Al Taliph was gorgeously arrayed in cloth of gold with a sash of red silk, embroidered heavily, and with gold tassels. He wore a headcloth of cloth of gold also, held by knots of jeweled cord. Never had he appeared so darkly handsome to Aspasia, nor so desirable, for all the fresh hatred she felt for him and the sick longing in her heart. He was conversing with his guests and did not halt at her entrance, but languidly summoned her to his divan in the recess with a wave of his hand. She made her way in silence to the divan and was permitted, as usual, to sit at his feet. For an instant she was dimly conscious of hearing a man gasp, then appear to choke. But as Al Taliph’s guests were invariably astonished at her beauty it was of no immediate significance to her.
There were several men present, all resplendent in their robes, and turbans, eating and drinking with flattering voracity, and listening to their host. Aspasia hardly saw them. She was not permitted to speak unless addressed by Al Taliph, or his guests. She sat silently at his feet, all rose and gold and marble whiteness, and her hands were clasped in her lap. Occasionally, as if caressing a favored dog, Al Taliph would idly stroke her bare arm or shoulder or throat, or lift a lock of her hair, then would let the lock fall carelessly. For the first time her cheeks became hot and flushed at this treatment, but she did not shrink. It would only surprise and anger him, and she had come to fear his anger. Her flesh trembled, in spite of herself, at his touch, and she despised her own lack of control over her senses even while she yielded voluptuously to them. To divert herself she stared at the fabulous gemmed rings on his fingers until her eyes ached.
Al Taliph was not only governor of his province, he was also a very rich and astute merchant. He owned many bazaars in the city and also in other cities, fleets of vessels, caravans, a bank and countless olive groves, fields, orchards and meadows and multitudes of sheep and cattle and goats. He was invested in prosperous manufactories and was the possessor of jewelry and curio shops in profusion, including priceless objects of art. It was alleged he was a stern usurer in addition to all else, but never had he been accused of looting his province as did other governors, and his judgments, though severe, were invariably honorable. Not only was he received with respect at the court of Artaxerxes, but was famous in Samarkand, Persepolis, Naksh-i-Rustam, Kerman and Kashan, and in Damascus. All these things did Aspasia know, and she felt his power and both resented and adored it.
Surely, she thought to herself as she sat at his feet and listened to the laughter and conversation—in multiple tongues—of the men, the glory and the lightning of the human soul should not be suppressed in women.
She glanced at the guests, whom she had never seen before, but from their appearance she guessed that two were Babylonians, one was a Mede, two were Egyptians, three were Syrians, four were dark-skinned Arabians, two were Indians, one was a Greek, and the last, a young man with lascivious eyes and auburn curls—Her heart lifted in horror and panic and a dazed terror. She was gazing at Thalias, and in return he was gazing at her with the same appalled emotions, which she did not at first discern.
Al Taliph never introduced Aspasia to his guests, nor them to her. Her position was recognized at once: She was not a slave, she was something more than a favorite concubine, she was not a wife, for she was permitted to leave the women’s quarters and allowed to speak when addressed. As the guests were invariably rich men of some learning and intelligence and travel, many remembered the hetairai of which they had heard or had seen for themselves, and not an inconsiderable number respected a hetaira for both her beauty and her intellect. They were women apart from both harems and prosaic marriages, and frequently they had power. So if some were offended by the presence of a woman at Al Taliph’s dinners, the others were pleased to look upon Aspasia and even to listen to her conversation, and Al Taliph was often envied for possessing such a treasure.
He was an intuitive man, as well as subtle, and though he treated Aspasia when among his guests with none of the tender consideration and attentiveness he displayed to her in private, his awareness of her presence, the imminence of her body, her very breathing, was singularly acute. He knew when she suffered ennui, when she was distressed, weary or uninterested during these dinners in his dining hall. Her dignity and calm in spite of these things were admirable to him, and he thrilled with pride in her. Therefore, he now knew that she was deeply disturbed, that her flesh had become rigid, that something had assaulted her emotions, and that, mysteriously, she was frightened.
He continued to speak with one of the Egyptians, but he sharply glanced at her through the corner of his eye, and he wondered. She had not as yet been addressed; he had not spoken to her, himself. Was she in pain? It was true that her pallor made the vermillion cosmetics on her cheeks and lips too vivid, but there were no contractures of brow or chin which would indicate physical suffering. He had been conversing in the Egyptian language with one of his guests, a tongue with which she was not familiar, so she could have taken no offense though the conversation was delicately lewd. (Above all things Aspasia was never lewd.) She had not been suddenly seized by illness, for she was remarkably healthy. He saw her staring as at a basilisk at one of the guests, and then he saw her look away. A faint shudder ran through her and Al Taliph perceived this.
At whom had she been gazing? His eye studied all his guests, one by one, while he continued to talk and smile and eat the small portions of spiced and peppered lamb and artichokes on his plate. He even sipped a little wine. Had she recognized one of these men, his fellow merchants? That was impossible, for none were displaying any of the alarm she was so manifestly feeling, and all were attentive to their tables or exchanging little comments with a neighbor. Aspasia had seen but two or three of these guests before; the others were strangers. Yet, one had terrified her. How was that possible? It was true that two or three were old and gross at the table, but Aspasia was accustomed to this because of similar guests in the past. His curiosity became keener. She was sitting now with decorously downcast eyes, her hands folded on her knee. He knew she was exercising all the discipline she had been taught, all the control. Then, to his surprise, she was smiling a little, her red lips curving.
For Aspasia was thinking: Thalias dare not betray me, for he is a runaway slave, for all his fine blue Grecian tunic and his wonderfully draped toga and his jewelry and fragrance. He is more frightened than I was, a few moments ago, for should I speak he would be seized and returned to Miletus for punishment, and he knows that surely. Now that her fear had subsided she was inclined to compassion for him, and she conjectured how he had come to this magnificence and position as an honored guest of Al Taliph. She had observed how handsome he was, how engaging in manner, how refined in gesture, and how obviously rich. She had not as yet heard his voice, did not know the name under which he lurked. She remembered that he had always been shrewd and intelligent and swift in answer to another’s moods, and then, remembering his concern for her before he had fled Thargelia’s house, she felt some suddenly amused affection for him. She desired, above all things, to convey to him that he was in no danger from her.
She is no longer afraid, thought Al Taliph. Aspasia drank from her silver goblet and then lifted a pungent morsel in her spoon and ate it. Her color had returned. Her hand was not trembling. Feeling that Al Taliph was studying her too closely she turned her head and smiled faintly at him, and her brown eyes were bland. For some involved and feminine reason she felt a vague triumph over him as if saying in herself, That man before you took from me the virginity you believed you deprived me of, my lord. I did not come to your bed immaculate. I lay with him within a grove of myrtles one hot summer night, when the leaves dripped moonlight on the dark earth, and he introduced me to joy. His kisses were the first I had ever known; his arms embraced me as strongly as ever yours did, and for an hour I loved him.
Her thoughts delighted her. She had never been so beautiful, and now her mouth dimpled with mischief.
Seeing this, Al Taliph frowned. He had never deceived himself t
hat he knew all there was to know about Aspasia. Aspasia was full of mysteries to him, and that was why he found her forever entrancing. She withheld something from him, and he was always in chase and never did he seize upon her inmost thoughts.
Seeing her secret smile as she tranquilly ate and drank, he remembered that the hetairai had been rigorously taught all arts, and especially the arts of alluring deceptions. Was she trying to deceive him that his punishment of her was of no consequence to her, and that she felt herself the victor? He frowned again.
Thalias was scrutinizing her no less intently. Finally, as he was no fool, he began to understand that Aspasia would never betray him, as he would never, he said to himself with virtue, betray her. They had memories of one joyful night. Aspasia glanced up serenely and their eyes met and she smiled briefly then averted her gaze. Al Taliph saw that smile, but Aspasia frequently smiled in this manner at his guests and he saw no significance in it. She was trained to be silently amiable and charming.
Thalias, immeasurably relieved, felt all his not inconsiderable courage returning to him. He addressed his host with great courtesy and respect. “It is said, lord, that we have, throughout the world, entered upon a period of peace and enlightenment. Is your noble Emperor in agreement with this?”
“There will be peace,” said Al Taliph, “only when all the world, my dear Damos, becomes one vast market place.” He smiled cynically. “I never discuss wars, which are tedious. Wars interrupt the natural discourse between nations, for they diminish and constrict the markets of the world, and impoverish them. War has no victors but only victims, whether conqueror or conquered. But the market place is the only peaceful ground where all men can meet, argue, cheat, lie, purchase the pleasurable, exhibit simple honest greed without shame, arrange caravans and commerce, engage in sincere and vivacious conversation—except with customers—and disputations with rival merchants, plan expeditions, display novelties and beauteous objects from far countries, thus increasing understanding and admiration for that which is strange and felicitous, and so enhancing knowledge of one’s fellow men. Even the hot uglinesses of the market place are a warmth to the spirit.”
He paused to eat of a melon, a handful of cherries and some plums. A sudden cool gust of air came through the arches of the hall, for the year was drawing to a close and only the days now held scalding heat. Aspasia thought, So, our Thalias is now Damos, and where is his home, and why is he here in this house? Her sympathy for him and her affection increased, even as she listened to the conversation, which was now in Greek.
Al Taliph was smiling a little to himself. “I have seen merchants whose governments were at war speak amiably and with happy laughter to each other, in the market place. Commerce is the one subject on which all men can agree, and in which all men can engage, except for the philosophers who prefer to argue contentiously to prove superior activities of the mind. New ideas are not negotiable in the market place, and so possibly they are rightly despised.” He directed his smile at the Indians, who looked aristocratically thoughtful, for India teemed with ideas and religions.
The host continued: “Commerce is the one activity in which customs and cultures from all over the world are regarded with amity, and therefore the market place is our only hope for peace. Merchants have the greatest respect for each other, for they deal in tangibles and realities. You, my dear Damos, and all our friends here tonight are merchants, and do we not converse in a common tongue? We compete, but we do not kill each other. That is left for ambitious governments and professional soldiers and such lesser beings. Tell me, Damos, have you not discovered that the roads of Persia, and all the caravan routes from your Damascus through Persia, are safe from robbers? You will see that even governments have the greatest regard for us merchants.”
“But you, yourself, dear Al Taliph, are of the government,” said one of the Indian merchants. He did not eat the meat served but only the vegetables and the fruit and the wine, for he was a Buddhist.
“True, I am governor of this province, and my Emperor is pleased to have a merchant here. Merchants rarely loot, and if they do it is taken with good nature by fellow merchants, who are prepared to do the same to them. Even on these occasions there is a certain frank honesty mixed with roguery, which we all understand. Merchants can only survive and gain a profit—and is not a profit profoundly admired?—in an atmosphere of trust and peacefulness. When profits are destroyed and in abeyance, as in a time of war, civilizations decline. Let us drink to the market place, where the rabble can meet merchant and prince in the utmost understanding and equality, without carnage or hatred.”
So, thought Aspasia, with kind inner mirth, our Thalias is a merchant from Damascus. Al Taliph was absently stroking her neck, and the other merchants, having drunk from their goblets, watched with interest and concealed envy.
Now Al Taliph looked at Aspasia, and his large and brilliant eyes smiled upon her. He said in his remarkably rich voice, “Tell me, my love, what you think of this conversation?”
Thalias was the only man present who did not raise eyebrows in surprise at this question asked of a woman, however beautiful. Aspasia smiled at Al Taliph in return, with an acid sweetness that was very significant to him. “I am thinking of what a Greek philosopher has written of such as you, my lord, who pretend to be a mere simple merchant. ‘We must look about under every stone, lest an orator bite us.’”
Some gasped at this impudence, but Al Taliph pretended to wince, and laughed. He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to it. “Ah,” he said, “to be praised by such lips for my eloquence is more intoxicating than wine.” He raised his own goblet and held it to her mouth, and she drank and then inclined her head.
He added, tweaking her ear, “Let me, in turn, quote from Euripides: ‘A woman should be good for everything at home, but abroad good for nothing.’”
The guests laughed with appreciation, and Aspasia continued her acerbic if charming smile while she flushed.
“Permit me, my lord,” she said, “to reply to you from what Herodotus has remarked of your nation: ‘They are accustomed to deliberate on matters of the highest importance only when drunk. Whatever else they discuss when sober is always a second time examined after they have been drinking.’ My lord, are you drunk or sober?”
All the guests sat as moveless as statues, holding their breath at this unpardonable insult to their host. But Al Taliph only laughed again, and laid his hand on Aspasia’s shoulder. He addressed his guests: “You will observe that my pretty thing can quote from the philosophers—as a parrot repeats words without understanding them. Nevertheless, you have discovered that her remarks are astonishingly pertinent and her banter swift. So, here is the puzzle: Have I been a good teacher?” He put his hands over his face in mock horror. “Or, can she truly think?” He shook his head and shuddered. “From such, the gods deliver us!” The guests burst into laughter. Aspasia stared fully at him, a deliberate affront, and she was filled with such anger that she began to rise without permission to leave the hall. She was as white as bleached linen and her eyes were like the flashing of knife blades. The guests saw this. (Only Thalias thought, My poor Aspasia.)
As aware of her as always, without actually looking at her, Al Taliph darted his hand from his face and pressed it strongly on her thigh with such force and command that she sank down again on the divan. Her mortification was complete. She was certain now that she hated him. The slaves poured more wine, and pastries were brought and peaches the color of dawn. Al Taliph looked at Thalias, but Aspasia, as acute as himself, understood he was addressing her, for she recognized that certain tone of voice. She waited, her heart tumultuous, for calamity.
“Damos of Damascus, and Greece itself, I have a gift for you, for you and I have done profitable affairs together though never were you in this house before.” He clapped his hands and a eunuch came running from an archway. Al Taliph said, “Bring to me the little maidens I purchased but two days ago.”
Aspasia sickened. She tho
ught of the small girls she had seen in the harem but this day. She closed her eyes briefly. Al Taliph said, “They are rare treasures, my dear Damos, and I chose them myself, thinking of you. For do not we all prefer the young and untouched?”
Thalias murmured in assent. “I promise you,” said his host, “that they are mindless and can only babble pleasingly, and is that not to be desired, in a female, above all things?”
Thalias smiled uneasily, not glancing at Aspasia, who was now gazing at him fiercely. The guests repeated as one man, with smiles at each other, “Above all things!”
The little girl children were brought in together, and they held each other’s hands tightly for protection, and it was obvious that they were frightened and had just been aroused from sleep. White linen tunics clung to their diminutive bodies, and their tiny feet were bare. But their fine sleep-dampened hair had been combed hastily and was tied with white silken cords so that their faces could be seen with all their appealing infanthood, their innocent vulnerability and bewilderment. They blinked in the light of the lamps. The guests murmured approvingly and a number with desire.
Their lips were the lips of babyhood, and without artifice, and their small olive-tinted arms and legs and complexions shone with perfumed oil and their defenseless throats were clasped with pearls as lustrous as themselves. Aspasia’s eyes filled with tears and her mouth shook.