- ₪ ₪₪ 63rd sun after the plague. 22nd sun after Penthesilea’s arrival. ₪₪ ₪ - Penthesilea is 42, Protego 45, Serkon 46 Lyta is 20, Phyllis 13, Faidra 26, Cass 17, Deia 4, Eos 3 and Thersandros 25 At the end of the summer, merchants came across the range of hills. Bringing with them scarce materials, exotic spices and stories from the outside world, their arrival sparked a rare enthusiasm within the local tribes. The narrow streets of the market were bustling with life. Penthesilea, too, felt a rush of excitement in her heart and had observed the same vigor in the eyes of her daughters and in Serkon’s every movement. It had been many, many suns since that thrilling mixture of foreign tongues had come to her own ears, too, back in Santrake. Observing her friends, however, slowly led her to the conclusion that they had never seen anything comparable before. For tens of summers now, traders had avoided the routes leading through the hilly forest, in fear of the plague that had once raged these lands. And maybe, after some time, they had forgotten, too that something lied beyond. Serkon, Alexander, Hippolyta and Phyllis – they had never experienced the wonders traders would bring from all the known kingdoms. Through these never-seen figures and foreign smells, Serkon was leading the way for Penthesilea and their daughter. He had set his mind on having the first pick of slaves and watching his urgency was irrefutably Penthesilea’s favorite pastime that morning. “Are you confident that the scribe told the truth?,” she teased. “Of course,” Serkon hissed back. “They always tell the truth when it fetches them a few coins.” “A few?,” Hippolyta muttered under her breath. “We could have bought an additional slave for that much.” “Yes, because they were bloody cheap! I wouldn’t even want them for free.” “Well, the only one receiving slaves as a gift is mother anyway.” Even without seeing his face, Penthesilea could feel the king clench his teeth. During all the suns they had known each other, he had tried in any and every way to get his hands onto a new slave that was more than barely tolerable. Then, her sister had sent two warriors and with them Thersandros, trained as a master slave in Theranor and easily surpassing the worth of every single servant Serkon called his own by far. Out of pity, she had almost considered selling him the third time the king of Dekanos had asked. The asking had ceased ever since Thersandros was sharing the bed with Hippolyta but Serkon's discontentment had not. “According to the description, he should be here. I swear, if it’s a farce…!,” he mumbled. As opposed to the liveliness on the streets outside, a sophisticated atmosphere welcomed them in the small yard. Serkon looked around, satisfied. “Well. The slaves do look superior to the others.” “Luck and health to you, my lord! May I be of service?” A young man stepped up toward them from among the slaves. “Yes! I require to speak to your-” Serkon gestured toward the vacant seat below the awning. “master. Or father. Where has he gone?” Dramatically, the young man raised the hands onto his chest. “But, my lord! You wound me deeply.” “I fear we will have to drive a hard bargain now to prove the lord Kalaisthetos* that we are indeed both men of business.” “You are the trader? The leader of the caravan? I was told he is selling the best slaves of them all but did not expect him to be so- so…” The king of Dekanos gestured aimlessly. “So young? Do not worry, my lord, you are hardly the first to keenly observe that oddity and gods willing, you will not be the last either.” Serkon studied him carefully. “You must be remarkably gifted that you dare to open new markets at such a young age already.” “Oh, an undertaking as this requires the daring of youth and thirst for adventure!” The young merchant clapped his hands with eagerness, “The gods themselves must have joined our ways this morning. My name is Dareios of Porphyreia, a slaver by trade. With whom do I have the pleasure?” “From the Ruby Islands? Fascinating, my ancestors came from there as well. I am Serkon, son of Nikomedes, king of Dekanos. This is my daughter Hippolyta and her mother, queen Penthesilea.” “You honor me, my lord, my ladies!” The young man carried out a flawless bow. “If you allow, I will happily lend you the helping hand of a fellow countryman.” As Lyta followed her father to inspect the offer, Penny took a closer look at the displayed slaves herself. All of them looked healthy and capable enough. Serkon would be pleased. The king and her daughter were both very much invested in a discussion about a well-built, dark-haired man. Meanwhile, Penny noticed the young merchant approaching her. “I take it that Serkon has quickly dismissed your services in order to take an unbiased look at your goods, has he not?” The Porphyreian grimaced sufferingly. “A cruel word, my lady, however true. Would you allow me to fill this bare existence of mine with meaning again by assisting you instead?” “No, thank you. Today, I am merely company.” “Ah, my lady, and yet you have studied the offer meticulously.” “You do not expect any pay for curiosity, do you? I am not in need of new servants.” “What a pity, though it would be my pleasure to comply with my lady’s wishes next summer.” “So you plan to return?” In a few suns time, it could come in handy to have an outside source of slaves. Phyllis might decide to breed. Or Cassiopeia. Or, Penny reminded herself, Faidra, who was, by all appearances, more than happy without even more men living on the compound at the time being. “If my lady’s honored husband bestows on me the honor to make good business today, my return will be as sure as dawn follows night. I would be very much obliged if you lent me a hand with convincing him.” Dareios gave her a conspiratorial wink. A muffled laugh escaped Penny's mouth. “Oh, you are wasting your charms. The king is not my husband. I am a queen, but of another tribe and with no one to command me.” “Oh, my apology… so you are master of your own life, like myself.” He stepped up and lowered his voice. “Though you have not come to buy, will you give me the opportunity to persuade you otherwise? Let me make you an offer you cannot reject, will you, gracious lady?” Another smile stole onto Penthesilea’s face. Even though she would not waste silver for a slave they didn’t need, this man and his fast tongue promised a little amusement while Serkon let Hippolyta in on the secrets of trading. “Go ahead, try your skills.” “Dear lady, it will be my greatest pleasure. Please, follow me.” They took but a few steps toward the awning where a slender youth was standing just within the shadow. Long, ugly scars cleaved her face. The merchant stretched out his arms. “Please, hear me out, patient lady. Gods be my witness if she wasn’t meant for you to begin with! Even though you may find her outer beauty to be blemished, there is not one among the others who deserves to be called more obedient or diligent. She is young still, and eager to learn.” Whatever she had expected, it was certainly not that. A shudder of excitement ran down Penthesilea’s spine. This game promised to be good. She shook her head in disapproval while examining the girl. “Your lord Kalaisthetos must be the patron of jokes, too, young Dareios, if a blind girl is what you offer a queen who denied any interest in your goods.” “Ah, but wise lady, is not Bliss** herself said to be blind? Tell me what you might ever be possibly looking for in the future and I will tell you how this woman will fulfill the very task.” The girl clasped her hands into the fabric of her modest dress. For some reason, the miserable figure touched a soft spot, one that felt strangely familiar. There was no way Penthesilea could be sure but something made her believe she was indeed right. She pretended to think about it for a while. “How does she handle children, especially young ones?” “Ah, my lady, I knew she was right for you. From all the slaves here, I would trust her with my child first – would the great gods ever bless me with one. You will never see another woman so gentle and patient.” “Gentle and patient, yes? How much would she cost?” “For you, dear lady, she comes at the very special price of… say… a thirty silver rings***.” Penthesilea stared at him. “Now you must be joking, young man, for if I paid only the price you just named you would call me a swindler and thief afterward.” “Do not distrust your extraordinarily keen ears. The number that has left my tongue has well been true. However, if the price does not appeal to you, it will be my pleasure to raise it.” “If she was that cheap, it would make me question either her highly praised worth or your sense for business. The king of Dekanos would steal you blind.” Dareios, too uttered an amused laugh. “That, I believe!” “Do not fear, dear lady, for none of my senses has left me. Quite the contrary, I merely feel obliged to return the attention you devoted to my proposition. Take it as a gift for future business, if you so will, or for spoiling me with the blessed sight of your beautiful daughter first thing in the morning.” Penthesilea sighed. “With that price, it is truly hard to resist whatever catch there is hidden.” “A single word and the girl is yours. After all,” Dareios leaned over and whispered into her ear, “the blemish is quite apparent, is it not? Trying to sell her has given me a headache, my lady...! You would not believe.” A last deep breath, and Penthesilea held out her hand. “Deal.” As delightful the banter with the young merchant had been, as long Serkon’s negotiations dragged on later. So long, in fact, that even Lyta joined her mother. “He is being so greedy considering that he has bribed a mere scribe with the price of a fully grown slave without so much as a word of complaint.” No news indeed. It took a while until the gold and goods were exchanged and the two men approached them, too. “All gods, this man is hard to drive a bargain with,” Serkon complained. “Doesn’t deviate the slightest from his prices.” Dareios rolled his eyes so that only the women could see. “Well, my lord, I cannot give a skillful negotiant like you the advantage, can I? Or else I will not even have sandals to wear when I return next summer.” “He’s damn right,” Lyta remarked dry-wittedly. “Ah, what a refreshingly smart daughter you have, my lord!” Serkon murmured in his beard. “If he was as generous with his gold as with compliments, I would be a rich man by now- what is that anyway?” He gestured toward the slave girl behind Penthesilea’s back. “Well, she is my purchase and it might be the luckiest one I've ever made.” “That? Half blind and scarred? Are you out of your mind?” Unbelieving, he shook his head. “Why, yes. Don’t you and I have scars, too?,” she challenged him. “We are warriors! That's entirely different. Great gods, when I lose sight of you for one single moment!” Dareios smiled leniently. “The richer the customer, the louder the complaints. Woe this poor tradesman’s ears that the gods have made him wander among the wealthy!” Lyta burst out with a sudden roar of laughter. * Kalaisthetos: Arythion, Dekanos and Porphyreian god of wine, beauty, healing, trade and jokes ** in Porphyreian belief, many emotions have an personification. In this case, the personification of bliss is considered blind because "with so much evil and pain in the world, no seeing man can ever truly be blissful" *** an ordinary slave would cost around 200-300 silver rings but Penny would probably not even bother buying them for their "low quality"
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