Helena loves the agora, if only because she frequented the location as a child.
On the days that her mother was released from her duties at the temple, thereby freeing her from her regular commitments, they took trips to the agora. It was there that her mother could shop for necessities among other frivolous items: rouge pastes to redden her lips, combs bedazzled in jewels, or creams made with honey. They would walk hand in hand, ensuring that Helena would not be swept up in the unceasing current of the crowds, and stop at the booths that caught her mother’s eye. Her favourite part was always being able to help her mother select the hair pins that would adorn her head in the following weeks, and if she was lucky, her mother bought one for her as well.
Her mother had a brilliant skill. No matter the item or merchant, Demetria never conceded to the price put forth, instead bartering for a lower cost. Helena has never once seen her mother fail. Firstly, she would hold the item in her hand, looking on thoughtfully until she finally addressed the merchant with an offer. “I will give you this many obols for it.”
“My dear, you must be crazy!” The merchant would respond, eyebrows raised and arms crossed, “What exactly do you take me for? Can you not see that this is made with the finest material in all of Taengea— no, in all of Greece!” The merchant would make a big show, picking up the item and feeling it between his fingers. He would ramble on about the integrity of his wares, of their supposed worth and value, but Demetria remained undeterred from his ostentatious tactics.
“Do you take me a fool? I have a cousin who makes these in Athenia! They are hardly worth the price you ask.” It was a lie, for had it been true Demetria would have a least a hundred cousins from Athenia who made one thing or another.
The merchant would begin to look nervous, gazing into Demetria’s stoic countenance as if searching for a sign of dishonesty. When he spoke again, his voice would carry less confidence, “I am sorry, ma’am, but I simply cannot yield to such a ridiculous price.” It was at this time that her mother would begin to look thoughtful, reaching into her pockets and pulling out her bag of coin. She’d weigh it in her hand for a moment, a far away look in her eye, before letting out a heaving sigh. Demetria would once again take her daughter’s hand within her own, telling her that it was best they spend their coin elsewhere.
They would never get very far from the booth before they heard the voice of the merchant calling out to them, “You there! Wait just a moment! We should not be so hasty, hm? Er—how much was it again? I am feeling a bit generous today, so I will give you a good deal!”
Her mother may have been a flighty woman, unpredictable and frequently the victim of whispers unheard by any other, but she was incredibly shrewd. Never pay more, daughter. Her mother’s advice echoed in her ears. Helena did her best to continue her mother’s legacy of haggling the merchants of the agora, but she admits that her attempts are not nearly as successful as her mother’s. Though, perhaps too the merchants became staunch in their resolve, especially the more popular stalls.
Now, Helena felt she was close to melting the sturdy determination of the merchant ahead of her, the man shifting nervously in his spot while he narrowed his eyes. In her hand she held a large bundle of herbs, a primary component in many of her pastes, salves, and brews. They were not listed at an unreasonable price, but Helena slowly chipped away at the man’s judgment.
I had to obtain these herbs myself from the harshest regions of Colchis. The merchant told her. Helena crossed her arms, replying that she had seen the herbs growing in abundance just outside the city. A lie.
Just as the merchant opened his mouth to respond, perhaps to finally agree to Helena’s offer, they were interrupted by two men Helena has never encountered before. She guessed from their clothing, which were both ordinary and clean, that they were neither poor nor rich. One was tall with long, stringy dark hair which hung loosely across a scarred cheek; the other was a stout fellow with a protruding belly and a missing front tooth. From the look of their toothy grins and the predatory glint in their eyes, Helena knew that the pair were certain to bring trouble. The tall man afforded Helena a wink and she could feel the gaze of the shorter fellow as his eyes traveled along the expanse of her body.
“You short on money? Allow me.” Before Helena could get a word in edgewise, the tall man dug into his pockets and handed the merchant a handful of drachmas. Pleased, the merchant quickly snatched the coins from his open palm and said his thanks. The tall man’s attention turned back to her, “No need to thank me. I just could not allow such a pretty lady go home empty handed.”
At the blatant insincerity of the comment, Helena felt annoyance fizzle in the depths of her stomach. She couldn’t seem to help it when her mood was reflected in her tone, “I had enough money to pay for it, thank you. Please let me repay you—” He shook his head when he saw her delve into her bag of coin.
“Now, now, I’m not a man who is so concerned with money.” He drew near to her, his breath dancing across her face. The aroma was putrid. “That being said, I am more than willing to pay the price to have a beautiful woman such as yourself. You would just make a fine addition in my bed tonight. All whores have their price. What is yours?”
Her mouth curved into a harsh grimace. “I suggest that if you’re looking for a prostitute, you go to a brothel. I am a married woman. If you believe that I am simply going to fall into your bed like a common whore, you would be incorrect.” She needed to remove herself from the situation and be as far from this man as possible. Only, when she turned to make her hasty retreat, she stumbled into something soft and fleshy: the protrusion of the shorter man’s belly. Helena had nearly forgotten about him.
Suddenly, the short man’s hand shot out to grab at her and he fastened a tight hold on her forearm. Anger surged within her at the invasive touch, but she stumbled slightly when the short man pulled her closer to him, “Why don’t you consider his offer? You think you’re too good for us, whore? We got the money!”
“I am not a prostitute! Don’t you dare lay a finger on me!” A few glances were cast in their direction at the shout, but they remained largely uninterested as the crowd went about their business.”
“We’ll make it real fun for you, beautiful.” The tall man growled.
“I don’t care,” Helena struggled in the short man’s grip. Although she was inches taller than he, his arms were thick with muscle. “Let me go!”
On the days that her mother was released from her duties at the temple, thereby freeing her from her regular commitments, they took trips to the agora. It was there that her mother could shop for necessities among other frivolous items: rouge pastes to redden her lips, combs bedazzled in jewels, or creams made with honey. They would walk hand in hand, ensuring that Helena would not be swept up in the unceasing current of the crowds, and stop at the booths that caught her mother’s eye. Her favourite part was always being able to help her mother select the hair pins that would adorn her head in the following weeks, and if she was lucky, her mother bought one for her as well.
Her mother had a brilliant skill. No matter the item or merchant, Demetria never conceded to the price put forth, instead bartering for a lower cost. Helena has never once seen her mother fail. Firstly, she would hold the item in her hand, looking on thoughtfully until she finally addressed the merchant with an offer. “I will give you this many obols for it.”
“My dear, you must be crazy!” The merchant would respond, eyebrows raised and arms crossed, “What exactly do you take me for? Can you not see that this is made with the finest material in all of Taengea— no, in all of Greece!” The merchant would make a big show, picking up the item and feeling it between his fingers. He would ramble on about the integrity of his wares, of their supposed worth and value, but Demetria remained undeterred from his ostentatious tactics.
“Do you take me a fool? I have a cousin who makes these in Athenia! They are hardly worth the price you ask.” It was a lie, for had it been true Demetria would have a least a hundred cousins from Athenia who made one thing or another.
The merchant would begin to look nervous, gazing into Demetria’s stoic countenance as if searching for a sign of dishonesty. When he spoke again, his voice would carry less confidence, “I am sorry, ma’am, but I simply cannot yield to such a ridiculous price.” It was at this time that her mother would begin to look thoughtful, reaching into her pockets and pulling out her bag of coin. She’d weigh it in her hand for a moment, a far away look in her eye, before letting out a heaving sigh. Demetria would once again take her daughter’s hand within her own, telling her that it was best they spend their coin elsewhere.
They would never get very far from the booth before they heard the voice of the merchant calling out to them, “You there! Wait just a moment! We should not be so hasty, hm? Er—how much was it again? I am feeling a bit generous today, so I will give you a good deal!”
Her mother may have been a flighty woman, unpredictable and frequently the victim of whispers unheard by any other, but she was incredibly shrewd. Never pay more, daughter. Her mother’s advice echoed in her ears. Helena did her best to continue her mother’s legacy of haggling the merchants of the agora, but she admits that her attempts are not nearly as successful as her mother’s. Though, perhaps too the merchants became staunch in their resolve, especially the more popular stalls.
Now, Helena felt she was close to melting the sturdy determination of the merchant ahead of her, the man shifting nervously in his spot while he narrowed his eyes. In her hand she held a large bundle of herbs, a primary component in many of her pastes, salves, and brews. They were not listed at an unreasonable price, but Helena slowly chipped away at the man’s judgment.
I had to obtain these herbs myself from the harshest regions of Colchis. The merchant told her. Helena crossed her arms, replying that she had seen the herbs growing in abundance just outside the city. A lie.
Just as the merchant opened his mouth to respond, perhaps to finally agree to Helena’s offer, they were interrupted by two men Helena has never encountered before. She guessed from their clothing, which were both ordinary and clean, that they were neither poor nor rich. One was tall with long, stringy dark hair which hung loosely across a scarred cheek; the other was a stout fellow with a protruding belly and a missing front tooth. From the look of their toothy grins and the predatory glint in their eyes, Helena knew that the pair were certain to bring trouble. The tall man afforded Helena a wink and she could feel the gaze of the shorter fellow as his eyes traveled along the expanse of her body.
“You short on money? Allow me.” Before Helena could get a word in edgewise, the tall man dug into his pockets and handed the merchant a handful of drachmas. Pleased, the merchant quickly snatched the coins from his open palm and said his thanks. The tall man’s attention turned back to her, “No need to thank me. I just could not allow such a pretty lady go home empty handed.”
At the blatant insincerity of the comment, Helena felt annoyance fizzle in the depths of her stomach. She couldn’t seem to help it when her mood was reflected in her tone, “I had enough money to pay for it, thank you. Please let me repay you—” He shook his head when he saw her delve into her bag of coin.
“Now, now, I’m not a man who is so concerned with money.” He drew near to her, his breath dancing across her face. The aroma was putrid. “That being said, I am more than willing to pay the price to have a beautiful woman such as yourself. You would just make a fine addition in my bed tonight. All whores have their price. What is yours?”
Her mouth curved into a harsh grimace. “I suggest that if you’re looking for a prostitute, you go to a brothel. I am a married woman. If you believe that I am simply going to fall into your bed like a common whore, you would be incorrect.” She needed to remove herself from the situation and be as far from this man as possible. Only, when she turned to make her hasty retreat, she stumbled into something soft and fleshy: the protrusion of the shorter man’s belly. Helena had nearly forgotten about him.
Suddenly, the short man’s hand shot out to grab at her and he fastened a tight hold on her forearm. Anger surged within her at the invasive touch, but she stumbled slightly when the short man pulled her closer to him, “Why don’t you consider his offer? You think you’re too good for us, whore? We got the money!”
“I am not a prostitute! Don’t you dare lay a finger on me!” A few glances were cast in their direction at the shout, but they remained largely uninterested as the crowd went about their business.”
“We’ll make it real fun for you, beautiful.” The tall man growled.
“I don’t care,” Helena struggled in the short man’s grip. Although she was inches taller than he, his arms were thick with muscle. “Let me go!”