I met her in the andron of Dolius.
I didn't go there expecting love. We met that night to celebrate the good fortune of Phaeacia. We live far from other men, as Phaeacia is on the very edge of the world. But not too far. Not far enough to escape the quarrels of men. We sailed seven days on our ships - which are fast as falcons - to stand in line with our kinsmen against warriors from the east. But that is another song. What matters is that I wore my father's armor and brought honor to us all when I faced the storm of spears. Now I sat with Dolius and Theognis, the wealthy sons of my village, who had stood with me to my left and to my right in the line of battle.
The room was painted in shades of orange. Night was fallen and the only light in the room came from the hot red coals. The smell of burning wood filled the air, along with the scent of roasted lamb. We had begun the evening by slitting an unblemished ewe in honor of mighty Poseidon, wrapped the meat in fat and poured libations on it as it turned on the spit. I cannot even hint at how it smelled. Even if you have eaten a thousand lambs roasted on a thousand fires, the fact that we had passed the test of manhood and lived to tell of it made it more savory and more welcome than any meal I have ever tasted.
All except one, of course.
We reclined on our couches. The rule in Phaeacia was that boys must sit on the floor, while couches are reserved for men. And now that we were fighters, Dolius was permitted to use his father's couch. We sipped wine from saucers. Each saucer was called a kylix, and it held doses of expensive, unadulterated wine from the kills outside Corfus. We talked. We joked. We told funny stories about things we had seen on campaign. And when we ran out of happy memories we sat in silence and stared at the ceiling.
"Did you know Lidio?" Dolius asked.
"The butcher's cousin?" I replied.
"Aye. The son of Ledes. The one who put a snake on his shield."
I laughed, and the story hadn't even started yet. "Yeah, I knew him. He was the joker that kept putting pitch inside people's helmets. He would just smear it around nose-piece and then you'd put it on and walk around wondering why it stank."
Theognis laughed with me. "What was him? Oh, Gods! He did that to the Strategos once. I thought he would murder someone."
"He was a funny guy," I said. "Whatever happened to him?"
Dolius sipped at his saucer. "He died."
We slowly exchanged looks, the three of us, glancing from one to the next. No one wanted to be the first to speak. Dolius must have realized it was stupid to even bring it up. We all knew the roll of the dead. And we were all happy not to be among them, even if we would not admit it. Even to ourselves. But it matters not. Everyone is a shade, in the end. We all drank until our saucers were finished, and then filled them again. The wine suddenly tasted bitter. Everything tasted bitter. Dolius called for his slave.
It was Melissa who snapped me out of my funk. She came to us bearing another vase of wine, decorated with satyrs and other Dionysian art. I might have mistaken her for a valley nymph. She was tiny, with arms as thin as reeds and tiny, sylphen hands. Her skin was the color of warm honey, even aside from the glow of the coals. Delicate hair hung in curling tresses around her face. She was a woman, her full chest told me that much, but I had never seen a woman so petite in every respect. I watched her as she poured wine for us, and when she bent over to fill my saucer I felt something stirring deep inside me. I wanted to reach out and touch her. But I could not. She was not mine to take, and in any event I had been taught to treat my slaves with kindness.
I sipped my drink but said nothing. The wine was rich. We watched her walk away, to wait outside the room. Theognis was the first to say what we all were thinking.
"She is a slave? Are you kidding me?"
Dolius shot him a grin. "Yes. My father bought her while we were away."
"For himself?"
"For the family." This was, admittedly, a point of some contention. There were many men on Phaeacia who would consider their slaves as property and use them accordingly. And I'll admit I had my doubts about why one would buy such a tiny woman if not for that exact purpose. But Dolius was a good man and his parents were good people. They knew better to mistreat their slaves. The servants were members of the household still, and like it or not, your fortunes were bound with theirs. A man who made enemies of his slaves would surely come to regret it.
"I should treat her with kindness," Dolius said. "With my luck, she'll turn out to be a Goddess come to Earth to tempt me. And if I'm cruel to her, she'll turn me into a snail or something."
And at that exact moment, Melissa returned. "Master," she interrupted. "Your visitor is here."
Dolius coughed on his wine. I'm certain he was blushing, although I couldn't tell in the dim light. He was embarrassed to be caught talking about her. It made for poor manners, and there was no telling how much she had heard. But Melissa did not mention it. I watched her beautiful face for the slightest hint of irritation... or infatuation. It could go either way, depending on whether or not she took it as flattery. But Melissa was as calm as a windless lake. Either she didn't hear, or she knew better than to let her feelings show.
"Good," Dolius said. "Good, let her in. I've asked someone special to join us. I think you'll like her."
This was a surprise. It wasn't unusual to hire women as entertainers for feasts and symposia. But our guest that night was very unusual, indeed. Melissa stepped aside, and the visitor entered. She was short, too, and wrapped in dark linens that suggested a very shapely figure. Her eyes flickered like jewels in the glowing light. Straight red hair fell down to her neck. She was every bit as beautiful as Melissa, but in a different way, with rounded cheeks and a heart-shaped face, and her eyelids lined with kohl. Where Melissa seemed sweet as honey, the visitor seemed dark and exotic. And what's more- she was a satyr.
We gasped. A pair of horns sprouted from her head. She walked perched on tiny hooves. A tiny tail perched above her rounded buttocks. In my whole life, I had never seen an actual, real-life satyr. I didn't even know they existed. The satyr walked across the room, sat opposite us, and undid her robe. A green overfold clung to her shoulders and let me see the sides of her ripe, round breasts. A slit up the edge of her dress showed off luscious thighs. Beneath the knee, her legs bent back on themselves and hid beneath red velvet fur.
"My friends," Dolius began. "I would like you to meet Acacia."
Theognis was stammering. "Y-y-you are a satyr?"
Acacia said nothing, at first. She just gave him a wry smile and a wink.
"Aye," Dolius continued. "As real as you or me. Acacia, these are my friends. Theognis, who is slow of mind and tongue. And Teucer," - he pointed at me - "who barely speaks at all."
"I speak when I have things worth saying," I insisted.
"Boys, please," Acacia said. "No need to fight. We've all come for a good time, haven't we?"
"Yes," Dolius replied. "Go on, show us what you've brought."
Acacia's instrument was a lyre. It was somewhat like a harp, but with the bows stretched into a U shape and the strings joined to a crosspiece at the top. Acacia plucked the string with slender fingers. Not as childlike as Melissa's, but longer and somehow more agile. The lyre sat on her lap, and she was sure to turn her side to us so we could see the shape of her ample chest.
"What should I sing?" the satyress asked.
"Sing us a song of Phaeacia!" Theognis suggested.
"Aye," Dolius agreed. "A song about Phaeacia and all her wonders."
"Phaeacia?" she said with mock condescension. "I've barely heard of that place. I don't think she has any songs at all... Except one." At this, she smiled and plucked a chord. "He lay there fast asleep, the long enduring Odysseus, overcome with his weariness; but Athena went to the land and city of the Phaeacians. These dwelt of old in spacious Hypereia, hard by the Cyclopes, those great and arrogant men who plundered them constantly and were mightier than they..."
This was an old story, the oldest any of us knew save for the Iliad itself. She sang the tale of clever Odysseus, who washed up on the shores of Phaeacia broken and alone. Finding himself in this land, Odysseus wandered until he found the Princess Nausicaa playing naked with her friends in the water. The Princess lead him then to her father, King Alcinous, from whom all we Phaeacian hoplites claimed our descent. And then Acacia began a song within a song; For it was in the court of Alcinous that the blind bard sang the song of the Trojan War. On hearing this Odysseus began to weep.
I thought it was funny. I had never stopped to ask why Odysseus wept on hearing the story of his own victory. And then I stopped to think of Lidio the trickster, who was now cold in the ground. And also Damian, Myles, and Eurumanos and a half-dozen other men I knew. Shades, all of them. A hot tear rolled down my cheek. At first I thought to cover my face, but I didn't. If a great hero like Odysseus could cry when hearing the story of his war, why should I be ashamed? I don't think Dolius and Theognis felt the same way. They drank unmixed wine to drown their sorrows, and when the wine was gone they called for Melissa and drank some more.
The story of Alcinous and Odysseus was not just about memories, or the war, or naked girls playing on the beach. It's also a story about attraction that goes unspoken. Princess Nausicaa looks at Odysseus and wonders if she can have a husband like him. And later, Alcinous and his queen offer Nausicaa's hand to him, though Odysseus declines. Every time the story turned towards the love that might have been, I caught Acacia glance at me. She grinned and plucked the strings just a little sharper than before.
The song took the better part of an hour. When it was done, Dolius and Theognis were drunk out of their minds. They reclined on their couches and could barely muster the effort necessary to sip yet more wine. I didn't drink. I would rather cry in front of Acacia and Melissa than let myself be swallowed by oblivion.
"You were in a battle?" Acacia asked. It hadn't even truly occurred to me that she was finished. "I can always tell. The men who have been in battle cry when I sing that song."
