Etruscan Blood by AM Kirkby

  ***

  The heavy rains that had heralded the start of autumn gradually tired themselves out. But things had changed; Collatia had lost its youth, its enthusiasm. The tilers on the stoa roof worked grim-faced, keeping one eye on the sky; two of Melkart's followers were ill, shivering and coughing, one of them, it was thought, close to death, and the others seemed limp and listless, as if the rain had washed their manic energy out of them. Some of the shacks on the outskirts of town had crumbled; Build-it-ere's, though, had survived, though there were rumours that this was only the case because he'd stolen paving from the stoa to serve as a firm footing for his hut.

  The grove had been washed out. Egerius offered Simonides and Karite the use of his own rooms, if they needed them; Simonides accepted, but Karite demurred. She had something else in mind, she said; and she'd use the stoa in the meantime, or at least, that part of it that was reasonably watertight.

  He found out later what she'd meant. Karite and Kallirhoe had moved in together; they'd found one of the few abandoned houses that hadn't been razed in old Collatia, and taken it over, cleaning it up and replastering the exterior walls roughly to keep out the weather. It was there that they taught, now, so that students who had earlier floated freely between the two academies, Karite's and Simonides', had to choose between the two.

  Kallirhoe seemed apologetic when she told Egerius, as if she realised he'd had hopes himself; and yet at the same time she was careful to ensure he realised that his hopes were definitively ruled out by her alliance with Karite.

  "Basic principles," she explained. "Like seeks for like. Fish for water. Rivers for the sea. Woman for woman."

  "Yet most people would say woman for man."

  "Attraction of opposites? No," she said; "that makes for war and shouting. Two women makes for peace. Women know what women want."

  "And what do you want?"

  "So many little things. Like turning her face in the morning, when her breath is sour. A certain tidiness in small things, like a cat. Knowing where it hurts and how to sooth it when it's my time of the month. Little things. Little things that men don't know."

  "Some of us do." He knew it was a lost cause, but still he had to say it.

  She shrugged. "Men tell stories about heroes, about war. Even when they tell stories about love they have to make it into a war; fucking, up the arse, had her, shafted her, made her ride me... even if a man's good, you know, I'll always be wondering – when he talks to his friends, what will he say about me? Does he really see me as a prize, a sort of grown-up slave?"

  Egerius felt ashamed, though gods knew, he had no need to; he looked into his wine cup, just so that he didn't have to look into her eyes. It was nearly empty; the black Gorgon glinted through a mouthful of watered wine.

  "More wine, Daryush."

  "Talking of slaves," she said, once the boy had withdrawn again; "have you never thought it's odd, that we call Collatia the city of freedom, but we still keep slaves?"

  "I don't force him."

  "No?"

  "No, I don't. I'm fond of him. Really."

  "He's still a slave. And I thought you were going to have him educated? You could have sent him to us. He's underemployed in the house."

  "You know what it's like," he said, uncomfortably aware he wasn't really answering her question. "There's never enough time to get everything done."

  "Of course there isn't. I know that. But somehow, Daryush always comes last, doesn't he?"

  Egerius spun his wine cup round, swirling the dark wine and spying the Medusa, there one moment, hidden the next, as the wine whirled.

  "Maybe," he said, and stopped, realising he hadn't really thought what to say next; that 'maybe' was just temporising, pretending to be thinking, to save face in front of this woman he'd thought, once, might want to sleep with him. Realising that, he had to take a decision; had to do something. He set down the cup, clapped his hands together twice.

  "Daryush."

  The boy looked at him, waiting, still.

  "What would you do with your freedom, Daryush?"

  "Freedom?"

  "I have it in mind to free you. What would you do?"

  The boy stood, dumb. But for once his face was not blank. He frowned. Then he looked up at Egerius again, still frowning, as if he feared this was some kind of cruel joke. It was only three days since his whipping; he still moved gingerly, feeling the smart of it.

  "Well?"

  "What could I do with it?" the boy said.

  "Anything! Anything!" Egerius threw his arms wide. "Anything in the whole world!"

  The boy looked down again. If anything, he looked sadder than before. Egerius dismissed him.

  "You see?" he said. "What can I do with him? There's no place for him anywhere else."