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.
