Aneksi had just turned a year old, and Nafretiri was now a full-fledged priestess, if only because she'd passed initiation. It didn't mean she'd learned everything there was to learn about being a priestess of Hathor, nor that she knew all the secret formulas, incantations, or ways to do certain things they taught, such as how to please men. Actually, at this point, the last thing still made her uncomfortable because of what she'd been through. So many what-ifs were fighting for the upper hand in occupying her attention.
What if she'd just submitted?
What if she hadn't cried out, despite the fact that she had felt she was being ripped in half? What if she'd known how to seduce him?
What if she'd known all the things she was now learning?
But then....
What if Aneksi had never been conceived?
What if it meant she'd never have had any joy in being here?
What if Aneksi was the only child she'd ever have? (though she fervently hoped not)
She thought of those things as she was making a love potion to sell in the market. People often came to the temple for special ones, but this one she could make herself, and despite the fact that she couldn't define what she'd been told it was used for (increasing libido, though royals and priests were more likely to use it,), she was proud of her knowledge. The potion contained onions, a small amount of opium, pomegranate seeds, and coriander, and was the color of the green of springtime.
Speaking of potions, she thought she heard footsteps entering the temple now....
The baking sun was not made easier to bear the longer he walked in it. With his ship docked and his crew spread out throughout the souk, or market place as he thought of it in his Greek mind, gathering whatever they would, he made his way to the temple of Hathor. Beyond the goddess’s temple, Ra’s temple rose up, blinding in its gold encasement. He kept his dark gaze on the much less gaudy, but no less beautiful building ahead of him.
The temples here were different to the ones in his native homeland. Though each country’s temples held bright swaths of color and grand columns, the Egyptians took it a step further and carved their incantations and stories straight into the rock. Even from this distance, still in the outer edges of the souk, with the calls of vendors ringing in his ears, he could see the hieroglyphs. They meant nothing to him, however, beyond the odd ones he recognized.
Hands behind his back, and money pouch on his belt, Lukos walked along the smooth white stones that lead the worshipers into the temple. The gauzy fabrics draped across the entrance blocked a little of the sun and he sighed in audible relief when he moved into the shadowed interior. Above him on the ceiling, stories of the goddess Hathor were depicted, one flowing into another, leading the devout to where they should go.
But Lukos wasn’t here to worship. He was here to buy.
Weaving around the large columns, he looked around, his eyes drifting from one story to the next, never really settling until he at last spied the petite back of a woman. She was young, with a mass of dark hair and robed in the garments of a priestess. He did not call out to her, however. Instead he merely walked closer, watching her as he came.
He waited until she turned around to speak.
“I have need of potions,” he said in a respectful tone but if she could read thoughts…His arms were crossed over his chest and his gaze roamed her freely, calculating what he saw in monetary terms. How much could he get for her? In Greece, depending on the man, she might fetch quite a high price. Or, with the wrong man, he couldn’t offload her at all. Her look would be exotic and some prejudices ran deep in his homeland.
Still. She was safe enough. A priestess was not someone he was going to steal.
Nafretiri was not surprised to find a buyer for the potions had come, but talking to strange men still bothered her, and the way he was looking her up and down boded nothing but ill, at least to her.
Maybe she was being a little overly cautious. but honestly, considering the events of the past year or so. how else would one be likely to react? His tone was respectful, but the look in his eyes appeared to tell her that he was probably calculating... something. Something about her, though she didn't know what. She was free now, so certainly he wouldn't...well, she couldn't finish that thought.
Hathor wouldn't let him... or would she?
Still, she tried to keep her voice calm and controlled, and gave him a skeptical look that hopefully masked her nervousness.
"I'm afraid I'll need more information than that, sir. There must be dozens of them here. Poppy? Pomegranate? Onion? Coriander? This new one I'm working on with all four? Blue lotus flower to...reawaken your manhood? Or something to help your women friends?" She was aware of how flustered she really sounded, but listing the potions she could think of at this moment was all that was keeping her from bolting.
The sense of danger she felt made her spine tingle alarmingly, but she stood taller to hopefully appear more confident. Not that she was confident of much but her herbal knowledge right now, but it would have to be enough.
She thought for a moment, then realized she had another question and relaxed somewhat. Mathematics was one of her stronger abilities. Calculations would keep her calm, too.
"About how much are you looking to spend?" she asked, leaning a little closer as if simply by looking at the outside of the money bag if she could, she might be able to calculate the number of coins inside.
Her evident discomposure lent a distinctly feminine air to her features; one that made him smile. Just as she was keenly aware of the differences in height and weight and power, so was he. He was used to slipping up behind young women like her and forcing them to the ground in a single motion. Probably he could do it right now and she’d barely manage a breathy scream before his knee was on her back, her arms wrenched up behind her to be tied.
Lucky for her, he was not here for such a purpose. He would not dream...act. Would not act on the notion. Being a priestess to the goddess offered her protection. Even he had limits. Few as those might be.
Her tentative offer of a potion for his manhood made him laugh. His smile widened to a grin and he shook his head. Nor did he want anything for ‘women friends’. Gold coins gained him all the female company he wanted.
“Poisons,” he said, still laughing a little. Her nervousness made her something dangerously close to adorable. As to her question of what he’d like to spend, he ignored it. He was a business man too. There was no benefit to himself to divulge to her what he was and wasn’t likely to spend.
“And the lotus flower as well. I want a few of those for visions.” That particular potion was what he’d been asked to retrieve. People liked to use it to commune with the gods or just to lay there and dream interesting things. There was a heavy call for it and he picked up some whenever he was in Egypt.
They stood in the cool shadows of the temple. A reprieve from the searing heat outside that shimmered on the horizon if he cared to look out that way. He took a step toward her, his eyes on what she held in her hands. His head tilted a little to the side as he pointed casually with his palm up. “And what is this that you’ve got ready? I’m in search of any number of poisons. Ones blessed by the goddess are in special demand back home.”
The Greeks did value exotic goods. They just didn’t want to have to associate with their neighbors to get them.
When Nafretiri heard that he was interested in poisons, she couldn't help it. Fear crawled up her spine and she shivered. Dear gods, protect me. Can I suggest these things, knowing that I likely indirectly caused someone's death?
And yet if she didn't he might become angry, and only the gods knew where that could lead.
Help! she cried in her thoughts. But when nothing happened immediately that would save her from this, she bit her lip and considered as she found the lotus flowers he'd wanted.
"Here you are, the lotus flowers. And you might try these if you're looking for poison. About ten or fifteen per person should do the trick." She handed him a small basket filled with apricot seeds. She had seen people die from eating fewer than ten, though, although a person pretty much always had to eat more than one.
"Belladonna or henbane may work just as well, but these can be much faster, and the little fruits they come from are plentiful around here. Even just used as a punishment rather than a death tool, in smaller quantities, they can cause convulsions."
“And what is this that you’ve got ready? I’m in search of any number of poisons. Ones blessed by the goddess are in special demand back home."
She was kind of relieved he'd brought up her potion. Talking about that might get rid of the way her stomach dropped uncomfortably at the thought of possibly being complicit in a murder.
"Oh, this?" She stepped a little closer, giving him the small vial. "It's a potion of a different sort altogether." Perhaps she could interest him in a vial or two, and despite herself, she smiled. She might be nervous, but she was good at what she did, and she felt the terror recede as she launched into her sales pitch.
"While it may not be what you're looking for, I dare say it could make one...ache in a few places. A bit of opium, some onions, pomegranate seeds, and coriander. All quite potent aphrodisiacs. Or as I call it... love potion number nine." Although the thought of green gunk on one's teeth after eating it certainly wouldn't have made her want to kiss that person.
She thought she couldn't quite manage to look as sultry as another priestess might have- perhaps what she'd been through made that impossible- but still, she couldn't help smiling wider at the thought that someone might be interested in her little experiment.
"Are you interested? Both men and women can benefit," she added.
The room in which they stood wasn’t really a room at all. The temple was one long building, comprised of columns and sheer, hanging fabrics, hued in greens, blues, and purples, draped from one ornate column to the next to make a fluttering rainbow roof. White cloth was reserved for clothing. The gods and goddesses deserved colored cloth, as it took more time and dedication to complete. He was looking up at this, not contemplating the divine, exactly, but his eyes traveled away from the sunlight filtering through a pale blue curtain above them. They made their way down the stately stone pillars around them to the area in which she worked.
Little clay bottles and pots and jars were set up neatly on shelves that must have been expensive, and clearly owned by the temple. They were made of wood and he doubted very much a priestess could either afford, or would even choose to spend her money on wooden shelves that were dedicated solely for the temple’s use. As she was picking out the things he’d asked for, he moved past her and lifted the lid of this jar, then that one, peering into the contents or sniffing at them. All the while he listened patiently as she offered him something he definitely didn’t ask for.
Finally, he directed his black gaze toward her, once she was done speaking. “I think you have a different idea about what I do with these potions, than what actually becomes of them.” The lid of a jar gave a soft clink as he let go. Lukos tilted his head at her, his gaze moving from her eyes, down to her lips and from there to her shoulders and chest, her hips, legs, feet, then back up to her arms and finally down to her hands, where she held Love Potion Number Nine.
His gaze was less calculating than it had been at first. He’d already given her a mathematical sum as to what she was likely worth. No, this gaze was taking her in as a person. Seeing her as she truly was. They were fourteen years apart in age and to him, she seemed childlike in her insistence that he needed this potion. As though she didn’t understand what truly went on between men and women.
If she did, she wouldn’t be trying to sell a man of thirty three a potion to make him any more virile than he already was. Those potions, to his mind, were for old men. Or ugly men. And he was neither, to his mind.
Looking away from her now and back to the shelves as though he had never assessed her at all and couldn’t be bothered to do it now, he glanced into another jar as he spoke. “People pay me great sums of money to acquire things. They want to see visions...or kill people...or sleep.” He moved onto a larger jug and found it just to be ordinary wine.
“And I have no woman that I would ever need to use that potion on. Nor would I wish to.” His gaze slid sideways at her and he half smirked. “Gold can buy me exactly what you’re promising from that bottle.” She was a priestess. He didn’t know if she understood about whores or not, or why they were ideal for someone who sailed for a living. What good was a wife and children if he was only home twelve times a year for a few days? Whores were better. They didn’t nag and they didn’t ask questions because they didn’t care. Same as him.
She was not as naive about what went on between men and women as he thought, but she questioned whether that part was really his business or not. Still, if he were informed, he might trust her more to make recommendations on what he should buy. She settled on saying, "Any priestess of Hathor who does not know about what goes on between men and women is not properly prepared to be one. Please tell me what you would like. Turquoise amulets? The eye of Horus in ruby? Cow dung?"
She may have been joking with the last offering. Then again, Hathor was a cow in her animal form. And she doubted he would want cow dung, though she might be tempted to throw some at him in frustration if he didn't start being a little more specific!
"Well, then! Do tell- what is it you do with the poisons you seek? If you don't want to kill people, then who does?" It was worth knowing who wanted to buy the poisons from him before she sold the poisons to him in the first place. Besides that, she had to wonder what the goddess of fertility, music, and joy could possibly have to do with death- but that was a question for Mother Sekhemu.
As for her name, though "Nafretiri" was common enough, it was knowledge that at least in Egypt, anyone who knew your name or had a piece of your hair (either one) could use it for spells against you. She wasn't sure she wanted to give him that authority.
"Why do you want to know? I don't believe I know yours," she pointed out.
She ran her fingertips over the Hathor amulet around her neck. It brought her a little comfort, but she still felt unsteady. It could be that she wasn't drinking enough, that it was exceptionally hot, that she was stressed, or all three. In any case, she could have used a hug, an excuse to leave... anything to get rid of the uneasiness. The sensation of spiders on her neck was making it a little difficult to breathe. She had gone scared to frustrated- but confident, and back to scared again so quickly that she was becoming exhausted with herself.
A smile slid across his face as she finally perked up enough to make, what he took, as a tart joke. “Cow dung?” Shaking his head and let go of the jar and stepped away from the shelves completely. His path took him nearer to her. “I wouldn’t pay for that. I could get that in the street for free.” His tone was also lilting, taking on the same jesting cadence she used. Cow dung indeed. Maybe she’d meant the idea to be revolting but he knew full well that there were women who used honey and crocodile dung as contraceptive. Honestly, the Egyptians could be so vile.
Usually Lukos didn’t display such Greek sensibilities but when he was in Egypt, he definitely did exhibit some real Greek tendencies. The disdain for some of the practices of Egypt, for one, most specifically that contraceptive one. The way they plucked out every single hair in their body being another that he found...odd.
"Well, then! Do tell- what is it you do with the poisons you seek? If you don't want to kill people, then who does?" she cried.
Lukos smirked and clasped his hands behind his back, shrugging at her question. “I never said I don’t kill people,” he corrected with a cat’s grin. “I said I don’t poison them.” The way he spoke suggested that he killed men nearly every day, which was far from the truth. Most of the time he avoided killing if he possibly could. It was messy and usually investigated. The men he killed were usually boarding his ship or in his way as he raided a village. He didn’t just wander the countryside, murdering at random.
“I’m a trader,” he said carefully. “A...merchant, of sorts.” Glancing down at the potion in her hands, he reached out and plucked it right out of her grasp, holding it up to look at it. “Men ask me to get things and I get them. If they want to kill someone, I don’t ask who. I just ask what they want and then how much they’re willing to pay to get it.” He was holding the potion, looking at it in the light. Whether she’d meant to or not, to him, she sounded intrigued by the notion, rather than frightened and he found this reaction interesting.
Of course he couldn’t know her history. He could only judge from her appearance, and her appearance suggested that she was an innocent person. Basically good and nice. She did not seem to be someone of a violent nature or that liked to fight. So the fact that, to him at least, she found it fascinating that someone somewhere would want someone dead bore further investigation into who she was. And if she could be relied on in future, perhaps.
Her mood instantly seemed to change once he asked her name; back to fear, back to suspicion. It was no wonder, since he still had hold of the potion he’d literally stolen from her grasp. He grinned again when she flat out refused to give him her name. “Lukos of Magnemea,” he said easily, not having any reservation whatsoever to her knowing who he was. It could only help him in future. “Son of no one in particular.” He kept hold of the love potion, tucking it under one arm so he could point her attention back the way he’d come and toward the Nile, where his ship was moored. “I captain the Aceton.” Not that the ship or dock was visible from here, but she’d know where he meant.
“Now,” he said, “Oh nameless priestess. How much is this worth? And does it actually work?”
She relaxed a little when he explained that he was a trader. "Ah, like my father, then. Well, what kinds of things would you like to sell? There are any number of potions, perfumes, herbs, or tinctures in here that might prove useful- if not for yourself, then for someone else, certainly."
'Anything' wasn't really a suitable answer, but this time, she sensed that he was likely playing a game with her. It made him seem a little more trustworthy if she thought of him as someone like her father or her cousin Ari.
He gave her his name, and as Lukos mentioned that he captained a ship, her heart beat a little harder in her chest with- was that hope? Dare she hope at all? If someone were to come for Aneksi, could she possibly count on him to spirit them away, if she helped him? Would he perhaps pay her for her assistance? Maybe so, and as she had few other options than to earn money in case of an escape, this could work in her favor.
"Well then, my name is Nafretiri. And yes, that potion works very well." Not that she'd tried it herself, because she was still frightened of anything sexual in nature, worship of the goddess or no, but she had heard things from a few people she'd sold it to. "It's probably worth about...ten sugh, at the least." Considering what she had actually paid to make it, for pomegranates and onions, and the opium in particular, it might be considered a good price if one wanted to buy it cheaply.
“The potions are always for someone else,” he said and patted the potion under his arm. “I’m taking this.” Lukos didn’t immediately answer her question of ‘what’ he sold. Her body language had already relaxed considerably and he wasn’t interested in making her afraid again. She was turning out to be one of those people who was far more chatty when they were calm and collected, rather than being intimidated into information. It didn’t matter. He could use both tactics.
Once he offhandedly mentioned the ship, however, he tilted his head as she gave him a look he didn’t really know how to interpret. It was the sort of look that meant she wanted something from him, but exactly what that might be, he didn’t really know. And then, she blessedly got to the heart of the matter. Nafretiri.
“See?” he said after repeating her name. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” If he’d only known what she was thinking. The very idea that she wanted to be on his ship was laughable. There were so few people who wanted to be there, or asked to come aboard. Sometimes, when he was docked in ports, there would be the odd person who came to the base of the gangway and begged for passage. There were times that he would allow people to come aboard, and certainly times he would not.
Usually though, the second anyone saw the kind of cargo he usually offloaded, they ran the other way. They didn’t want to be mixed up in that sort of thing. “Ten sugh…” he held up the bottle. “Or...I could give you…..” he thought for a moment, his dark eyes wandering above her head to the column behind her. “Four sugh?” It was a low, low offer, he knew but he did it anyway. “And I want the poisons. And the tea. And the lotus itself,” he went on, now slipping into actual bartering. “And I want help carrying it to my ship.”
Did he have money to pay more than she’d asked? Absolutely he did. Was he going to give her what she first offered? Absolutely not. That wasn’t how bartering worked. But then, he was suspecting that she didn’t sell all that much, if she was starting with a fair price. Lukos tended to be a shark among fish if he found someone who didn’t know, or at least, did not seem to know, what they were doing.
It was true that Nafretiri didn't have much experience in selling things. Being the daughter of a merchant didn't mean one automatically got experience in commerce. If she'd been a son, however... but she banished that thought quickly. She was who Ptah had created her to be, and that was a woman, even if her mother had wished she were a boy often enough. She had a sense about that kind of thing, though she couldn't remember her saying so in her own hearing.
As for wanting help carrying it all to his ship, that wasn't unreasonable, because her eyes widened a little at how much he said he wanted.
"Seven, if you want help, and I'll get one of the slaves." How in the world he had seemed to guess that she wanted to be aboard his ship so quickly she had no earthly idea, but... good gods, did the man have powers? He seemed to be Greek, but this was Egypt, after all. She supposed anything could happen. Perhaps some people were just blessed wherever they traveled.
"I'm unsure how much to reveal," she continued after a pause to collect her wits again, "But about the ship... I didn't mean now. I need some money first- preferably a good amount of it. I have a little daughter. and she may be in danger. I am quite tall for most people here, and easy to spot as a result. If we have to leave..."
A lump came into her throat and she couldn't go on. She tried to take a breath, but her lungs seemed to have tightened and she felt constricted.
"Perhaps...we could have... an arrangement of sorts? What do you think?"
She waited with bated breath.
Nafretiri sensed that she still had a lot to learn about bargaining, but she was willing to get less money- perhaps just this once- for someone's help in what could become a desperate situation. Even someone she was still slightly wary of, as she sensed he was not so quick to reveal everything about himself either. He still hadn't said what he sold, and although she had relaxed at knowing he was a trader, perhaps she should have balked at the very word. 'Traders' could mean she was in danger of becoming a slave again. But no. She was willing to trust the gods more than that, especially Hathor herself.
"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
No, perhaps not. If they might have an arrangement in the future, it was better that they knew each other's names, even if neither of them were willing to reveal everything about themselves just yet.
Though even she knew better than to ask the goddess for love without some kind of sacrifice in return, safety was different, and hopefully, being a priestess did not count for nothing,
He’d had no idea that she wanted to board a ship, much less his ship. If he had known, he’d have made a different offer entirely. Once the words were out of his mouth, he’d expected that the conversation would take on a far more business-like tone but instead, her features seemed to cloud, her eyes glaze over a bit, and she looked almost to retreat into herself, thinking. Obviously his offer had been too low but he was shocked that she didn’t come back out with an offer of say….15 sugh. Instead she requested seven and still agreed to the slave help.
This woman was not a barterer and he logged that information away for later. It would be far, far too easy, and cheap to get potions from her again. If these turned out to be as good and legitimate as she claimed, then he had no problems whatsoever with dealing someone who would charge so little. Especially since he planned to jack that price up by about ten once he got to Greece. This made his profit margin much higher, which was always something to be excited about.
However, her face took on such an expression of earnestness that he was left a little confused and unsure of how to interpret it. She admitted to both needing a ship and having a small daughter. Because of the sort of women he usually associated with, he did not immediately assume that Nafretiri was married presently, or had ever been, though he wasn’t sure one way or the other.
His curiosity was piqued when she mentioned the need to leave. It sounded more like she might need to flee for some reason. He shifted from one foot to the other and finally set down the love potion he’d essentially stolen from her grasp, and crossed his arms over his chest. She asked about an arrangement and due to her pauses and the way that she was speaking, he was half thinking she might break into tears at any moment.
“Anything can be done for the right price and arrangement…” he said slowly, thinking quickly. “What sort of arrangement did you have in mind?” His gaze slid slowly down her form before coming back up. The word ‘arrangement’ seemed to imply something a little beyond payment, but he couldn’t be terribly sure. However, she was a priestess of Hathor, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that she was offering more than just money. And he wasn't opposed to that kind of thing in the least.
"Perhaps, from time to time. I might be able to procure some things for you, if that would be acceptable. Ingredients for potions, amulets, unusual powders, and such. In return, I would only ask for a small but adequate fee. If there is any reason I might need to flee sooner rather than later, the money would come in handy. I don't know what amount I might possibly have to pay to be able to get away quickly enough, or to be able to procure adequate lodging for us. Truly, I don't even know if getting away would keep someone from eventually finding us- I might have to leave several places quickly just to stay hidden." She fought back the urge to cry, but could not suppress the ache in her throat.
"Not that I expect you to understand completely. It wouldn't be fair for me to ask that of anyone. But tell me... if you felt that someone were trying to steal from you the most valuable thing you currently own, what would you do? Can I, as a mother, do any less for my child?"
Really? Had that just come out of her mouth? If Nafretiri's own mother had been faced with the same situation with her in tow, she was very aware that Lael likely could have and would have done less.
Well, Nafretiri was not her own mother.
Thank the gods.
If every mother were like Nafretiri's the world would likely be doomed. Not that it wasn't close enough to doom already at times, but it wasn't there yet.
Nafretiri realized she was probably being a little hasty, trusting this man whom she still found so confusing. But weren't all desperate people hasty at times?
Then again, one often lived to regret being hasty, because sometimes people took advantage of the desperate. But that was a chance she was just going to have to take.
Behind them, another priestess walked through the breezeway. She glanced in their direction but did not stop. Nafretiri did not appear to be in distress and so there was no cause for interference. The woman continued on her way. Lukos, however, had glanced over his shoulder until the other woman was gone before giving Nafretiri his full attention again. Her appeal for a small, yet adequate fee was acceptable.
“Done,” he extended his hand to shake but she pressed on, stressing that if she needed to flee at any time, the money would come in useful. Lukos withdrew his hand when she looked like she might burst into tears. That was something he did not want to deal with. The conversation was quickly slipping away from poisons and into territory he was entirely unfamiliar with. Looking around for a half second, he checked to see if there was someone better qualified to keep her from crying - that woman who’d passed a few seconds ago, for example? Alas. No.
And then she was asking him what he would do in her place. Lukos parted his lips to speak, then shut them and looked around again. Why weren’t temples full of chairs? Probably she should sit. Or...something. That sparked an idea. It wasn’t the sitting that was the thing. It was the movement. Something different. That’d be the way to get her not to cry.
“I mean, I would kill them,” he said bluntly. Holding up his hand so that she could see what he was doing and not scream or flee or whatever some women tended to do, he placed it on her back and gently encouraged her forward, to get her to walk. “Come on,” he set the other jar on the floor. They’d come back. This was a temple. People didn’t steal in temples. ...right?...
If she resisted him, he just kept gently coaxing her into forward motion until they were out in the breezy hall again and heading nowhere in particular. The fabrics fluttering above them in the hot wind made him pull at his shirt as it tried to stick to him. For a Greek man, he was extremely dark. For an Egyptian, he was horribly pale. That meant that no matter where he was, he kept his shirt on in public, unless he was on his ship, with his own kind. But gods did he want it off and to walk bare chested like her hairless brethren. It would be a lot cooler.
“It depends on who is trying to steal you,” he dropped his hand from her back. It was just too hot to be touching people. “Or from you,” he amended, glancing at her again and noting that she was very obviously not married. At least, he didn’t think she was. Throw a child into that mix…that meant she was fairly vulnerable, and or loose.