Fear surrounded her. It was women who were responsible for teaching her to dance, who taught her how to please a man, who had been relentless in their efforts to turn her into someone she had never been. They brooked no shirking and whipped her shortcomings until she met their exacting standards. There was no kindness in their world, only a grudging acceptance if she performed well.
Now Sophia faced other terrors. Yunan was a rich man, a powerful man, so must have many wives and concubines within his household. She could not hide her pregnancy from these serving women. She knew his wives would be furious she was carrying his child and might seek to destroy her, but she knew she had no alternative other than go with them. She hoped they would not beat her too hard to make her lose the baby.
The apartments she was shown were not sumptuous. They were well furnished, but not opulent. Gathering what little strength remained, Sophia asked the women if there was somewhere she could bathe and make herself respectable before she paid her respects to Yunan's wives.
She wondered why several of the woman smiled, quickly covering their mirth with their hands or turning away as if to save her embarrassment. A young, very self-possessed attendant inclined her head, explaining a deep bath had been filled with warm water for her ease. A selection of fresh garments would also be made available for her to choose from. She need only ask for anything else she wished.
"Thank you," Sophia murmured, "some oils, if you would be so kind?"
Again the head nodded, gently, "Of course, lady."
Sophia made her way slowly towards the bath, trying to ignore everyone else around her. Always a very private person when she was allowed, she was not used to other people seeing her body since it grew and changed. Painfully, she removed her clothes and folded them neatly in a pile.
She sensed some of the women moving forward as if to offer help, but an imperceptible shake of the young woman's head stopped them. Sophia remembered a time when she would have stood and let others help her, but that seemed like a lifetime ago.
Almost silently, the serving women withdrew all but one- the very confident girl - who busied herself setting out clothing on a fine lacquered stand nearby, then brought a small silver tray of metal and glass bottles. She watched as Sophia carefully lowered herself down into the bath, feeling the blissful heat of the water on her aching limbs.
The young woman noted the bruises on Sophia's arms and legs and back - some half healed and some fresh. The Master of the stronghold was not given to rescuing pregnant women from abusive situations and she wondered what story this one had to tell.
"Shall I fetch water to cool or add heat, lady?"
Sophia's closed eyes flew open. She regarded the young woman with some confusion, forcing her to repeat the question, "If you could add heat, I should be grateful, thank you. The last part of the journey was cold and we could not afford the time to stop and wrap ourselves in blankets as we did previous evenings. Your Master was most anxious to reach his destination."
She lay back in the water, soaking for a while, almost asleep. On the edge of her consciousness, she thought she heard a murmur of voices, but when she opened her eyes, she was alone. With a deep sigh, she remembered her hair must be washed. Slowly and painfully, she unwrapped the coils from her head, then let it lie on the surface.
The water was noticeably warmer although no one had brought any kettle or cauldron of any kind. Sophia reached out to take handfuls of soft soap from a dish by her side and washed her hair, submerging herself several times to wash the soap away.
As she got to her knees to climb out of the bath, the young woman was immediately at her side to help her climb out, wrapping her hair and her body with soft, light, luxuriant towels.
"The Master asks," the girl began, taking up a towel and carefully beginning to dry Sophia's feet. "The Master asks if you would join him to dine - if you feel sufficiently refreshed." The girl hesitated, then smiled, "I told him you would join him when you were ready, lady."
Sofia was horrified by such deliberate discourtesy. "Was he not displeased by such an answer?"
"You have travelled a hard journey. It takes more than a bath to be rid of the road. Men do not consider such things. It is as much as one can do to have them bathe sufficiently." Sofia found a smile playing on her lips at the girl's perfect command of the situation, something her companion noticed immediately. "Do not be concerned, the Master understood completely once I explained."
"Thank you."
Once more she was greeted with the quiet smile, the downcast eyes, "It was my pleasure."
Given confidence by the girl's manner, Sophia said, "May I ask for your help with my hair? My back hurts and it is difficult to lift my arms above my head."
"How may I help?" The young woman smiled openly, happy to be able to assist Sophia at last.
"If you could rub my hair until the excess moisture is removed and then wrap it in the towel. I will oil myself, then perhaps you could brush my hair for me, if I could borrow a brush?"
"Certainly. I have laid out a brush and combs - fine and broad, there, beside your clothing."
Sofia moved slowly over to the lacquered table. She picked up one of the combs, studying it closely before returning it. The shape and colour of the tortoiseshell brought back further memories of times when others combed her long hair. She remembered a nurse when she was small, singing to her, songs of her people. Without thinking she hummed a half remembered tune, while the young woman unwrapped the towel and stood behind her, using soft, sure movements to work the towel through her hair.
"Lady, if I may be permitted to say, your hair has such a fine colouring – unusual in these lands."
Sophia smiled, "There are some who say my mother's mother was from a people a long way from here. They would not say openly she was a slave taken as booty during a northern raid, for fear of offending my mother, but it may explain why my colouring is as it is."
Although the words came readily to her lips, she was surprised by the memory. It was a long time since she had allowed herself to think or even wonder about her mother. She knew her mother was no longer alive yet the initial grief of her passing was already spent. Now more pressing matters filled her mind once more.
"I have to ask," she began, "how many wives does Yusan keep? His children too, they must be many."
The young woman almost dropped the towel, stammering something of an apology. "Lady - I .. may I speak? Although it is not to criticise...?"
Sophia was immediately contrite, "Please do. Forgive me if I have said something I shouldn't. I do not know your customs."
"Who? Where? How did you hear that name, Yunan?"
"Your Master. He said his name was Yunan. The people of the town, Darfour, where I was held, called him by the same title. I presumed it was his name."
"Ah." the girl's relief was evident, "Did he say that his name was Yunan, or that people called him so? You see, 'Yunan' is what they call him - the people here," she blushed a little, " - my people. It is not his name; it just means 'Greek'. They call him 'The Greek'. His name is Kallikrates."
"I see." Sofia searched through the haze of memories, trying to recall what she heard him say or thought she heard him say. She frowned, remembering the sound of that name, Killikrates.
She remembered a tall, important man visiting her parents when she was a very small child and could run and play and entertain the grownups without rebuke. A man who gave her a comb, who said it went with her hair. A comb of the same style as those laid out for her use now. There had to be a connection.
Sophia stood, staring into space for several minutes, until her companion coughed discretely to draw her attention back to the present.
"Lady, you asked for oils to be brought. Do you need any assistance?"
