Chapter 19
New Beginnings
“Land ahead!”
There were sighs of relief from the rowers. Despite hours of aching limbs and raw palms, they redoubled their efforts. Danae stared at the green-flecked hills of Corinth materializing on the horizon. She’d never been so happy to see land.
The port of Corinth was a similar size to the one at Cirrha.
Rows of bobbing merchant ships, like their own, crowded the edges of the single jetty.
Dion bounded from his bench, calling for them to withdraw their oars, then carefully steered them into an empty sliver of water.
As Danae helped Phaedra haul in their oar, she noticed the handle was smeared with blood.
She winced as she uncurled her fingers and looked down at her cracked palms.
Dion leaped onto the jetty. He called to the merchant to toss him the rope and set about tethering the ship to the mooring pillar. Once the plank was lowered and the rest of the passengers were on land, they gathered around Dion like sheep.
“Well then...” The helmsman rubbed his head.
“I’m going to find the harbor master and tell him what’s happened.
” He looked at the wounded man, who’d turned a worrying shade of green.
“You’d better come with me and find a healer.
” He backed away from the rest of the group.
“The rest of you can make your own way. Ah... I’m sure the port officials will help you get home. ”
Fat chance of that, thought Danae.
“Dion,” she called after the helmsman.
He looked around.
“Thank you.”
He cleared his throat and nodded before walking on. The others glanced between her and the helmsman, then traipsed off after Dion. Only the boy lingered, looking back at Lithos as his mother pulled him away.
“Go on,” said Danae.
The little dog barked, then ran after the boy, his white-tipped tail wagging.
She looked past the white-stone buildings of the harbor to the town beyond. Her hand tightened on the strap of Manto’s bag as she wondered what she should do next. Then she realized Phaedra was still standing beside her.
“What’s Naxos like?” The queen was staring out across the sea.
“It’s the most beautiful place in the world.”
“Is it your home?”
“No,” Danae said quickly. “Just a place I visited once.”
Phaedra smiled. “I don’t think I’ll be going back to Athens after all.” She looked expectantly at Danae. “We could travel together. I don’t have any coin, but I think I have enough jewelry to buy our passage.”
Danae’s heart felt heavy. She desperately wanted to say yes, to sail back to Naxos and see her family. But she knew she couldn’t go home.
“I can’t. There’s somewhere else I must go.”
One day, when she was certain the wrath of the gods would not follow her, she would walk the dusty path to her hut again.
Phaedra nodded and slipped her hand into her cloak pocket. She pressed something into Danae’s palm. It was the sapphire ring.
“I... I can’t take this.”
“If you don’t, I’ll throw it in the ocean. I don’t need it anymore.”
The two women stared at each other. Danae’s resolve broke first and she reluctantly took the ring.
“Thank you.”
Phaedra smiled. “It is nothing compared to the gift you’ve given me. Goodbye... ?”
After a beat she said, “Daeira.”
“Goodbye, Daeira. May the Twelve ever watch over you.”
Danae watched the Queen of Athens walk away down the jetty. Phaedra wouldn’t know it, but her parting words left a chill in the air. She looked toward the ocean one last time, slipped Phaedra’s ring into her bag, then set off toward the town.
Manto had done their best to convince the Twelve that she was dead.
That would hopefully buy her some time. Her seer’s disguise was a good one, but she was currently caked in grime, sweat and blood.
If she was going to talk her way aboard a ship sailing for the Black Sea, first she would need a bath.
Corinth was a town somewhere in size between that of Delphi and Danae’s village on Naxos.
The official port buildings soon gave way to humbler stone dwellings.
Women, their hair bound up in scarves, swept their porches while children played petteia in the middle of the street.
Despite being a direct sailing route to and from Delphi, the people of Corinth seemed to exist at a more relaxed pace than in the larger cities.
Danae was relieved. Her body trembled from days of running and fearing for her life.
She knew there was a chance the harpies could realize their mistake and come back for her, but she needed a moment to gather herself or she would collapse.
She paused to watch a potter sculpt a clay bowl outside his stall.
Deep red vases and amphorae detailed with black and white paint were stacked to the side of him, many adorned with likenesses of Heracles and his heroic deeds.
On some he was fighting the many-headed hydra, on others he was felling the Erymanthian boar and on a row of vases at the front, he was wrestling the Nemean lion.
The great beast roared as the hero squeezed its neck between his massive arms. In this last image, Heracles wore nothing but a small kilt.
“Five obols for those.” The potter winked, after muttering the sacred greeting. “That design is very popular with the ladies.”
“Oh.” Danae swiftly returned the gesture and shook her head. “I’m not buying. I’m actually looking for a bathhouse. Do you know if there’s one nearby?”
It felt strange now, touching her forehead with her middle finger.
The potter looked disappointed but inclined his head down the road.
She hurried off and was relieved when she turned the corner and saw a dolphin mosaic set into the stone above a curved doorway.
She ducked through the entrance and found herself in a large vestibule, women passing through a doorway to her right and men through an identical one to the left.
A sturdy oak table was positioned against the far side and a bored-looking man was slumped behind it.
She stank of dried blood and sweat, but thankfully her black dress hid the worst of the stains.
You’re a seer, she told herself. Act like it.
Steeling herself, she held her head high and marched up to the desk, then said the sacred greeting.
The proprietor’s eyebrows crept up his forehead as he took her in.
“A private room or the communal baths?”
“Private room.”
“Scented oils?”
“Yes.”
The proprietor smiled obsequiously. “Good choice.”
Danae shoved her hand into Manto’s bag and rooted around for coins. She placed two obols on the desk.
There was a pause.
“And the rest?”
Her brow creased. She had no idea how much a bathhouse cost, having only ever washed in the river back home.
“The price is one drachma.”
One drachma for a bath! That much coin could have fed her whole family for a month.
“What if I don’t have the scented oils?”
The man pursed his lips. “Four obols. Two will buy you half an hour in the women’s communal baths.”
She’d been planning on washing her robe and inspecting the prophecy stone. She could do neither in a communal bath.
“Wait.” She delved back into the bag to see if there were any more coins she’d missed on her first sweep. Her fingers brushed Phaedra’s ring. She hesitated, imagining it was worth far more than one drachma, but having no other way to pay, dropped it on the desk between them.
The proprietor’s mouth fell open. He looked at Danae, then the ring, back at Danae, then the ring again. He picked it up like it would shatter at any moment and turned it slowly between his fingers.
“Beautiful,” he breathed.
“One hour, private room, scented oils. I will not be disturbed. And my change, of course.”
The man cleared his throat. “Of course.”
He opened a chest on the table to his right, drew out a purse of coins and placed it in front of Danae.
She pulled the purse toward her. It was heavy.
She peered in and had to stop herself screaming at the sight of around fifteen gold drachmas.
More money than her father made in a whole year.
More than her life had been worth at the flesh market.
She fought to keep her face calm as she stowed the purse away in her bag.
The proprietor snapped his fingers, and a slave girl with mousy hair and pale, freckled skin hurried over to them.
“Take our esteemed guest here to our best room.”
The girl bowed and headed off down the right-hand passage. Danae followed her, the weight of the coins bashing opulently against her thigh.
They headed through the main walkway toward the women’s communal baths, then veered off down another corridor.
A mosaic of blues in every hue swirled in the pattern of waves along the wall.
Their footsteps echoed around the quiet passage, joined by the occasional tinkle of laughter and ripple of voices from other private rooms.
At the far end, the girl led Danae through a curtained archway into a room dominated by a large pool sunk into the floor.
Light poured in from three small windows carved into the thick stone just below the ceiling, illuminating the murals of dancing sea nymphs painted on the walls.
A stone bench jutted from the right-hand side.
On it were rows of glass bottles filled with different shades of amber liquid.
Danae twitched as the girl stepped toward her. She backed away.
“May I help you undress?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I can do it myself.”
The girl’s face betrayed a flicker of surprise. “As you wish.”
Danae eased off her sandals, watching the girl walk around the pool to the collection of bottles.
“Which oil would you like?”
Danae hesitated. She didn’t know what any of them were.
“We have laurel, marjoram, iris, cardamom, sandalwood—”
“The last one.”
She had no idea what it smelled like, but anything would be an improvement on her current scent. Slowly, she placed her bag on the floor while the girl poured an oil, the color of the sun, into the water.