The Past:

How did I become a hetaira?  To be honest, it was not by my choice.  I grew up with two loving parents, who were potters.  At least, I believed them to be my parents.  I learnt the truth at 14: that my beloved parents were my owners; that I was a slave and the daughter of a slave.  The man I thought of as my brother told me that his parents had bought my mother when they saw her in the slave market, already pregnant with me, probably by her previous owner.  She was young and pretty and they were sorry for her, and having become prosperous, they decided to buy her.  She died soon after I was born and they brought me up as their own.  Perhaps they had intended to free me and make me truly their daughter, but as the years went by and nothing happened to make it necessary, they forgot that I was not theirs.  But they died, a few weeks after my 14th birthday and I discovered the truth.  I had barely time to recover from that blow, when my "brother" told me that he had to sell me.  Left to himself, he would have kept me, but his new wife would not permit it.  So, at just 14, I was taken to the slave market and there I waited for whatever fate the Gods would allow me.

I remember that it was a hot day and the sun was shining.  I sat on the dusty floor of a booth, trying not to cry or to show how frightened I was.  It was full of women of all ages, all of us slaves.  Some cried openly, some were stoic and calm and others were withdrawn into themselves.  There was a smell of fear in the air, and hunger and despair.  Some women clutched small children, hardly daring to hope that some kind master or mistress would buy them together; knowing that they would, more likely, have to face a parting.  At that, I was glad to be alone.  With my mother and my dear, adopted parents dead, I had no one to miss.  So I sat in the dust and waited.

I was in the last group to be sold and Helios was already beginning to guide his chariot down into the earth.  I was tired and hungry, so I scarcely noticed the gentleman who came into the booth with the slaver.  I remember that the exhausted crying had ceased and all was quiet.  Someone was walking around the booth.  There were murmurs of someone asking questions and the slaver answering, in cringing tones.  I remember that.  When the slaver would chatter nervously on, the someone snapped, "will you let them answer for themselves man!". I almost raised my head to see who was daring enough to say that.  I had seen enough of the slaver's response to being spoken to in less than respectful tones.  But I was tired.

Eventually the someone walked around to where I sat.  I saw two feet in sandals in front of me and the bottom of a fine linen robe.  The someone stood for a moments in front of me, silent and still.  In my tiredness, I hardly cared who it was.  But something whispered to me that it would be worth my while to see.  Some little voice, tickling my ear and rousing me from my half-sleep.  I risked being struck for my temerity, but I had to obey the little voice, and I looked up at the visitor, fully into his face.  I remember that he was tall and middle-aged, obviously wealthy, and handsome.  We looked at each other, measuring each other's worth, for the span of two minutes and there was no respect in my gaze, but he did not seem to mind. He smiled then and asked my name. I had some trouble in answering as I had drunk nothing all day and was parched.  He ordered the slaver to give him a cup of water and this he gave to me.  I drank just one mouthful and then passed the cup onto the woman who sat next to me.  When the slaver would have hit me for that, the man stopped him.  Then he asked me my name again, and this time I answered.  Perhaps he liked that I shared the water with the rest of the women, or perhaps it was some other reason, but he said that he would buy me.  An older slave, who accompanied him, gave the slaver a small bag of coins and the man held out his hand to me.

And that was the beginning of my new life.  My new owner, a wealthy man named Phillip Orestes, took me to his home in Athens.  At first I was treated almost like a cherished daughter. He gave me a room of my own and a woman slave to serve me.  He bought fine clothes for me and was always gentle and kind to me.  Then, a month after I entered his house, my real education began.  After a while, he bought a tutor to teach me to read and write, and about politics and law and history.  Another was hired to teach me to sing and to dance, while my woman slave taught me how to walk and talk and dress like a well born lady.  Why did he do all this for me?  I never discovered the reason.  Perhaps he was lonely, but then he could have had any hetaira in Athens for company.  At the parties he took me to, he was always greeted with friendship and respect wherever he went.  I knew that he had a wife who lived in the country, and a son who was a little older than me.  But they never came to our house, as I thought of it, and he never spoke of them.  After a year, he freed me and I remember that I cried for joy and for sorrow that I no longer belonged to him.

As I had already learned at 14, all good things come eventually to their end.  When I was 20 and had lived with my dear lord for six years, he decided that it was time for him to return to his country house, and to his family.  I begged him to take me with him, but he gently explained that he had made a promise to his wife, long ago, that he would never bring his heitra into her home.  And that he intended to keep his promise, though it caused him pain to do so.  His last act, before he left, was to give me many gifts.  He gave me the woman who had acted as my personal slave, and money enough to keep me for a year.  Then he gave me a wooden box, carved with the name of the Goddess Aphrodite, which contained a comb and mirror, and jewels.  And he paid for a half year on a small house for me.  His last, most generous gift was of his name.  He left, and I moved into my little house, with my jewels and slave and all the things my dear lord had given me in our six short years together.  And once again, my life changed.

The Present:

It has been many years since I was that innocent, frightened girl.  Thanks to my dear lord's help, I was able to find a few patrons who were interested in me as much for my conversation and company as my other skills.  History, politics and law were not subjects I enjoyed studying, but I have a talent for light gossip and compassion and am skilled as a hostess.  More than one man has thanked me for they peace they have found in my company.  I had decided not to find one patron, to live with and be dependant on.  Partly because I had witnessed the uncertainty of that kind of life; but mainly because I did not wish to be one man's mistress again.  My last patron was a good man, who left me a lovely house of my own, in the lemon groves above the city.  Of course, being a mere woman, I cannot hold property of my own.  But thankfully, my late patron had a son, his first-born, who, though married, was sympathetic and kind, and holds my property in trust for me.  He has made solemn oaths, before the Gods, never to sell my house or to allow any of his family to dispose of it without my permission.  I know that not all hetairai are so well fated or so favoured by the Gods.

I do believe that I must be a favoured one.  For when my life seemed bleak and precarious, one of them guided me to my dear lord's company, and has guided me ever since.  I have not aspired to the heights of notoriety that some have.  I have seen how jealousy and avarice has blighted the lives of women who sat at the side of the most notable citizens.  And I have seen how quickly and how far they can fall into poverty and degradation.  More than one beautiful, accomplished hetairai has ended her days as a common prostitute, begging for her bread in the crowded streets.  My life is a calm ocean, with no rough tides or treacherous waves.  If I want for company, intrigue and pleasures, I may have it.  If I do not, then no one disturbs my peace.

I like to spend my days in reading and studying though I miss the excursions that I used to have with my late patron.  I particularly enjoy poetry, though some of those sour old poets are too fond of denigrating women for my liking.  I meet my friends, also hetairai, at the temple of Aphrodite who is, for obvious reasons, our patron goddess.  Or I go walking in the Agora, accompanied by Hyacinth and my bodyguard, Jason, who was a birthday gift from my late patron's oldest son.  Sometimes my friends visit me or I visit them in their homes and we have our own small, women-only parties.  I sometimes think that it is a shame that hetairai and wives must never meet, as I suspect that some of the wives would actually enjoy our parties.  I have slaves in my kitchen, my courtyard and my rooms.  There is a guard upon my door and a little child slave, Hyacinth, to amuse and serve me.  I want for nothing, and yet.....

The Future: