Chapter Six
I washed the rugs downstream, away from Phile and the other women, then carried them, sodden, heavy, and drenching my own robe, back to the house, where I left them to dry over the crumbling wall.
Though I did not mention my meeting to Melitta, my encounter with Phile continued to play on my mind, particularly how she had introduced herself.
She had given no qualifier. No wife of, no daughter of.
Even a servant such as Melitta would offer Morsimus’s name when meeting a stranger.
Beyond her name, however, Phile’s final words echoed in my mind.
It is the only way we women survive. It was likely she had heard the same nighttime screams as I had.
She knew what it meant to be a woman in this world and was not afraid to say it aloud.
That was enough to scare me. And I already had enough to fear, for it was on the following day that Morsimus finally rose from his bed, interested in more than food and water.
The morning had already gone, and on my instruction, Melitta had gone out into the village to fill up the amphorae with water at the fountain. I was still thinking of that rounded woman with the gray-streaked hair when I heard movement in the doorway.
Normally, my body responded instinctively to his presence.
My shoulders would fold inward, my knees bend, and my chest cave in as I attempted to make myself as innocuous as possible.
Yet with all the days Morsimus had been bedridden, my instincts had waned.
I was standing straight-backed, at full height, when he entered the room.
The swelling on his face was gone, the bruises yellowing as they healed. There was, I believed, a slight lean to his left, as if his right side could not hold an equal share of his weight. Silently, he scanned the cleaned space, observing the work Melitta and I had done, though he made no comment.
“I need food,” he said instead. “Proper food. All this bread has left me bloated. Where is the meat? The fish?”
The churlish part of me wished to say something about how I could not tell that he was bloated, given how far his stomach protruded, but I knew such a comment would result in a beating I was unlikely to survive.
“Melitta has heard of someone in the village from whom she can buy chickens. I will send her when she returns with the water, though I will need money.”
It was, in my mind at least, a reasonable request. How else did Morsimus expect to purchase food? And yet he threw back his head and laughed at my words.
This was not a joyous laugh, like I had laughed at Melitta and the rat. It was not even the type of laugh he emitted after a good win at dice. This was laughter filled with malice. Laughter that froze the blood in my veins.
“Money? You think I have money?” Spittle flew from his cracked, flaking lips, his voice as incredulous as if I had requested Zeus’s own lightning bolt. “Do you think we would be here if we had money? Find something to sell in this wretched place. Yourself, if that is what it takes.”
I stepped back, my mouth dry. He had said such things to me before after coming home from the taverns, his belly full of wine and his purse empty. Never before had he said such a thing sober.
“You do not mean that. I am your wife.”
Despite my words, Morsimus felt my fear. He fed on it. His lips curled up in a snarl.
“Do I not? You are mine to do with as I choose. You serve no purpose as a wife if you cannot bear children. Perhaps you can be of use to me this way instead. A barren whore sounds ideal.” His eyes were black, solely pupils.
“You will find a solution and fix me a decent meal, or you will leave me with no choice. Mark my words, there will be fools here who will pay for the little you have to offer.”
With that, he turned and left the house.
When Melitta returned home, I was seated on a couch, picking at a loose, frayed edge that she had only just repaired.
“Mistress.” She dropped to the ground by my knees and looked over my body while her tender hands reached for my face. “Where did he hurt you? Can you stand? I am here now. I will help.”
I shook my head, setting free a stray tear.
“He did not beat me.” My voice croaked as I spoke. “It is worse. He told me I must sell myself. My body. That is how we are to earn money while we are here. That is how we are to buy food.”
Melitta sighed and stood up. Of all the expressions she could have shown, there was a smile on her lips.
“Child, you do not need to fear such a thing. He has made such threats before, has he not? I thought you knew better than to be afraid of a man’s words. It is his teeth, his fists, and his feet that you should fear.”
I had been comforted by Melitta’s pragmatism many times, but she had not seen the darkness in his eyes.
“This was different. He has not had a drink since we arrived in Ninniya. He has nothing to lose. Melitta, please believe me. He will do this. He will sell my body, if not all of me, if the offer is good enough.”
She bit down on her bottom lip and drew several deep inhales before she spoke. “No, he would not do it. You are his wife.”
A silent scream rattled in my lungs. If Melitta did not believe me, then who in this world would?
“He cannot be all bad, mistress,” she continued.
“I know what he has done to you before, but I do not believe he would do that. He kept me, did he not? He brought with him an old woman because of how well she tended his mother. That shows compassion. That shows there is still good within him. He did not sell me. His wife is surely safe.”
I could have shaken her by the shoulders for her foolishness.
He did not sell you because you are worthless, I could have said. You are here because your sale would not have provided him with more than a week’s worth of decent meals. Less if he drank. That was what I could have said. But I did not. Instead, I considered my own worth.
Men’s eyes had been drawn to me since my youth, for though my face was rounded, it was perfectly symmetrical, with dark eyebrows that accented my darker eyes and the soft, even tone of my complexion.
My hips curved, as did my chest. Not enough to be voluminous but enough to set a man’s eyes drifting and his mind wondering what he would see if my robe dropped.
And as for my barren state, it had ensured that my body remained tight, supple, and unblemished.
Yes, men would pay a great price for me indeed.
As the silence stretched out, I saw Melitta make similar realizations.
“What should we do?” she asked. “Do you wish to leave, to return to your parents?”
The last time Melitta had mentioned my parents was on my wedding night.
I had known to a limited extent what would be expected of me, but my mother, out of fear and love, had downplayed how physical and rough the event could be.
Morsimus had taken me all night, until the blood ran thick on our wedding couch, and then he took me more.
I had fought back the tears, knowing that this was what all brides were forced to endure, but when I was alone in my chamber the next morning, it had been Melitta who found me sobbing, begging to return home.
“Your parents worked hard for this match,” she had said. “You do not wish to let them down. You will have a son of your own, and they will be so proud. Wait and see.”
I had waited, but no son had come. I had failed not only as a wife but also as a daughter.
“No. There needs to be another way,” I said now, fired with determination. “I will not sell my body, and I will not run away. There must be something we can do. Anything. I just need to survive.”
That single word brought an image to mind, and in that moment, I knew what I needed to do. I needed to go to Phile.