The Cyprian Boy

Athens, The Agora 496 BC

I was standing in the central market waiting for Draces to make his decision so we could go and have some dried fish and figs at my house. He was dithering at the goldsmith’s stall trying to decide what to buy his wife, who had that morning demanded a gift of necklace as payback for some imagined insult. Phyllis was a vixen with a foul temper. Ever since their wedding Draces had been jumpy as a cricket on a field of hot embers.

Draces was sucking in his cheeks, rolling his obols worriedly with his tongue and scratching his unkempt hair. The goldsmith was yawning and scraping dirt from out of his fingernails with a thin wire. That’s when I saw the boy.

He was floating gracefully between a couple of elderly donkeys and a pancake stall. You’d think Polyanax had chiselled him out of marble, but his hair and skin appeared glowing, smooth and soft. He moved like a long-legged fawn. Just the sight of him made me lick my lips.

As I stood there gawking he realised he was being watched because he raised his head, cast me a wary look, and smiled a little. I smiled back, fascinated by the way his cheeks spread with a rose-petal blush. He turned and took a graceful couple of steps before looking back at me, which is when I noticed his intensely blue irises. I had to stop myself from floating after him.

"Lunch is off Draces," I said.
"Mmmm?" Draces had forgotten I was there even. "Oh! Wait. I’ll be quick. I found something. This. No…this." He clutched desperately at a couple of necklaces.
"Say hello to your father from me." I kissed him abruptly and left in pursuit of the boy. He had only disappeared two seconds, but already I was anxious to catch up with him and smuggle him back to my place, keeping him out of every other wealthy citizen's sight. Weaving past the stalls of ceramics, fruits, slaves and spices, I finally caught up to him where he leaned on a rock to remove a pebble from his sandals. As he bent down his tunic lifted at the back to reveal the backs of his thighs, covered with a down of fine blonde hairs.
He heard my feet and straightened up.
"Your sandal has come unstrapped," I said. "Here, let me tie it."
The boy looked quizzically down at me as I leaned to fiddle with the leather. I became almost dizzy at the fragrance of his sweat mixed with a perfume of something like lilies. My fingers lingered achingly on the curve of his anklebone.
"Thank you," he sounded foreign.
"Where are you from?"
"Cyprus."
"Cyprus? Any relation to Aphrodite?"
"Of course; son-in-law. Where are you from?"