Episode 5 (485 B.C.):

It was perhaps the most important day in the lives of Demosthenes and Agatha, not only for their union before the gods and their families, but because something much greater and more important was unfolding. Not only were the two of them involved, but also the servants Zenodulos and Arsames. All of them were going to be part of the group destined to change the course of history.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves: we have reached a peak moment in the lives of our characters. Zenodulos had changed masters and the wedding was being celebrated in a lackluster way. While the servant was moving further and further away from the room where his fate had been sealed, the consequences of his new contract had not yet become evident.

The young servant walked down the long hallway of Acacius' house. From a window, he glimpsed the cheerful and festive procession that was moving away, with men, women, and slaves accompanying the bride to her new home.

The group moved further and further away, until they left behind the torches that illuminated the street. Acacius' house was occupied only by some of the slaves, carrying out their cleaning tasks.

Noticing the sudden solitude, Zenodulos walked with an uncertain step in his new home, trying to assimilate his new situation. It didn't take long for him to find one of his new servitude colleagues in the middle of the garden: an older man than Cleon was sweeping the floor with a broom that looked like it had seen better days... in the days of Heracles.

—Sir... is there anything I should do?

—Not really. The master already told me about you, the new one. Just wait in the men's slave room until Lord Acacius arrives.

—And where is that room?

—Go ask another slave, I'm busy— Replied the grumpy slave, not stopping to sweep the floor with great effort, as his broom wasn't helping much.

Without any clues, and giving up with that servant, Zenodulos preferred to keep walking around the house. That way, he might also take advantage of getting familiar with his new surroundings. The garden led to a hallway, then to an empty room, followed by another hallway, and there, at the end of the hallway, he found a familiar little silhouette.

—Kharma. You're here— Zenodulos said in surprise.

—Where else... could I be? — Responded the girl sarcastically, perhaps that's how she behaved when she was in a better mood.

—Isn't Agatha going to take you to your new home? —Zenodulos asked.

—No… she wanted, but… Master Acacius insisted that he needed me… here. And I... really don't have much more authority than she does

—I understand. Nevertheless, it's fine: I'm glad to work with someone I know.

—Maybe yes… maybe not… —responded his new colleague.

Then Zenodulos remembered why he was wandering around his new house.

—Hey. Do you know where the room for slaves is?

—Yes… let me take you there.

Then they left the hallway and headed to the backyard, a neglected and dusty space. The area contrasted with the excessively decorated, for the occasion, front garden.

There, stood an equally neglected building that was not connected to the rest of the house. Its brick blocks, full of dust and dirt, were exposed to the relentless sun, which had turned them a dull red color. The roof was nothing more than a few reeds placed to vaguely protect from the rain. Without a doubt, this was a slave dwelling.

Zenodulos and Kharma pushed aside the rudimentary wooden door without hinges to access the interior. The air was heavy with a stale and humid smell, and the floor was covered in a fine dust that rose as they walked. The walls were bare, and there were about four straw beds in a corner.

The few slaves in the room seemed tired and disheartened. They sat in silence, with their gaze lost. All older than him, noted Zenodulos.

Kharma, who was beside him, turned and walked away slowly.

But the newcomer stopped her, taking her hand.

—Wait —he said—. What's going on?

She turned towards her young colleague, but didn't say anything, not even dared to look at him.

The servant remembered what Arsames had said about the gaze of the slaves.

—Is Acacius good to you? —he asked—. Does he treat you well?

The girl remained silent, her eyes almost as dark as night fixed on the filthy floor.

The boy felt a shiver run down his back.

—And well? —he asked again.

Kharma nodded, her face not revealing anything.

—Farewell— murmured, and she ran away with her usual feline agility.

Zenodulos watched her go, unable to do anything to stop her. Then he turned to the other slaves, observing the new member with curiosity.

—How is Acacius as a master? —he asked, walking slowly towards the group.

A servant even older than the gardener, with a white, unkempt beard, looked at him with disdain.

—What do you Athenians know about cruelty? —he enunciated with bitter voice— In my time and in my land, the masters were crueler. My friend and I were helots, the slaves of the Spartans. We fled, but my friend was unlucky and died. That reminds me of...

Ignoring the old man's stories, a slave of about 20 years old, a thin, frightened-looking young man, spoke next.

—I've only been here for a few months —he said—. I don't know much about Acacius.

Something didn't sound sincere in his voice, but Zenodulos preferred to hear the verdict of the last slave before drawing conclusions. He was a dark-skinned man with black eyes.

—Oh… I don't… speak… very good Greek —he mumbled with difficulty—. Yes, he… good, asks me many things about my homeland.

The young servant concluded that perhaps Kharma and Arsames were exaggerating. Exhausted from the great work of serving at the wedding, he lay down on the dusty and uncomfortable floor, as there was not even a straw bed prepared for him, possibly because of the suddenness of his purchase.

The floor was as hard as a rock, and Zenodulos felt each stone digging into the bones of his back.

As he tried to get comfortable, the young slave remembered his fellow slaves from Cleon's house, his old master, the teacher; the spoiled young man who was getting married and for whom Zenodulos was on the floor of someone else's house; and finally, Agatha. His heart broke into a thousand pieces, and tears welled up in his eyes. The worst that could have happened had happened: Agatha would never accept his feelings and what's more, one of the people he hated most in the world was possibly touching every inch of her body and sharing her body heat with his wife's. This thought made Zenodulos nauseous, and stifling his sobs, he fell into a deep sleep.

But before he could dream anything, a voice woke him up.

—Zenodulos.

It was Acacius. His newly purchased slave turned slowly and opened his eyes to see him standing by his side, behind him was the straw beds occupied by the other slaves, sleeping.

—Has the banquet ended? —asked the servant.

—Yes, my daughter is already sleeping in her new home, I hope to hear news of a grandchild soon.

—I see. Is there anything you need from me?

—Yes, I want you to accompany me to my room.

A still half-asleep Zenodulos struggled to get up and followed his master through a few corridors, which now seemed blurry to his dazed mind. Before he realized it, they were already standing in front of the door that led to Acacius' room. A simple oak door welcomed him to a room that was somewhat disordered but much better cared for than the rest of the house.

The newcomer saw several papers and papyri on shelves, as well as a large quantity of Persian objects on display: ceramic vases, gold jewelry, bronze statuettes, colorful rugs, and other exotic ornaments adorned the room. The boy imagined they were mementos from his travels.

After marveling at a collection larger than that of the merchant Auxentius, the young slave had a question in his mind.

—And... For what do you need me?

—Undress —demanded Acacius without further ado.

Zenodulos didn't know how to react to such an order. He stood there with his mouth agape and his eyes as wide as plates, looking at the man in front of him with confusion.

—You already heard me, do it —Acacius demanded.

—I would rather know the reason first.

—By the gods, why are slaves so stupid? Have no one never been taught what sex is? —Acacius mocked— It is what my daughter and Cleon's son did just a few hours ago.

The servant's stomach churned at the thought of that situation, but he swallowed hard and tried to respond to his master. He didn't want to know where Acacius was leading with that conversation.

—Yes, but... I... —Zenodulos hesitated.

—Did you forget that you need your punishment? You fall in love with my dear daughter and ruined her wedding celebration. If you had been some old man, I probably would have given you a hundred lashes, but you're a young boy, you must be around fourteen years old, don't you? —A disagreeable grimace contorted his face as he explained. —Perhaps you don't know, but boys like you are a delicacy for the upper classes, and I think I understand them a little.

— I cannot allow you to do me that.

— And what do you plan to do? You are now my slave, and if you harm me, you can be severely punished. You cannot escape, not even with weapons to defend yourself. The only option you have is submission.

— I won't let you —defied a hesitant Zenodulos. Having sex with a man seemed unpleasant, and more so with him. There was something in his eyes that he had never shown, a mortal poison that seeped through his pores.

— I understand —responded the unpleasant man calmly.

Immediately, he approached slowly. Each step was like a grain of sand falling into a clock, counting serenely until the end of his innocence.

— In that case, I have no other option but to use force.

Acacius placed his hands on Zenodulos, his servant, his slave, his property. In that moment, something broke inside the young man. It was one of those moments when he could divide his existence into a before and an after.

When Acacius grew tired of the empty shell that Zenodulos had once been, he cast him into a room of his own, just as Zenodulos had once wished for at some point in his life, but not anymore. There, lying on the floor, he hugged himself and clung to the only feeling he had left: shame.

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But the punishment didn't end there. No one approached the room that served as his cell, they only brought him food once a day, and it was barely scraps. Acacius wanted him to be weak, so that he couldn't resist his whims.

Just when the impoverished boy was hoping that his situation would change somehow, he found himself caught in a terrible and stormy cycle. Although anyone could say that the first time was enough to atone for his sins, the suffering did not cease. Acacius would burst into his room with unpredictable frequency: sometimes twice a week, sometimes daily. He even went a month without appearing.

But those moments of quiet did not solve anything, the damage was already done. As time passed, the slave felt that his mind had broken so many times, that he could no longer be considered human anymore, just a toy for Acacius to do whatever he wanted with him. In the end, his feelings also faded, the days only passed quickly, except when he became the object of his master again. There, everything happened as slowly and painfully as possible, more than could be borne. It was so horrible that it seemed like a punishment imposed by the gods.

Zenodulos thought that perhaps the cycle he had complained so much about before wasn't so bad. He longed for Callisto's classes, the stories of Auxentius' travels, Cleon's teachings and patience. If he could go back to those days, he would do it without hesitation, even with Demosthenes there.

He also missed Agatha, though he would have preferred never to have met her than to suffer this fate.

But let's stop the self-victimization for a moment. Once, while the young slave was still cursing his fate, his master visited him after a trip.

—How long, my dear eromenos —said Acacius in a mocking tone. His very presence made his slave feel nauseous.

Seeing that his slave only looked at him with anger, from the floor where he was lying, Acacius let out a laugh. Zenodulos could no longer walk without help because of how weak he was, and to make sure he didn't escape, his master had carefully stabbed both of his legs so that they wouldn't get infected.

— I'm not here to play with you today— Acacius finally said.— I want you to see something interesting I brought from Ionia.

Zenodulos didn't believe him, but he had no choice but to follow him, he couldn't even move, so Acacius carried him on his back to his messy room. On a table, covered by a cloth, was an object the size of a glass. Acacius sat his eromenos on a chair next to the table.

—Cleon told me you were a smart boy, even smarter than his own son, is that true? —he asked.

—Where are you going with this? —the weakened young man replied.

— Well, you're quite the talker today, when we're alone you only say 'no' and 'stop'. Before you start crying

—Is that why you called me?

— Of course not, you damned slave. I called you to see this— Acacius said as he approached the mysterious object and removed the cloth covering it, revealing a stone with the engraved image of a monstrous being. Its pupils were sharp like a snake's and its long tongue protruded from its fang-filled jaws, twisted into a wide, wicked smile. The circle motifs surrounding the beast and the type of drawing reminded Zenodulos of the vases and fabrics that Auxentius sold.

—It's from Persia...

— That's right, I got it on my trip. Which, by the way, was quite complicated. Thanks to the fact that the Persians don't trust us Athenians, you know why, don't you? — Acacius continued.

The servant preferred not to respond.

—Foolish boy. The rebellion of the Ionian poleis and the Battle of Marathon, don't those sound familiar?

Zenodulos remained silent.

— Well, maybe you're not as intelligent as Cleon said, but that doesn't matter... What matters is that I was able to travel by pretending to be from Thebes. But that's beside the point, the important thing is this stone, do you know who is carved on it?—asked Acacius with curiosity.

— I don't know, is it really important for me to know? — The malnourished young man replied indifferently.

— Oh, it is, my dear lover. This is Angra Mainyu, according to them, one of the many destructive spirits and enemies of their god, Ahura Mazda. But in reality, he is only one.

The master continued speaking with enthusiasm, without waiting for any response from his slave.

— And perhaps for you this is just a simple inscription, the only thing that seems strange is the choice of an evil spirit instead of a god or a king. The truth is that this stone was given to me by a follower of the spirit of lies: another Greek like me, who lived away from society; surely people avoided him. After all, it was frowned upon to worship him, especially since he was an enemy of the creator god. But it doesn't end there.

Acacius paused for Zenodulos to speak, but the boy chose not to respond.

— Have you stopped being rebellious yet? Because now comes the most interesting part: this stone is used to summon the master of falsehood

Zenodulos looked at his master as if he were seeing a madman. Summoning the spirit of evil and lies?

Acacius took the stone with care and continued speaking, while observing it, hypnotized.

— I didn't believe it either. When I was about to leave his house, the man insisted that what he said was true, so he invited me to his basement. With this stone in his hand, we went down the stairs and found a terrible scene. Twenty people were chained to the walls, with eyes full of terror. The man took out a knife and killed three of them, pouring their fresh blood onto the stone. Then, something incredible happened. Angra Mainyu appeared before us, enveloped in a reddish smoke. I couldn't see him clearly, but I could make out his figure: he was a tall, thin being, with long, sharp fingers like a lion's claws and his eyes glowed with an ominous blood-red gleam, as if Ares’ planet had duplicated.

—Y... you're mad —exclaimed Zenodulos with horror.

— All geniuses have been called crazy at some point— the man whispered—. In the future, people will know me as the oracle of the great spirit of fallacies.

Next, he pulled a small knife from the folds of his clothing and aimed it at Zenodulos. The boy's heart pounded and he tried to get up from the chair, but he only managed to knock it over and fall to the floor. Then, he tried to crawl towards the exit, a futile act, but his instincts were working over reason.

His master walked slowly towards his frightened slave, turned him over holding him by a shoulder and, with a terrible grimace of laughter and sadistic pleasure, put away the knife and walked away from the young man as patiently as he had approached.

—It is still too early to believe that by sacrificing you I will be able to speak with the spirit— Said that man calmly. —I must further investigate the texts of Zoroaster and visit Ionia again.

Then, he turned to Zenodulos, a smile still on his face.

—I wouldn't want to get rid of my dear lover so soon.

Without touching him this time, Acacius took the slave back to his prison and closed the door behind him, without saying anything more.

The months passed slowly, and Zenodulos was forced to face his terrifying thoughts in solitude. Without a doubt, his master had gone on a trip again to another city, but he no longer remembered which one nor did care.

The boy, convinced that the gods had condemned him to suffer, and now the clock that counted down to the end of his days was accelerating with Acacius' plan, could not take it anymore. He would rather die than continue living under his master's desires. So he would simply not eat, and so he would die of starvation. Better to leave that way than sacrificed like an animal.

The time for dinner was approaching, and it was time for the young man to put his plan into action. Someone's footsteps alerted him that they were slowly approaching the door of his room, becoming increasingly audible. Zenodulos, weak and lying on the floor of his filthy room, watched as the door swung open wide, letting light into the room. The young man made an effort to see who his visitor was. To his surprise, it was a different face.

—Kharma... — He whispered.

—Zenodulos... I'm so sorry I haven't visited you before— she apologized, clearly regretful. —Master Acacius... he wouldn't let me near you.

—It's okay, at least I got to see you one last time.

—What do you mean? Are they going to set you free? —The girl asked, with a glimmer of hope in her eye.

—No, that would be too good to be true— Confessed Zenodulos bitterly—I've decided to stop eating. That way, I'll stop being Acacius's plaything, and if the gods want to continue my punishment in Hades, I hope it's something better than this.

—Don't do it, Zenodulos... You must never lose hope.

—Hope? That word is only for those who haven't had to suffer like me, for those who are smiled upon by the gods. But I am a sinner. I didn't know my crime was so serious, but...

—Enough— the girl interrupted him. —Don't keep thinking that way.

—Open your eyes, Kharma— the boy said, with clear discontent in his words —No one is going to save me. Demosthenes hates me, while Master Cleon, Agatha, and the others think I'm fine in this place. Agatha even came here a couple of times, but her father forbade her to see me because he said I was sick.

—Even so, I ask you to have some faith, as long as you're alive...

Zenodulos interrupted her, gently raising his bony hand.

—As long as I am alive, I will only experience suffering— He said. —Do you know what Acacius said? That he wants to sacrifice me to a Persian monster, and no one is going to do anything to save me. I can't even talk to the other slaves, because they just ignore me out of fear or apathy.

—I didn't know that...

—Now you know, just let me die in peace.

—Listen to me, Zenodulos— Kharma said in a stronger and more determined voice than usual. —I didn't want to say this, but I've suffered almost as much as you have.

—You? — The servant asked, perplexed. —Did Acacius...?

Kharma paused and took a deep breath before continuing.

—Yes, he bought me exclusively so that I could be his prostitute, a replacement for his wife— she replied, her voice no longer a soft whisper. —Did you know that she didn't die of natural causes? He told me once when he was drunk: his wife committed suicide because he treated her the same way he treats us.

Zenodulos was speechless, he had no idea how to respond to that.

—The only reason he didn't take advantage of his daughter is because he wanted to gain the trust of some good family, that way no one would suspect him— Kharma continued. —so she had to be an exemplary and virgin girl so that someone like your former master would notice her.

— I... I hadn't imagined it—the boy whispered in horror; it was all he could say in response to such a story.

The girl sighed.

— You think you know everything, don't you? Well, he treated me worse than you —she said, anger taking hold of every word she uttered—An ugly girl like me doesn't need to maintain her beauty. So he gave me several scars, beat me in different ways, and this eye... it was he who took it from me, because I bit him once. Maybe they're going to sacrifice you, but even that's better than what this empty eye has witnessed.

The girl pushed her dandruff-ridden hair away from her face and, where an eye should have been, there was an empty socket, surrounded by a scar.

— Enough! — Shouted Zenodulos. — I'm sorry, I didn't know your life was worse than mine.

Kharma lowered her head, ashamed.

— It's okay... sorry for yelling—she whispered, her natural way of speaking returning.

— All that pain, it was nothing compared to yours, and I just ignored it... tell me, how can you have hope after all that?

The girl smiled at him, it was the first time Zenodulos had seen her smile.

— It was thanks to Agatha... she and I are almost the same age, so... she wanted to be my friend when I arrived.

— Did she know what you were going through?

Kharma shook her head.

— No, I wanted to tell her several times, but... I didn't want to be the one to take away her happiness... her world, built on lies.

— So talking to her was enough for you to have hope?

— Yes, she talked to me about so many things... theater, music, distant lands... she's a very intelligent girl, and when I saw that smile on her face, I... I couldn't let suicide cross my mind... I didn't want to stop seeing her, but now...—her voice broke.

— Acacius forced you to stay here, so he still...? —Asked Zenodulos, he didn't know what to do in these cases, so he just kept talking.

— No, I'm sorry to say... but your arrival made him forget about me.

— It doesn't matter, at least my presence here does some good. —The boy said with a forced smile.

Kharma smiled back at him, but her eye was full of sadness.

— Even so, I would like to be with her...—her voice broke again.

The conversation with Kharma gave him hope. Seeing how she refused to die after all she had suffered made him realize that he couldn't let his master or the gods decide his fate. After all, even the most powerful Olympians had laws they had to obey.

Remembering the lessons of his teacher Callisto and everything everyone had taught him, Zenodulos began to formulate an escape plan. With the help of the little slave girl, they might have a chance. The impoverished young man recalled a conversation he had had with Cleon about the laws of Athens. An idea came to him, risky and difficult to execute, but the only one with guaranteed success.

Zenodulos turned to the young slave girl, who was still looking at the ground, tears streaming from her eye and the empty space where another had been.

— Could you bring me some food, a roll of papyrus, and a writing object?—he asked with determination.

Kharma nodded, surprised by the sudden request.

— Yes, with some difficulty I can. What do you plan to do?—she asked, intrigued.

—I'm going to get us out of here.

The girl stared at him, speechless. But after a moment of hesitation, she shook her doubts out of her head and, heeding Zenodulos' words, quickly left the room, closing the door behind her.

In the minutes he spent in his confinement, Zenodulos no longer felt like dying. Like Pandora's jar, now there was only one thing inside him: hope.

A few minutes passed before the door, which had always seemed sinister to the boy, opened slowly. The young slave girl entered with a worn and yellowed roll of papyrus, a piece of charcoal, and a loaf of dry, hard bread.

Zenodulos, with the little strength he had left, took a bite of the loaf. The burnt wheat flavor of the bread was the best he had tasted in a long time.

—It's good, —He said, with tears in his eyes.

—It's just bread —Kharma replied.

— After eating only garbage, this seems delicious to me.

Unfortunately, the bread was gone in just one bite.

In the same way, Zenodulos felt rejuvenated. He knelt on the ground, and with the charcoal in his right hand and the papyrus in his left, he began to write as quickly and energetically as his bony hands allowed him.

— Who are you going to send it to? — Asked the curious girl, watching him write.

— To the three people I trust the most — replied Zenodulos, without looking up. — One is Auxentius, a merchant who has helped me buy food for my masters and has taught me a lot about the world outside the city; another is my former master: Cleon; and the last is Callisto, a very intelligent... courtesan who has taught me many things, from philosophy to mathematics.

Finishing writing one of the papyri, he put it aside and quickly took another.

— Callisto is the one who gave you lessons at the bar —Kharma said. — How does she know so much?

— I don't think you're old enough to know — replied Zenodulos, with a smile.

Kharma frowned.

—She sleep with men in exchange for knowledge, doesn't she? — she asked, without a trace of shame in her voice.

Zenodulos remained silent.

— Yes... — he finally admitted.

The air grew so thick that even the god of war would have trouble cutting through it. Finally, Zenodulos, aware of the awkwardness of the situation, decided to change the subject.

— Anyway, here are the three papyri — he said, handing the scrolls to Kharma. — Auxentius is at a vase shop in the agora, near where they sell fish, and I think you know where Cleon lives.

Kharma nodded and carefully took the pieces of paper and hugged them to her chest.

—Callisto sleeps at the tavern where you scared me the first time we met. — The boy added.

Kharma blushed.

— It's not like it was... on purpose.

Zenodulos couldn't help but laugh.

— I know, it's a joke — he said.

—Hm, a joke... Anyway, I'll take these papyri for you.

—You have no idea how much you've brightened my life with your help.

The girl was surprised and then smiled back.

—You're welcome, you just reminded me of what... Agatha used to tell me —she replied—. Now we are going to change our future with our own hands.

With that, Kharma stood up quickly and ran towards the exit, carefully closing the door behind her. She didn't want Acacius to find out about her visit.

In that squalid room, Zenodulos was sitting on the floor, his legs injured and his gaze lost. He had tried to stand up, but couldn't.

— I'm a mess —He whispered, looking at his bony hands. His situation was undoubtedly desperate, but it was no longer time for self-pity.