Gary Corby - The Ionia Sanction

A girl ? “Tell me about the girl.”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Who pays attention to slaves?”

“How do you know she was a slave?”

“Because he stopped and asked me for directions to the slave market. Said he wanted to sell her. She didn’t look none too happy about it either.”

“She might have been captured in a pirate raid.”

“Then that would make her a slave, wouldn’t it?” he said, reasonably enough. “As long as she isn’t Athenian.”

“Was she?”

“Dunno.”

“Thanks, Orbanos, I’m off to find that slave girl.”

“You better hurry then.”

“Why?”

“The market was shut yesterday, but it opened this morning. She could be sold by now.”

The girl stood on the auction block, naked but for a sign hung around her neck, and I knew that before the day was out she would be raped. The sign gave her name, age, state of health, and certified that she was a legitimate slave and not a free citizen. The law of Athens says they have to hang the sign, but everyone knows the seller always lies about the age and health. There’s a saying, “No one ever sold a sick slave.”

The dealer pushed the sign to the side, the better for the crowd to view this particular asset. He had no need to lie this time.

The slave market is run in one corner of the large agora at Piraeus, between the corn exchange and the rest of the vegetables. I’d sprinted all the way there in time to hear the dealer declaim the girl’s virtues: young, pretty, virgin, in good health, the perfect spice to brighten any brothel. He was probably right.

She was perhaps fourteen, give or take a year, and she wasn’t too skinny, quite rounded in fact; light brown hair, slightly curly, thin face, large, scared eyes; but her posture was defiant, her back straight, chin up. The girl had the attention of every man there, all of whom were bored.

One man had a go at feeling her behind. She kicked out at him and swore. Men laughed. I’m sure I hadn’t known those words when I was her age.

The dealer tugged on her chain, and snarled something at her. She snarled back.

That stopped me. I didn’t speak Persian, but I knew it when I heard it, and she’d been speaking it. She seemed Hellene, but she spoke Persian. I pushed my way through the crowd, to the edge of the platform.

“What’s your name?” I asked. I could have read it off her sign, but I wanted to hear her say it.

“Asia,” she replied in perfect Greek. She looked down at me in contempt.

“You speak Persian?”

She replied with a rapid flow that was unintelligible to me.

“Listen,” I said to the slave dealer, “I need to talk to this girl.”

He was a large man with a bushy beard. He looked down at me from the platform and said, “Talk all you like until the auction starts, then you have to stand back. You a buyer?”

“How much do you expect she’ll go for?” I asked.

He told me. I winced. How could I hide this on the accounts? No, it wasn’t possible. Pericles would have me take the hemlock if I listed “purchase slave girl” under state expenses.

“No, I’m not a buyer.”

I said to the girl, “Listen, you came here on a boat-ship-two days ago, didn’t you?”

She nodded and said, “Yes.”

“The man who brought you, who is he?”

“He said his name was Araxes, but that’s a river in-”

“The Persian Empire. Yes, I know.” Why did everyone have to know more geography than me? “Who is he really?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how come he owned you?”

“He didn’t own me. I was taken. I’m not a slave, I was free, I shouldn’t be here.”

“Are you Athenian? If you’re Athenian I can get you freed.”

She hesitated. “No.”

“Where are you from, then?”

Silence. She didn’t open her mouth.

“Your name … Asia was a Titan, the daughter of Oceanos and Tethys, but it’s also the name we use for the land of the Persians. Is that where you’re from?”

Silence again, but I was sure of it. How else could she speak Persian? I didn’t even know if Asia was her real name; she may have adopted it, as Araxes surely had his.

“Listen, I’m an agent working on an investigation. What you know could help me.”

“What’s an agent?”

“Someone who carries out commissions for others.”

Her eyes brightened. “Can I hire you?”

I laughed. “No. How could you pay me? Do you know why this Araxes came to Athens?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you know what he intended to do?”

“To sell me.”

“Do you know what he did after?”

“How could I?”

“Why did he bring you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is Araxes your father?”

“ No! ”

That reaction, at least, was real. “Did Araxes take you off a boat?”

“On land.”

“Who’s your father?”

Silence. The fact she refused to discuss him or her home only increased the likelihood her father had sold her. Such things happened. Maybe she was in denial about it.

“Did your father sell you?”

Silence.

“Are you going to tell me anything?”

“No.”

“You have to tell me something.”

“Why? Would it get me out of here?”

The dealer said to me, “It’s time.”

The auction commenced. The slave dealer called, “What am I bid?”

A man not far away from me bellowed, “One hundred drachmae!”

Another on the other side of the crowd immediately replied, “One hundred and twenty!”

Someone I couldn’t see shouted, “One hundred twenty-five!”

The crowd murmured in appreciation. That was a decent price for any child, and this auction had barely begun.

They edged each other up, until the third man dropped out and it became a two-horse race. Or rather, a two brothel keeper race. The man closest to me was fat, his chiton was stained with sweat, and he reeked of the sickly sweet incense the brothels use to cover other smells. There was no doubting what he was. I assumed the other man was a competitor, since they seemed to know each other, and both called to the dealer by name.

Finally the one I could see called, “Two hundred and five drachmae!”

Silence.

The owner is often the one to break in a new purchase. This one stared up at the girl and licked his lips; it was obvious he couldn’t wait to get on top of her. After that, he’d turn her over to the clients. The girl stood upright, and stared over the heads of the crowd, her face a mask of nothing.

The slave dealer allowed the silence to continue for heartbeats. He looked back and forth among the crowd. When he spotted me, he raised an eyebrow.

I shook my head.

The girl began to weep.

He called, “For two hundred and five drachmae, going to-”

“Two hundred and fifty drachmae!”

Did I say that?

The dealer didn’t look at all surprised.

The brothel keeper did. I glanced at him, he glanced at me. The brothel keeper licked his lips, called, “Two hundred and fifty-five drachmae!”

“Three hundred drachmae!” I winced at the sound of my own voice.

* * *

A poor family could live for a year on what I had paid for the child. Now I owned her, Asia would have no choice but to tell me what I wanted to know, and I couldn’t wait to find out. She was my link to Araxes.

The dealers always hand over a slave with a wristlock so no one can blame them if the slave later escapes. My first action was to unpeg the lock. I wanted her cooperation, I didn’t want to hear coerced lies.

Asia rubbed her wrists and said, “Thank you,” her expression neutral. I couldn’t tell if she was pleased or disappointed to be my property, but there was one thing that had to be sorted out at once.