been in my family for all time, passed on from one generation to the next.
They are all I have of wealth. Trade them well if you must, for they have value.
Good-bye, my little one, my Artem.
75
Athens, 399 B.C.E.
Hyacinth stood on her marble balcony, eyes intent on the spot in the woods where she'd
seen the stranger emerge at sunset the day before. Tucking a loose strand of wavy brown
hair into the golden cord that held her hair back, she studied the tree line for signs of
movement.
Her eyes wandered over to the rocky Aegean Sea coast at the left of the woods. The dull
roar of its pounding surf drifted toward her on the breeze. It was there that he'd gone
yesterday after he shot the hare, and later a duck, with his arrow.
She still thought of him as the wild boy. Though it was clear enough from the glimpse she'd
caught of him the other day that he'd grown into a young man.
There he was.
The orange trail of Apollo's descending sun chariot outlined the wild boy's tight, black curls
as he stepped from the woods. His white tunic showed off a leanly muscular physique. She
remembered his strikingly black, almond-shaped eyes from the times she'd seen him before.
Hyacinth hurried down the side steps, lifting her long, tan tunic dress so it wouldn't trip her.
A dull pain in her
76
right foot abruptly slowed her, throwing her onto the railing for support.
Breathing out in exasperation, disgusted at her lameness, she cursed the weak foot that had,
since birth, turned under at the most critical moments. More than once, while dancing or
running, it had mortified her by bringing her crashing to her knees. No physician could
account for it other than to say it was perhaps a curse from the gods for
some sin of her parents.
Rubbing the offending foot, she set out at a slower pace, keeping along the edges of the
wide yard that ended in acres of thick woods. Her father kept it uncultivated so he and
Hyacinth's two older brothers could hunt. Her parents had forbidden her to go too far,
considering the woods unsafe for a girl.
Still, the woods weren't wholly unfamiliar to her, since she was not, by nature, inclined
toward obedience. Now she picked her way through the sun-flecked trees, taking care with
her bad foot, coming ever closer to the young man who had been the wild boy.
His name was Artem. She knew because she had heard it years ago at the marketplace. He
had been picking through a pig trough, looking for food, when first she saw him.
"Never you mind about him," her slave woman, Charis, had chided roughly when she'd
noticed Hyacinth studying the boy.
77
"But why must he eat among the pigs?" Hyacinth had asked.
Charis turned her attention to the fish laid out on the iced table before her, searching for
the freshest catch. "He's trash, no doubt abandoned by some slave," she replied as she lifted a small octopus and stretched its tentacle to examine. "He'll be scooped up and sold into
slavery himself sometime soon. Mark my words. That's what happens to such as he."
Artem had looked up from the trough and had walked toward them, almost as if he had
sensed he was the subject of their discussion. Hyacinth straightened her posture, brushed
back her long curls, and resolved to know him better.
She tilted her head in confusion as he walked by her without even a glance.
Nadim, the fish seller, scooped an eel from the iced table and tossed it to him. Its silvery,
snakelike body twisted as it sailed through the air. "Here's supper for you, my young friend."
With a delighted laugh, the boy caught it.
"The men have a fire out back, Artem. Tell them I said to cook it up for you," Nadim added.
The eel undulated in his hand but Artem held tight, observing it merrily. He noticed that
Hyacinth was keenly studying the eel, so he thrust the creature at her, intent on watching a
young girl scream in disgusted terror.
78
Determined not to show the expected weakness, Hyacinth instead reached forward to
They are all I have of wealth. Trade them well if you must, for they have value.
Good-bye, my little one, my Artem.
75
Athens, 399 B.C.E.
Hyacinth stood on her marble balcony, eyes intent on the spot in the woods where she'd
seen the stranger emerge at sunset the day before. Tucking a loose strand of wavy brown
hair into the golden cord that held her hair back, she studied the tree line for signs of
movement.
Her eyes wandered over to the rocky Aegean Sea coast at the left of the woods. The dull
roar of its pounding surf drifted toward her on the breeze. It was there that he'd gone
yesterday after he shot the hare, and later a duck, with his arrow.
She still thought of him as the wild boy. Though it was clear enough from the glimpse she'd
caught of him the other day that he'd grown into a young man.
There he was.
The orange trail of Apollo's descending sun chariot outlined the wild boy's tight, black curls
as he stepped from the woods. His white tunic showed off a leanly muscular physique. She
remembered his strikingly black, almond-shaped eyes from the times she'd seen him before.
Hyacinth hurried down the side steps, lifting her long, tan tunic dress so it wouldn't trip her.
A dull pain in her
76
right foot abruptly slowed her, throwing her onto the railing for support.
Breathing out in exasperation, disgusted at her lameness, she cursed the weak foot that had,
since birth, turned under at the most critical moments. More than once, while dancing or
running, it had mortified her by bringing her crashing to her knees. No physician could
account for it other than to say it was perhaps a curse from the gods for
some sin of her parents.
Rubbing the offending foot, she set out at a slower pace, keeping along the edges of the
wide yard that ended in acres of thick woods. Her father kept it uncultivated so he and
Hyacinth's two older brothers could hunt. Her parents had forbidden her to go too far,
considering the woods unsafe for a girl.
Still, the woods weren't wholly unfamiliar to her, since she was not, by nature, inclined
toward obedience. Now she picked her way through the sun-flecked trees, taking care with
her bad foot, coming ever closer to the young man who had been the wild boy.
His name was Artem. She knew because she had heard it years ago at the marketplace. He
had been picking through a pig trough, looking for food, when first she saw him.
"Never you mind about him," her slave woman, Charis, had chided roughly when she'd
noticed Hyacinth studying the boy.
77
"But why must he eat among the pigs?" Hyacinth had asked.
Charis turned her attention to the fish laid out on the iced table before her, searching for
the freshest catch. "He's trash, no doubt abandoned by some slave," she replied as she lifted a small octopus and stretched its tentacle to examine. "He'll be scooped up and sold into
slavery himself sometime soon. Mark my words. That's what happens to such as he."
Artem had looked up from the trough and had walked toward them, almost as if he had
sensed he was the subject of their discussion. Hyacinth straightened her posture, brushed
back her long curls, and resolved to know him better.
She tilted her head in confusion as he walked by her without even a glance.
Nadim, the fish seller, scooped an eel from the iced table and tossed it to him. Its silvery,
snakelike body twisted as it sailed through the air. "Here's supper for you, my young friend."
With a delighted laugh, the boy caught it.
"The men have a fire out back, Artem. Tell them I said to cook it up for you," Nadim added.
The eel undulated in his hand but Artem held tight, observing it merrily. He noticed that
Hyacinth was keenly studying the eel, so he thrust the creature at her, intent on watching a
young girl scream in disgusted terror.
78
Determined not to show the expected weakness, Hyacinth instead reached forward to
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