by Laura Gill
As I edged around the painted tiles of the megaron’s floor to reach the vestibule, Ariston raced through the curtain. His pallor matched his robe, and when he saw me approaching he hastened forward, arms open to catch me. “No, no, Lady. It is not the royal herald this time, but worse. You must not confront them.” His hands and voice shook, alarming me further. “You must not look at the thing they brought.”
My fear intensified. What could have unnerved the unflappable high priest? What “thing” had Polydektes sent? Faces raced through my mind’s eye. Names clamored in my head, and each was equally dreadful.
“Come out, daughter of Acrisius, princess of Argos!” A man’s deep voice reverberated over the gentle pitter-patter of the falling drizzle. Contemptuous tones undercut his challenge; he was obviously gloating, but over what? “See what your defiance of the king has wrought.”
I started forward, despite Ariston’s ongoing effort to restrain me. “No, Lady! You will regret seeing.”
“Suppose those men decide to break down the sanctuary doors, or kill you, or burn down the sanctuary? I have to answer,” I flung back at him. A definite purpose gave me strength. “Only...who have they killed?” A sudden twinge of uncertainly prompted me to clutch Ariston’s arm. “Have they killed Diktys?”
Ariston shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice was steadier, his composure more pronounced. “No, it is a woman. But let us accompany you, and you stay safe in the doorway, so we can shut the doors again and bar them if the king’s men try to violate the temenos.” The other priests had emerged from the vestibule to observe the scene. Now as one body they moved forward to offer their support.
“Then open the doors,” I told them, and let the high priest, his arm wound tightly through mine, escort me into the dim vestibule. Which of us needed to lean on the other more, he who had witnessed whatever horror awaited, or I, who had yet to face it? I swallowed a second time, for my throat was constantly going dry, while he kept murmuring, “Courage, Lady. Have courage.”
The moment the doors opened and I, disengaging myself from Ariston’s hold, stepped into the doorway, I noticed the sea of faces crowded against the boundary of the temenos. Dozens of citizens clamoring for a view, washed-out blur of humanity receding into the misty drizzle. Posted between us, warriors wearing bronze and boar tusk, carrying spears and waisted ox-hide shields formed a cordon. The king’s men. Suddenly I became aware of my hammering heartbeat, the need to breathe. Had they been ordered to violate the sanctuary and seize me by force?
“There she is, the high-and-mighty princess of Argos! Danaë, daughter of Acrisius, who has for years thwarted the king’s good will!” The same man’s voice, sneering, mocking. I searched the ranks of warriors until I found him, a shaggy veteran, scarred and dark of face, under a boar-tusk helmet whose crimson crest drooped in the rain. “She incites the people of Seriphos to rebellion. She claims to be the beloved of Zeus. Pah!” He spat a wad of phlegm on the sacred ground of the temenos, an act of sacrilege that drew a gasp from the priests. “Let this arrogant hussy see now what her disobedience and war-mongering has brought.”
He jabbed his finger toward an object my eyes had been avoiding. When I had scanned the sea of faces, and perused the ranks of warriors, I deliberately unfocused my eyes to keep from having to acknowledge the object Ariston had warned me against, something transfixed on a stake stained scarlet with its congealing blood. It took all my effort not to look, for I knew that if I did I might lose my nerve. Showing weakness would only encourage these brutes.
“How have I incited rebellion and disobedience, when I have only wanted peace?” I shouted back. “Is this how your king pursues a lone, defenseless woman, by harassing her neighbors and murdering the innocent?” Who was the victim? I blinked, keeping my gaze focused above the crowd, yet that smear of scarlet kept stabbing at my peripheral vision, demanding to be acknowledged. “If anyone has violated the peace, it is Polydektes himself!”
An angry murmur like the hum of a restless beehive attended my remarks. Some hissed, even shouted curses. Others, mostly women, cried out, “Zeus preserve us!” And from farthest away, I heard defiant calls of “Long live King Diktys!”
“You were warned, woman!” Heedless of the outcry it elicited, the warrior stepped past the boundary stones into the temenos. I tensed, as did the priests flanking me. His accusing finger stabbed toward the stake, then at me. “This woman’s blood is on your hands!”
The compulsion too great, I confronted the carnage, and instantly wished I had not. Death had distorted the woman’s features. Blood ran from her nostrils and gaping mouth; the loss of it rendered her flesh waxen. Her eyes were open but glazed over. My stunned mind, struggling to reconcile the grisly scene with a living being, groped for a name. Panope. My knees wobbled, and I grasped at Ariston’s arm for support. Of all the victims the king’s men could have taken, why her?
“No, this blood is on the king’s hands,” I croaked. “This woman you murdered, she, she was...” Tears burned my eyes; the whole scene blurred. “She was a mother, a weaver of the king’s wool, an innocent.” A sob tightened my chest. I released the wail both body and conscience demanded. “Let the gods punish this evil! Let the Erinyes hound those who ordered this, those who did this! Let them be cursed!”
My final words elicited the rasp of sharp bronze as the warriors drew their swords. “To the sanctuary!” the veteran shouted. A howling outcry from the populace accompanied a rain of stones and garbage. More armed men appeared, this group hollering in the name of Zeus and King Diktys, as they hastened into the temenos, forming a wall of ox-hide shields intent on pushing back the would-be invaders. Chaos reigned.
“Sacrilege!” Ariston shouted. “Defend the god and his supplicants!”
I saw the crowd break and shift. Missiles flew everywhere. Pebbles, clods of earth, and manure landed on the aithousa. Before I could move, someone jerked me back into the sanctuary, and then the double doors closed, muffling the roar of the crowd and the clanging of bronze. As the priests shot the doorbolt into place, Ariston hustled me through the vestibule into the megaron, ignoring the prescribed pattern in the stucco to get me to the altar. Nearly knocking over the kernos in my panic, I grasped the smooth stone.
“Zeus, almighty Lord of Heaven, stop this madness!” Ariston cried. I simply broke down and sobbed. This thing seemed beyond my ability to prevent or manipulate. Polydektes had sunk to new lows, and now Diktys had men just outside. They brawled in the streets, violating the sanctity of the god’s home.
A hand touched my shoulder. “Do not cry, Lady,” Samos said. “This is not your fault.”
“I know.” Each breath I took intensified the need to vomit. Panope had done nothing to deserve this fate. But then I looked around the megaron, noticing how pale the priests were; their anxiety was palpable.
I dragged my sleeve across my eyes and composed myself. I was responsible for these priests, too. Should I have thrown myself on the king’s mercy the moment I saw the head? Would Polydektes have relented? I entertained the notion of sacrificing myself for the fraction of a second it took before I realized that the fighting would have broken out, nonetheless. Diktys’s men—was he himself outside in that crowd?—would have launched themselves at the king’s men to save me. Had I sacrificed myself, Panope’s death would have been rendered meaningless. Still, I felt beaten down and incredibly selfish.
“We must remain strong, no matter what threatens out there,” I told the priests. “Even though it might seem the situation is out of our hands, we cannot possibly be as helpless as we seem. This is the sanctuary of Zeus, the Lord Most High. You are his priests and I have been his consort. There must be something we can do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Nightfall brought heavier rain and some semblance of order. The populace and the armed men dispersed, leaving traces of wrack and ruin inside the temenos. I dared not believe that either faction had ventured far.
Ariston waited for the e
arly darkness to release the priests and acolyte from the sanctuary. Only Samos, who was unmarried and made his home there, staunchly refused to leave. “Zeus demands that I defend this place,” he said, to me rather than the high priest, as if seeking my blessing. I thanked him, welcomed his company, while simultaneously wishing he would leave for his own sake. Panope’s death haunted me. I knew I would not sleep that night.
“What happens now?” I asked.
Ariston sat down beside the hearth. “We have food, water, and fuel laid by, but we must ration everything.” Diktys had mentioned the high priest’s stockpiling a while back; it felt like a thousand years since I had last seen him. “We are only three, and none of us eats very much. If we are frugal we can last until spring. Rather, it is the god’s displeasure that worries me. When the doors are shut, Zeus cannot receive the offerings and prayers of the people.” Shaking his head, he contemplated the hearth’s glowing embers.
My spirits were already low, my appetite lacking. At least I would not waste rations, I mused glumly. “If I left the sanctuary, you would not have to risk yourselves or face Zeus’ wrath. I could cross the channel to Sifnos, or return to the mainland and somehow find my way to the mountains of Arcadia. The Women of the Mountain would protect me.”
Both priests reacted with horror. “At this time of year?” Samos exclaimed. “Poseidon might begrudge you the crossing, even if you found a ship to take you. And you, a woman, alone, without protection?”
“I am not a weakling.” Asserting myself roused my spirits where nothing else sufficed, despite knowing that Samos spoke the truth. Travel by late autumn was hard, almost impossible for a solitary woman.
“No, Lady, you are a spirited woman,” Ariston agreed, “but Samos is right. Remain here and dedicate yourself to finishing your weaving. That should make for a suitable offering. As for the rest, we must pray that the god understands our circumstances.”
Although the project was nearing completion, I found endless reasons not to be satisfied with the results. First, the weaving should have been far more ambitious, a grand piece on a massive upright loom, half a year’s work by two skilled women, with elaborate spirals and keys to offset the plain bands. There should have been purple among the threads, and fringes of gold bullion and silver thread instead of unimpressive goat hair. On the other hand, Ariston had gone to all the trouble of obtaining the finely combed goat hair, and that was the best either of us had to offer. I knew that for certain, because the high priest had given me permission to go through the storeroom in search of materials.
To conserve fuel, I left the brazier untouched in my room. At night I slept by the hearth in the megaron, and by day burrowed in layers of clothing to work at the loom; my cold hands I wrapped in shredded rags. Winter solstice was only a few days away, and—my heart ached to recall it—Eurymedon’s name day drew near. He would be seventeen. Where was he now, my wayward son? Did his unburied bones litter the floor of some nameless cave? Had he become one of the silently shrieking stone men of the underworld? Had he been dead, his restless shade surely would have found its way home to haunt my dreams with pleas to find his remains and give them a proper burial so he could at last cross the Styx.
Though I wished to work until the project was entirely finished, the cold and my own mortal weakness meant I spent more time than I ought sleeping, praying in the megaron, and waiting for news. Keratios visited from time to time with messages from the king. Polydektes was coming the next day to entreat me—no, he had been diverted by some fresh insurrection on the other side of the island. “Prince Diktys and his rebels have blocked the road between Sikamia and the village of Pirgos,” he announced. A crowd had gathered, more to catch a glimpse of me standing on the aithousa than to hear the news. “Polydektes sends his assurances that he will keep his word and personally present his case to you once circumstances allow.”
Did Polydektes expect me to grieve the loss of his company? On the other hand, if he came in person, I might be able to negotiate with him. “Tell the king that I await his arrival, for whatever good it might bring,” I called back.
“Why delay? Come now, Princess,” Keratios entreated. “Submit to the benevolence of his protection and come to Chora. No harm will befall you. In the name of Zeus Horkios, Keeper of Oaths, does King Polydektes swear this. He swears on his liver and testicles, and on the shade of his dearest mother—” The irony in Keratios’s tone was palpable. “He swears also on the lives of his many children. Your welfare is his greatest concern.”
The herald gestured to a gleaming chariot, but my eyes went straight to the driver. Captain Deiphontes, the brute who had delivered Panope’s severed head. For that alone, I refused. “What loving father swears on the lives of his children? What man harasses a woman when he is about to be wed to another?” Let him think I still believed that nonsense with Hippodamia. “If King Polydektes so fervently wishes me to leave the sanctuary, let him first make peace with his brother, Prince Diktys, who is also my sworn brother, and let them both come to escort me.”
Keratios spread his hands. “Please, do not be obstinate. This conflict drags on, one side evenly matched against the other. Do not add to the chaos.”
“Stop being a stubborn bitch and get down here!” Deiphontes seized the opportunity to interject, setting the crowd to muttering while Keratios and I both threw him exasperated looks. Oblivious, Deiphontes marched straight up to tenemos boundary, hesitated, and started to cross. “I’ll end this now, woman.”
Ariston interposed himself between me and the captain. “You will do no such thing! This is the precinct of Zeus.” A hand grasped mine to draw me back into the relative safety of the doorway. I reflexively flinched before recognizing Samos. “This woman you threaten, Princess Danaë of Argos, is consort of the Lord Most High. I am the god’s mouthpiece, his high priest. Violate this sanctuary and lay hands on her at your own risk.”
I sensed a shift in the crowd. Angry voices began to cry out, “Sacrilege! Blasphemer!” Samos hustled me into the vestibule. I did not see what happened next, but heard the whistle and pelt of stones against the aithousa steps. Ariston retreated inside. Just before he and Samos shut the doors, I heard Keratios reprimanding Deiphontes. “Captain, stop this at once! Leave the tenemos!”
From the megaron, and for a fraction of a second, I thought I heard the captain’s fist pounding against the door, but then it stopped; the only beating I heard after that was the frantic hammering of my heart. How could Polydektes have been so stupid as to send the man? Deiphontes should have been off fighting somewhere, adding his muscle to curbing Diktys’s rebellion, not harassing an unarmed female supplicant.
I sat beside the hearth clutching a knife I found among the ritual equipment. This was more for comfort than protection, despite my training or willingness to use it; if the king’s men took it upon themselves to batter down the door, if they came in such force as to overcome the people, then only an immortal’s intervention could save me.
Polydektes sent no apology. Instead, he expressed his most extreme disappointment. Keratios faithfully delivered the message. “Is this how you repay the king’s many kindnesses to you? Stubborn woman, come forth and end this turmoil!” Even from the shade of the aithousa, I could make out the herald’s pained look.
Nonetheless, I answered, “Do those kindnesses include the betrayal of my only son, and the slaughter of my neighbors and friends?”
Keratios offered neither explanation nor excuse, and for his sake I did not press him. I noticed Deiphontes and the waiting chariot. The captain stood subdued, though not from a guilty conscience. Diktys had sent a representative with gifts for the sanctuary. Captain Molugros was a beetle-browed, black-haired colossus of a man who courted the crowd’s approval and loudly addressed the god. “All hail Lord Zeus! Receive these offerings of wine, oil, and bread. Let your larders be filled with these offerings of vegetables and dried fish!” The armed men in his retinue carried the various amphorae and baskets into the san
ctuary without incident while the herald passively observed and Deiphontes gnashed his teeth; his subordinates were spoiling for a confrontation, even shouting curses at the rebels, but to my relief Deiphontes never ordered them to attack.
Once Molugros’s men deposited the gifts safely inside the vestibule, they bowed toward the altar and withdrew. Molugros said, “Shut and bar the doors, High Priest. Keep the lady safe. Prince Diktys sends everything he can spare, for your sustenance and the god’s.”
I thanked him and his men, and together the priests and I shut the doors. Neither he nor any representative of Polydektes came again to the sanctuary. I wondered whether it might be safe to attempt escape, before rejecting the idea out of hand. No doubt Polydektes had spies watching; he was the cat waiting beside the chink in the wall for the mouse to emerge.
A fortnight passed. Keratios came again, this time bearing a different message. “King Polydektes expresses his utmost disappointment in you. You speak of peace yet accept offerings from the rebels. You reject the graciousness of his royal hospitality and protection, and shut the doors of Zeus’s sanctuary so Ganema’s pious people cannot worship. Shame, woman!” The herald visibly winced. The crowd stood ominously silent.
This time, Ariston answered on my behalf. “Shame on the king, who blames this woman for his troubles! Prince Diktys has sent offerings to Zeus of Ganema, yet why has the king sent none? Shame on him!”
The crowd took up the chant. “Shame on him!” Ariston bowed to them, then he and Samos retreated inside and closed the doors. I leaned haplessly against the vestibule wall. “This is all a game to Polydektes. One moment he’s all smiles and compliments, the other he’s nothing but disapproval and threats.”
Ariston came over to me. “You are tired, Lady, and much put-upon. Go rest, and do not worry about the king’s machinations. I am quite certain that Prince Diktys’s agents are watching over us.” He managed a weak smile. “Why else do you think the doors have not been battered down by now? Diktys keeps Polydektes distracted elsewhere.”