go buy fish for tonight’s banquet. And ask Charis for the money.

Obviously, the teacher’s orders were intended to keep the young slave’s mind occupied with something else. The boy understood this, but decided to play along with his master, as he was pleased to know that his master was preoccupied seeing him sad.

—Yes, sir! — Zenodulos replied as if he were a soldier addressing his superior.

And so, the only slave child in the house ran to the women’s quarters, where only one person slept: Charis, Cleon’s wife and Demosthenes’ mother.

You have probably noticed it, or maybe not. But in this era, women and men led quite different and separate lives.

Undoubtedly, a peculiar society. Throughout history, the powerful have always oppressed the weak. In this case, women were in the vulnerable position, unable to challenge the male dominance that permeated the political and military spheres. They had no choice but to resign themselves to the cages that their masters had created for them.

Now, let us conclude with this social critique and let the actions of these characters reveal the various types of oppression that many suffered, even in this “democratic and free” society.

Zenodulos knew the way to the women's room well. After all, Charis was the one who spent the most time taking care of the slaves. He walked through a small corridor that connected the room where the segregated rooms of men and women were and it only took him about five minutes to reach the door that gave access to the room where his mistress spent most of her time. The child slave knocked on the door and waited.

A couple of minutes later the door opened and a thin woman with brown hair that fell to her shoulders came out. On her round face, the passage of time could be seen, without diminishing the beauty she possessed in her youth: large brown eyes and a tiny nose. The upper part of her tunic covered her chest and the lower part was cinched at her waist with a belt called Zone, which was tied in a knot because of her married status. Her feet were bare, shod with simple sandals. Unlike the slaves, who were always barefoot.

—Yes…?— said the woman who had just come out of the door, looking down when she realized that the person knocking was shorter than her—oh, Zenodulos, is something wrong?

—Master Cleon has asked me to buy fish and… I need money — the young man said, somewhat embarrassed, forcing himself to look her in the eye.

—Oh, of course, — her mistress replied with reluctance. Giving orders to the less fortunate was such a daily task for her that it had become monotonous. —Let me go get them.

The lady went into the room without closing the door. Zenodulos could not help but peek inside, as he had done before. The women's room was a mystery to a man like him.

However, it was nothing special, quite similar to the men's. A room about four meters long, with a double bed against the wall and a couple of pieces of furniture to store things. The bed was a bit messy, perhaps because Charis had just woken up or because the slave in charge of tidying it up had not arrived yet. The mistress of the house was kneeling on one of the shelves in the corner, looking for the coins.

Taking advantage of his free time, the servant turned his gaze to the other end of the room. There, sitting on one of the shelves, was a woman combing her hair while looking in a mirror. When he saw that woman without a veil, with loose hair, and, in his opinion, totally beautiful; Zenodulos' heart skipped a beat and his body filled with an inner warmth that he had never experienced before.

I am not Zenodulos, but I will try my best to describe her for you, my dear reader. Her complexion was similar to Charis': thin.

What else? Ah, yes. Her wavy hair was brown, in contrast to the blonde hair so appreciated by the Greeks. To Zenodulos, however, this detail seemed not to matter. She wore a common female tunic, with the particularity of letting a part of her bust show. It was evident that the young woman was aware of her beauty and did not hesitate to exhibit it.

Her outfit was completed by several jewels and ornaments: a gold-colored necklace and bracelets on both arms. But enough of physical descriptions, let's go to what really matters: the attraction that Zenodulos felt for her.

Her mere presence paralyzed him, as if she were a sorceress and had the little preadolescent under her curse. It was a completely new sensation for him, although I suppose it didn't help that the slave women usually had their hair shaved and as for Charis... he couldn't see her as anything more than his mistress.

However, reality soon broke into Zenodulos' fantasy. His mistress appeared in front of him with a few silver coins in her hand: the profile of the goddess Athena on one side and a sacred owl on the other adorned each of the oval, irregularly shaped pieces, which were now in the hand of the saddened Zenodulos.

—I think this is enough— Charis murmured somewhat hastily.

—Oh... thank you, my lady— Zenodulos replied, trying to hide his bewilderment.

The slave closed the hand that held the coins firmly, to protect them, and before he could even give the sorceress one last look, the mistress of the house had already closed the door with a slam.

Zenodulos remained motionless in front of the door, clinging to the faint hope that it would open and grant him one last look at that woman. However, time passed and the boy continued there, like a beggar pleading for alms. Enough time had already passed for three races to have been held at the Olympics, and the young slave still waited... in vain.

Fortunately for him and for all those who were expecting to eat fish before the next day, Zenodulos remembered his task. He brushed off his embarrassment, like a dog shaking off water after a bath, and hurried towards the square. As he passed by, the young students were just arriving for their lesson with Professor Cleon.

Due to the era, the absence of vehicles such as cars or trains forced the population to travel on foot, regardless of their social class. Therefore, it was common to see renowned philosophers and wealthy nobles walking the streets of the city, as well as the occasional free woman with their faces covered by veils strolling with their escorts of one or more slaves.

For Zenodulos, a slave, walking was an integral part of his daily life. He navigated the narrow and labyrinthine streets of the city with total normality, like a dry river with stones of all sizes. The houses crowded on both sides of the streets, and the air was filled with the smell of animal excrement and garbage. The servant walked slowly, observing a world divided into two contrasting classes: the freemen and the slaves.

While the former dedicated themselves to the pursuit of knowledge or engaged in other "honorable" jobs, the less fortunate walked the same streets to carry out their masters' orders or to beg for a crumb of bread. Undoubtedly, the streets of Athens were bustling with activity in those times.

As the boy approached his destination, the city sounds intensified. Laughter and pleasant conversations floated in the air, and the number of people walking the streets increased. The boy headed to the agora, the heart of Athens, a place where the commercial, political, and social life of the city converged.

The agora, a spacious and open space, pulsated with a bustling market at its core, where vendors touted their products and buyers haggled fervently. The young man entered the square, observing speakers addressing the crowd from a podium and scholars debating ideas in lively groups.

In the center of this vast place, an imposing marble statue depicted two men, ready to attack the enemy of democracy with their swords. While in the distance, a series of majestic temples dedicated to different deities stood tall, some adorned with impressive statues. However, none rivaled the grand Parthenon of Athens, visible from various points in the city. Perched on a hill, it dominated the landscape with its imposing presence. Although still under construction, it stood as a symbol of victory and devotion to the city's patron goddess of war.

In such a bustling and crowded place, a child like Zenodulos would find it difficult to walk and know where to go, but as he was a slave accustomed to buying things for his masters, he had managed to memorize where the most important shops were and how to navigate through the hustle and bustle.

As Zenodulos carefully made his way through the crowd of Athenians engrossed in their daily routines, he noticed a shop that he had never seen before. It stood out for its meticulous construction and the high-quality fabric that covered it like a roof and adorned the facade to make it more attractive. As the boy approached, intrigued, he was able to make out the vendor. A tall and plump man, with short blonde hair and an average face, who exuded a permanent sense of boredom.

Zenodulos was just a few centimeters away from the vendor, but he didn't pay him any attention, absorbed in counting the coins he had just received from a customer who was leaving with a jar. The design of this jar caught his attention, as it didn't conform to Greek standards: there were no human figures or scenes of heroes and gods. Instead, large intersecting arches framed images of rural animals, with goats being the most prominent. The boy scanned the shop with his eyes and indeed found several more with similar designs, mixed in with others that looked more Greek.

The merchant noticed the presence of the boy who was mesmerized by the jars and with the same calm and friendly demeanor he showed to all his customers, he asked:

—Is there something that caught your eye?

—Yes, I would like to know where those jars come from. They don't look like the ones in my master's house.

—It's because they're not from any Greek poleis —the merchant replied with a certain pride— They're from the territories of the Persian king and are hard to get, that's why people pay a lot for them.

—And how do you get them? — Zenodulos asked with great curiosity.

The chubby man paused for a moment, lost in thought. Finally, he answered:

—I don't think it's a good idea to tell a slave boy how I get these things. I don't want to have more competition than I already have.

—Yes, that makes sense —Zenodulos replied, somewhat disappointed.

—But don't worry, what I do is completely legal, —the businessman said quickly—. I don't steal from the rich or anything like that, I just have my... contacts.

Zenodulos didn't know how to respond to such a statement and remained silent.

The merchant seemed to become even more agitated and quickly changed the subject:

—Anyway, are you going to buy something or are you just here to talk?

—Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that I found the jars fascinating.

—Fascinating... —repeated the vendor, impressed—. That's not something I expected to hear from a child, especially one with as few resources as you. No slave has ever called my vases fascinating. What do you find fascinating about them?

Zenodulos remained silent for a moment, searching for the right words. Finally, he said:

—It's the designs, or rather the lack of them. Greek vases always have designs depicting some mythical or everyday scene, but these only have arches or spirals. But there is a beauty in such simplicity...

Once again, Zenodulos' words left the merchant speechless.

—Interesting —he finally said— For a slave, you have that spark.

—A spark? —the child asked, curious.

—Yes, that spark that the greatest philosophers, artists, and kings have; as well as many assassins and tyrants. That spark that swings between the inspiration of a muse and the madness of a mania.

The merchant's words resonated in Zenodulos' mind. For the first time in his life, someone told him he was important for something. This man was comparing him to artists, kings, and even to assassins. As much as Cleon spoke well of him, he had never said anything like that.

The young man could only say the first thing that came to mind:

—Do you really think I am capable of being any of those things? —Zenodulos asked, with a thread of hope in his voice.

—Perhaps yes, perhaps no —the merchant replied—. Only the three Fates can weave destiny, but it must not be a coincidence that you possess that spark in your eyes.

—I see —Zenodulos finally said, glimpsing some hope for his future—. Then perhaps my destiny is more than being a slave.

—By the way, my name is Auxentios —the merchant added— I'm not very sure, but I am sure of something.

Zenodulos remained silent, expectant.

—If you're not going to buy anything, get lost. —Auxentios said with a smile, contrasting with how abruptly he had just sent the young man away. It seemed that their conversation had been quite pleasant for the merchant.

Zenodulos blushed with embarrassment.

—Oh, yes. I'm sorry... —he added, and hurried out of the shop.

 

 

 

Author's Notes:

• In this book, I have decided to divide the story into episodes instead of chapters, as the term "epeisodia" was used in ancient Greek tragedies to separate the different sections of those works. In this way, I also decided to name the epilogue "Exodus," with no relation to the biblical story.
• It is important to note that in this book, slavery is treated as something from the day to day of the people, something that every Athenian practiced without the slaves making much of an effort to complain. Despite being a sad and deplorable situation, that was the reality in ancient Greece. It is possible that when reading about "slaves," you might think of the slaves of African origin in the United States and other parts of America, but in ancient Greece, many of them were also Greek, sold or captured by pirates. They were also of Oriental and North African origin, where the Phoenicians, Berbers, and Egyptians predominantly lived. I also want to make it clear that I do not support slavery or the supremacy of any race; after all, it is quite possible that my ancestors were slaves of the colonizers.
• I don't think I made it clear in the text, so I will explain it here: the battle where Arsames was taken prisoner was the Battle of Marathon, in which the Athenians and the Plateans repelled a Persian invading force in the coastal town of Marathon, very close to Athens.
• At that time, the Greeks referred to the Persian Empire as the "Medes." The Medes were a tribe of Iranian origin, just like the Persians. It was Darius "the Great" who founded the Persian Empire as it is known today, and who expanded its territories by also dominating the Medes. The name of the Persians is due to their region of origin: Persis.
• I didn't have the opportunity to write it in the book, but the term "school" did not even exist in Athens at that time. Instead, the term "Didaskaleion" was used, which was not a place sponsored by the state to educate children as in Sparta, instead, the house of the teacher served as a place of learning. There was also a place for physical education, but that is another story. By the way, teachers were not well regarded in Athens, despite being in charge of teaching their children, and their way of life was not exceptional, although Cleon is from a good family and could have a good house and some slaves.
• I was going to put this part in the novel, but it made the action even slower, so here it is: In ancient Athens, men held a privileged position far beyond the reach of women, as dictated by the city's laws. They had the right to speak in public assemblies, hold political offices, engage in work outside the home, compete in the Olympics, own land, and defend their city in battle. Women, on the other hand, were primarily confined to the domestic sphere, responsible for managing the household and ensuring the family's well-being. Also, women depended on a man throughout their lives: first, on their father or some male relative, and then, on their husband. They could not leave the house without permission and, when they did, they had to be accompanied. Their main tasks within the home were the management of money and the supervision of the slaves. Beyond these differences, daily life was also marked by gender separation. Rooms were divided by sex and only men with men and women with other women could eat together. Husbands only met with their wives to maintain sexual relations or to attend special events.
• The Parthenon under construction, as described in this text, is not the one we see today. It was a different structure, never completed, that replaced an even older temple dedicated to Athena. That earlier temple was demolished in 490 BC to commemorate the Battle of Marathon. However, this "pre-Parthenon" (as it is now known) was destroyed during the Persian invasion of 480 BC. The current Parthenon was built on its ruins 48 years later.
• "Poleis" could be said to be a synonym for city. At that time, Greek cities were not unified as they are now, but each one was self-governed by a local government that could be a republic like Athens or a monarchy like Sparta, these governed the main city, other cities that could be subjected and their surroundings.