94 BCE. Pergamum. Pre-dawn. Bedroom darkness.
Phila jolts upright at the shock of screeching crickets, the sound cutting off so fast it leaves the room raw. Ears alert. The silence holds for a beat, then the echoes begin — heavy steps in the hallway, a shout, a scream, the guttural howl of a taking. The bedroom door slams inward and shadowy figures drive through the breach, their movements fast and hard, pushed forward by a strident voice snapping “ἴθι!” from behind them. The princess lunges at the first shadow with a speed that makes it fade back, nails catching skin, and she clips something solid. A hard blow snaps against her head. The floor tilts. Then nothing.
Light moves across Phila’s chest with the motion of the hull. Ankles are chained to an iron ring set into the boards. The hold smells of bilge water and damp rope. Across from her, the water carrier from her father’s house sits with knees pulled close, staring at her through bruised sockets. Phila follows the line of that stare; blood stiffened strands of hair hang before her, and she sees her own broken nails, and the torn edge of the sleeping gown discolored and clotted with grit and smear. The bodies are packed tight in the dripping hull, wedged among tables, busts, drapery, animals, grain, and other takings from the sack of the royal quarters. Two hens die on the third day. The goats go silent after the fifth. The vessel moves on through the days. Then Delos. Hands lift Phila from the vessel and pass her through a series of rooms that smell of cedar and bodies. Oil is rubbed through her hair. A robe is tied at the waist. A passage from Homer is placed before her. Phila reads. A lyre is brought. She plays. Voices move in and out of languages she recognizes only by their edges. A man steps out of the barking crowd, comes to the table, and casts a fistful of gold flat on the boards. The bidding stops at once.
“Melitta,” the mistress calls from the Roman house. The slave turns toward the voice. That done, duties continue. Grain is measured. Disputes between servants settled. The children learn to shape Greek without embarrassment. Evenings come. Days move. Then, on each market day, Melitta begins to play the lyre. On each market day, the household stops and listens.
Her excellence is not for them.
It is the one thing they cannot take.
