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Once swallowed by the bodies and protective shields of the crowds in the streets, Hannah's heart began to calm, yet her footsteps did not falter.
Obeying the instructions given by the Elder, Hannah was set upon leading the Egyptian man towards the harbour and coastline, in an effort to find and open patch of shore where he might be able to clean himself of the blood the Chosen People believed to be so heinous. Yet, the man had not stated how quickly she was set to do so, nor upon what path, and Hannah was quick to seek out the best option for all involved.
With quick glances over her shoulder, her mitzpahath still shielding her face from view barring her eyes, Hannah glanced behind her enough to assure herself that the foreigner wandered in her tread - however quickly she enacted that tread to occur.
For she was moving at a rapid pace.
The sandals upon her feet slapped against the ground muted only by the fact that she herself was a small being and light in weight. Her short legs moved at a hurried pace beneath the layers of Jewish clothes and her thighs warming in an aching heat as she spurred herself forward at a speeding walk that sent Hebrews stepping back from her path enough to allow the Egyptian to pass by after.
Hannah kept her head bent, her face directed towards the floor, terrified that she might be noticed, recognised and reported to the authorities who might not listen long enough for her to assure them that her escorting of an Egyptian had been sanctified by a member of their leading Council.
Especially if that authority was Grecian and held no value for the Judean Elders.
Hannah felt the far side of her left-hand ache. She thought she felt her missing fingers curl into her palm, as if to shrink away from danger they had already suffered. Her wrist became rigid and her arm stiff, her protective instincts drawing the whole arm in and towards her chest. Her secondary desire was to place her right hand upon her abdomen; a protective gesture that was instinctive when remembering times gone by - when remembering the terror of that time. The pain and the sorrow.
But it had been six years now. And whilst she could not stop the phantom pain in her incomplete hand, she could certainly save herself the heartbreak of once more cradling an empty womb.
Hannah drew in a steadying breath as she walked, deliberately taking a longer path around the Grecian settlement before turning around the walls of their quarter encampments and heading for the northern coast. Originally, she had thought to go through the Grecian area... but now that a Captain had become involved - a hostile one at that - and had seen the horror and carnage that he might associate with her... she was not brave enough to step amongst the commanding officers who were a part of taking her fingers and sentencing her husband to die on the waves as an oarsman in a galley ship.
Whilst it was normally a twenty minute walk around such an area and down the rocky and uneven terrain that would lead the beach below, Hannah accomplished the walk in half the time, their pace never allowing for conversation or even the means for the foreigner to keep up and walk at her side. Instead, for whatever reason - her speed or his propriety - he kept back. And it was only as Hannah carefully negotiated her way across the coast that was more rock than sand, heading towards the tides that she slowed her pace. Her feet hurt and her thighs burned, but they were here. And she could be rid of this whole experience.
"You can wash yourself here." She told the man in Hebrew, having no idea that the Egyptian would speak her native tongue. Her words were a little muffled by her shawl, now pressing into her face with the oceanic breeze. Her robes were tugged in different directions, flapping against her legs. "Do not go back to that street when you are done." She told him, clearly keeping her distance from him and turning as if to abandon him on the sands and head back to her master at all speed...
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Once swallowed by the bodies and protective shields of the crowds in the streets, Hannah's heart began to calm, yet her footsteps did not falter.
Obeying the instructions given by the Elder, Hannah was set upon leading the Egyptian man towards the harbour and coastline, in an effort to find and open patch of shore where he might be able to clean himself of the blood the Chosen People believed to be so heinous. Yet, the man had not stated how quickly she was set to do so, nor upon what path, and Hannah was quick to seek out the best option for all involved.
With quick glances over her shoulder, her mitzpahath still shielding her face from view barring her eyes, Hannah glanced behind her enough to assure herself that the foreigner wandered in her tread - however quickly she enacted that tread to occur.
For she was moving at a rapid pace.
The sandals upon her feet slapped against the ground muted only by the fact that she herself was a small being and light in weight. Her short legs moved at a hurried pace beneath the layers of Jewish clothes and her thighs warming in an aching heat as she spurred herself forward at a speeding walk that sent Hebrews stepping back from her path enough to allow the Egyptian to pass by after.
Hannah kept her head bent, her face directed towards the floor, terrified that she might be noticed, recognised and reported to the authorities who might not listen long enough for her to assure them that her escorting of an Egyptian had been sanctified by a member of their leading Council.
Especially if that authority was Grecian and held no value for the Judean Elders.
Hannah felt the far side of her left-hand ache. She thought she felt her missing fingers curl into her palm, as if to shrink away from danger they had already suffered. Her wrist became rigid and her arm stiff, her protective instincts drawing the whole arm in and towards her chest. Her secondary desire was to place her right hand upon her abdomen; a protective gesture that was instinctive when remembering times gone by - when remembering the terror of that time. The pain and the sorrow.
But it had been six years now. And whilst she could not stop the phantom pain in her incomplete hand, she could certainly save herself the heartbreak of once more cradling an empty womb.
Hannah drew in a steadying breath as she walked, deliberately taking a longer path around the Grecian settlement before turning around the walls of their quarter encampments and heading for the northern coast. Originally, she had thought to go through the Grecian area... but now that a Captain had become involved - a hostile one at that - and had seen the horror and carnage that he might associate with her... she was not brave enough to step amongst the commanding officers who were a part of taking her fingers and sentencing her husband to die on the waves as an oarsman in a galley ship.
Whilst it was normally a twenty minute walk around such an area and down the rocky and uneven terrain that would lead the beach below, Hannah accomplished the walk in half the time, their pace never allowing for conversation or even the means for the foreigner to keep up and walk at her side. Instead, for whatever reason - her speed or his propriety - he kept back. And it was only as Hannah carefully negotiated her way across the coast that was more rock than sand, heading towards the tides that she slowed her pace. Her feet hurt and her thighs burned, but they were here. And she could be rid of this whole experience.
"You can wash yourself here." She told the man in Hebrew, having no idea that the Egyptian would speak her native tongue. Her words were a little muffled by her shawl, now pressing into her face with the oceanic breeze. Her robes were tugged in different directions, flapping against her legs. "Do not go back to that street when you are done." She told him, clearly keeping her distance from him and turning as if to abandon him on the sands and head back to her master at all speed...
Once swallowed by the bodies and protective shields of the crowds in the streets, Hannah's heart began to calm, yet her footsteps did not falter.
Obeying the instructions given by the Elder, Hannah was set upon leading the Egyptian man towards the harbour and coastline, in an effort to find and open patch of shore where he might be able to clean himself of the blood the Chosen People believed to be so heinous. Yet, the man had not stated how quickly she was set to do so, nor upon what path, and Hannah was quick to seek out the best option for all involved.
With quick glances over her shoulder, her mitzpahath still shielding her face from view barring her eyes, Hannah glanced behind her enough to assure herself that the foreigner wandered in her tread - however quickly she enacted that tread to occur.
For she was moving at a rapid pace.
The sandals upon her feet slapped against the ground muted only by the fact that she herself was a small being and light in weight. Her short legs moved at a hurried pace beneath the layers of Jewish clothes and her thighs warming in an aching heat as she spurred herself forward at a speeding walk that sent Hebrews stepping back from her path enough to allow the Egyptian to pass by after.
Hannah kept her head bent, her face directed towards the floor, terrified that she might be noticed, recognised and reported to the authorities who might not listen long enough for her to assure them that her escorting of an Egyptian had been sanctified by a member of their leading Council.
Especially if that authority was Grecian and held no value for the Judean Elders.
Hannah felt the far side of her left-hand ache. She thought she felt her missing fingers curl into her palm, as if to shrink away from danger they had already suffered. Her wrist became rigid and her arm stiff, her protective instincts drawing the whole arm in and towards her chest. Her secondary desire was to place her right hand upon her abdomen; a protective gesture that was instinctive when remembering times gone by - when remembering the terror of that time. The pain and the sorrow.
But it had been six years now. And whilst she could not stop the phantom pain in her incomplete hand, she could certainly save herself the heartbreak of once more cradling an empty womb.
Hannah drew in a steadying breath as she walked, deliberately taking a longer path around the Grecian settlement before turning around the walls of their quarter encampments and heading for the northern coast. Originally, she had thought to go through the Grecian area... but now that a Captain had become involved - a hostile one at that - and had seen the horror and carnage that he might associate with her... she was not brave enough to step amongst the commanding officers who were a part of taking her fingers and sentencing her husband to die on the waves as an oarsman in a galley ship.
Whilst it was normally a twenty minute walk around such an area and down the rocky and uneven terrain that would lead the beach below, Hannah accomplished the walk in half the time, their pace never allowing for conversation or even the means for the foreigner to keep up and walk at her side. Instead, for whatever reason - her speed or his propriety - he kept back. And it was only as Hannah carefully negotiated her way across the coast that was more rock than sand, heading towards the tides that she slowed her pace. Her feet hurt and her thighs burned, but they were here. And she could be rid of this whole experience.
"You can wash yourself here." She told the man in Hebrew, having no idea that the Egyptian would speak her native tongue. Her words were a little muffled by her shawl, now pressing into her face with the oceanic breeze. Her robes were tugged in different directions, flapping against her legs. "Do not go back to that street when you are done." She told him, clearly keeping her distance from him and turning as if to abandon him on the sands and head back to her master at all speed...
Relieved to leave the scene behind them, Zoser did as instructed and followed the slave through the streets, careful to keep his hands and forearms cross over his torso discreetly, folding them to keep the worst of the remaining bloodstains from sight - and more importantly from accidentally brushing against anyone else in the streets of Israel.
While he may not have understood the distinct significance of whatever sin the blood may carry with it, Zoser was not keen on causing any more of a scene than he had already been involved in. After all, while he was not here on 'official' business for the Egyptian crown, he was still representing his status as a scholar - a trait that in many ways carried more weight in his mind than his position among the Egyptian courtiers. After all, he had been a scholar nearly three times as long as he had been an advisor.
Zoser mad a point to keep to himself and not make eyecontact with any of the others, whose prying eyes bore down on his skin and height and every aspect of difference about him. Zoser could not help but wonder if in Damascus there would be a bit more diversity among the scholars - perhaps some from Greece or Rome or even as far as Persia, where it is said that many wise men counsel and guide the people. The longer the Judean eyes lingered on him with hushed whispers that he could barely decipher, the more uncertain he became about this venture.
With each step, he reminded himself of the true reason for this: connections to help assist the project in Alexandria - his University and Library. This visit to the University of Damascus could not have been more perfectly timed, as the main buildings and infrastructure in Alexandria were a few short weeks away from completion, with the transfer of the Archives in Cairo set to take place in a few months time. Collections and connections with other Universities, including those in Athenia, Taengea, and Judea, were soon to take place.
That was, of course, if this current fiasco did not land him incarcerated or exiled before he even set out for Damascus. There was no telling.
Finally, as the crowds thinned, he found it easier to follow the slave woman, noting how she only ever so occasionally glanced back to ensure he followed, catching a glimpse of her distinctly non-Judean eyes.
Zoser found himself curious, despite the fact that involving himself in matters that were off the course he needed to stay upon had not helped him one bit. Still, curious as a cat, he could not help his ponderings.
They reached the coastline and he squatted down to the water's edge, scooping some up in his palm and attempting to rinse the blood from his hands. By now, it had dried, leaving disgusting patches of flaking residue behind.
"Thank you," he returned in Hebrew, as he dug his hand deeper to grab a small fistful of wet sand and began to scrub it vigorously against his skin. He glanced at her out of the periphery of his vision, seeing her desire to leave him behind. After all, had he not caused enough trouble for her?
Sighing, he dropped the remaining bit of sand from his hand before scooping up another fistful, not initially looking to her as he spoke, slipping into pristine, unaccented Greek, "For what it's worth, I apologize for the trouble. I just wanted to help but I should have known better than to meddle in the first place. Judea is...nothing like I imagined and I have only been here a few hours."
He paused a moment before glancing back to her, gauging her reaction. Yes, she was a slave, but he had caused her to be dragged into an awful lot of grief.
Zoser dipped his forearms into the water, trying to wash away the worst of the sand to see his handiwork, still noting a few stubborn bloodstains that lingered in the hair of his forearm.
"What's your name?"
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Relieved to leave the scene behind them, Zoser did as instructed and followed the slave through the streets, careful to keep his hands and forearms cross over his torso discreetly, folding them to keep the worst of the remaining bloodstains from sight - and more importantly from accidentally brushing against anyone else in the streets of Israel.
While he may not have understood the distinct significance of whatever sin the blood may carry with it, Zoser was not keen on causing any more of a scene than he had already been involved in. After all, while he was not here on 'official' business for the Egyptian crown, he was still representing his status as a scholar - a trait that in many ways carried more weight in his mind than his position among the Egyptian courtiers. After all, he had been a scholar nearly three times as long as he had been an advisor.
Zoser mad a point to keep to himself and not make eyecontact with any of the others, whose prying eyes bore down on his skin and height and every aspect of difference about him. Zoser could not help but wonder if in Damascus there would be a bit more diversity among the scholars - perhaps some from Greece or Rome or even as far as Persia, where it is said that many wise men counsel and guide the people. The longer the Judean eyes lingered on him with hushed whispers that he could barely decipher, the more uncertain he became about this venture.
With each step, he reminded himself of the true reason for this: connections to help assist the project in Alexandria - his University and Library. This visit to the University of Damascus could not have been more perfectly timed, as the main buildings and infrastructure in Alexandria were a few short weeks away from completion, with the transfer of the Archives in Cairo set to take place in a few months time. Collections and connections with other Universities, including those in Athenia, Taengea, and Judea, were soon to take place.
That was, of course, if this current fiasco did not land him incarcerated or exiled before he even set out for Damascus. There was no telling.
Finally, as the crowds thinned, he found it easier to follow the slave woman, noting how she only ever so occasionally glanced back to ensure he followed, catching a glimpse of her distinctly non-Judean eyes.
Zoser found himself curious, despite the fact that involving himself in matters that were off the course he needed to stay upon had not helped him one bit. Still, curious as a cat, he could not help his ponderings.
They reached the coastline and he squatted down to the water's edge, scooping some up in his palm and attempting to rinse the blood from his hands. By now, it had dried, leaving disgusting patches of flaking residue behind.
"Thank you," he returned in Hebrew, as he dug his hand deeper to grab a small fistful of wet sand and began to scrub it vigorously against his skin. He glanced at her out of the periphery of his vision, seeing her desire to leave him behind. After all, had he not caused enough trouble for her?
Sighing, he dropped the remaining bit of sand from his hand before scooping up another fistful, not initially looking to her as he spoke, slipping into pristine, unaccented Greek, "For what it's worth, I apologize for the trouble. I just wanted to help but I should have known better than to meddle in the first place. Judea is...nothing like I imagined and I have only been here a few hours."
He paused a moment before glancing back to her, gauging her reaction. Yes, she was a slave, but he had caused her to be dragged into an awful lot of grief.
Zoser dipped his forearms into the water, trying to wash away the worst of the sand to see his handiwork, still noting a few stubborn bloodstains that lingered in the hair of his forearm.
"What's your name?"
Relieved to leave the scene behind them, Zoser did as instructed and followed the slave through the streets, careful to keep his hands and forearms cross over his torso discreetly, folding them to keep the worst of the remaining bloodstains from sight - and more importantly from accidentally brushing against anyone else in the streets of Israel.
While he may not have understood the distinct significance of whatever sin the blood may carry with it, Zoser was not keen on causing any more of a scene than he had already been involved in. After all, while he was not here on 'official' business for the Egyptian crown, he was still representing his status as a scholar - a trait that in many ways carried more weight in his mind than his position among the Egyptian courtiers. After all, he had been a scholar nearly three times as long as he had been an advisor.
Zoser mad a point to keep to himself and not make eyecontact with any of the others, whose prying eyes bore down on his skin and height and every aspect of difference about him. Zoser could not help but wonder if in Damascus there would be a bit more diversity among the scholars - perhaps some from Greece or Rome or even as far as Persia, where it is said that many wise men counsel and guide the people. The longer the Judean eyes lingered on him with hushed whispers that he could barely decipher, the more uncertain he became about this venture.
With each step, he reminded himself of the true reason for this: connections to help assist the project in Alexandria - his University and Library. This visit to the University of Damascus could not have been more perfectly timed, as the main buildings and infrastructure in Alexandria were a few short weeks away from completion, with the transfer of the Archives in Cairo set to take place in a few months time. Collections and connections with other Universities, including those in Athenia, Taengea, and Judea, were soon to take place.
That was, of course, if this current fiasco did not land him incarcerated or exiled before he even set out for Damascus. There was no telling.
Finally, as the crowds thinned, he found it easier to follow the slave woman, noting how she only ever so occasionally glanced back to ensure he followed, catching a glimpse of her distinctly non-Judean eyes.
Zoser found himself curious, despite the fact that involving himself in matters that were off the course he needed to stay upon had not helped him one bit. Still, curious as a cat, he could not help his ponderings.
They reached the coastline and he squatted down to the water's edge, scooping some up in his palm and attempting to rinse the blood from his hands. By now, it had dried, leaving disgusting patches of flaking residue behind.
"Thank you," he returned in Hebrew, as he dug his hand deeper to grab a small fistful of wet sand and began to scrub it vigorously against his skin. He glanced at her out of the periphery of his vision, seeing her desire to leave him behind. After all, had he not caused enough trouble for her?
Sighing, he dropped the remaining bit of sand from his hand before scooping up another fistful, not initially looking to her as he spoke, slipping into pristine, unaccented Greek, "For what it's worth, I apologize for the trouble. I just wanted to help but I should have known better than to meddle in the first place. Judea is...nothing like I imagined and I have only been here a few hours."
He paused a moment before glancing back to her, gauging her reaction. Yes, she was a slave, but he had caused her to be dragged into an awful lot of grief.
Zoser dipped his forearms into the water, trying to wash away the worst of the sand to see his handiwork, still noting a few stubborn bloodstains that lingered in the hair of his forearm.
"What's your name?"
Hannah was keen to leave the coastline and return to her master. She did not hold great love for the tasks that lay before her for the day; the duties that she would now have less time to complete before the sun made its descent towards the earth. But she also held no valid excuse for her tardiness. Her master would likely not believe that she had been given orders by a member of the Elder Council and she could hardly bring an Egyptian with her to explain her delay. In short, she was entirely stuck for any valid reason for her continued absence and her life would become hard for the next few hours.
But when the Egyptian, crouching at the water's edge and attempting to rid his status of criminal from his hands, spoke in a pure and well-practised Greek vernacular, Hannah's feet were held fast to the sands. Her mitzpahath swung back and forth as she turned her head to assure herself that there was no-one along this stretch of coastline, as he spoke in a tongue that was not exactly appreciated in Israel. There were a few dockworkers that had strayed from the harbour to the east in order to enjoy a midday repast away from the toils of their labour. And there was an older woman caring for a few children by the size of the silhouettes some distance away in the other direction. Neither were within hearing range, or even close enough to be able to tell that neither of the two by the shoreline held the colouring of a native Judean.
Her eyes widened in surprise at the Egyptian as she watched him attempt to clean up, using the coarse grains of sand beneath the receding tides. She would have offered him help if she had any other solution than the one that he was already employing. Or, if she had been less frozen to where she stood by the fact that he spoke a language she had not heard for many a year and yet now was assaulted with on the odd occasion by Grecians within the Israelite city.
Since being made a slave, Hannah had spent most of her servitude in Ammun, where the only foreigners to walk the streets were mostly from the East. They would speak in an exotic and lilting tongues that seemed to tangle around complex language and melodic tones. Her childhood language was Greek was far harder. If it were visual, it would be geometric in sound, where the words and hymns of the Judean people were swirling curls. The sudden difference - not to mention the ease with which the Egyptian spoke such a foreign tongue - had Hannah's mouth dropping open behind her mask.
"You..." She had been about to say - in Hebrew - that he spoke Greek, but such words seemed redundant. Summoning up an ill-used skill from her mind that would never go away as her native language, Hannah dug deep for her Greek in order to communicate on an easier level with the man who spoke little of the Judean script.
"I am Hannah." She stated, the name strange in the Grecian language because it did not belong. An interloper upon the linguistics of her homeland. She did not give her Grecian name because she did not feel as if she belonged to it anymore. Her mother had made that clear many a year ago. The thought was pushed aside quickly, for Hannah did not seek a reminder of her life and family back in Taengea; a family that had made it very clear that they wished for nothing from her and for nothing for her.
"How is it that you come to speak Greek?" She asked the man, before she could stop her curiosity from controlling her lips. The natural connection she felt with the language had her feeling almost territorial over its used by a man of Egyptian skin and lands.
She had not spoken upon his apology. For, while she empathised with the man, she also did not know him. And whilst Hannah's nature was normally to help and to aid - to be compassionate and sensitive of others - this was hard to do when she found herself to be alone with a man she did not know. The life of a slave had made her wearier than she should be and she tried to shake off such thoughts of distrust.
"And an apology isn't needed..." She said, her eyes narrowing in a way that suggested a kind smile was blooming behind her headdress. "You were not to know and only wished to help."
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Hannah was keen to leave the coastline and return to her master. She did not hold great love for the tasks that lay before her for the day; the duties that she would now have less time to complete before the sun made its descent towards the earth. But she also held no valid excuse for her tardiness. Her master would likely not believe that she had been given orders by a member of the Elder Council and she could hardly bring an Egyptian with her to explain her delay. In short, she was entirely stuck for any valid reason for her continued absence and her life would become hard for the next few hours.
But when the Egyptian, crouching at the water's edge and attempting to rid his status of criminal from his hands, spoke in a pure and well-practised Greek vernacular, Hannah's feet were held fast to the sands. Her mitzpahath swung back and forth as she turned her head to assure herself that there was no-one along this stretch of coastline, as he spoke in a tongue that was not exactly appreciated in Israel. There were a few dockworkers that had strayed from the harbour to the east in order to enjoy a midday repast away from the toils of their labour. And there was an older woman caring for a few children by the size of the silhouettes some distance away in the other direction. Neither were within hearing range, or even close enough to be able to tell that neither of the two by the shoreline held the colouring of a native Judean.
Her eyes widened in surprise at the Egyptian as she watched him attempt to clean up, using the coarse grains of sand beneath the receding tides. She would have offered him help if she had any other solution than the one that he was already employing. Or, if she had been less frozen to where she stood by the fact that he spoke a language she had not heard for many a year and yet now was assaulted with on the odd occasion by Grecians within the Israelite city.
Since being made a slave, Hannah had spent most of her servitude in Ammun, where the only foreigners to walk the streets were mostly from the East. They would speak in an exotic and lilting tongues that seemed to tangle around complex language and melodic tones. Her childhood language was Greek was far harder. If it were visual, it would be geometric in sound, where the words and hymns of the Judean people were swirling curls. The sudden difference - not to mention the ease with which the Egyptian spoke such a foreign tongue - had Hannah's mouth dropping open behind her mask.
"You..." She had been about to say - in Hebrew - that he spoke Greek, but such words seemed redundant. Summoning up an ill-used skill from her mind that would never go away as her native language, Hannah dug deep for her Greek in order to communicate on an easier level with the man who spoke little of the Judean script.
"I am Hannah." She stated, the name strange in the Grecian language because it did not belong. An interloper upon the linguistics of her homeland. She did not give her Grecian name because she did not feel as if she belonged to it anymore. Her mother had made that clear many a year ago. The thought was pushed aside quickly, for Hannah did not seek a reminder of her life and family back in Taengea; a family that had made it very clear that they wished for nothing from her and for nothing for her.
"How is it that you come to speak Greek?" She asked the man, before she could stop her curiosity from controlling her lips. The natural connection she felt with the language had her feeling almost territorial over its used by a man of Egyptian skin and lands.
She had not spoken upon his apology. For, while she empathised with the man, she also did not know him. And whilst Hannah's nature was normally to help and to aid - to be compassionate and sensitive of others - this was hard to do when she found herself to be alone with a man she did not know. The life of a slave had made her wearier than she should be and she tried to shake off such thoughts of distrust.
"And an apology isn't needed..." She said, her eyes narrowing in a way that suggested a kind smile was blooming behind her headdress. "You were not to know and only wished to help."
Hannah was keen to leave the coastline and return to her master. She did not hold great love for the tasks that lay before her for the day; the duties that she would now have less time to complete before the sun made its descent towards the earth. But she also held no valid excuse for her tardiness. Her master would likely not believe that she had been given orders by a member of the Elder Council and she could hardly bring an Egyptian with her to explain her delay. In short, she was entirely stuck for any valid reason for her continued absence and her life would become hard for the next few hours.
But when the Egyptian, crouching at the water's edge and attempting to rid his status of criminal from his hands, spoke in a pure and well-practised Greek vernacular, Hannah's feet were held fast to the sands. Her mitzpahath swung back and forth as she turned her head to assure herself that there was no-one along this stretch of coastline, as he spoke in a tongue that was not exactly appreciated in Israel. There were a few dockworkers that had strayed from the harbour to the east in order to enjoy a midday repast away from the toils of their labour. And there was an older woman caring for a few children by the size of the silhouettes some distance away in the other direction. Neither were within hearing range, or even close enough to be able to tell that neither of the two by the shoreline held the colouring of a native Judean.
Her eyes widened in surprise at the Egyptian as she watched him attempt to clean up, using the coarse grains of sand beneath the receding tides. She would have offered him help if she had any other solution than the one that he was already employing. Or, if she had been less frozen to where she stood by the fact that he spoke a language she had not heard for many a year and yet now was assaulted with on the odd occasion by Grecians within the Israelite city.
Since being made a slave, Hannah had spent most of her servitude in Ammun, where the only foreigners to walk the streets were mostly from the East. They would speak in an exotic and lilting tongues that seemed to tangle around complex language and melodic tones. Her childhood language was Greek was far harder. If it were visual, it would be geometric in sound, where the words and hymns of the Judean people were swirling curls. The sudden difference - not to mention the ease with which the Egyptian spoke such a foreign tongue - had Hannah's mouth dropping open behind her mask.
"You..." She had been about to say - in Hebrew - that he spoke Greek, but such words seemed redundant. Summoning up an ill-used skill from her mind that would never go away as her native language, Hannah dug deep for her Greek in order to communicate on an easier level with the man who spoke little of the Judean script.
"I am Hannah." She stated, the name strange in the Grecian language because it did not belong. An interloper upon the linguistics of her homeland. She did not give her Grecian name because she did not feel as if she belonged to it anymore. Her mother had made that clear many a year ago. The thought was pushed aside quickly, for Hannah did not seek a reminder of her life and family back in Taengea; a family that had made it very clear that they wished for nothing from her and for nothing for her.
"How is it that you come to speak Greek?" She asked the man, before she could stop her curiosity from controlling her lips. The natural connection she felt with the language had her feeling almost territorial over its used by a man of Egyptian skin and lands.
She had not spoken upon his apology. For, while she empathised with the man, she also did not know him. And whilst Hannah's nature was normally to help and to aid - to be compassionate and sensitive of others - this was hard to do when she found herself to be alone with a man she did not know. The life of a slave had made her wearier than she should be and she tried to shake off such thoughts of distrust.
"And an apology isn't needed..." She said, her eyes narrowing in a way that suggested a kind smile was blooming behind her headdress. "You were not to know and only wished to help."
Zoser did a poor job of hiding his smile at the girl's reactions, amusement clear on his face as she stammered a moment in Hebrew. It was a touch of a gamble switching to Greek, but he was glad that it paid off. He returned his gaze back down to his hands again as he continued scrubbing away, glancing up again slightly as she offered her name.
Curiosity had a sweeter taste than animosity.
"Hannah," he repeated, tasting the Judean word on his tongue as if eating a sweet that bordered on bitter. Somehow the name did not suit her, and given her status as a slave, he imagined that it was not her true name. Then again, he could be wrong. She could have been born to Greek slaves already within Judea. Zoser knew full well how Egypt claimed most of its diverse slave population, so it was quick and easy of him to assume the likeliness of that being her fate as well.
"Zoser," he offered softly, realizing that his own name sounded just as foreign in the more natural Greek accent that he indulged in, though he paused a moment before adding, "Or Zander, as I was once called...a long time ago."
The name on his tongue felt right, and a wash of nostalgia seemed to soften his eyes as he shook the droplets from his hands and took to examining them again. It was becoming more and more difficult to differentiate whether the remaining dark spots were flecks of dried blood or specklings of birthmarks along his arms. To be double certain, he scooped up another handful of sand and continued to scrub, feeling the scraping against his skin as it grew overly sensitive at his work.
Pausing again, he looked up to her, eyes examining her as she asked her question then set his apology aside.
It was her eyes, in truth, that had set her apart. Yes, she bore the trappings of any Judean woman, but the creamy pale of her skin and the delicate lashes beneath demure, pale brows drew his attention there, immediately pulling them into the crystalline blue there. It was so familiar to him, the Grecian eyes and coloration - he did not realize how much he favored that sight until then, despite the years that had passed.
Giving one final rinse to his arms, he shook the water from his arms, using the fabric of his tunic to dry his arms, thankful that he had managed not to ruin it with congealed blood.
"Over half of my life, I lived in Athenia," he confessed, not seeing the harm in telling a slave girl about his past. After all, who was she going to tell in all this? Both were clearly among the least favored in the city or in the kingdom for that matter, "I studied there at the University. Greek was my tongue for nearly two decades. Sometimes, I believe I speak better Greek than Coptic." It was a jest, but only ever so slightly. The language felt delightful on his lips and he relished in these moments to speak it.
"Hannah..." he mused again, standing once his arms seemed completely clean and dry, "Can you guide me to some boarding houses that may not string me from a window for being Egyptian? I do not mean to keep you from your tasks..."
The last phrase lingered there, giving her the option to leave if she wished, but he added a bit to the end, "But, I can pay you for your assistance...and a conversation. It may be surprising but I do not get to indulge in Greek very often where I am from either."
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Zoser did a poor job of hiding his smile at the girl's reactions, amusement clear on his face as she stammered a moment in Hebrew. It was a touch of a gamble switching to Greek, but he was glad that it paid off. He returned his gaze back down to his hands again as he continued scrubbing away, glancing up again slightly as she offered her name.
Curiosity had a sweeter taste than animosity.
"Hannah," he repeated, tasting the Judean word on his tongue as if eating a sweet that bordered on bitter. Somehow the name did not suit her, and given her status as a slave, he imagined that it was not her true name. Then again, he could be wrong. She could have been born to Greek slaves already within Judea. Zoser knew full well how Egypt claimed most of its diverse slave population, so it was quick and easy of him to assume the likeliness of that being her fate as well.
"Zoser," he offered softly, realizing that his own name sounded just as foreign in the more natural Greek accent that he indulged in, though he paused a moment before adding, "Or Zander, as I was once called...a long time ago."
The name on his tongue felt right, and a wash of nostalgia seemed to soften his eyes as he shook the droplets from his hands and took to examining them again. It was becoming more and more difficult to differentiate whether the remaining dark spots were flecks of dried blood or specklings of birthmarks along his arms. To be double certain, he scooped up another handful of sand and continued to scrub, feeling the scraping against his skin as it grew overly sensitive at his work.
Pausing again, he looked up to her, eyes examining her as she asked her question then set his apology aside.
It was her eyes, in truth, that had set her apart. Yes, she bore the trappings of any Judean woman, but the creamy pale of her skin and the delicate lashes beneath demure, pale brows drew his attention there, immediately pulling them into the crystalline blue there. It was so familiar to him, the Grecian eyes and coloration - he did not realize how much he favored that sight until then, despite the years that had passed.
Giving one final rinse to his arms, he shook the water from his arms, using the fabric of his tunic to dry his arms, thankful that he had managed not to ruin it with congealed blood.
"Over half of my life, I lived in Athenia," he confessed, not seeing the harm in telling a slave girl about his past. After all, who was she going to tell in all this? Both were clearly among the least favored in the city or in the kingdom for that matter, "I studied there at the University. Greek was my tongue for nearly two decades. Sometimes, I believe I speak better Greek than Coptic." It was a jest, but only ever so slightly. The language felt delightful on his lips and he relished in these moments to speak it.
"Hannah..." he mused again, standing once his arms seemed completely clean and dry, "Can you guide me to some boarding houses that may not string me from a window for being Egyptian? I do not mean to keep you from your tasks..."
The last phrase lingered there, giving her the option to leave if she wished, but he added a bit to the end, "But, I can pay you for your assistance...and a conversation. It may be surprising but I do not get to indulge in Greek very often where I am from either."
Zoser did a poor job of hiding his smile at the girl's reactions, amusement clear on his face as she stammered a moment in Hebrew. It was a touch of a gamble switching to Greek, but he was glad that it paid off. He returned his gaze back down to his hands again as he continued scrubbing away, glancing up again slightly as she offered her name.
Curiosity had a sweeter taste than animosity.
"Hannah," he repeated, tasting the Judean word on his tongue as if eating a sweet that bordered on bitter. Somehow the name did not suit her, and given her status as a slave, he imagined that it was not her true name. Then again, he could be wrong. She could have been born to Greek slaves already within Judea. Zoser knew full well how Egypt claimed most of its diverse slave population, so it was quick and easy of him to assume the likeliness of that being her fate as well.
"Zoser," he offered softly, realizing that his own name sounded just as foreign in the more natural Greek accent that he indulged in, though he paused a moment before adding, "Or Zander, as I was once called...a long time ago."
The name on his tongue felt right, and a wash of nostalgia seemed to soften his eyes as he shook the droplets from his hands and took to examining them again. It was becoming more and more difficult to differentiate whether the remaining dark spots were flecks of dried blood or specklings of birthmarks along his arms. To be double certain, he scooped up another handful of sand and continued to scrub, feeling the scraping against his skin as it grew overly sensitive at his work.
Pausing again, he looked up to her, eyes examining her as she asked her question then set his apology aside.
It was her eyes, in truth, that had set her apart. Yes, she bore the trappings of any Judean woman, but the creamy pale of her skin and the delicate lashes beneath demure, pale brows drew his attention there, immediately pulling them into the crystalline blue there. It was so familiar to him, the Grecian eyes and coloration - he did not realize how much he favored that sight until then, despite the years that had passed.
Giving one final rinse to his arms, he shook the water from his arms, using the fabric of his tunic to dry his arms, thankful that he had managed not to ruin it with congealed blood.
"Over half of my life, I lived in Athenia," he confessed, not seeing the harm in telling a slave girl about his past. After all, who was she going to tell in all this? Both were clearly among the least favored in the city or in the kingdom for that matter, "I studied there at the University. Greek was my tongue for nearly two decades. Sometimes, I believe I speak better Greek than Coptic." It was a jest, but only ever so slightly. The language felt delightful on his lips and he relished in these moments to speak it.
"Hannah..." he mused again, standing once his arms seemed completely clean and dry, "Can you guide me to some boarding houses that may not string me from a window for being Egyptian? I do not mean to keep you from your tasks..."
The last phrase lingered there, giving her the option to leave if she wished, but he added a bit to the end, "But, I can pay you for your assistance...and a conversation. It may be surprising but I do not get to indulge in Greek very often where I am from either."
Hannah watched as the man was fastidious in his washing of the crimson from arms, hands and fingers. He analysed his skin with a determination that spoke of deep respect for the rules of the kingdom in which he now stood and assessed his fingernails to check for wayward insult that had escaped his ministrations. Her eyes were curious as he showed a sense of acceptance and adherence to a tradition and expectation that he himself clearly did not accept. She suspected that it spoke much of his character and mind that he was understanding of something that he could not wholly come to agree upon.
As far as Hannah was concerned, such traditions had melted from foreign into the familiar. As her years in Judea had forced her with varying degrees of severity to embrace the expectations and religious beliefs of those around her, she had become almost docile in her acceptance of the way that things were. Originally an open and embracing newcomer to the faith and ways of life of the Judean people, her existence following - as a slave and piece of property suffering the most unfair of those practicalities and values - she had simply come to accept the bad with the good. She could not ask to become a loyal follower of a loving and powerful God if she could not then be accepting of the way in which he had given leave to his Chosen People to act as they so saw fit.
It helped a little that those who had sought and seen to her punishment had actually not been Judean at all. Whilst her sentence was carried out under Hebrew law, it had been the Grecians that she had supposedly insulted that had called for such enactments of justice. Upon both her and her husband.
An absentee husband who was perhaps the only element of her life that she had not yet - nor, she suspected - ever would come to accept.
Whilst there were elements of her world that Hannah took upon herself as statements of facts - simply of the way that the world was - she had never accepted the purely logical and simplistic answer that her husband was dead. Whilst she was now officially widowed in the eyes of the law and anyone else who cared - for he had disappeared from the world for long enough to be presumed dead - she had refused to accept even the most obvious of truths.
It was this that sparked her interest in the Egyptian man that she should have abandoned minutes before and left to fall prey to whatever happenstance Yahweh deemed fit within his kingdom. Whilst she was making herself more and more late for her master, more assuring of a flogging across her shoulder blades, the promise of a little coin was enough to hold her feet fast.
As a slave, Hannah was given no payment for her services, no salary for her efforts. She was condemned to work and exist for another, that servitude never to broker any advantage for herself. For another three years, until her punishment was concluded, she was not permitted the liberty of independent wage or means. Yet, there were times within her life as a slave where she had broken the law on numerous occasions - taking the coin that others could offer her for additional work outside her life as a servant. She would sew laundry, carry heavy loads... bring Egyptians to inns of ill-repute. If that was what it took in order to secure just a few bronze coins.
Enough to buy parchment, a letter's worth of ink and the means to post it across the seas to the next port upon her list...
"Zander." Hannah repeated, given that the man had offered her a choice of names and the second fit more with their shared tongue. Zoser, like Hannah, was an interloper on the Grecian language that didn't quite find its place to sit.
Whilst the request for a place to stay would make Hannah delayed still further in her duties, the allure of his offerings was too much for her to resist. The opportunity to speak Greek was little to her, for such a language only bore the markings of loss and perhaps the risk of disdain from those she now walked amongst as one of their own. Yet, if such a thing would make the man more generous in his payment... she could perhaps send two letters? The fire that sparked within her chest was that of hope and it was hard to kill when at its weakest, let alone when it flared anew.
"I know of somewhere." She said, before the pain of her own nostalgia could stop her. She knew of an inn that would accept foreign faces because she had gone there once with Isaiah, back when the two of them had only just grown to know one another and were in their fledgling state as a couple. She had not returned to Israel long enough to be sure as to where might open their doors to those from other kingdoms, but if the inn she remembers still stood then it would be a place she could take the man. Regardless of the memories it might drag back to the forefront of her mind, kicking and screaming.
Hannah wanted to demand a promise for the payment of coin that he had offered but her generous nature ensured that she would show him where to go with or without it and rendered the request of guarantee moot. Instead, she simply turned a little, not wishing to hold out a hand or touch the man and, with slow steps to check whether or not he was ready to follow her, began the walk back up along the beach and towards the city streets once more.
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Hannah watched as the man was fastidious in his washing of the crimson from arms, hands and fingers. He analysed his skin with a determination that spoke of deep respect for the rules of the kingdom in which he now stood and assessed his fingernails to check for wayward insult that had escaped his ministrations. Her eyes were curious as he showed a sense of acceptance and adherence to a tradition and expectation that he himself clearly did not accept. She suspected that it spoke much of his character and mind that he was understanding of something that he could not wholly come to agree upon.
As far as Hannah was concerned, such traditions had melted from foreign into the familiar. As her years in Judea had forced her with varying degrees of severity to embrace the expectations and religious beliefs of those around her, she had become almost docile in her acceptance of the way that things were. Originally an open and embracing newcomer to the faith and ways of life of the Judean people, her existence following - as a slave and piece of property suffering the most unfair of those practicalities and values - she had simply come to accept the bad with the good. She could not ask to become a loyal follower of a loving and powerful God if she could not then be accepting of the way in which he had given leave to his Chosen People to act as they so saw fit.
It helped a little that those who had sought and seen to her punishment had actually not been Judean at all. Whilst her sentence was carried out under Hebrew law, it had been the Grecians that she had supposedly insulted that had called for such enactments of justice. Upon both her and her husband.
An absentee husband who was perhaps the only element of her life that she had not yet - nor, she suspected - ever would come to accept.
Whilst there were elements of her world that Hannah took upon herself as statements of facts - simply of the way that the world was - she had never accepted the purely logical and simplistic answer that her husband was dead. Whilst she was now officially widowed in the eyes of the law and anyone else who cared - for he had disappeared from the world for long enough to be presumed dead - she had refused to accept even the most obvious of truths.
It was this that sparked her interest in the Egyptian man that she should have abandoned minutes before and left to fall prey to whatever happenstance Yahweh deemed fit within his kingdom. Whilst she was making herself more and more late for her master, more assuring of a flogging across her shoulder blades, the promise of a little coin was enough to hold her feet fast.
As a slave, Hannah was given no payment for her services, no salary for her efforts. She was condemned to work and exist for another, that servitude never to broker any advantage for herself. For another three years, until her punishment was concluded, she was not permitted the liberty of independent wage or means. Yet, there were times within her life as a slave where she had broken the law on numerous occasions - taking the coin that others could offer her for additional work outside her life as a servant. She would sew laundry, carry heavy loads... bring Egyptians to inns of ill-repute. If that was what it took in order to secure just a few bronze coins.
Enough to buy parchment, a letter's worth of ink and the means to post it across the seas to the next port upon her list...
"Zander." Hannah repeated, given that the man had offered her a choice of names and the second fit more with their shared tongue. Zoser, like Hannah, was an interloper on the Grecian language that didn't quite find its place to sit.
Whilst the request for a place to stay would make Hannah delayed still further in her duties, the allure of his offerings was too much for her to resist. The opportunity to speak Greek was little to her, for such a language only bore the markings of loss and perhaps the risk of disdain from those she now walked amongst as one of their own. Yet, if such a thing would make the man more generous in his payment... she could perhaps send two letters? The fire that sparked within her chest was that of hope and it was hard to kill when at its weakest, let alone when it flared anew.
"I know of somewhere." She said, before the pain of her own nostalgia could stop her. She knew of an inn that would accept foreign faces because she had gone there once with Isaiah, back when the two of them had only just grown to know one another and were in their fledgling state as a couple. She had not returned to Israel long enough to be sure as to where might open their doors to those from other kingdoms, but if the inn she remembers still stood then it would be a place she could take the man. Regardless of the memories it might drag back to the forefront of her mind, kicking and screaming.
Hannah wanted to demand a promise for the payment of coin that he had offered but her generous nature ensured that she would show him where to go with or without it and rendered the request of guarantee moot. Instead, she simply turned a little, not wishing to hold out a hand or touch the man and, with slow steps to check whether or not he was ready to follow her, began the walk back up along the beach and towards the city streets once more.
Hannah watched as the man was fastidious in his washing of the crimson from arms, hands and fingers. He analysed his skin with a determination that spoke of deep respect for the rules of the kingdom in which he now stood and assessed his fingernails to check for wayward insult that had escaped his ministrations. Her eyes were curious as he showed a sense of acceptance and adherence to a tradition and expectation that he himself clearly did not accept. She suspected that it spoke much of his character and mind that he was understanding of something that he could not wholly come to agree upon.
As far as Hannah was concerned, such traditions had melted from foreign into the familiar. As her years in Judea had forced her with varying degrees of severity to embrace the expectations and religious beliefs of those around her, she had become almost docile in her acceptance of the way that things were. Originally an open and embracing newcomer to the faith and ways of life of the Judean people, her existence following - as a slave and piece of property suffering the most unfair of those practicalities and values - she had simply come to accept the bad with the good. She could not ask to become a loyal follower of a loving and powerful God if she could not then be accepting of the way in which he had given leave to his Chosen People to act as they so saw fit.
It helped a little that those who had sought and seen to her punishment had actually not been Judean at all. Whilst her sentence was carried out under Hebrew law, it had been the Grecians that she had supposedly insulted that had called for such enactments of justice. Upon both her and her husband.
An absentee husband who was perhaps the only element of her life that she had not yet - nor, she suspected - ever would come to accept.
Whilst there were elements of her world that Hannah took upon herself as statements of facts - simply of the way that the world was - she had never accepted the purely logical and simplistic answer that her husband was dead. Whilst she was now officially widowed in the eyes of the law and anyone else who cared - for he had disappeared from the world for long enough to be presumed dead - she had refused to accept even the most obvious of truths.
It was this that sparked her interest in the Egyptian man that she should have abandoned minutes before and left to fall prey to whatever happenstance Yahweh deemed fit within his kingdom. Whilst she was making herself more and more late for her master, more assuring of a flogging across her shoulder blades, the promise of a little coin was enough to hold her feet fast.
As a slave, Hannah was given no payment for her services, no salary for her efforts. She was condemned to work and exist for another, that servitude never to broker any advantage for herself. For another three years, until her punishment was concluded, she was not permitted the liberty of independent wage or means. Yet, there were times within her life as a slave where she had broken the law on numerous occasions - taking the coin that others could offer her for additional work outside her life as a servant. She would sew laundry, carry heavy loads... bring Egyptians to inns of ill-repute. If that was what it took in order to secure just a few bronze coins.
Enough to buy parchment, a letter's worth of ink and the means to post it across the seas to the next port upon her list...
"Zander." Hannah repeated, given that the man had offered her a choice of names and the second fit more with their shared tongue. Zoser, like Hannah, was an interloper on the Grecian language that didn't quite find its place to sit.
Whilst the request for a place to stay would make Hannah delayed still further in her duties, the allure of his offerings was too much for her to resist. The opportunity to speak Greek was little to her, for such a language only bore the markings of loss and perhaps the risk of disdain from those she now walked amongst as one of their own. Yet, if such a thing would make the man more generous in his payment... she could perhaps send two letters? The fire that sparked within her chest was that of hope and it was hard to kill when at its weakest, let alone when it flared anew.
"I know of somewhere." She said, before the pain of her own nostalgia could stop her. She knew of an inn that would accept foreign faces because she had gone there once with Isaiah, back when the two of them had only just grown to know one another and were in their fledgling state as a couple. She had not returned to Israel long enough to be sure as to where might open their doors to those from other kingdoms, but if the inn she remembers still stood then it would be a place she could take the man. Regardless of the memories it might drag back to the forefront of her mind, kicking and screaming.
Hannah wanted to demand a promise for the payment of coin that he had offered but her generous nature ensured that she would show him where to go with or without it and rendered the request of guarantee moot. Instead, she simply turned a little, not wishing to hold out a hand or touch the man and, with slow steps to check whether or not he was ready to follow her, began the walk back up along the beach and towards the city streets once more.
There was no way for Zoser to know that he grace this woman showed him would be the most he would receive on his entire sojourn in Judea. It would have been enough to trick any man into a soft smile, but the lingering embarrassment with the severed hand and the increasing suspicion of the animosity he would face kept his eyes low, only glancing toward her slightly, as if to cement such a habit in his mind while he remained in the Kingdom.
It was a mental note to practice a sense of humility, which was in many cases, more natural to him than the standard state of existence in Egypt. Opulence was key there, but even from his more conservative upbringing in Athenia, it seemed that even such decorum as trying to assist in his own misguided way was wrong.
Zoser took a moment to look across the harbor, half-heartedly trying to pinpoint the set of white sails that had brought him here mere hours ago. The captain - a chatty Taengean who spoke with horrid grammar and great humor - had allowed him until dusk to find a place to stay before unloading his few belongings. Then, by morning, he would set out on securing transport via caravan to Damascus then repeat the entire ordeal of finding housing once again.
All in order to make a comparison between the University in Athenia and the University in Damascus, all for the benefit of the laborous love affair he had with his dream project: The Library in Alexandria. For years now, he fought with every courtesy and courtly wile that he could manage with the Queen Dowager and the Council members, lauding the success and promising that they could make a comparable equivalent den of education that would not simply mirror those in other realms but exceed it, proudly standing on its own as a beacon of Egyptian superiority. At least, if he said words and they took it as such rhetoric that would influence them to support his work, he would allow it.
This all had its purpose in the long run.
Inhaling deeply, he felt the salt of the air cling to his nostrils, stronger here than it seemed when he was out at sea, likely from the minerals in the sediment stashed between the rocks they stood on.
His head turned with a slight smile and a briefly raised brow as he heard her say his name - the one that spoke to him on deeper levels than the one given to him at birth and regifted to him upon return to Egypt. It had been years since someone had called him by his name, and it sent a shot of pain and pleasure through his chest to heart it.
Wordlessly, they walked through the cities and markets, Zoser taking a moment to readjust the layers of his tunic and sashes to form a makeshift shawl of sorts, having seen some of the men about town also covering their head. If anything, he could mimic enough to at least draw less attention to the tawny tone of his neck and arms in such a way, wrapping them within. It would not completely shield him from such eyes, but it would do for now.
Before long, as Hannah led them both further towards the docks, closer to the scent of fishmongers and brine, they arrived at a sandstone inn with a nondescript exterior and a narrow entryway.
Zoser had to blink a few good times before his eyes adjusted to the sharp contrast in lighting, trying counteract the brightness of the day outside with the dim warmth within. The lower level had a few cozier sitting areas with tables between, perfect for foreign merchants to find their own kind and handle business without the glaring eyes of the locals. Ever so slightly, Zoser could feel the tension in his shoulders release a bit with a breath.
His eyes shifted to her slightly, noting how odd it would be for a demurely dressed Egyptian and a slave woman in Judean garb to enter the room, but his concern only showed in the slight twitch at the hinge of his jaw. He did not wish to find her in trouble with her master, but he was selfish enough to try to make it worth its while.
Thanks be to the gods that between broken Greek, Coptic, and Hebrew, Zoser was able to secure a room and a bite of warm food and drink. He did not order for Hannah, but the decidedly Greek nature of the olives, cheese and bread he ordered was meant to offered and shared. As the innkeep left to find what Zoser wished, he sighed and tilted his head towards a sitting area furthest from the door and more secluded.
Whether she would sit or not would be decided by her, but as he lowered himself onto the low-backed ottoman, his height forced his knees up to a slightly uncomfortable height, but he resigned himself to it regardless.
"Taengean or Athenian?" he asked, in Greek smirking slightly in an attempt to try to start light conversation, "Certainly not Colchian, you're too fair and soft. I would say Athenian for your quietness, but that may just be a result of your...station here."
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There was no way for Zoser to know that he grace this woman showed him would be the most he would receive on his entire sojourn in Judea. It would have been enough to trick any man into a soft smile, but the lingering embarrassment with the severed hand and the increasing suspicion of the animosity he would face kept his eyes low, only glancing toward her slightly, as if to cement such a habit in his mind while he remained in the Kingdom.
It was a mental note to practice a sense of humility, which was in many cases, more natural to him than the standard state of existence in Egypt. Opulence was key there, but even from his more conservative upbringing in Athenia, it seemed that even such decorum as trying to assist in his own misguided way was wrong.
Zoser took a moment to look across the harbor, half-heartedly trying to pinpoint the set of white sails that had brought him here mere hours ago. The captain - a chatty Taengean who spoke with horrid grammar and great humor - had allowed him until dusk to find a place to stay before unloading his few belongings. Then, by morning, he would set out on securing transport via caravan to Damascus then repeat the entire ordeal of finding housing once again.
All in order to make a comparison between the University in Athenia and the University in Damascus, all for the benefit of the laborous love affair he had with his dream project: The Library in Alexandria. For years now, he fought with every courtesy and courtly wile that he could manage with the Queen Dowager and the Council members, lauding the success and promising that they could make a comparable equivalent den of education that would not simply mirror those in other realms but exceed it, proudly standing on its own as a beacon of Egyptian superiority. At least, if he said words and they took it as such rhetoric that would influence them to support his work, he would allow it.
This all had its purpose in the long run.
Inhaling deeply, he felt the salt of the air cling to his nostrils, stronger here than it seemed when he was out at sea, likely from the minerals in the sediment stashed between the rocks they stood on.
His head turned with a slight smile and a briefly raised brow as he heard her say his name - the one that spoke to him on deeper levels than the one given to him at birth and regifted to him upon return to Egypt. It had been years since someone had called him by his name, and it sent a shot of pain and pleasure through his chest to heart it.
Wordlessly, they walked through the cities and markets, Zoser taking a moment to readjust the layers of his tunic and sashes to form a makeshift shawl of sorts, having seen some of the men about town also covering their head. If anything, he could mimic enough to at least draw less attention to the tawny tone of his neck and arms in such a way, wrapping them within. It would not completely shield him from such eyes, but it would do for now.
Before long, as Hannah led them both further towards the docks, closer to the scent of fishmongers and brine, they arrived at a sandstone inn with a nondescript exterior and a narrow entryway.
Zoser had to blink a few good times before his eyes adjusted to the sharp contrast in lighting, trying counteract the brightness of the day outside with the dim warmth within. The lower level had a few cozier sitting areas with tables between, perfect for foreign merchants to find their own kind and handle business without the glaring eyes of the locals. Ever so slightly, Zoser could feel the tension in his shoulders release a bit with a breath.
His eyes shifted to her slightly, noting how odd it would be for a demurely dressed Egyptian and a slave woman in Judean garb to enter the room, but his concern only showed in the slight twitch at the hinge of his jaw. He did not wish to find her in trouble with her master, but he was selfish enough to try to make it worth its while.
Thanks be to the gods that between broken Greek, Coptic, and Hebrew, Zoser was able to secure a room and a bite of warm food and drink. He did not order for Hannah, but the decidedly Greek nature of the olives, cheese and bread he ordered was meant to offered and shared. As the innkeep left to find what Zoser wished, he sighed and tilted his head towards a sitting area furthest from the door and more secluded.
Whether she would sit or not would be decided by her, but as he lowered himself onto the low-backed ottoman, his height forced his knees up to a slightly uncomfortable height, but he resigned himself to it regardless.
"Taengean or Athenian?" he asked, in Greek smirking slightly in an attempt to try to start light conversation, "Certainly not Colchian, you're too fair and soft. I would say Athenian for your quietness, but that may just be a result of your...station here."
There was no way for Zoser to know that he grace this woman showed him would be the most he would receive on his entire sojourn in Judea. It would have been enough to trick any man into a soft smile, but the lingering embarrassment with the severed hand and the increasing suspicion of the animosity he would face kept his eyes low, only glancing toward her slightly, as if to cement such a habit in his mind while he remained in the Kingdom.
It was a mental note to practice a sense of humility, which was in many cases, more natural to him than the standard state of existence in Egypt. Opulence was key there, but even from his more conservative upbringing in Athenia, it seemed that even such decorum as trying to assist in his own misguided way was wrong.
Zoser took a moment to look across the harbor, half-heartedly trying to pinpoint the set of white sails that had brought him here mere hours ago. The captain - a chatty Taengean who spoke with horrid grammar and great humor - had allowed him until dusk to find a place to stay before unloading his few belongings. Then, by morning, he would set out on securing transport via caravan to Damascus then repeat the entire ordeal of finding housing once again.
All in order to make a comparison between the University in Athenia and the University in Damascus, all for the benefit of the laborous love affair he had with his dream project: The Library in Alexandria. For years now, he fought with every courtesy and courtly wile that he could manage with the Queen Dowager and the Council members, lauding the success and promising that they could make a comparable equivalent den of education that would not simply mirror those in other realms but exceed it, proudly standing on its own as a beacon of Egyptian superiority. At least, if he said words and they took it as such rhetoric that would influence them to support his work, he would allow it.
This all had its purpose in the long run.
Inhaling deeply, he felt the salt of the air cling to his nostrils, stronger here than it seemed when he was out at sea, likely from the minerals in the sediment stashed between the rocks they stood on.
His head turned with a slight smile and a briefly raised brow as he heard her say his name - the one that spoke to him on deeper levels than the one given to him at birth and regifted to him upon return to Egypt. It had been years since someone had called him by his name, and it sent a shot of pain and pleasure through his chest to heart it.
Wordlessly, they walked through the cities and markets, Zoser taking a moment to readjust the layers of his tunic and sashes to form a makeshift shawl of sorts, having seen some of the men about town also covering their head. If anything, he could mimic enough to at least draw less attention to the tawny tone of his neck and arms in such a way, wrapping them within. It would not completely shield him from such eyes, but it would do for now.
Before long, as Hannah led them both further towards the docks, closer to the scent of fishmongers and brine, they arrived at a sandstone inn with a nondescript exterior and a narrow entryway.
Zoser had to blink a few good times before his eyes adjusted to the sharp contrast in lighting, trying counteract the brightness of the day outside with the dim warmth within. The lower level had a few cozier sitting areas with tables between, perfect for foreign merchants to find their own kind and handle business without the glaring eyes of the locals. Ever so slightly, Zoser could feel the tension in his shoulders release a bit with a breath.
His eyes shifted to her slightly, noting how odd it would be for a demurely dressed Egyptian and a slave woman in Judean garb to enter the room, but his concern only showed in the slight twitch at the hinge of his jaw. He did not wish to find her in trouble with her master, but he was selfish enough to try to make it worth its while.
Thanks be to the gods that between broken Greek, Coptic, and Hebrew, Zoser was able to secure a room and a bite of warm food and drink. He did not order for Hannah, but the decidedly Greek nature of the olives, cheese and bread he ordered was meant to offered and shared. As the innkeep left to find what Zoser wished, he sighed and tilted his head towards a sitting area furthest from the door and more secluded.
Whether she would sit or not would be decided by her, but as he lowered himself onto the low-backed ottoman, his height forced his knees up to a slightly uncomfortable height, but he resigned himself to it regardless.
"Taengean or Athenian?" he asked, in Greek smirking slightly in an attempt to try to start light conversation, "Certainly not Colchian, you're too fair and soft. I would say Athenian for your quietness, but that may just be a result of your...station here."
Hannah walked with a down turned gaze and a demure angle in the set of her shoulders. Not wishing to attract any more attention than she might already from the origin and identity of the man that she escorted, she kept everything about herself - from her face, to her stature, to her step, as hidden and as diminutive as possible.
Not that there was so strange a thing as a foreign guest of Judean being led by a slave girl. For there were likely many within Israel (were they to witness such a spectacle) that would assume her to be the slave of the man she led. A body assigned by whomever had invited the man to their lands in order to play guide and translator. It was only the fact that she actually belonged to another that made such a dynamic stare worthy, beyond the natural unfamiliarity with an Egyptian face. And who was to know such a thing?
Half way towards the little inn that she remembered - one that was located a little ways from the Grecian settlements of Israel and near the shoreline - Hannah glanced over her shoulder at noise and movement from her companion, able to witness his adjustment of garb. Unsure whether he was trying to show respect of the humility that was such a corner stone of the Judean faith, or just tired of being stared at by local eyes, Hannah did not know. But she was thankful for it all the same as it would likely allow some eyes at least to pass over the two of them without a second glance.
The streets were unusually quiet for such a time of day and Hannah wondered if crowds of those who might normally wander the streets were still cultivated around the boundary between the Greeks and the Hebrews. She shuddered to think once more upon that hanging arm, the way that the old blood had congealed over the skin before dripping in a dark brown sludge to the floor. How it had tainted the air with the smell of iron and copper.
It brought back memories of her own loss and had her hand ache in sympathy as she wrapped her other around it, hidden in the folds of her simlah.
When they finally arrived at the inn she had remembered in memories foggy with age yet sharp with emotional connection, she was certain of the building when they reached its door. Whilst she had no idea if the establishment held the same values, the same business ethos or the same tolerance of foreign faces within its walls as it did seven years ago, Hannah risked pushing the door open nonetheless and stepped into an open common room that was hazy on the details in her mind. The place she recalled with the most clarity was a little table with three chairs near the tavern owners bar.
Her eyes shot to that location without her permission and her heart squeezed to note that the tables and chairs had all been moved to new positions...
Another reminder lost.
Taking a calming inhale around a heavy lump in her throat, Hannah followed a few steps behind Zander the Egyptian, before waiting as he conducted his business in securing a room and meal. With the manner in which the barkeep agreed, his eyes neither distrusting or too staring at the foreign face in his place of business, it was clear that matters had not changed within these walls. And Hannah was secured in her assessment and choice of residences for the man.
Her eyes fixing upon the coins Zander produced from his bag, already mentally calculating the means with which she could stretch it to the most missives possible, she felt her pride and greed be reproached when he simply paid for the services the inn was providing and put the rest away.
He then turned and nodded towards a table in the corner of the room where he might sit and indicated for her to join him.
Had Hannah been asked such a thing when they had first entered the room, she might have shaken her head, refused to partake in a longer acquaintance with this stranger. She was not here for leisure, nor wished to be reminded of her origins when those who had called her family there had predicted a tragedy that had in fact befallen her. Happy memories of her childhood now read as that of someone else. A different girl who had known nothing of the wider world. Hypatia. The girl with her eyes closed.
And yet, the visual reminder of payment - of those coins sitting in the tan palm of his hand - stayed her presence and paralysed her fear of punishment upon returning to her master so very late. For whilst her attempts to reconnect with a man lost at sea had so far failed her, there was something about hope that made it impossible to deny.
It was that hope that drew her forwards to sit with the Egyptian, her back to the room so that she might not be noticed by any who knew her face. Hope of payment, hope of an answer, hope for Isaiah.
Refusing to linger on his name or the hollow feeling in her chest and belly every time she thought upon it, Hypatia's eyes turned to the fave of the Egyptian who queried her origins.
When she replied, her tone was neither offended, nor angered by the comparison and line of questioning. It simply read as a sad statement of fact.
"I am Judean." Hannah said in a low voice, her words in Greek. "Where I was born is of no consequence. For I held no life there."
Despite the words making it sound as if she were a slave in her birth lands just as much as here, Hannah spoke with the same tongue as her previous identity. When her words were Greek, it was only ever the Greek that she knew; fine, eloquent and educated Greek, the manners and like of which was only spoken by the highest of stations in the Grecian kingdoms. She might claim to have had and to hold nothing in Taengea anymore, her language betrayed that which was once hers. At least to a certain extent.
In the warmth of the common room, Hannah was overheated in her mitzpahath and reached up to unhook the end of the shawl about her face. Allowing the cloth to hang down over her chest, she revealed a very Greek appearance, despite her words of unity with the Hebrew lands. Her skin was the same pale tone it had always been, for she burnt rather than tanned. Her eyes were light and surrounded by tawny lashes, naturally long, thick and curling. Despite the difficulties of her life over the last seven years, she still possessed a cherub-like aesthetic; her cheekbones high, her chin small, her eyes large and lips curved and pouting. The only differences to how she might have appeared when first arriving in Judea so many years ago was her limited food hollowing out her cheeks a little, smudges of ill sleep finding a home beneath her eyes and her skin growing dry and a little freckled. No oils and wealthy ministrations for her anymore. Her hair was dry and wispy too, but at least such locks were hidden beneath her shawl...
"Why are you here in Judea?" Hannah asked the man, her natural, curious spirit finally taking over now that she had resigned herself to whatever punishment was likely to be meted out by her master come the end of the day.
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Hannah walked with a down turned gaze and a demure angle in the set of her shoulders. Not wishing to attract any more attention than she might already from the origin and identity of the man that she escorted, she kept everything about herself - from her face, to her stature, to her step, as hidden and as diminutive as possible.
Not that there was so strange a thing as a foreign guest of Judean being led by a slave girl. For there were likely many within Israel (were they to witness such a spectacle) that would assume her to be the slave of the man she led. A body assigned by whomever had invited the man to their lands in order to play guide and translator. It was only the fact that she actually belonged to another that made such a dynamic stare worthy, beyond the natural unfamiliarity with an Egyptian face. And who was to know such a thing?
Half way towards the little inn that she remembered - one that was located a little ways from the Grecian settlements of Israel and near the shoreline - Hannah glanced over her shoulder at noise and movement from her companion, able to witness his adjustment of garb. Unsure whether he was trying to show respect of the humility that was such a corner stone of the Judean faith, or just tired of being stared at by local eyes, Hannah did not know. But she was thankful for it all the same as it would likely allow some eyes at least to pass over the two of them without a second glance.
The streets were unusually quiet for such a time of day and Hannah wondered if crowds of those who might normally wander the streets were still cultivated around the boundary between the Greeks and the Hebrews. She shuddered to think once more upon that hanging arm, the way that the old blood had congealed over the skin before dripping in a dark brown sludge to the floor. How it had tainted the air with the smell of iron and copper.
It brought back memories of her own loss and had her hand ache in sympathy as she wrapped her other around it, hidden in the folds of her simlah.
When they finally arrived at the inn she had remembered in memories foggy with age yet sharp with emotional connection, she was certain of the building when they reached its door. Whilst she had no idea if the establishment held the same values, the same business ethos or the same tolerance of foreign faces within its walls as it did seven years ago, Hannah risked pushing the door open nonetheless and stepped into an open common room that was hazy on the details in her mind. The place she recalled with the most clarity was a little table with three chairs near the tavern owners bar.
Her eyes shot to that location without her permission and her heart squeezed to note that the tables and chairs had all been moved to new positions...
Another reminder lost.
Taking a calming inhale around a heavy lump in her throat, Hannah followed a few steps behind Zander the Egyptian, before waiting as he conducted his business in securing a room and meal. With the manner in which the barkeep agreed, his eyes neither distrusting or too staring at the foreign face in his place of business, it was clear that matters had not changed within these walls. And Hannah was secured in her assessment and choice of residences for the man.
Her eyes fixing upon the coins Zander produced from his bag, already mentally calculating the means with which she could stretch it to the most missives possible, she felt her pride and greed be reproached when he simply paid for the services the inn was providing and put the rest away.
He then turned and nodded towards a table in the corner of the room where he might sit and indicated for her to join him.
Had Hannah been asked such a thing when they had first entered the room, she might have shaken her head, refused to partake in a longer acquaintance with this stranger. She was not here for leisure, nor wished to be reminded of her origins when those who had called her family there had predicted a tragedy that had in fact befallen her. Happy memories of her childhood now read as that of someone else. A different girl who had known nothing of the wider world. Hypatia. The girl with her eyes closed.
And yet, the visual reminder of payment - of those coins sitting in the tan palm of his hand - stayed her presence and paralysed her fear of punishment upon returning to her master so very late. For whilst her attempts to reconnect with a man lost at sea had so far failed her, there was something about hope that made it impossible to deny.
It was that hope that drew her forwards to sit with the Egyptian, her back to the room so that she might not be noticed by any who knew her face. Hope of payment, hope of an answer, hope for Isaiah.
Refusing to linger on his name or the hollow feeling in her chest and belly every time she thought upon it, Hypatia's eyes turned to the fave of the Egyptian who queried her origins.
When she replied, her tone was neither offended, nor angered by the comparison and line of questioning. It simply read as a sad statement of fact.
"I am Judean." Hannah said in a low voice, her words in Greek. "Where I was born is of no consequence. For I held no life there."
Despite the words making it sound as if she were a slave in her birth lands just as much as here, Hannah spoke with the same tongue as her previous identity. When her words were Greek, it was only ever the Greek that she knew; fine, eloquent and educated Greek, the manners and like of which was only spoken by the highest of stations in the Grecian kingdoms. She might claim to have had and to hold nothing in Taengea anymore, her language betrayed that which was once hers. At least to a certain extent.
In the warmth of the common room, Hannah was overheated in her mitzpahath and reached up to unhook the end of the shawl about her face. Allowing the cloth to hang down over her chest, she revealed a very Greek appearance, despite her words of unity with the Hebrew lands. Her skin was the same pale tone it had always been, for she burnt rather than tanned. Her eyes were light and surrounded by tawny lashes, naturally long, thick and curling. Despite the difficulties of her life over the last seven years, she still possessed a cherub-like aesthetic; her cheekbones high, her chin small, her eyes large and lips curved and pouting. The only differences to how she might have appeared when first arriving in Judea so many years ago was her limited food hollowing out her cheeks a little, smudges of ill sleep finding a home beneath her eyes and her skin growing dry and a little freckled. No oils and wealthy ministrations for her anymore. Her hair was dry and wispy too, but at least such locks were hidden beneath her shawl...
"Why are you here in Judea?" Hannah asked the man, her natural, curious spirit finally taking over now that she had resigned herself to whatever punishment was likely to be meted out by her master come the end of the day.
Hannah walked with a down turned gaze and a demure angle in the set of her shoulders. Not wishing to attract any more attention than she might already from the origin and identity of the man that she escorted, she kept everything about herself - from her face, to her stature, to her step, as hidden and as diminutive as possible.
Not that there was so strange a thing as a foreign guest of Judean being led by a slave girl. For there were likely many within Israel (were they to witness such a spectacle) that would assume her to be the slave of the man she led. A body assigned by whomever had invited the man to their lands in order to play guide and translator. It was only the fact that she actually belonged to another that made such a dynamic stare worthy, beyond the natural unfamiliarity with an Egyptian face. And who was to know such a thing?
Half way towards the little inn that she remembered - one that was located a little ways from the Grecian settlements of Israel and near the shoreline - Hannah glanced over her shoulder at noise and movement from her companion, able to witness his adjustment of garb. Unsure whether he was trying to show respect of the humility that was such a corner stone of the Judean faith, or just tired of being stared at by local eyes, Hannah did not know. But she was thankful for it all the same as it would likely allow some eyes at least to pass over the two of them without a second glance.
The streets were unusually quiet for such a time of day and Hannah wondered if crowds of those who might normally wander the streets were still cultivated around the boundary between the Greeks and the Hebrews. She shuddered to think once more upon that hanging arm, the way that the old blood had congealed over the skin before dripping in a dark brown sludge to the floor. How it had tainted the air with the smell of iron and copper.
It brought back memories of her own loss and had her hand ache in sympathy as she wrapped her other around it, hidden in the folds of her simlah.
When they finally arrived at the inn she had remembered in memories foggy with age yet sharp with emotional connection, she was certain of the building when they reached its door. Whilst she had no idea if the establishment held the same values, the same business ethos or the same tolerance of foreign faces within its walls as it did seven years ago, Hannah risked pushing the door open nonetheless and stepped into an open common room that was hazy on the details in her mind. The place she recalled with the most clarity was a little table with three chairs near the tavern owners bar.
Her eyes shot to that location without her permission and her heart squeezed to note that the tables and chairs had all been moved to new positions...
Another reminder lost.
Taking a calming inhale around a heavy lump in her throat, Hannah followed a few steps behind Zander the Egyptian, before waiting as he conducted his business in securing a room and meal. With the manner in which the barkeep agreed, his eyes neither distrusting or too staring at the foreign face in his place of business, it was clear that matters had not changed within these walls. And Hannah was secured in her assessment and choice of residences for the man.
Her eyes fixing upon the coins Zander produced from his bag, already mentally calculating the means with which she could stretch it to the most missives possible, she felt her pride and greed be reproached when he simply paid for the services the inn was providing and put the rest away.
He then turned and nodded towards a table in the corner of the room where he might sit and indicated for her to join him.
Had Hannah been asked such a thing when they had first entered the room, she might have shaken her head, refused to partake in a longer acquaintance with this stranger. She was not here for leisure, nor wished to be reminded of her origins when those who had called her family there had predicted a tragedy that had in fact befallen her. Happy memories of her childhood now read as that of someone else. A different girl who had known nothing of the wider world. Hypatia. The girl with her eyes closed.
And yet, the visual reminder of payment - of those coins sitting in the tan palm of his hand - stayed her presence and paralysed her fear of punishment upon returning to her master so very late. For whilst her attempts to reconnect with a man lost at sea had so far failed her, there was something about hope that made it impossible to deny.
It was that hope that drew her forwards to sit with the Egyptian, her back to the room so that she might not be noticed by any who knew her face. Hope of payment, hope of an answer, hope for Isaiah.
Refusing to linger on his name or the hollow feeling in her chest and belly every time she thought upon it, Hypatia's eyes turned to the fave of the Egyptian who queried her origins.
When she replied, her tone was neither offended, nor angered by the comparison and line of questioning. It simply read as a sad statement of fact.
"I am Judean." Hannah said in a low voice, her words in Greek. "Where I was born is of no consequence. For I held no life there."
Despite the words making it sound as if she were a slave in her birth lands just as much as here, Hannah spoke with the same tongue as her previous identity. When her words were Greek, it was only ever the Greek that she knew; fine, eloquent and educated Greek, the manners and like of which was only spoken by the highest of stations in the Grecian kingdoms. She might claim to have had and to hold nothing in Taengea anymore, her language betrayed that which was once hers. At least to a certain extent.
In the warmth of the common room, Hannah was overheated in her mitzpahath and reached up to unhook the end of the shawl about her face. Allowing the cloth to hang down over her chest, she revealed a very Greek appearance, despite her words of unity with the Hebrew lands. Her skin was the same pale tone it had always been, for she burnt rather than tanned. Her eyes were light and surrounded by tawny lashes, naturally long, thick and curling. Despite the difficulties of her life over the last seven years, she still possessed a cherub-like aesthetic; her cheekbones high, her chin small, her eyes large and lips curved and pouting. The only differences to how she might have appeared when first arriving in Judea so many years ago was her limited food hollowing out her cheeks a little, smudges of ill sleep finding a home beneath her eyes and her skin growing dry and a little freckled. No oils and wealthy ministrations for her anymore. Her hair was dry and wispy too, but at least such locks were hidden beneath her shawl...
"Why are you here in Judea?" Hannah asked the man, her natural, curious spirit finally taking over now that she had resigned herself to whatever punishment was likely to be meted out by her master come the end of the day.
This place felt more foreign than anywhere else he had been. Athenia had a variety of geographical features across the land, but the people all seemed to feel the same no matter where he went - full of life, if a bit wary of him for his heritage. In Egypt, while the land often kept the same form along the coast and the the same form further inland into the dunes, the people could have all been from different lands as the variety of life was easy to embrace within each province.
Judea...left a strange taste in his mouth. Even the room they sat in spelled out the private nature of the people. How could anyone get to know one another? On top of that, the emotionally-fueled judgement that he saw in the streets, at the gates of the Taengean compound, had been quite a shock. In Egypt, they were passionate, but usually fueled by a lust for life. In Athenia, the people were graceful and eloquent, fueled by embracing the moment and striving ever forward.
The Judeans, in the brief hour he had been there, seemed filled with the extremity of emotion - the same kind the world seemed to accuse the Egyptians of at every turn. It was fascinating, like something he would further study if he could put his hands on tomes that explained the social balance clearly, but to see it up front? He was not impressed.
The room was too dark, despite them being by the hearth and the glow of oil lamps. It darkened his mood in a way as well. The first interactions in Judea had all but stripped away the shine of optimism and curiosity from his temperment, at least snuffing them out for the time being. By the time he woke in the morning, it would return, he knew, but for now, his tone and expressions had cooled considerably. That, and he anxiously awaited the arrival of the small tray of refreshments.
Her response to his query was a simple of a shutdown has he had received in quite some time, sending a single brow up towards his hairline as he examined her eyes. The tone and cadence of her voice reminded him of the young women around the Scholeío grounds, crisp and clear in pronunciation. Though her words spoke in one direction, her voice spoke in another and only deepened his curiosity.
In Athenia, he was a tutor to many students, all from the higher walks of life simply because they could afford to attend. This was no low-born slave's daughter, he was convinced, but given her statement, he doubted he would get more from her.
Sometimes, silence allowed for someone to reveal the truth they tried to hide for a moment, and so he allowed it to linger. Instead of coming forth with more in the way of words, she began to remove the coverings of her face, and Zoser felt a slight surge of anticipation in his chest. Yes, they had just met, but if his assessment was correct about the height of her birth....could she potentially be someone he knew? His spine straightened ever so slightly, as if inhaling, but loosened just as slightly as he found he did not recognize her face.
With that being said, the beauty and delicacy of her features only furthered his own, internal confirmation - the elaboration of her backstory that only existed in his mind. She was quite pretty, with eyes round as a doe's and lips so plush they could have been mistaken for rosebuds. His expression softened slightly, as he indulged in the simple pleasure of casting his eyes across what he believed to be the most attractive form in the world - a Grecian woman.
"For business," he started, the petulant, adolescent streak in him wanting to challenge her withdrawn responses with some of his own. Yet, he could not maintain it, as the thoughts returning to his true purpose here reignited a bit of passion that had been lost in all the hubbub in the streets. "I will set out for Damascus once I can secure travel. I am a scholar - originally from Athenia. Egypt seeks to make our own center of learning in the years to come. I am familiar with Athenian ways, but less so in the ways of Judea scholarship. I have come here to remedy that."
As he finished speaking, the server arrived with a tray of the food set before them, and with a nod, Zoser dismissed the server and began to eat, eyes flickering to the slavewoman before him. His eyes watched her reactions as he ate. Clearly, the woman had been a slave in Judea a long while, given the limited reaction to him eating before her. Chewing thoughtfully, he mused on a few thoughts. Asking her about herself directly would not do, but perhaps a round about way could give him more information.
"Do you serve the Councilman, from outside the gates?"
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This place felt more foreign than anywhere else he had been. Athenia had a variety of geographical features across the land, but the people all seemed to feel the same no matter where he went - full of life, if a bit wary of him for his heritage. In Egypt, while the land often kept the same form along the coast and the the same form further inland into the dunes, the people could have all been from different lands as the variety of life was easy to embrace within each province.
Judea...left a strange taste in his mouth. Even the room they sat in spelled out the private nature of the people. How could anyone get to know one another? On top of that, the emotionally-fueled judgement that he saw in the streets, at the gates of the Taengean compound, had been quite a shock. In Egypt, they were passionate, but usually fueled by a lust for life. In Athenia, the people were graceful and eloquent, fueled by embracing the moment and striving ever forward.
The Judeans, in the brief hour he had been there, seemed filled with the extremity of emotion - the same kind the world seemed to accuse the Egyptians of at every turn. It was fascinating, like something he would further study if he could put his hands on tomes that explained the social balance clearly, but to see it up front? He was not impressed.
The room was too dark, despite them being by the hearth and the glow of oil lamps. It darkened his mood in a way as well. The first interactions in Judea had all but stripped away the shine of optimism and curiosity from his temperment, at least snuffing them out for the time being. By the time he woke in the morning, it would return, he knew, but for now, his tone and expressions had cooled considerably. That, and he anxiously awaited the arrival of the small tray of refreshments.
Her response to his query was a simple of a shutdown has he had received in quite some time, sending a single brow up towards his hairline as he examined her eyes. The tone and cadence of her voice reminded him of the young women around the Scholeío grounds, crisp and clear in pronunciation. Though her words spoke in one direction, her voice spoke in another and only deepened his curiosity.
In Athenia, he was a tutor to many students, all from the higher walks of life simply because they could afford to attend. This was no low-born slave's daughter, he was convinced, but given her statement, he doubted he would get more from her.
Sometimes, silence allowed for someone to reveal the truth they tried to hide for a moment, and so he allowed it to linger. Instead of coming forth with more in the way of words, she began to remove the coverings of her face, and Zoser felt a slight surge of anticipation in his chest. Yes, they had just met, but if his assessment was correct about the height of her birth....could she potentially be someone he knew? His spine straightened ever so slightly, as if inhaling, but loosened just as slightly as he found he did not recognize her face.
With that being said, the beauty and delicacy of her features only furthered his own, internal confirmation - the elaboration of her backstory that only existed in his mind. She was quite pretty, with eyes round as a doe's and lips so plush they could have been mistaken for rosebuds. His expression softened slightly, as he indulged in the simple pleasure of casting his eyes across what he believed to be the most attractive form in the world - a Grecian woman.
"For business," he started, the petulant, adolescent streak in him wanting to challenge her withdrawn responses with some of his own. Yet, he could not maintain it, as the thoughts returning to his true purpose here reignited a bit of passion that had been lost in all the hubbub in the streets. "I will set out for Damascus once I can secure travel. I am a scholar - originally from Athenia. Egypt seeks to make our own center of learning in the years to come. I am familiar with Athenian ways, but less so in the ways of Judea scholarship. I have come here to remedy that."
As he finished speaking, the server arrived with a tray of the food set before them, and with a nod, Zoser dismissed the server and began to eat, eyes flickering to the slavewoman before him. His eyes watched her reactions as he ate. Clearly, the woman had been a slave in Judea a long while, given the limited reaction to him eating before her. Chewing thoughtfully, he mused on a few thoughts. Asking her about herself directly would not do, but perhaps a round about way could give him more information.
"Do you serve the Councilman, from outside the gates?"
This place felt more foreign than anywhere else he had been. Athenia had a variety of geographical features across the land, but the people all seemed to feel the same no matter where he went - full of life, if a bit wary of him for his heritage. In Egypt, while the land often kept the same form along the coast and the the same form further inland into the dunes, the people could have all been from different lands as the variety of life was easy to embrace within each province.
Judea...left a strange taste in his mouth. Even the room they sat in spelled out the private nature of the people. How could anyone get to know one another? On top of that, the emotionally-fueled judgement that he saw in the streets, at the gates of the Taengean compound, had been quite a shock. In Egypt, they were passionate, but usually fueled by a lust for life. In Athenia, the people were graceful and eloquent, fueled by embracing the moment and striving ever forward.
The Judeans, in the brief hour he had been there, seemed filled with the extremity of emotion - the same kind the world seemed to accuse the Egyptians of at every turn. It was fascinating, like something he would further study if he could put his hands on tomes that explained the social balance clearly, but to see it up front? He was not impressed.
The room was too dark, despite them being by the hearth and the glow of oil lamps. It darkened his mood in a way as well. The first interactions in Judea had all but stripped away the shine of optimism and curiosity from his temperment, at least snuffing them out for the time being. By the time he woke in the morning, it would return, he knew, but for now, his tone and expressions had cooled considerably. That, and he anxiously awaited the arrival of the small tray of refreshments.
Her response to his query was a simple of a shutdown has he had received in quite some time, sending a single brow up towards his hairline as he examined her eyes. The tone and cadence of her voice reminded him of the young women around the Scholeío grounds, crisp and clear in pronunciation. Though her words spoke in one direction, her voice spoke in another and only deepened his curiosity.
In Athenia, he was a tutor to many students, all from the higher walks of life simply because they could afford to attend. This was no low-born slave's daughter, he was convinced, but given her statement, he doubted he would get more from her.
Sometimes, silence allowed for someone to reveal the truth they tried to hide for a moment, and so he allowed it to linger. Instead of coming forth with more in the way of words, she began to remove the coverings of her face, and Zoser felt a slight surge of anticipation in his chest. Yes, they had just met, but if his assessment was correct about the height of her birth....could she potentially be someone he knew? His spine straightened ever so slightly, as if inhaling, but loosened just as slightly as he found he did not recognize her face.
With that being said, the beauty and delicacy of her features only furthered his own, internal confirmation - the elaboration of her backstory that only existed in his mind. She was quite pretty, with eyes round as a doe's and lips so plush they could have been mistaken for rosebuds. His expression softened slightly, as he indulged in the simple pleasure of casting his eyes across what he believed to be the most attractive form in the world - a Grecian woman.
"For business," he started, the petulant, adolescent streak in him wanting to challenge her withdrawn responses with some of his own. Yet, he could not maintain it, as the thoughts returning to his true purpose here reignited a bit of passion that had been lost in all the hubbub in the streets. "I will set out for Damascus once I can secure travel. I am a scholar - originally from Athenia. Egypt seeks to make our own center of learning in the years to come. I am familiar with Athenian ways, but less so in the ways of Judea scholarship. I have come here to remedy that."
As he finished speaking, the server arrived with a tray of the food set before them, and with a nod, Zoser dismissed the server and began to eat, eyes flickering to the slavewoman before him. His eyes watched her reactions as he ate. Clearly, the woman had been a slave in Judea a long while, given the limited reaction to him eating before her. Chewing thoughtfully, he mused on a few thoughts. Asking her about herself directly would not do, but perhaps a round about way could give him more information.
"Do you serve the Councilman, from outside the gates?"
Hannah noted the man's movements and shifting of presence but knew little of what to make of it. She had no knowledge of his experience with Grecian ladies, nor his history in tutoring them in Athenia. She took it only for a natural moment of curiosity that one might hold when another unmasked their features for the first time. It was natural to suspect and wonder what another might be hiding with such a mask in place so many hours of the day. But in Judea, it was common place for a woman to wear such a thing. Instead, men of Judea would hold a curiosity not of why a woman was masked in her headscarf but what she might look like beneath - a treasure not often glimpsed some days.
Ignorant of any other assumptions that were drawn from her manner of language, how she held herself in appropriate and formal posture, or the way in which her face was arranged with delicate lines and fine features, Hannah stayed focused on the matter at hand, unsure whether she should just leave but tempted to remain by the fact that the man had yet to pay her the coin he had promised.
She could not send her next letter without it...
When the Egyptian offered as enigmatic an answer as she had, Hannah only raised a single brow in a mocking expression of the one he had shared after she had spoken. Not willing to back down on her determination to be quiet - for slavery, ironically, had grown for her a backbone - she waited until he caved to providing a more detailed explanation of his presence in what was now her home kingdom.
When he spoke of learning - of scholarly pursuits that sent him across the known world - Hannah's eyes flashed for a moment in surprise and curiosity. She remembered many years ago how her mother had always pushed her to learn more, considering the idea of sending her to either the Taengean or Athenian school of teaching. Instead, it had been Eurydice who had received such an education and Hannah had been kept at home.
Her tongue appeared for a moment to wet the edges of her lips, suddenly draw with awkward memory before her attention was grasped once more by the Egyptian's next question.
Swallowing and unsure how she was supposed to explain the means of Judean life to an Egyptian without it perhaps being considered a betrayal to the people who had yet to accept her as part of their race, Hannah eventually acquiesced to answer his questions.
She shook her head softly.
"Slaves of the Elder families would only be those born or indoctrinated into this life." She told the man, her tone a little sad and her eyes giving away more than she had intended... that she had been neither born nor raised as a slave. That she had been forced to become one against her will...
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Hannah noted the man's movements and shifting of presence but knew little of what to make of it. She had no knowledge of his experience with Grecian ladies, nor his history in tutoring them in Athenia. She took it only for a natural moment of curiosity that one might hold when another unmasked their features for the first time. It was natural to suspect and wonder what another might be hiding with such a mask in place so many hours of the day. But in Judea, it was common place for a woman to wear such a thing. Instead, men of Judea would hold a curiosity not of why a woman was masked in her headscarf but what she might look like beneath - a treasure not often glimpsed some days.
Ignorant of any other assumptions that were drawn from her manner of language, how she held herself in appropriate and formal posture, or the way in which her face was arranged with delicate lines and fine features, Hannah stayed focused on the matter at hand, unsure whether she should just leave but tempted to remain by the fact that the man had yet to pay her the coin he had promised.
She could not send her next letter without it...
When the Egyptian offered as enigmatic an answer as she had, Hannah only raised a single brow in a mocking expression of the one he had shared after she had spoken. Not willing to back down on her determination to be quiet - for slavery, ironically, had grown for her a backbone - she waited until he caved to providing a more detailed explanation of his presence in what was now her home kingdom.
When he spoke of learning - of scholarly pursuits that sent him across the known world - Hannah's eyes flashed for a moment in surprise and curiosity. She remembered many years ago how her mother had always pushed her to learn more, considering the idea of sending her to either the Taengean or Athenian school of teaching. Instead, it had been Eurydice who had received such an education and Hannah had been kept at home.
Her tongue appeared for a moment to wet the edges of her lips, suddenly draw with awkward memory before her attention was grasped once more by the Egyptian's next question.
Swallowing and unsure how she was supposed to explain the means of Judean life to an Egyptian without it perhaps being considered a betrayal to the people who had yet to accept her as part of their race, Hannah eventually acquiesced to answer his questions.
She shook her head softly.
"Slaves of the Elder families would only be those born or indoctrinated into this life." She told the man, her tone a little sad and her eyes giving away more than she had intended... that she had been neither born nor raised as a slave. That she had been forced to become one against her will...
Hannah noted the man's movements and shifting of presence but knew little of what to make of it. She had no knowledge of his experience with Grecian ladies, nor his history in tutoring them in Athenia. She took it only for a natural moment of curiosity that one might hold when another unmasked their features for the first time. It was natural to suspect and wonder what another might be hiding with such a mask in place so many hours of the day. But in Judea, it was common place for a woman to wear such a thing. Instead, men of Judea would hold a curiosity not of why a woman was masked in her headscarf but what she might look like beneath - a treasure not often glimpsed some days.
Ignorant of any other assumptions that were drawn from her manner of language, how she held herself in appropriate and formal posture, or the way in which her face was arranged with delicate lines and fine features, Hannah stayed focused on the matter at hand, unsure whether she should just leave but tempted to remain by the fact that the man had yet to pay her the coin he had promised.
She could not send her next letter without it...
When the Egyptian offered as enigmatic an answer as she had, Hannah only raised a single brow in a mocking expression of the one he had shared after she had spoken. Not willing to back down on her determination to be quiet - for slavery, ironically, had grown for her a backbone - she waited until he caved to providing a more detailed explanation of his presence in what was now her home kingdom.
When he spoke of learning - of scholarly pursuits that sent him across the known world - Hannah's eyes flashed for a moment in surprise and curiosity. She remembered many years ago how her mother had always pushed her to learn more, considering the idea of sending her to either the Taengean or Athenian school of teaching. Instead, it had been Eurydice who had received such an education and Hannah had been kept at home.
Her tongue appeared for a moment to wet the edges of her lips, suddenly draw with awkward memory before her attention was grasped once more by the Egyptian's next question.
Swallowing and unsure how she was supposed to explain the means of Judean life to an Egyptian without it perhaps being considered a betrayal to the people who had yet to accept her as part of their race, Hannah eventually acquiesced to answer his questions.
She shook her head softly.
"Slaves of the Elder families would only be those born or indoctrinated into this life." She told the man, her tone a little sad and her eyes giving away more than she had intended... that she had been neither born nor raised as a slave. That she had been forced to become one against her will...
Zoser daintily ate at the food on the tray placed before him, the forward lean of his body mostly focused on reaching the food easily but also unconsciously showing interest in the few words the woman before him dared speak.
The way she sat before him practically screamed discomfort in the situation, yet she endured it. For the briefest moment, Zoser forgot why. As he cleared away the tray before him, considering how the cost of it would fit into his rather generous, self-given budget for this journey, his eyes flashed back up to the woman as he remembered the promise of coin he offered her.
"Ah, I see." He could have been satisfied with the subtext offered in her answer, but he was not entirely. So, he had to take another approach.
While Zoser was not an unkind man, he was still a man quite used to getting what he wanted. In this moment, selfishly, it was a few moments of pleasant conversation in his preferred language. Normally, his charisma and demeanor was enough to garner him what he wanted now, but for this, it seemed coin would have to suffice in being the proper amount of encouraging.
Besides, he could tell she was curious - he was a walking curiosity, he knew. A non-militant Egyptian who preferred to speak Greek wandering through the streets of Judea. He was outright offensive as a living creature pretty much anywhere he went, including in Egypt - too friendly and smiley. In Greece, too....Egyptian. And the same here in Judea. Ah, well. No changing that.
"Forgive me," Zoser mulled, blindly reaching beneath the folds of his clothes as if searching for his coinpurse, purposefully jostling it so that the metallic clink of the coins could be heard, "As I am new to this land, I am unfamiliar with many of their ways. Not only do I hope to learn much in Damascus, I hope to learn just as much from the people here."
From his coin purse, he gathered about five Hitta, rolling them about in his palm. Zoser observed the agelast woman across from him as the coins played their melody in his hand. Likely, she had only expected the one, and perhaps with that, she would be satisfied and disappear into the streets of Israel once again to the side of her Master. Still, there was a hunger in her eyes that had nothing to do with food, and if he could benefit from, he would.
Using his thumb, he placed one Hitta on the wooden table before them - the promised fee for her safe guidance to the boarding house - and slid another one visibly between the pad of his thumb and the side of his forefinger. It was not a tease but an encouragement. If she wanted it badly enough, she would have to play along.
"As someone who was once new to this land, I would appreciate your insight in how things are done here." A grin that could have been mistaken for a grimace accompanied a shallow huff of breath through his nose as he added, "I have already caused great offense here and, since I am not bound to leave this land for some weeks hence, I would like to inhibit the damage I may cause. Your advice would be....most valuable to me."
As if to coax a response from her, he massaged the second Hitta between his forefinger and thumb, the sound of further coins jostling from the movement in the curl of his remaining fingers.
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Zoser daintily ate at the food on the tray placed before him, the forward lean of his body mostly focused on reaching the food easily but also unconsciously showing interest in the few words the woman before him dared speak.
The way she sat before him practically screamed discomfort in the situation, yet she endured it. For the briefest moment, Zoser forgot why. As he cleared away the tray before him, considering how the cost of it would fit into his rather generous, self-given budget for this journey, his eyes flashed back up to the woman as he remembered the promise of coin he offered her.
"Ah, I see." He could have been satisfied with the subtext offered in her answer, but he was not entirely. So, he had to take another approach.
While Zoser was not an unkind man, he was still a man quite used to getting what he wanted. In this moment, selfishly, it was a few moments of pleasant conversation in his preferred language. Normally, his charisma and demeanor was enough to garner him what he wanted now, but for this, it seemed coin would have to suffice in being the proper amount of encouraging.
Besides, he could tell she was curious - he was a walking curiosity, he knew. A non-militant Egyptian who preferred to speak Greek wandering through the streets of Judea. He was outright offensive as a living creature pretty much anywhere he went, including in Egypt - too friendly and smiley. In Greece, too....Egyptian. And the same here in Judea. Ah, well. No changing that.
"Forgive me," Zoser mulled, blindly reaching beneath the folds of his clothes as if searching for his coinpurse, purposefully jostling it so that the metallic clink of the coins could be heard, "As I am new to this land, I am unfamiliar with many of their ways. Not only do I hope to learn much in Damascus, I hope to learn just as much from the people here."
From his coin purse, he gathered about five Hitta, rolling them about in his palm. Zoser observed the agelast woman across from him as the coins played their melody in his hand. Likely, she had only expected the one, and perhaps with that, she would be satisfied and disappear into the streets of Israel once again to the side of her Master. Still, there was a hunger in her eyes that had nothing to do with food, and if he could benefit from, he would.
Using his thumb, he placed one Hitta on the wooden table before them - the promised fee for her safe guidance to the boarding house - and slid another one visibly between the pad of his thumb and the side of his forefinger. It was not a tease but an encouragement. If she wanted it badly enough, she would have to play along.
"As someone who was once new to this land, I would appreciate your insight in how things are done here." A grin that could have been mistaken for a grimace accompanied a shallow huff of breath through his nose as he added, "I have already caused great offense here and, since I am not bound to leave this land for some weeks hence, I would like to inhibit the damage I may cause. Your advice would be....most valuable to me."
As if to coax a response from her, he massaged the second Hitta between his forefinger and thumb, the sound of further coins jostling from the movement in the curl of his remaining fingers.
Zoser daintily ate at the food on the tray placed before him, the forward lean of his body mostly focused on reaching the food easily but also unconsciously showing interest in the few words the woman before him dared speak.
The way she sat before him practically screamed discomfort in the situation, yet she endured it. For the briefest moment, Zoser forgot why. As he cleared away the tray before him, considering how the cost of it would fit into his rather generous, self-given budget for this journey, his eyes flashed back up to the woman as he remembered the promise of coin he offered her.
"Ah, I see." He could have been satisfied with the subtext offered in her answer, but he was not entirely. So, he had to take another approach.
While Zoser was not an unkind man, he was still a man quite used to getting what he wanted. In this moment, selfishly, it was a few moments of pleasant conversation in his preferred language. Normally, his charisma and demeanor was enough to garner him what he wanted now, but for this, it seemed coin would have to suffice in being the proper amount of encouraging.
Besides, he could tell she was curious - he was a walking curiosity, he knew. A non-militant Egyptian who preferred to speak Greek wandering through the streets of Judea. He was outright offensive as a living creature pretty much anywhere he went, including in Egypt - too friendly and smiley. In Greece, too....Egyptian. And the same here in Judea. Ah, well. No changing that.
"Forgive me," Zoser mulled, blindly reaching beneath the folds of his clothes as if searching for his coinpurse, purposefully jostling it so that the metallic clink of the coins could be heard, "As I am new to this land, I am unfamiliar with many of their ways. Not only do I hope to learn much in Damascus, I hope to learn just as much from the people here."
From his coin purse, he gathered about five Hitta, rolling them about in his palm. Zoser observed the agelast woman across from him as the coins played their melody in his hand. Likely, she had only expected the one, and perhaps with that, she would be satisfied and disappear into the streets of Israel once again to the side of her Master. Still, there was a hunger in her eyes that had nothing to do with food, and if he could benefit from, he would.
Using his thumb, he placed one Hitta on the wooden table before them - the promised fee for her safe guidance to the boarding house - and slid another one visibly between the pad of his thumb and the side of his forefinger. It was not a tease but an encouragement. If she wanted it badly enough, she would have to play along.
"As someone who was once new to this land, I would appreciate your insight in how things are done here." A grin that could have been mistaken for a grimace accompanied a shallow huff of breath through his nose as he added, "I have already caused great offense here and, since I am not bound to leave this land for some weeks hence, I would like to inhibit the damage I may cause. Your advice would be....most valuable to me."
As if to coax a response from her, he massaged the second Hitta between his forefinger and thumb, the sound of further coins jostling from the movement in the curl of his remaining fingers.
Hannah watched as the man ate but she did not attempt to take any morsel for herself or seek any drink. She could neither afford the cost of the food, nor did she strictly need it. Despite her life in Greece offering her the very finest of most things, she had long since learnt to moderate her desires. It had been a trying lesson to learn but one that she was, altogether thankful for. Through the moderate way of life for a Judean commoner, Hannah had learnt that difference between being given anything that your heart might desire and earning it. And how much sweeter the fruit that you had bought with money earned by your own labours was to any that was blindly offered due to your rank and promise.
When the man responded with little in regards to her answer, Hannah felt a gnawing worry that she had been tricked. That this man was finalising and concluding their meeting without so much as a coin to be passed between them. No payment for her aid was to be forthcoming and she had been used for her services without recompense. It was a worry but not a surprise. For the paying of slaves was not technically allowed in Judea - they were not employees, they were slaves. And there were many who hinted at additional promise to gain the attention of someone else's slave for a task at hand and then never gave them what they technically did not have to.
Yet, when the man reached inside the cloth of his clothes and the faint jingle of metal could be heard from inside the folds, the desire to stand up and leave the little establishment that had already set her emotions to a high standard of sensitivity was stilled by a hope she could not quell.
Almost salivating with the promise of payment that might come her way, through the sound of that money, Hannah had to direct her eyes to the grain of the wooden table and scolded herself inwardly. Such greed was not becoming of one of the Faithful. And even with her desire to see... to see him again, she could not risk the wrath of her adopted God in the process...
Swallowing, Hannah turned her pale gaze back up to meet the dark stare of the Egyptian with a calmer and less hungry expression, watching with a look of objectivity as he placed a coin upon the table.
One hitta.
She felt her heartrate raise because she knew it was only one more hitta before she could afford to send her next letter. The other two were hidden beneath a loose board at the bottom of the small chest she had been given for her clothing and bedding in the house of her master. It took three to send a letter.
When the coin was left upon the surface of the table, Hannah began to reach out. She stilled suddenly, however, her hand shooting to her mitzpahath and her gaze coming down. The other of her hands was held tight upon her lap and her face turned into the cloth of her mask as another approached their table.
Despite the owner of this particular tavern being more open to the comings and goings of those of different races, she couldn't be certain of other attendees upon the establishment and their chances of recognising her or whom she belonged to... accepting money from a foreigner. Her instinct was to protect her face and hide away from the man who came to their table. Yet, it turned out to only be the owner, reaching out to take the little oil lamp from the surface of their table and lighting it.
Hannah looked to the nearest opening that offered a view of the sky and realised that it was turning dark. She felt a dread settle in her belly as she realised that she would be punished for attending home so late. But if she was to be punished regardless... Her eyes turned back to the money that was still knocking loosely in the curled fingers of the Egyptian.
As soon as the owner of the tavern moved on, not surprised by a Judean woman's desire to hide her face when socialising with a foreigner in the dying light of day, but saying nothing, Hannah reached out and snatched the hitta from the table top. It was spirited away quickly into her lap, her mask falling free once more and her eyes back on the Egyptian that called himself the Grecian name of Zander.
His curiosity of the world of Judea seemed natural enough to a scholar. And he had gotten the measure of her quickly enough over what it was that she desired. Her eyes flickered away from the coin he pressed between his thumb and forefinger. Her frame settled more into her chair, offering her physical proof of her determination to stay for the sake of those little coins. She could send one letter now. But perhaps, if he was eager enough and she was able to give him the knowledge he sought... she would be on her way to a second before she left this common room.
"What is it you wish to know?" She asked him, her tongue loosening over the Greek that she was growing more used to using once more.
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Hannah watched as the man ate but she did not attempt to take any morsel for herself or seek any drink. She could neither afford the cost of the food, nor did she strictly need it. Despite her life in Greece offering her the very finest of most things, she had long since learnt to moderate her desires. It had been a trying lesson to learn but one that she was, altogether thankful for. Through the moderate way of life for a Judean commoner, Hannah had learnt that difference between being given anything that your heart might desire and earning it. And how much sweeter the fruit that you had bought with money earned by your own labours was to any that was blindly offered due to your rank and promise.
When the man responded with little in regards to her answer, Hannah felt a gnawing worry that she had been tricked. That this man was finalising and concluding their meeting without so much as a coin to be passed between them. No payment for her aid was to be forthcoming and she had been used for her services without recompense. It was a worry but not a surprise. For the paying of slaves was not technically allowed in Judea - they were not employees, they were slaves. And there were many who hinted at additional promise to gain the attention of someone else's slave for a task at hand and then never gave them what they technically did not have to.
Yet, when the man reached inside the cloth of his clothes and the faint jingle of metal could be heard from inside the folds, the desire to stand up and leave the little establishment that had already set her emotions to a high standard of sensitivity was stilled by a hope she could not quell.
Almost salivating with the promise of payment that might come her way, through the sound of that money, Hannah had to direct her eyes to the grain of the wooden table and scolded herself inwardly. Such greed was not becoming of one of the Faithful. And even with her desire to see... to see him again, she could not risk the wrath of her adopted God in the process...
Swallowing, Hannah turned her pale gaze back up to meet the dark stare of the Egyptian with a calmer and less hungry expression, watching with a look of objectivity as he placed a coin upon the table.
One hitta.
She felt her heartrate raise because she knew it was only one more hitta before she could afford to send her next letter. The other two were hidden beneath a loose board at the bottom of the small chest she had been given for her clothing and bedding in the house of her master. It took three to send a letter.
When the coin was left upon the surface of the table, Hannah began to reach out. She stilled suddenly, however, her hand shooting to her mitzpahath and her gaze coming down. The other of her hands was held tight upon her lap and her face turned into the cloth of her mask as another approached their table.
Despite the owner of this particular tavern being more open to the comings and goings of those of different races, she couldn't be certain of other attendees upon the establishment and their chances of recognising her or whom she belonged to... accepting money from a foreigner. Her instinct was to protect her face and hide away from the man who came to their table. Yet, it turned out to only be the owner, reaching out to take the little oil lamp from the surface of their table and lighting it.
Hannah looked to the nearest opening that offered a view of the sky and realised that it was turning dark. She felt a dread settle in her belly as she realised that she would be punished for attending home so late. But if she was to be punished regardless... Her eyes turned back to the money that was still knocking loosely in the curled fingers of the Egyptian.
As soon as the owner of the tavern moved on, not surprised by a Judean woman's desire to hide her face when socialising with a foreigner in the dying light of day, but saying nothing, Hannah reached out and snatched the hitta from the table top. It was spirited away quickly into her lap, her mask falling free once more and her eyes back on the Egyptian that called himself the Grecian name of Zander.
His curiosity of the world of Judea seemed natural enough to a scholar. And he had gotten the measure of her quickly enough over what it was that she desired. Her eyes flickered away from the coin he pressed between his thumb and forefinger. Her frame settled more into her chair, offering her physical proof of her determination to stay for the sake of those little coins. She could send one letter now. But perhaps, if he was eager enough and she was able to give him the knowledge he sought... she would be on her way to a second before she left this common room.
"What is it you wish to know?" She asked him, her tongue loosening over the Greek that she was growing more used to using once more.
Hannah watched as the man ate but she did not attempt to take any morsel for herself or seek any drink. She could neither afford the cost of the food, nor did she strictly need it. Despite her life in Greece offering her the very finest of most things, she had long since learnt to moderate her desires. It had been a trying lesson to learn but one that she was, altogether thankful for. Through the moderate way of life for a Judean commoner, Hannah had learnt that difference between being given anything that your heart might desire and earning it. And how much sweeter the fruit that you had bought with money earned by your own labours was to any that was blindly offered due to your rank and promise.
When the man responded with little in regards to her answer, Hannah felt a gnawing worry that she had been tricked. That this man was finalising and concluding their meeting without so much as a coin to be passed between them. No payment for her aid was to be forthcoming and she had been used for her services without recompense. It was a worry but not a surprise. For the paying of slaves was not technically allowed in Judea - they were not employees, they were slaves. And there were many who hinted at additional promise to gain the attention of someone else's slave for a task at hand and then never gave them what they technically did not have to.
Yet, when the man reached inside the cloth of his clothes and the faint jingle of metal could be heard from inside the folds, the desire to stand up and leave the little establishment that had already set her emotions to a high standard of sensitivity was stilled by a hope she could not quell.
Almost salivating with the promise of payment that might come her way, through the sound of that money, Hannah had to direct her eyes to the grain of the wooden table and scolded herself inwardly. Such greed was not becoming of one of the Faithful. And even with her desire to see... to see him again, she could not risk the wrath of her adopted God in the process...
Swallowing, Hannah turned her pale gaze back up to meet the dark stare of the Egyptian with a calmer and less hungry expression, watching with a look of objectivity as he placed a coin upon the table.
One hitta.
She felt her heartrate raise because she knew it was only one more hitta before she could afford to send her next letter. The other two were hidden beneath a loose board at the bottom of the small chest she had been given for her clothing and bedding in the house of her master. It took three to send a letter.
When the coin was left upon the surface of the table, Hannah began to reach out. She stilled suddenly, however, her hand shooting to her mitzpahath and her gaze coming down. The other of her hands was held tight upon her lap and her face turned into the cloth of her mask as another approached their table.
Despite the owner of this particular tavern being more open to the comings and goings of those of different races, she couldn't be certain of other attendees upon the establishment and their chances of recognising her or whom she belonged to... accepting money from a foreigner. Her instinct was to protect her face and hide away from the man who came to their table. Yet, it turned out to only be the owner, reaching out to take the little oil lamp from the surface of their table and lighting it.
Hannah looked to the nearest opening that offered a view of the sky and realised that it was turning dark. She felt a dread settle in her belly as she realised that she would be punished for attending home so late. But if she was to be punished regardless... Her eyes turned back to the money that was still knocking loosely in the curled fingers of the Egyptian.
As soon as the owner of the tavern moved on, not surprised by a Judean woman's desire to hide her face when socialising with a foreigner in the dying light of day, but saying nothing, Hannah reached out and snatched the hitta from the table top. It was spirited away quickly into her lap, her mask falling free once more and her eyes back on the Egyptian that called himself the Grecian name of Zander.
His curiosity of the world of Judea seemed natural enough to a scholar. And he had gotten the measure of her quickly enough over what it was that she desired. Her eyes flickered away from the coin he pressed between his thumb and forefinger. Her frame settled more into her chair, offering her physical proof of her determination to stay for the sake of those little coins. She could send one letter now. But perhaps, if he was eager enough and she was able to give him the knowledge he sought... she would be on her way to a second before she left this common room.
"What is it you wish to know?" She asked him, her tongue loosening over the Greek that she was growing more used to using once more.
It did not take long for Zoser to finish most of the food on the tray before him. The journey had been long and the heat in Judea seemed to hit differently than it did back home. Then again, it may have just been the 'excitement' of the day that caused him the early cravings for the comfort of food.
Egypt had slaves similarly to the rest of the world, and just as it was there, they were treated in various different ways. It made sense that with Hannah - which was not her true name, he knew - may have undergone a harsh reckoning as she emerged into her new life in Judea, however long ago that may have been.
The night that he was taken from Athenia, he feared he had been captured to be enslaved. It was a horrible fear for him, to lose any sense of reputation and identity, to be stripped of any social status that he held and lowered. Any step outside of your door, even the voyage across the sea to Judea, could result in the loss of life - whether literal or in this metaphorical sense.
The offering of the first hitta got such a distinct reaction from the woman that he found interesting. Slaves were not paid, but it was no secret that many slaves stashed away either coin for their own freedom or valuables that reminded them of their prior life, small tokens of memory. At least, Zoser knew that if such a fate ever befell him, he would do the same thing - he would not be able to stop himself.
So, when the woman settled into the seat more comfortably, he noticed. He also took notice of the way she hid away the precious metal in her lap.
"I often find that it is easier to learn through mistakes, or from the mistakes of others," he mused at first, a prelude to the way he would ask her want he wanted to know, "It seems that it is easier in this land to make a mistake than anywhere else I have been in my travels. Help seems like hurt in some cases. I am all but wholly unfamiliar with the customs here, and I assume at one point, you were just as ignorant of them." His brow flickered up, as if asking for a confirmation though he instantly knew that the slave woman would hardly speak more than necessary. Not surprising. The way she had glanced at the window to watch the sun's progress across the sky was enough indication that, though she would never by her position request to keep this short, it was likely necessary for her wellbeing.
"Your hardest learned lessons, three of them," he stated, plainly, as the rolling of the coins in his hands shifted the other two from his palm to now slip them in between the cracks of his fingers, back and forth in deliberate temptation.
For each mistake to avoid, a hitta. Simple enough.
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It did not take long for Zoser to finish most of the food on the tray before him. The journey had been long and the heat in Judea seemed to hit differently than it did back home. Then again, it may have just been the 'excitement' of the day that caused him the early cravings for the comfort of food.
Egypt had slaves similarly to the rest of the world, and just as it was there, they were treated in various different ways. It made sense that with Hannah - which was not her true name, he knew - may have undergone a harsh reckoning as she emerged into her new life in Judea, however long ago that may have been.
The night that he was taken from Athenia, he feared he had been captured to be enslaved. It was a horrible fear for him, to lose any sense of reputation and identity, to be stripped of any social status that he held and lowered. Any step outside of your door, even the voyage across the sea to Judea, could result in the loss of life - whether literal or in this metaphorical sense.
The offering of the first hitta got such a distinct reaction from the woman that he found interesting. Slaves were not paid, but it was no secret that many slaves stashed away either coin for their own freedom or valuables that reminded them of their prior life, small tokens of memory. At least, Zoser knew that if such a fate ever befell him, he would do the same thing - he would not be able to stop himself.
So, when the woman settled into the seat more comfortably, he noticed. He also took notice of the way she hid away the precious metal in her lap.
"I often find that it is easier to learn through mistakes, or from the mistakes of others," he mused at first, a prelude to the way he would ask her want he wanted to know, "It seems that it is easier in this land to make a mistake than anywhere else I have been in my travels. Help seems like hurt in some cases. I am all but wholly unfamiliar with the customs here, and I assume at one point, you were just as ignorant of them." His brow flickered up, as if asking for a confirmation though he instantly knew that the slave woman would hardly speak more than necessary. Not surprising. The way she had glanced at the window to watch the sun's progress across the sky was enough indication that, though she would never by her position request to keep this short, it was likely necessary for her wellbeing.
"Your hardest learned lessons, three of them," he stated, plainly, as the rolling of the coins in his hands shifted the other two from his palm to now slip them in between the cracks of his fingers, back and forth in deliberate temptation.
For each mistake to avoid, a hitta. Simple enough.
It did not take long for Zoser to finish most of the food on the tray before him. The journey had been long and the heat in Judea seemed to hit differently than it did back home. Then again, it may have just been the 'excitement' of the day that caused him the early cravings for the comfort of food.
Egypt had slaves similarly to the rest of the world, and just as it was there, they were treated in various different ways. It made sense that with Hannah - which was not her true name, he knew - may have undergone a harsh reckoning as she emerged into her new life in Judea, however long ago that may have been.
The night that he was taken from Athenia, he feared he had been captured to be enslaved. It was a horrible fear for him, to lose any sense of reputation and identity, to be stripped of any social status that he held and lowered. Any step outside of your door, even the voyage across the sea to Judea, could result in the loss of life - whether literal or in this metaphorical sense.
The offering of the first hitta got such a distinct reaction from the woman that he found interesting. Slaves were not paid, but it was no secret that many slaves stashed away either coin for their own freedom or valuables that reminded them of their prior life, small tokens of memory. At least, Zoser knew that if such a fate ever befell him, he would do the same thing - he would not be able to stop himself.
So, when the woman settled into the seat more comfortably, he noticed. He also took notice of the way she hid away the precious metal in her lap.
"I often find that it is easier to learn through mistakes, or from the mistakes of others," he mused at first, a prelude to the way he would ask her want he wanted to know, "It seems that it is easier in this land to make a mistake than anywhere else I have been in my travels. Help seems like hurt in some cases. I am all but wholly unfamiliar with the customs here, and I assume at one point, you were just as ignorant of them." His brow flickered up, as if asking for a confirmation though he instantly knew that the slave woman would hardly speak more than necessary. Not surprising. The way she had glanced at the window to watch the sun's progress across the sky was enough indication that, though she would never by her position request to keep this short, it was likely necessary for her wellbeing.
"Your hardest learned lessons, three of them," he stated, plainly, as the rolling of the coins in his hands shifted the other two from his palm to now slip them in between the cracks of his fingers, back and forth in deliberate temptation.
For each mistake to avoid, a hitta. Simple enough.
Hannah could barely breathe.
It cost three hitta to send a letter. More so for the supplies and ink, or the clay required. She had hoarded the scraps that she could find, had purchased the little reams of papyrus in a small bulk to save on costs. It had taken all of her self-control not to send the first and second letters whenever she had the coin to deliver only one but she had held true to her common sense. She had kept a reign on her emotions and thought about the reality of the situation. Isaiah's ship had gone down. If he were alive, he was alive because another ship found him or he washed up on a coastline somewhere. Which means that he could be trying to scrape by an existence on any of the portland cities in the Mediterranean and Aegean Seas. There were at least three dozen of them. And that presupposed that he had stayed there. That he hadn't found the money to somehow travel to another town or been forced to move there against his free will as she had. Dozens of letters would not be enough, hundreds perhaps, in order to find him. So far, Hypatia had managed to send seven letters to ports along the Judean and Egyptian coasts. She had enough paper for three more. And she had two hittas to her name.
If this man could offer her another three on the one that she had already acquired from him, she could send two letters. It had taken her four months to save the two bronze coins she had stowed away in one of her socks beneath her cot. She could jump to two letters worth of coin in only a few hours. That was surely worth whatever risk her extended absence from her master would make.
With the benefits of this deal so very close - practically in her hands - Hannah almost couldn't think straight. She had to blink, to swallow on a dry throat and pay close attention to what the man before her was asking. Her Grecian ear had to be drawn in, reminded of her past and used to translate his words.
When he spoke of the offences that he could cause in Judea, Hannah nodded. The Hebrew people were a community who would find fault wherever they could. If there was even the slightest chance of them finding offence - especially of a foreigner - they would seek it out. Like dogs with bones. They seemed to hold a permanent attitude that was just waiting to be insulted, and would flare as soon as a stimulus was applied.
This being said, this was only the sorts of Judeans like the councilman back by the severed arm that day. There were Jewish people that cared for others and were open to those of different religions or cultures. Who didn't fear them... Who wanted to learn about them.
She had married one such man.
Not letting her thoughts stray back to Isaiah again, Hannah trained her eyes upon Xander's face. She watched him carefully, looking for clues as to what he might want from her to secure those last few coveted coins...
'Your hardest learned lessons, three of them...'
Hannah felt the stubs at the end of her fingers ache. She swallowed.
Glancing down at the table, around at the room, Hannah panicked when her mind suddenly went blank, put on the spot to provide something of equal parts entertainment and informative. This man genuinely wished to learn and she had the opportunity to teach - and to earn.
"Er..." She prayed to God that she could come up with at least something. She cast her mind back to her first days in Judea and all the stumbles and confusions that she had made. And yet only Isaiah's face would spring to mind, smiling at her from across her parlour room as they learnt colours.
"Don't... Don't try to be Judean." She said, finally, thankful that something had come out of her mouth. "Don't try to mimic their language or their culture, or wear their clothes. Not in a big way. Blend in a little - that's fine. But by mimicking them, the Hebrews can see it as mocking, or worse, sacrilegious." She nodded, thinking of another almost immediately. "Learn the food and drink that is considered unholy. It's natural in Greece to offer food to a guest and shows hospitality. The reverse is true here. You take food as a gift to your host. But take the wrong good and you'll be off on the wrong foot straight away."
Licking her lips and tapping the tips of her fingers upon the tabletop, Hannah cast about for another lesson. Something that she could offer...
She remembered her fingers...
"Give up any sense of being right." She swallowed, her voice becoming more emotional, her own traumas rising to the surface to give it an edge. "It doesn't matter if you are right or wrong in an argument with a Jew. Just accept ignorance. Bow your head and be humble. Don't try to joke it off, don't try to explain or find common ground. Just immediately back down and perform contrition." She watched the Egyptian across the table with large haunting eyes. "Humility could save your life here."
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Hannah could barely breathe.
It cost three hitta to send a letter. More so for the supplies and ink, or the clay required. She had hoarded the scraps that she could find, had purchased the little reams of papyrus in a small bulk to save on costs. It had taken all of her self-control not to send the first and second letters whenever she had the coin to deliver only one but she had held true to her common sense. She had kept a reign on her emotions and thought about the reality of the situation. Isaiah's ship had gone down. If he were alive, he was alive because another ship found him or he washed up on a coastline somewhere. Which means that he could be trying to scrape by an existence on any of the portland cities in the Mediterranean and Aegean Seas. There were at least three dozen of them. And that presupposed that he had stayed there. That he hadn't found the money to somehow travel to another town or been forced to move there against his free will as she had. Dozens of letters would not be enough, hundreds perhaps, in order to find him. So far, Hypatia had managed to send seven letters to ports along the Judean and Egyptian coasts. She had enough paper for three more. And she had two hittas to her name.
If this man could offer her another three on the one that she had already acquired from him, she could send two letters. It had taken her four months to save the two bronze coins she had stowed away in one of her socks beneath her cot. She could jump to two letters worth of coin in only a few hours. That was surely worth whatever risk her extended absence from her master would make.
With the benefits of this deal so very close - practically in her hands - Hannah almost couldn't think straight. She had to blink, to swallow on a dry throat and pay close attention to what the man before her was asking. Her Grecian ear had to be drawn in, reminded of her past and used to translate his words.
When he spoke of the offences that he could cause in Judea, Hannah nodded. The Hebrew people were a community who would find fault wherever they could. If there was even the slightest chance of them finding offence - especially of a foreigner - they would seek it out. Like dogs with bones. They seemed to hold a permanent attitude that was just waiting to be insulted, and would flare as soon as a stimulus was applied.
This being said, this was only the sorts of Judeans like the councilman back by the severed arm that day. There were Jewish people that cared for others and were open to those of different religions or cultures. Who didn't fear them... Who wanted to learn about them.
She had married one such man.
Not letting her thoughts stray back to Isaiah again, Hannah trained her eyes upon Xander's face. She watched him carefully, looking for clues as to what he might want from her to secure those last few coveted coins...
'Your hardest learned lessons, three of them...'
Hannah felt the stubs at the end of her fingers ache. She swallowed.
Glancing down at the table, around at the room, Hannah panicked when her mind suddenly went blank, put on the spot to provide something of equal parts entertainment and informative. This man genuinely wished to learn and she had the opportunity to teach - and to earn.
"Er..." She prayed to God that she could come up with at least something. She cast her mind back to her first days in Judea and all the stumbles and confusions that she had made. And yet only Isaiah's face would spring to mind, smiling at her from across her parlour room as they learnt colours.
"Don't... Don't try to be Judean." She said, finally, thankful that something had come out of her mouth. "Don't try to mimic their language or their culture, or wear their clothes. Not in a big way. Blend in a little - that's fine. But by mimicking them, the Hebrews can see it as mocking, or worse, sacrilegious." She nodded, thinking of another almost immediately. "Learn the food and drink that is considered unholy. It's natural in Greece to offer food to a guest and shows hospitality. The reverse is true here. You take food as a gift to your host. But take the wrong good and you'll be off on the wrong foot straight away."
Licking her lips and tapping the tips of her fingers upon the tabletop, Hannah cast about for another lesson. Something that she could offer...
She remembered her fingers...
"Give up any sense of being right." She swallowed, her voice becoming more emotional, her own traumas rising to the surface to give it an edge. "It doesn't matter if you are right or wrong in an argument with a Jew. Just accept ignorance. Bow your head and be humble. Don't try to joke it off, don't try to explain or find common ground. Just immediately back down and perform contrition." She watched the Egyptian across the table with large haunting eyes. "Humility could save your life here."
Hannah could barely breathe.
It cost three hitta to send a letter. More so for the supplies and ink, or the clay required. She had hoarded the scraps that she could find, had purchased the little reams of papyrus in a small bulk to save on costs. It had taken all of her self-control not to send the first and second letters whenever she had the coin to deliver only one but she had held true to her common sense. She had kept a reign on her emotions and thought about the reality of the situation. Isaiah's ship had gone down. If he were alive, he was alive because another ship found him or he washed up on a coastline somewhere. Which means that he could be trying to scrape by an existence on any of the portland cities in the Mediterranean and Aegean Seas. There were at least three dozen of them. And that presupposed that he had stayed there. That he hadn't found the money to somehow travel to another town or been forced to move there against his free will as she had. Dozens of letters would not be enough, hundreds perhaps, in order to find him. So far, Hypatia had managed to send seven letters to ports along the Judean and Egyptian coasts. She had enough paper for three more. And she had two hittas to her name.
If this man could offer her another three on the one that she had already acquired from him, she could send two letters. It had taken her four months to save the two bronze coins she had stowed away in one of her socks beneath her cot. She could jump to two letters worth of coin in only a few hours. That was surely worth whatever risk her extended absence from her master would make.
With the benefits of this deal so very close - practically in her hands - Hannah almost couldn't think straight. She had to blink, to swallow on a dry throat and pay close attention to what the man before her was asking. Her Grecian ear had to be drawn in, reminded of her past and used to translate his words.
When he spoke of the offences that he could cause in Judea, Hannah nodded. The Hebrew people were a community who would find fault wherever they could. If there was even the slightest chance of them finding offence - especially of a foreigner - they would seek it out. Like dogs with bones. They seemed to hold a permanent attitude that was just waiting to be insulted, and would flare as soon as a stimulus was applied.
This being said, this was only the sorts of Judeans like the councilman back by the severed arm that day. There were Jewish people that cared for others and were open to those of different religions or cultures. Who didn't fear them... Who wanted to learn about them.
She had married one such man.
Not letting her thoughts stray back to Isaiah again, Hannah trained her eyes upon Xander's face. She watched him carefully, looking for clues as to what he might want from her to secure those last few coveted coins...
'Your hardest learned lessons, three of them...'
Hannah felt the stubs at the end of her fingers ache. She swallowed.
Glancing down at the table, around at the room, Hannah panicked when her mind suddenly went blank, put on the spot to provide something of equal parts entertainment and informative. This man genuinely wished to learn and she had the opportunity to teach - and to earn.
"Er..." She prayed to God that she could come up with at least something. She cast her mind back to her first days in Judea and all the stumbles and confusions that she had made. And yet only Isaiah's face would spring to mind, smiling at her from across her parlour room as they learnt colours.
"Don't... Don't try to be Judean." She said, finally, thankful that something had come out of her mouth. "Don't try to mimic their language or their culture, or wear their clothes. Not in a big way. Blend in a little - that's fine. But by mimicking them, the Hebrews can see it as mocking, or worse, sacrilegious." She nodded, thinking of another almost immediately. "Learn the food and drink that is considered unholy. It's natural in Greece to offer food to a guest and shows hospitality. The reverse is true here. You take food as a gift to your host. But take the wrong good and you'll be off on the wrong foot straight away."
Licking her lips and tapping the tips of her fingers upon the tabletop, Hannah cast about for another lesson. Something that she could offer...
She remembered her fingers...
"Give up any sense of being right." She swallowed, her voice becoming more emotional, her own traumas rising to the surface to give it an edge. "It doesn't matter if you are right or wrong in an argument with a Jew. Just accept ignorance. Bow your head and be humble. Don't try to joke it off, don't try to explain or find common ground. Just immediately back down and perform contrition." She watched the Egyptian across the table with large haunting eyes. "Humility could save your life here."
Zoser watched the woman's reaction to his offer and immediately saw the thoughts forming behind her eyes. There was a determination for these coins - was it for her freedom? That was his first assumption when it came to the 'willingness' of slaves to do any task, particularly if there was the promise of reward.
It was clear from her words that she had not always been such a slave, and the idea of having known the taste of freedom only to lose it either to debt or capture would be torture. It would make the promise of freedom again as necessary as taking in a breath of morning air. He could never fully comprehend such a need, having lived a life apart from that, but he could understand such a desire to have control over your own life.
The moment she spoke, his brows raised, not so much out of interest in the words spoke as he was in hearing the longest string of words that he had heard from her yet. And in Greek. Her voice seemed to take on a musical tone, despite the stark urgency of the advice she offered. Then again, he was entirely biased towards the language and pretty women who spoke it.
Zoser nodded at the first suggestion. There would be no issue with that - he stood out like a sore thumb, between his height, his skin, and his clothes. He had taken to putting on a scholars stole and such to cover his torso since arriving, and imagined that finding some other fabrics to keep himself from scandalizing too many of the Judean sensitivities would be necessary before continuing on this journey.
At the advice regarding food, Zoser's eyes instinctively flicked down towards the platter between them. Noted. He did not anticipate being a guest in anyone's house during his stay, but if he ever was, he made a mental note to do such a thing.
The final piece of advice struck a strong chord within him, pinging off his ego a moment like a hailstone on metal. In the past ten years, he had fought his way into his position with merit alone, even having done so in the two decades prior in Greece....yet with each word, memory of his first weeks as a Egyptian child left in Athenia fluttered in his gut like the wings of a butterfly.
His lip twitched downward at the look in her eyes, guilty in the briefest moment for asking a question that struck her deeply, but also now curious as to the details. He always wanted details but for now, would have to survive without.
There was a long, lingering pause in that moment, before Zoser adjusted the way he sat and leaned forward. His arm extended towards her, the promised coins pinched between his fingers as he held them out to her.
"Thank you, Hannah," he said, his voice solemn and sincere as he left her with the reward he had promised, "With any good fortune, your words will allow my time here to be fruitful." He offered her a slight smile and then a bit of a sigh, "It is unlikely our paths will cross again, but if we should be so lucky, I would be happy to share a conversation again, like this...perhaps on happier thoughts."
Sitting back, he inclined his head towards her, offering a final farewell with "If you must go, go now in peace." Then, he turned his focus from the Judean slave with the face of a Greek Goddess back to the food set before him.
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Zoser watched the woman's reaction to his offer and immediately saw the thoughts forming behind her eyes. There was a determination for these coins - was it for her freedom? That was his first assumption when it came to the 'willingness' of slaves to do any task, particularly if there was the promise of reward.
It was clear from her words that she had not always been such a slave, and the idea of having known the taste of freedom only to lose it either to debt or capture would be torture. It would make the promise of freedom again as necessary as taking in a breath of morning air. He could never fully comprehend such a need, having lived a life apart from that, but he could understand such a desire to have control over your own life.
The moment she spoke, his brows raised, not so much out of interest in the words spoke as he was in hearing the longest string of words that he had heard from her yet. And in Greek. Her voice seemed to take on a musical tone, despite the stark urgency of the advice she offered. Then again, he was entirely biased towards the language and pretty women who spoke it.
Zoser nodded at the first suggestion. There would be no issue with that - he stood out like a sore thumb, between his height, his skin, and his clothes. He had taken to putting on a scholars stole and such to cover his torso since arriving, and imagined that finding some other fabrics to keep himself from scandalizing too many of the Judean sensitivities would be necessary before continuing on this journey.
At the advice regarding food, Zoser's eyes instinctively flicked down towards the platter between them. Noted. He did not anticipate being a guest in anyone's house during his stay, but if he ever was, he made a mental note to do such a thing.
The final piece of advice struck a strong chord within him, pinging off his ego a moment like a hailstone on metal. In the past ten years, he had fought his way into his position with merit alone, even having done so in the two decades prior in Greece....yet with each word, memory of his first weeks as a Egyptian child left in Athenia fluttered in his gut like the wings of a butterfly.
His lip twitched downward at the look in her eyes, guilty in the briefest moment for asking a question that struck her deeply, but also now curious as to the details. He always wanted details but for now, would have to survive without.
There was a long, lingering pause in that moment, before Zoser adjusted the way he sat and leaned forward. His arm extended towards her, the promised coins pinched between his fingers as he held them out to her.
"Thank you, Hannah," he said, his voice solemn and sincere as he left her with the reward he had promised, "With any good fortune, your words will allow my time here to be fruitful." He offered her a slight smile and then a bit of a sigh, "It is unlikely our paths will cross again, but if we should be so lucky, I would be happy to share a conversation again, like this...perhaps on happier thoughts."
Sitting back, he inclined his head towards her, offering a final farewell with "If you must go, go now in peace." Then, he turned his focus from the Judean slave with the face of a Greek Goddess back to the food set before him.
Zoser watched the woman's reaction to his offer and immediately saw the thoughts forming behind her eyes. There was a determination for these coins - was it for her freedom? That was his first assumption when it came to the 'willingness' of slaves to do any task, particularly if there was the promise of reward.
It was clear from her words that she had not always been such a slave, and the idea of having known the taste of freedom only to lose it either to debt or capture would be torture. It would make the promise of freedom again as necessary as taking in a breath of morning air. He could never fully comprehend such a need, having lived a life apart from that, but he could understand such a desire to have control over your own life.
The moment she spoke, his brows raised, not so much out of interest in the words spoke as he was in hearing the longest string of words that he had heard from her yet. And in Greek. Her voice seemed to take on a musical tone, despite the stark urgency of the advice she offered. Then again, he was entirely biased towards the language and pretty women who spoke it.
Zoser nodded at the first suggestion. There would be no issue with that - he stood out like a sore thumb, between his height, his skin, and his clothes. He had taken to putting on a scholars stole and such to cover his torso since arriving, and imagined that finding some other fabrics to keep himself from scandalizing too many of the Judean sensitivities would be necessary before continuing on this journey.
At the advice regarding food, Zoser's eyes instinctively flicked down towards the platter between them. Noted. He did not anticipate being a guest in anyone's house during his stay, but if he ever was, he made a mental note to do such a thing.
The final piece of advice struck a strong chord within him, pinging off his ego a moment like a hailstone on metal. In the past ten years, he had fought his way into his position with merit alone, even having done so in the two decades prior in Greece....yet with each word, memory of his first weeks as a Egyptian child left in Athenia fluttered in his gut like the wings of a butterfly.
His lip twitched downward at the look in her eyes, guilty in the briefest moment for asking a question that struck her deeply, but also now curious as to the details. He always wanted details but for now, would have to survive without.
There was a long, lingering pause in that moment, before Zoser adjusted the way he sat and leaned forward. His arm extended towards her, the promised coins pinched between his fingers as he held them out to her.
"Thank you, Hannah," he said, his voice solemn and sincere as he left her with the reward he had promised, "With any good fortune, your words will allow my time here to be fruitful." He offered her a slight smile and then a bit of a sigh, "It is unlikely our paths will cross again, but if we should be so lucky, I would be happy to share a conversation again, like this...perhaps on happier thoughts."
Sitting back, he inclined his head towards her, offering a final farewell with "If you must go, go now in peace." Then, he turned his focus from the Judean slave with the face of a Greek Goddess back to the food set before him.
Despite all her haste and panic to ensure those little coins fell into her hands at the end of this conversation, Hannah seemed almost paralysed when they were finally offered to her touch. Apparently spellbound, she had watched the Egyptian lean over and offer her the three little coins. The clink of the bronze being held between his fingertips was like a melodic siren's call and, after a heartbeat or two, Hannah snapped out of her reverie to lean forwards, hands outstretched.
She didn't snatch the pieces from his hold, nor did she try to rip them from his grasp. She had learnt long ago in Judea that even the slightest sign of disrespect could bubble up into a fiery event of misunderstanding or miscomprehension and see her battered and broken by the end of the day. Or widowed. And when those three coins - the last thing she needed to ensure that two letters could be sent abroad - just within her reach, her sense of reason wrestled her passions down so that she would only wait with bated breath. Her hands were cupped beneath Xander's, one bandaged and one not, and hovered there until the pieces were released into her palms.
She only exhaled once the warm bronze had fallen against her skin.
Eyes bright with hope, her chest rising and falling with a joyful sense of mania that she could not restrain, Hannah looked up to meet Xander's gaze away that her own orbs might hold a touch of the hysterical about them. Her voice, on the other hand, was as angelic as it always was and she breathed her next words like a prayer.
"Thank you." She said, her fingers curling around the coins and drawing them into her chest. She swallowed as the man turned his attentions back to his food and quickly scrambled to her feet. As a slave, she knew when her presence was being dismissed.
Offering the man a bow, Hannah murmured her thanks twice more before she headed around the table and back towards the door. She had only managed two steps however, placing her beside Xander's chair before she hesitated. Her tongue broke from her mouth to dampen her lips and she looked around the room with a quick glance of uncertainty. As if she wasn't sure who was here and if she could risk her next words with whatever audience might be listening in.
"If we do meet again Xander..." She began, unsure how to word her sentiments. "...and I am not detained by my master's wishes... then a conversation would be nice."
This admittance was offered quietly and was quickly masked when Hannah reached up to secure her mitzpahath into place. But she had meant the words all the same, no matter how quickly she hid them and herself away. It had been nice to converse in Greek and reminder herself of the language she had been born speaking. And Xander was not an unkind person. She felt a moment of shame for how she had treated him with ostracization and distrust in the beginning of their acquaintance. That was not charitable. It was not worthy.
She would pray for forgiveness of such a thing when next she went to temple.
With a soft nod of farewell, Hannah offered another bow and then hurried from the building, not daring to look back or pause again so that Xander might change his mind about the money. Instead, she held the coins tight to her chest and strode along the roads that would lead her back home at a rapid pace.
It was dark now. Night had fallen. And she was late by hours for her master. Whilst lying was a sin, Hannah was enough of a coward before the whip to start concocting stories in her head that might be a viable reason for her delay and absence. Enough so that she would not be flogged for her disappearing act.
By the time she arrived back at her master's home, the candles still lit in the windows of his laundry workshop, Hannah had absolutely no lies to tell her master. Only an ache in the palm of her hand, where she had squeezed onto the coins so tight that red divots had been embossed into her skin.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Despite all her haste and panic to ensure those little coins fell into her hands at the end of this conversation, Hannah seemed almost paralysed when they were finally offered to her touch. Apparently spellbound, she had watched the Egyptian lean over and offer her the three little coins. The clink of the bronze being held between his fingertips was like a melodic siren's call and, after a heartbeat or two, Hannah snapped out of her reverie to lean forwards, hands outstretched.
She didn't snatch the pieces from his hold, nor did she try to rip them from his grasp. She had learnt long ago in Judea that even the slightest sign of disrespect could bubble up into a fiery event of misunderstanding or miscomprehension and see her battered and broken by the end of the day. Or widowed. And when those three coins - the last thing she needed to ensure that two letters could be sent abroad - just within her reach, her sense of reason wrestled her passions down so that she would only wait with bated breath. Her hands were cupped beneath Xander's, one bandaged and one not, and hovered there until the pieces were released into her palms.
She only exhaled once the warm bronze had fallen against her skin.
Eyes bright with hope, her chest rising and falling with a joyful sense of mania that she could not restrain, Hannah looked up to meet Xander's gaze away that her own orbs might hold a touch of the hysterical about them. Her voice, on the other hand, was as angelic as it always was and she breathed her next words like a prayer.
"Thank you." She said, her fingers curling around the coins and drawing them into her chest. She swallowed as the man turned his attentions back to his food and quickly scrambled to her feet. As a slave, she knew when her presence was being dismissed.
Offering the man a bow, Hannah murmured her thanks twice more before she headed around the table and back towards the door. She had only managed two steps however, placing her beside Xander's chair before she hesitated. Her tongue broke from her mouth to dampen her lips and she looked around the room with a quick glance of uncertainty. As if she wasn't sure who was here and if she could risk her next words with whatever audience might be listening in.
"If we do meet again Xander..." She began, unsure how to word her sentiments. "...and I am not detained by my master's wishes... then a conversation would be nice."
This admittance was offered quietly and was quickly masked when Hannah reached up to secure her mitzpahath into place. But she had meant the words all the same, no matter how quickly she hid them and herself away. It had been nice to converse in Greek and reminder herself of the language she had been born speaking. And Xander was not an unkind person. She felt a moment of shame for how she had treated him with ostracization and distrust in the beginning of their acquaintance. That was not charitable. It was not worthy.
She would pray for forgiveness of such a thing when next she went to temple.
With a soft nod of farewell, Hannah offered another bow and then hurried from the building, not daring to look back or pause again so that Xander might change his mind about the money. Instead, she held the coins tight to her chest and strode along the roads that would lead her back home at a rapid pace.
It was dark now. Night had fallen. And she was late by hours for her master. Whilst lying was a sin, Hannah was enough of a coward before the whip to start concocting stories in her head that might be a viable reason for her delay and absence. Enough so that she would not be flogged for her disappearing act.
By the time she arrived back at her master's home, the candles still lit in the windows of his laundry workshop, Hannah had absolutely no lies to tell her master. Only an ache in the palm of her hand, where she had squeezed onto the coins so tight that red divots had been embossed into her skin.
Despite all her haste and panic to ensure those little coins fell into her hands at the end of this conversation, Hannah seemed almost paralysed when they were finally offered to her touch. Apparently spellbound, she had watched the Egyptian lean over and offer her the three little coins. The clink of the bronze being held between his fingertips was like a melodic siren's call and, after a heartbeat or two, Hannah snapped out of her reverie to lean forwards, hands outstretched.
She didn't snatch the pieces from his hold, nor did she try to rip them from his grasp. She had learnt long ago in Judea that even the slightest sign of disrespect could bubble up into a fiery event of misunderstanding or miscomprehension and see her battered and broken by the end of the day. Or widowed. And when those three coins - the last thing she needed to ensure that two letters could be sent abroad - just within her reach, her sense of reason wrestled her passions down so that she would only wait with bated breath. Her hands were cupped beneath Xander's, one bandaged and one not, and hovered there until the pieces were released into her palms.
She only exhaled once the warm bronze had fallen against her skin.
Eyes bright with hope, her chest rising and falling with a joyful sense of mania that she could not restrain, Hannah looked up to meet Xander's gaze away that her own orbs might hold a touch of the hysterical about them. Her voice, on the other hand, was as angelic as it always was and she breathed her next words like a prayer.
"Thank you." She said, her fingers curling around the coins and drawing them into her chest. She swallowed as the man turned his attentions back to his food and quickly scrambled to her feet. As a slave, she knew when her presence was being dismissed.
Offering the man a bow, Hannah murmured her thanks twice more before she headed around the table and back towards the door. She had only managed two steps however, placing her beside Xander's chair before she hesitated. Her tongue broke from her mouth to dampen her lips and she looked around the room with a quick glance of uncertainty. As if she wasn't sure who was here and if she could risk her next words with whatever audience might be listening in.
"If we do meet again Xander..." She began, unsure how to word her sentiments. "...and I am not detained by my master's wishes... then a conversation would be nice."
This admittance was offered quietly and was quickly masked when Hannah reached up to secure her mitzpahath into place. But she had meant the words all the same, no matter how quickly she hid them and herself away. It had been nice to converse in Greek and reminder herself of the language she had been born speaking. And Xander was not an unkind person. She felt a moment of shame for how she had treated him with ostracization and distrust in the beginning of their acquaintance. That was not charitable. It was not worthy.
She would pray for forgiveness of such a thing when next she went to temple.
With a soft nod of farewell, Hannah offered another bow and then hurried from the building, not daring to look back or pause again so that Xander might change his mind about the money. Instead, she held the coins tight to her chest and strode along the roads that would lead her back home at a rapid pace.
It was dark now. Night had fallen. And she was late by hours for her master. Whilst lying was a sin, Hannah was enough of a coward before the whip to start concocting stories in her head that might be a viable reason for her delay and absence. Enough so that she would not be flogged for her disappearing act.
By the time she arrived back at her master's home, the candles still lit in the windows of his laundry workshop, Hannah had absolutely no lies to tell her master. Only an ache in the palm of her hand, where she had squeezed onto the coins so tight that red divots had been embossed into her skin.