The ship shuddered as it jarred against something hard. Then the vessel dipped as someone climbed ashore. She heard the merchant instructing his son to unload the stock. Her pulse quickened. Any moment now.
The tarpaulin shivered. Then it was peeled away, and she rushed to push upward, her elbows sinking into cheese as she pulled herself onto the side of the ship. The merchant’s boy stared at her like she was a creature from the deep. Her legs screamed in protest, but she seized the moment and sprang. The boy lurched out of her way and toppled into the sea as she leaped from the boat, onto the jetty. For a heart-stopping moment she thought her legs would give way, then she stumbled forward, sprinting as fast as her tingling body would allow.
“Stop!” The merchant wheeled around. “Stowaway! Stop her!”
The harbor was vast, at least five times the size of Naxos Port. She barely had time to take it in as ships blurred past her. The vessels on either side of the wide jetty were so tall, it felt as though she were running down an avenue of giant, leafless trees. The great painted hulls were punctuated with three layers of oar holes, like hundreds of eyes, watching as she whipped past.
She dodged around merchants unloading their wares, skirting crates of silks and barrels of olives, amphorae of scented oils and packs of smoked meats. The ships and their merchants all brought with them the scent of their homes, and the air was so overladen with different aromas she could barely smell the sea.
People, so many people, talking, shouting, more people than she’d ever seen in her life.
A dash of blue caught her eye. She glanced to the left and saw a fleet of warships gliding into the harbor. They were magnificent—enough to momentarily arrest the fear pumping through her limbs. They moved as one, their prows curved like swan necks, and their uniform cerulean sails were emblazoned with the royal crest of Athens, the twelve-pointed sun. Thanks to those visits from Philemon she knew a great deal about the city she’d never seen.
She tore her eyes from the ships a moment too late, and crashed headlong into someone standing at the entrance to the jetty.
“Watch it,” the man growled and wrinkled his nose at the lingering smell of cheese.
“Guard, stop her!”
Danae glanced back and saw the puce-faced merchant pursuing her down the gangway. She tried to lunge past the guard, but he was quicker and grabbed her by the arm. The harder she struggled, the tighter his grip became.
The merchant finally caught up to them and slumped against a pile of crates, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“That girl,” he panted, “is a stowaway. And she’s ruined half my stock!”
The guard looked down at Danae as though she were a mosquito that had just bitten him.
“I see. You’d best follow me.”
The merchant drew himself up. “I hope this won’t take long. I should be in Athens already.”
“Aren’t we in Athens now?” asked Danae.
Both men laughed.
“She’s soft, this one.” The guard continued slowly, “This is Port Phalerum. Athens is six leagues that way.” He pointed east. “Not that you’ll be going anywhere near it.”
She twisted, trying to squirm out of his grip, but the guard was as strong as a bull. He yanked her arm up behind her back, and pain spiked through her shoulder.
“Where are you taking me?” she gasped.
The guard pulled her away without an answer.
In front of the jetty was a bustling road. Carts and riders on horseback hurtled past in both directions. The guard dragged Danae with him, holding up a large hand to halt the traffic as they crossed the road. She looked around wildly, searching for someone, anyone who might help her. But the passers-by averted their eyes, as though it was a common sight to see a young woman being hauled through the street.
Once they reached the other side, she was marched up the steps of a long stone building topped by terracotta tiles. Sun-bleached pillars ran along its open front in an orderly crescent, and long tables littered with scrolls and ledgers nestled behind the columns.
The guard pushed past a queue that stretched up the steps. Ignoring the disgruntled mutterings, he shoved Danae in front of a clerk, who peered at her over a precarious stack of licenses. The man was thin and almost completely bald. He reminded her of a walnut.
“Graeculus, we’ve got a stowaway.”
The clerk shifted ever so slightly to glance at the growing line behind them. “I see.” His voice was as dry as his skin.
The merchant stepped forward, said the sacred greeting, then declared, “I am Memnos, a purveyor of fine cheeses from Naxos. This girl stole aboard on my ship and ruined my stock. I seek reparation.”
Graeculus sighed, returned the greeting and surveyed Danae wearily.
“It seems you owe this man for passage aboard his vessel and the cost of the stock you damaged. How will you pay?”
