Episode 4 (485 BC):

Eat to work, work to eat. This is the harsh reality for many people, in countless eras. What for Zenodulos was a mantra that he had to repeat several times a day, became more tolerable by taking refuge in Callisto's lessons and spending time talking with the merchant Auxentius, who was always happy to share what he knew about the distant lands of the east.

Before he knew it, fifteen days had passed since he began taking classes with Callisto. The winter cold was becoming increasingly frigid, with blood-freezing winds. Fortunately, it had not snowed that night.

When the boy left the tavern, he once again found himself with that figure, the one who had already harassed him a couple of times since the first time. But right now, Zenodulos felt braver. Perhaps it was because of the lessons about the mythical hero Perseus, who had defeated the serpentine Medusa. Or perhaps it was, simply, an act of stupidity.

In any case, he stood in front of the figure, which was hiding behind a corner.

—I'm tired of running — The young man exclaimed, his voice echoing through the narrow alley. —I don't know what you want from me, but I demand that you tell me, now.

The figure, tremblingly stepped out of his hiding place, it was incredible that he had been afraid of that, Zenodulos thought.

They were nothing more than a little girl, who seemed a little younger than Zenodulos. She wore torn and dirty clothes, even more ragged than those of the young boy slave and a long, greasy black hair that reached her waist. Her face was small and round, one of her eyes was a faint dark brown and the other was hidden by the shadows formed by her hair.

Her appearance indicated that she was a slave or a beggar. So Zenodulos approached her cautiously. He didn't know what she wanted, but he didn't want to risk being hurt.

—Do you have any business with me? — He asked.

The girl waited a bit before nodding softly.

Zenodulos was startled and uneasy. What business could someone as unimportant as she have with someone as unimportant as him?

A few words came from the girl's trembling lips, as tremulous as the incessant movement of her body.

—This... uhm... Miss Agatha... — She murmured in a soft voice.

The mere name of Agatha, so bright and special for Zenodulos, but equally unattainable, was enough for the young man to lower his guard and approach his only companion on that lonely street.

—Are you a slave of Agatha's father?— the young man inquired.

—Yes... I... am... Kharma— she replied —I have a message for you.

—A message— Zenodulos repeated. —And why all the secrecy?

—I'm the only one Agatha trusts... I... was looking for you and then... I realized that you and... the other woman... come to the bar every five days.

The boy nodded, understanding.

—Yes, she's giving me lessons, but that's not important now. I really think it's dangerous for a girl like you to be out at these hours. When you fulfill your purpose, could you please stop wandering around at night?

Kharma nodded, embarrassed, and lowered her head.

—Alright...— she responded. —I... bring you a message... and something else.

With those words, the girl hid in the alley again. Zenodulos wondered if she had escaped, but before he could peek around the narrow corner, Kharma came out again with a small cage in her hand. Inside it, a brown dove.

Zenodulos looked at it with perplexity.

—Agatha gave me a dove? What about the message?

—The message comes with the dove, attached to its leg. Now take it, I... I must go... or Master Acacius will... g... get angry.

Zenodulos could sense the fear in the girl's voice as she uttered those last words. “What kind of master will Agatha's father be?” The slave thought.

—Alright, thank you for bringing the message —He said, taking the cage with the bird. —And I ask that you do not do something so dangerous again.

—I... I only do what my... masters ask me to— Kharma replied timidly.

And without saying another word, the young woman left quickly, leaving the other servant alone.

The perplexed boy looked closely at the dove, a specimen with light brown plumage and dark spots on the wing and tail. And he saw that, indeed, it had a message tied to its leg. He carefully opened the cage so that the bird would not escape and carefully untangled the message.

Then, Zenodulos unrolled the papyrus that contained an elegant and well-kept calligraphy. The message read:

Dear Zenodulos of Athens,

I felt terrible for scolding you the last time we saw each other. However, I couldn't apologize in that moment, you know how strict customs are, right? That's why I decided to use one of my hobbies to communicate with you.

One of my slaves taught me how to tame pigeons. Apparently, the Egyptians used them so that the pharaoh would know when a guest was going to arrive at his palace. They are also used here for people to find out about the winners of the Olympic Games. Isn't it interesting?

But it's not to tell you about the history of messaging that I'm writing this letter to you.

First, I want to apologize again for treating you like that. The truth is that Demosthenes has told me some ugly things about you, but you don't seem like the one he mentions. So, after thinking about it, I've decided to help you.

Which brings me to my second topic. I know you don't like being a slave. You can't go to the theater, or read those beautiful poems. So I've decided that the best thing is that when Demosthenes and I get married, and you are also my property (sorry if that sounds bad...). I promise I will do everything possible to help you pay for your freedom.

And third, it's an explanation of how pigeon messaging works. This pigeon is named Hermes (yes, like the messenger god. Creative, isn't it?). After you read the letter, I want you to write your response on the other side of the papyrus and tie it to his leg. At that moment, thanks to his training, he will know how to go back to my house. Quite intelligent our friend Hermes, don't you think?

And I think I have nothing else to say. I await your response. And when I can communicate with you, I will send you my friend Kharma again.

Sincerely,

Agatha, daughter of Acacius

Finishing the letter, a feeling unlike any other surged through Zenodulos' entire body. It was immeasurable happiness. He wanted to jump for joy, climb on top of one of the houses and jump over the roofs of Athens while shouting Agatha's name. This girl, the owner of his heart, cared about him and wanted to help him buy his freedom. His hands were shaking with emotion and he couldn't stop muttering Agatha's name over and over again, but he slapped himself to concentrate, he had to answer her immediately.

The love-struck boy searched the alley for a suitable writing surface, and in the corner of his eye, he spotted the cage, with the dove observing him curiously. On the floor of its prison lay a small piece of charcoal. Zenodulos reached into the cage again, careful not to let his excitement betray him and startle the bird. Once he had it in his hands, the young slave sat down on the ground, cross-legged, as comfortably as he could, and began to write his reply.

On the back of the papyrus, Zenodulos expressed his gratitude for Agatha’s’ apology and accepted her offer of help. He also told her that, thanks to a "friend" of his mistress (he couldn't say it was her lover), he had learned many things and now understood many subjects that had been a mystery to him before. When he was satisfied with his letter, he tied it to the dove's leg and released it. Little Hermes took off in flight, and the young man stood there, looking at the sky.

Having completed his task, Zenodulos walked away through the dark streets, content with what had happened. He abandoned the cage in a corner of the alley, unsure of what to do with it. Perhaps Agatha would send someone to pick it up later, or perhaps she had so many that she didn't mind leaving one.

Eat to work, work to eat. This mantra was no longer the voice that society whispered to Zenodulos every second of his life, but a minor inconvenience that would soon disappear. At least, that was his hope for the future.

And, as if the circle of the god Eon, always turning and turning endlessly, manipulating time itself, had accelerated, thirty days passed. During that time, Zenodulos and Agatha had exchanged quite a bit of correspondence. The young slave revealed to her what his master had told him about his parents: his father, Moiras, was from Ionia and had been captured by pirates and sold into slavery. His mother, Erinia, was from a distant village called Alalia and had been a prisoner of war. He also enthusiastically told her everything he had learned thanks to Callisto and Auxentius.

Agatha also told him about her life. Her mother had died when she was very young, and her father had never remarried. She also said that Acacius was a distant cousin of a powerful family. The money from his inheritance allowed her to afford the trips he took to the territories ruled by the Persians. It seemed that he was fascinated by their culture and had done various jobs there, which unfortunately had been interrupted by the war. But money didn't seem to be a problem for that man, as he had paid a generous dowry to Cleon for his daughter's marriage.

The talkative girl also added that, even if Demosthenes was mean to her, she would have no choice but to accept the marriage. However, she liked to believe that her father would have annulled it if any word of mistreatment reached his ears. Although she didn't know for sure, because she didn't talk too much with him.

When the young slave asked her why she didn't talk much to her father, Agatha replied that he had always been that way for as long as she could remember. Her only real friend was Kharma, and her only connection to the outside world was the lessons she received from a slave on how to be a good wife. She added that she felt fortunate to have him and Demosthenes by her side, as they expanded her world in ways she never thought possible.

Agatha also told him that Demosthenes was not a bad person, and that she really didn't know why he treated him so badly. When she spoke about the servant, she did so with fear, recounting things that he did not seem capable of doing.

In his last letter, Zenodulos asked her what kind of things Demosthenes said about him. But the answer never came, because the three days of the wedding intervened.

The first day was for rituals: sacrifices and dedications to the gods in their temples. The servant was not invited to any of them.

One of the customs was the ceremonial bath with sacred water for the bride, helped by her relatives of the same sex. Needless to say, Zenodulos's imagination ran wild thinking about it. Luckily for everyone, he was not invited either.

Then the day of the procession arrived.

It was a cold, dark winter night in Attica. Snowflakes began to fall softly on Mount Hymettus, covering its summit with a sparkling white blanket that reflected the moonlight. It was also the moment when two families were going to unite in sacred matrimony before the gods, their ancestors and for the city itself, which hoped to be blessed with new free Athenian citizens.

The beginning of the wedding ritual took place in the house of Acacius, a reflection of its owner. It was larger than Cleon's and more grandiose: with marble columns and an oak wall that welcomed guests. However, the marble on the columns was chipped and ivy was climbing them, while the door’s color was faded by the sun. In addition, several spiderwebs joined the decorations made for the occasion: a myriad of flowers of various types were hung on various sides of the wall that protected the house, accompanied by multicolored fabrics.

Outside, the house was surrounded by torches that led to Cleon's house. A carriage was also stationed outside, waiting to receive the two newlyweds after the ceremony and continue the banquet at the groom's house.

The house inside was also a contrast of corrosion and decoration. Zenodulos was in the main garden of the house, with uncut grass on all sides and the walls of the house made of mud bricks chipped and corroded by time. Adorned with fabrics, lilies, and garlands that tried to hide the fact that this house was in urgent need of care.

But enough about the house’s appareance. As I have already mentioned, my dear reader, Greek society had three groups: men, women, and slaves, and everything had to be done in the most segregated way possible between these three individuals. Weddings were no exception. While the women were celebrating in their room, possibly dressing and adorning the bride, the men were in the front yard, eating, drinking, arguing, and laughing.

And you might be wondering what role Zenodulos and the other slaves played in this ceremony. Their task was the same as always: as servants. They attended to the guests, served them food and drinks, cleaned up, and after everything was over, they had to collect everything and leave the place spotless. At least he would have the opportunity to see a real wedding, the servant thought.

But first of all, let's talk about those who came to such a union.

In the garden were those who had been invited by the heads of the two families, waiting for the moment of the procession to the husband's house. Some of them came from various parts of the Greek world. Distant relatives of both families came together, as well as old friends who had made their lives far from the ever-present city that saw them grow. The men wore their best tunics of contrasting colors, even the children were well dressed, possibly classmates of Demosthenes.

Among the crowd there were even several celebrities, from Acacius's family: the Alcmeonids, one of the most influential families in Athens and descendants of Alcmeon. Their supposed ancestor, maybe more familiar to you, was Nestor, the legendary and wise king of Pylos from the Trojan War. Of course, it is quite unlikely these people were actually successors of such a famous character, but that was a common practice among Greek aristocrats, making up mythical lineages to increase their prestige.

But I am deviating. The legacy of the sons of Alcmeon was seen with an ambivalent character, sometimes good, sometimes bad. Therefore, they attracted all kinds of glances when they arrived at the site.

In the center of the whole crowd were the patriarchs of the families, Cleon and Acacius, accompanied by three beings. The first was the groom, Demosthenes, dressed in his best wine-red tunic for, possibly, one of the most important moments of his life. Another was an adult cow, with a tether around her neck and held by a humble-looking man who appeared to be her breeder.

Before Zenodulos could continue watching the crowd, one of the higher-ranking guests asked him for another glass of wine. As he rushed to serve it, he couldn't help but have a smile on his face, perhaps fantasizing about what kind of dress Agatha would be wearing.

In a corner of the garden, musicians played cheerful tunes, accompanied by the powerful voice of a portly man singing hymns to Hera, the Olympian goddess of marriage. Then, Cleon addressed the crowd.

—Welcome, friends and family. Today is a day of celebration, for my dear and only son, Demosthenes, is to be married to the young and honorable daughter of Acacius, Agatha.

A round of applause erupted from the crowd. Acacius then stepped forward.

—Thank you, Cleon. I would also like to welcome everyone. I'm not very good with words, but I wish my daughter and Demosthenes all the best. May they be happy together.

More applause from the crowd interrupted Acacius, who raised a hand for silence.

—I'd like to dedicate this bovine to the great gods of prosperity. —Acacius gestured towards the cow beside him. — May they shower my dear daughter with happiness, prosperity, and most importantly: fertility.

Suddenly, Acacius pulled a small kitchen knife from his tunic and approached the animal. The cow sensed the danger and tried to escape, but the man holding her stroked her neck to calm her down. Acacius took the opportunity to stab the animal in the neck. The cow suffered and let out a loud bellow, trying to escape, but without strength. Her owner's grip held her in place. It wasn't long before the cow collapsed to her knees and died slowly.

"Interesting," Zenodulos thought with a hint of admiration.

Then, the animal was carried by several slaves into the house, where it would possibly be cooked for the banquet.

Time passed and the guests ate roasted meat, while Cleon's young servant was cleaning a part of the garden with a rudimentary broom when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He turned around and saw Demosthenes.

—Is something wrong, sir? — The bewildered slave asked.

—Follow me— Demosthenes said coldly. —I need to speak with you privately.

Zenodulos nodded, even more confused.

The two young men moved away from the bustling crowd and headed to a secluded corner of the garden. Once alone, Demosthenes glared at Zenodulos, anger flickering in his eyes.

— Is it something so important that we have to discuss it here and now? — His servant asked, trying to remain calm.

—Yes — Demosthenes responded in a hoarse voice— It is.

Then, he pulled a folded piece of paper from his tunic. The servant looked at it with uncertainty. It looked like a piece of papyrus.

— A few days ago, while visiting my father and working on the wedding preparations, I was waiting for Agatha in this very spot when a dove landed on that place.

The boy pointed to the metal structure that stood at one end of the garden; it looked like a cage.

—The dove had a note on its leg, and my curiosity made me read it.

The slave looked at the letter with horror. It was his handwriting, and it was signed with his name.

—"Zenodulos of Athens" — Demosthenes said mockingly—. As if you deserved that title.

He didn't know what to say. The letters were his, and the signature was his too: a title Agatha had bestowed upon him in her first letter. But this was not the time to explain that. He had to calm his master's anger.

— Aren't you going to say anything? Or are you looking for a way to deceive me into believing you didn't write it? — Demosthenes' anger was evident in every word he spoke—. Let me tell you, I'm not stupid. Here you chronicle your day-to-day life while working for my father and have the audacity to complain when he took you in.

— That's not it—responded a nervous Zenodulos —. I'm very grateful to Master Cleon for everything he's done for me.

— I don't believe your lies —said Demosthenes with disdain—. But don't worry, that's not the problem I have with this letter. I already know how you've been watching us all this time, with that smirk, like you were better than us.

The young slave could not contradict him, for it was true.

— But that's not what's bothering me —continued Demosthenes—. I already know you hate me. My real problem is your feelings towards Agatha.

Zenodulos opened his mouth to deny it, but he couldn't bring himself to say a word. If he lied, his master would see it right away. They knew each other as well as the other, having spent almost their entire lives together, hating each other.

— It's obvious you have feelings for her—whispered his young master, trying not to show his hatred in his voice—. It's so obvious that it wouldn't surprise me if she felt something for you too. And that bothers me. This hatred consumes me from within and pollutes me in every thought.

At that moment, the young slave couldn't believe what was happening, he felt like the world was collapsing on him.

—This whole wedding is a lie —Demosthenes said in a muffled voice— Even though I've never been interested in those things about love that they talk about so much in stories, I... I thought she and I had something unique, something special. Something that very few married couples actually have. And it's all a damn lie!

—But, She doesn't feel anything for me.

Demosthenes remains silent for a few moments, observing his slave with eyes reddened by anger.

—This is not the first letter and I don't even want to know what things have been said in the others. —He exclaimed, throwing the letter to the ground—I don't even want to read them, but there is one thing I can do.

Without warning, Demosthenes lunged at Zenodulos with the force of a rabid dog. He grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

—I will force you to forget her — The furious boy said through gritted teeth.—. I'll torment you, I'll make you hate me like you've never hated me before. I'll make you feel a fraction of the pain I feel. And when the physical and emotional pain has consumed you, you'll only be able to despise me. And in the meantime, I'll make sure my wife forgets you too.

Zenodulos, gasping for breath, tried to defend himself.

—No, please —He pleaded— Don't make me suffer. I promise I won't see her again, or write to her. Her name will never appear in my thoughts again. But please, have mercy.

— It's too late. You've disgusted me all this time, I even came to be afraid of you. But this hatred is more powerful than any fear. And now I beg you not to struggle, because your master is going to teach you by force what was your biggest mistake.

Zenodulos tried to run away, but Demosthenes quickly kicked him in the back and knocked him face down on the floor. His wrestling lessons at school had served him wonderfully against an opponent as weak as his slave.

The pained young man tried to ignore the agony to try to get up, but his master took him by the shoulder and turned him over, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

Demosthenes' fury was intense. His eyes were bloodshot and his features were distorted by rage. Meanwhile, the slave's gaze could only reflect terror.

—Look me in the eyes —he shouted— I want you to remember this look every time you think of my wife again.

And with that, Demosthenes began to beat Zenodulos. His fists crashed against the young man's face again and again, with brutal force. With each blow, another detestable memory about his servant surfaced in the boy's mind.

Zenodulos could do nothing more than lie helpless on the ground, covered in blood. His face was swollen and bruised. He could not defend himself. He could only curl up and wait for the nightmare to end, cursing his fate.

The young slave thought that perhaps his life would have been different if he had been born into a better family. If he had been free, he would not have to endure this.

At that moment, a voice was heard behind them.

—Stop!

The voice belonged to Arsames, it was the first time the two boys had heard him shouting. The Persian ran towards them and stood between Demosthenes and Zenodulos, taking his young master by the back. With a quick movement, he grabbed his arms and immobilized him.

—Let me go! You are also my slave, so obey me!

Arsames responded firmly.

—I know. But I do not approve of this senseless violence, and I am sure your father agrees.

—He deserves this and more! —Responded the enraged boy—. This ungrateful one and my wife have been writing to each other behind my back!

—I understand. —Arsames replied.

—Then will you let me continue punishing him? —Asked his master.

—No —the Persian replied dryly—. I will take you both to your father, he will know what must be done.

—Not my father! —Shouted Demosthenes—. He's always favoring that damn one! He'll never believe me!

Arsames sighed.

—Zenodulos is still his slave, so it is in his power to punish him. But if you want me to give him a fair correction, you must tell him what happened.

Demosthenes remained silent for a moment, thinking. Then he nodded in resignation.

—Alright —he said— I hope my father will understand.

Arsames released Demosthenes, satisfied that he had calmed down a bit. He followed him with his gaze as the young man headed inside the house.

Then, the Persian looked at his fellow servant with an expression of compassion and weariness. Zenodulos could not believe that Arsames had interceded for him. Before he could express his gratitude, the foreigner spoke, this time in his usual soft tone of voice.

—It would be best if you come as well.

The boy said nothing, but followed his fellow servant into the house of Acacius, with difficulty due to his wounds.

The room where those who lived in this house usually ate was in disarray. Books and papers were scattered on the floor, and the walls were dirty. At the central table, Cleon, Acacius, and Demosthenes were seated, their faces full of concern. The teacher observed those present with unease, as the wedding was on the verge of being ruined.

Arsames was at the entrance, protecting it as had always been his job in his master's house. At the same time, Zenodulos knelt on the floor, trying to appear as remorseful as possible.

And, surprisingly, the bride was also present: Agatha. Her white linen dress was adorned with delicate embroidery. Her face was covered by a red veil that bore a crown of woven lilies adorned her head, and in her hands, she held a small, simple wooden box. Without a doubt, her appearance would have been an incredible first impression for the men of the two families, if the wedding had not taken such an extreme turn.

Arsames had just finished telling his version of events while Cleon listened attentively.

—I see —Said the teacher—. This is serious. So all that remains is to ask those involved.

Cleon turned in his chair to address Agatha.

— Is it true that Zenodulos and you exchanged letters in secret?

—Yes, it's true. We communicated through my dove, Hermes. —Responded the bride, her expression a mystery behind the crimson veil.

—And is it true that they were love letters? —Cleon asked nervously.

—No, I just wanted to be his friend —Agatha replied to the interrogation, her voice muffled by emotion—. Zenodulos is such a kind young man and I feel sorry that because he is a slave he has so many restrictions. I... I thought he needed a friend.

It was evident that the girl was on the verge of tears.

Cleon felt a bit embarrassed to continue pressing the bride with questions, but it was necessary to proceed so that the wedding could continue.

— And why was all of this in secret?—Asked the teacher, trying to stay calm so as not to alarm the girl further.

—I didn't want the situation to escalate to this —Agatha paused, before continuing to apologize—. I'm very sorry. It wasn't my intention. If I had known this was going to happen...

—You wouldn't have written to Zenodulos? —Cleon asked inquisitively.

—Yes...

—Do you have the other letters?

—Here they are —replied Agatha, getting up from her chair.

The bride, who had already anticipated that they would need the letters, approached the teacher and from the box she held in her hands, ten neatly folded letters emerged, which she handed over to her future father-in-law.

Cleon read them in silence. After a few minutes, his expression changed from nervous to calmer.

— It seems they are all there, and from the content I don't think she's hiding anything from us. Besides, the last one Demosthenes saw seems to be the last one. Isn't that right?—Cleon asked, looking up.

Agatha nodded.

—That matches, and besides, I truly don't see any romantic feelings in the letters written by Agatha, in fact, she speaks quite well of Demosthenes...

The groom stood up from his chair with a look of surprise.

—Is that true? —he asked, looking at his father.

—Yes, you can read them yourself if you don't believe me. —Cleon replied, handing the set of letters to his son.

Demosthenes shook his head.

—No, I believe you. —He said, sitting back down.

Then he looked at his fiancée.

— I'm sorry for doubting you.

—However, the letters of Zenodulos clearly have hidden feelings between the lines. Didn't you notice that, Agatha? —the teacher interrupted.

—Not really. —Agatha responded bluntly.

Cleon sighed.

—Well, she is a child. I cannot blame her for not being aware of it. —He admitted.

Acacius intervened, alarmed.

—She is a very kind girl, Cleon. If she had realized it, she would have stopped all the correspondence on the spot. Since I am sure that she loves Demosthenes more than anyone.

—I don't doubt it. —Said Cleon. —But now the main problem is what we are going to do with Zenodulos.

Demosthenes stood up from his chair, thrilled.

—Yes, what are you going to do to him, father? I want it to be a fair and severe punishment. —He demanded.

Cleon remained silent for a few moments.

—I don't know, this is the first time I've seen something like this, and he is just a child. All this may just be the typical things of young people, like those who dream of marrying Aphrodite. —He said, thoughtfully.

—But father, he knew we were going to get married and still...

Cleon looked him in the eyes.

 

—I know, son. —He said, with a wavering voice. —But what do you want me to do? When a slave has feelings for his mistress, he is whipped, but Agatha his master yet...

—I think the best thing is not to punish him, Cleon. —Said Acacius certainty.

Cleon looked at him surprised.

—What do you mean? —He asked.

—I think the best thing is to separate him. —his father-in-law replied calmly —If he stays in your house, he will continue to meet Demosthenes and Agatha daily, and something like this could happen again.

Cleon looked at his son, then at Zenodulos, who was still kneeling in front of the table, with his head bowed.

—So to part from him... —Said Cleon. —But Zenodulos has been such a loyal and hardworking servant. He is like another son to me, so I cannot sell him to just anyone.

—Sell him to me, Cleon. —A smile appeared on Acacius' face. —I'll take care of him, and I promise that when his debt is paid, I'll set him free.

Zenodulos' master fell silent, pondering the offer.

—I don't know...

— I advise against it, sir— Arsames interjected, breaking his silence. —I know I shouldn't speak ill of this man, but there's something about his slaves that I don't like.

Cleon looked at Arsames with surprise. It was the first time his Persian slave had spoken without permission.

Zenodulos, who had been listening to the conversation, was surprised to see Arsames pleading on his behalf again. It was just like the time he had warned him about Callisto and when he had helped him stop Demosthenes from beating him up just a few minutes ago.

— Arsames... —He whispered.

Acacius struck the table with fury.

— Ridiculous! This slave doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I treat everyone well, as evidenced by the fact that they have no scars or wounds. And if they do, it’s because they’ve tried to steal from me or haven’t done their job.

Cleon nodded.

— Yes, I think Arsames is just being overly suspicious. Perhaps it’s a Persian custom.

But Arsames remained firm.

Sir, I assure you, I’ve seen all sorts of people in his majesty’s lands… the Persian king’s lands. I’ve seen many slaves and war veterans who have suffered. In their eyes, I could see desperation, pain, and a loss of hope. Many slaves in this house have that look, the look of someone who no longer has any will to live.

Cleon sighed.

— Enough, Arsames. I’ve known Acacius since we were children, we studied together and were in the army together. I was there for him when his wife died. It’s impossible for this man to mistreat his slaves or anyone else.

Acacius nodded gratefully, and his face, which had been contorted in anger just moments before, gradually softened.

—Thank you, Cleon.

Arsames remained silent, resigned. His master looked at him with curiosity.

—Have nothing to say?— Cleon asked.

—Lies are enemies of my god. That's why I prefer to remain silent, rather than have my words considered lies.

—Very well. If you had spoken more, I would have punished you with 100 lashes. But since you have renounced your insults, I will limit them to 20.

Arsames remained unfazed. He simply continued to watch the door in silence.

On the other hand, Zenodulos felt grateful to the Persian, but also scared. What kind of master would Acacius be? He had heard terrifying stories about cruel owners, and Kharma's gaze reflected the despair that Arsames described.

Cleon, oblivious to his two slaves, turned his attention back to Acacius.

—As I said before, Zenodulos has been like a son to me. His parents were faithful slaves. But I have always noticed the enmity between him and Demosthenes and I have never been able to find a way for them to get along. Then this incident only made things worse. That's why I accept your offer to sell him to you.

—You won't regret it— Acacius replied cheerfully.

—But sir... — Zenodulos interrupted.

—Father, that is not enough punishment for him— Demosthenes interrupted, interrupting his former servant.

—Silence! — Cleon exclaimed angrily. —I have made my decision. Now let's go. It's time to start the procession. I hope the gods will forgive us for interrupting such a sacred festivity.

Obeying Cleon, everyone present left the room one by one. Even the master of the house obeyed his friend's order. But as Zenodulos left the room, he realized that Demosthenes and Agatha were still inside. Seized by infinite curiosity, even after such a tense moment, Zenodulos hid in a corner to spy on what the future spouses were saying.

—My dear wife— Demosthenes said, trying to sound poetic —I regret that you had to suffer through all this, with fingers pointing at you with cold, direct questions. But above all, I would like to personally apologize for doubting you.

—Do you think a simple apology will make everything go back to the way it was?

—No, of course not. I know I was wrong.

—Tell me, Demosthenes, how stupid do you think I am to forgive you? Did you think me capable of betraying our marriage promise, as if I were nothing more than a common prostitute?

—I... I will make it up to you somehow.

Agatha interrupted him.

—I already told you I'm not a prostitute—She replied—Are you deaf? I will not accept any gift from you in exchange for my submission.

Immediately, the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor was heard. Agatha had stood up.

—I'm not going to run away or try to get a divorce, as my father has high hopes for this union — She said. —But if you ever think I see you as anything more than a wild animal, you're very wrong.

Her voice grew closer, and Zenodulos slid further and further away from the room, trying to avoid being discovered.

—Now, if you'll excuse me, we have a procession to do — The bride continued. —I'll try not to vomit when you touch me with your bloodied hands.

Then she left the room, leaving Demosthenes alone. After a brief silence, loud bangs echoed on the wall. It seemed as if the young man was taking it out on the wall.

Despite the slave's efforts to hide, Agatha found him when she looked back at the corner. Agatha observed him through her veil.

—I'm sorry this has ended this way. —She said.

—It was all my fault— The servant replied.

—I I had something to do with it too. The truth is, I thought that when Demosthenes and I got married, you would forget those feelings.

—But you said you didn't know I felt... —the surprised slave said.

—I didn't want all the blame to fall on you, Zenodulos, as far as what I told you about freeing you...

—Yes, I figured that was impossible now.

—I'm sorry. I guess this is goodbye, but trust my father, and have faith: when you're free, you'll find a better woman than me. —The bride finished, tilting her head to one side. She seemed to have smiled. Then, she walked away slowly. It was time to continue her wedding.

On the other hand, Zenodulos sighed deeply, with sadness.

—None will be better than you. —A tear fell from his eye.

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes:

• In the time period in which the book takes place, after the reforms of Cleisthenes in 508 BC, the population of Athens was divided into tribes, made up of thirds, distributed into demes. Some people of this time used their deme as a surname, although it was normal for them to continue using their patronymic (son of ...) or the name of their polis. Therefore, several characters would actually use the name of their deme as their full name, but since that would be equivalent to having to assign them a specific geographic space in Athens where they live, I preferred to leave it as you see it in the book.