Hope of Earth

by Piers Anthony

  “We have a similar loom at home,” Jes said with satisfaction. “Give us your pattern.”

  Thus directly, they were working. The work was long and tedious but familiar, and they were competent. These were standard weighted warp looms, with the vertical strands suspended from a cloth beam and held taut by decoratively molded baked clay weights tied at their bottoms. The alternating warp threads were divided into two sections, which hung on either side of a wooden bar: the shed. The weft, or horizontal threads, was woven in between the descending warp at intervals, according to the pattern. The patterns were simple, requiring no particular attention. Jes got nô special thrill from weaving, because it was traditional woman’s work, but she could have handled a much fancier design than this.

  At times they shifted off to help prepare the threads, which were of two types. Wool was the common fiber, and it came in several natural colors: black, gray, brown, tawny, beige, and white. It was easy to dye, and was warm. Flax was rarer, because it required rich soil to grow and much water for its initial processing, but it was softer next to the skin, and much stronger. So the finer weaving was done with flax. But most of the work in the shop was on the wool, which had to be untangled, cleared of burrs and debris, and combed out into long, fluffy sausage-shaped bundles for spinning. They used drop spindles for spinning, patiently forming the thread. There were always women on the looms, and others “working the allotment,” as the cleaning, combing, and spinning of the wool was called. This was the most tedious chore, and there were normally two women spinning thread for each one working the loom. Most of their production was for export, because Athenian women were expected to fulfill the modest needs of their own households.

  Days passed, becoming routine. Crockson was as good as his word, paying them fairly for their production. Soon they had enough money to improve their life-style somewhat, with better food and better blankets. Loom work was no quick path to riches, and they still had to live frugally, but they were no longer at risk of starvation.

  Jes was interested in the things of the big city, and really appreciated its beauties. Wona was indifferent to those, but was alert for the places where wealthy men might be found.

  One day they visited the Agora again. This time they toured the Painted Stoa, a handsome colonnaded stone building in which many paintings were hung. These showed scenes of Athenian military exploits, done on removable wooden panels. Jes’s eye was caught by those depicting sea battles. How she wished she could step into one of those scenes, and be there on a trieres, a ship with three levels of oars, the ruler of the seas. But alas, it was just a foolish fancy.

  There were no rich citizens in attendance on that day, and Wona was soon eager to visit elsewhere. So they went to the Monument of the Eponymous Heroes, one of the newest structures. Ten new tribes had been formed, and the names of a hundred early Athenian heroes were sent to the oracle at Delphi. The oracle picked ten, and it was after these ten that the tribes were named. Now there were ten statues honoring these heroes. The monument served a practical as well as an esthetic function, because public notices were posted here, concerning upcoming business of the tribes. But no really likely prospects were reading the notices at the moment, so Wona soon lost interest. Thus their visit was a failure, in one sense, but Jes was glad to have done it. She would have liked to see all the monuments of Athens.

  Crockson had seemed indifferent to their presence; they were just two weavers among a number. Then he surprised them. After a few days he spoke privately to Jes. “I lost several good employees recently, because of the disruption of the war. I see that you are competent in all the aspects of weaving, and do not shirk. I will promote you to manager of this section, at higher pay, if you will commit to remaining here for at least a year.”

  Jes didn’t question why he knew that her commitment would be good; he was clearly a competent judge of character. He had made the offer to her because he saw that her work was better, and that she had discipline and integrity. Unfortunately, she couldn’t oblige him. “I am here only until my sister finds a suitable man to marry. Then I must go home to my family.”

  “Your sister is a beautiful but inattentive woman.” He squinted at her. “Sister-in-law?”

  He was observant indeed! “Yes.”

  “If I help you find a man for her—”

  “I will go home that much sooner,” Jes said firmly. “I have prior commitments.”

  “And you honor them. You are a good woman. I will help you anyway. I will tell you the best and most honest merchandiser of clothing, and where to encounter citizens.”

  “We would appreciate that. But why should you bother?”

  “Because if ever your situation changes, and you need to return to Athens for a prolonged stay, you will take the job I have offered you.”

  She considered, and nodded. “I do not expect to return, but if I do—it is a good offer.”

  He told her what he knew, and in due course she and Wona went shopping with their new obols and drachma coins where Crockson had recommended, and were treated fairly. They were ready for the next stage.

  But excellent prospects turned out not to be as common as they had hoped, and one section of the city after another failed to yield Wona’s prize. Jes chafed as months passed, taking through the winter, without resolution. Meanwhile she worked in the position Crockson had offered, running his shop. She had to admit it was a comfortable interim situation. If only it didn’t seem so permanent!

  Finally, they went to the Acropolis as brother and sister, because unaccompanied women were frowned on here. Wona was well dressed, a splendor to behold, catching male eyes in exactly the manner intended. The market place was one thing, but the seat of government was another; women needed to know their place. Jes carried a short staff, which she used as a cane, as if somewhat uncertain of her footing. They ascended by way of the Propylaea, an enormous sloping ramp, and went to make an offering at the Temple of Athene.

  There were indeed men there, for Athene was the goddess for whom the city was named, and many wished for her favor as the goddess of war, fertility, handicrafts, and wisdom. Wona flirted shamelessly, apparently on the theory that more prospects were better than fewer. Jes tried to caution her, but could not speak openly in public, lest their purpose become too obvious.

  No man, however, made a direct approach; this was after all a pious place. But when they passed a dark alcove, a hand reached out and caught Wona by the elbow, hauling her in. It took Jes a moment to realize that she was gone, for Jes’s attention had been on the grandeur of the temple. Then she whirled, and spied the action in the alcove. The man wore the robes of a citizen. These were of the ordinary style, simple in cut and material, but fine in workmanship. Ostentation was frowned on, but quality in clothing did show. However, in this case, no quality of manner was showing.

  The man was groping Wona hungrily, sliding one hand into her décolletage while the other drew her in closer. Wona was trying to extricate herself without screaming or being unladylike, but it was clear that more was needed, and quickly. What the man had in mind was something other than courtship and marriage.

  Jes stepped in. “My sister is not interested in this relationship,” she said politely but firmly. “Please desist and release her.”

  “Get out of here, stripling,” the man grunted, getting hold of Wona’s breast.

  So much for politeness. Jes lifted her staff and rapped the man smartly across the back of the head. He grunted and his grip slackened, allowing Wona to wrench free.

  “We had better flee this region,” Jes muttered. “Hurry.”

  They hurried, but it was already too late. “That man attacked me!” the citizen cried. “Kill him!”

  This was no time to argue the niceties of provocation and reaction. They broke into a run.

  The temple guards quickly took up the chase. Jes knew there would be no mercy, for the guards would take the word of the citizen over that of noncitizens. They had to hide immediately—but
where?

  “The priestesses’ quarters!” Wona said, pointing to an offshoot archway.

  They dodged into it, and then around another corner. There was a great loom with a partly done tapestry.

  They paused. “Can we masquerade as two women?” Wona asked with half a smile.

  “We had better,” Jes agreed wryly.

  Hastily Wona simplified her robe, removed her limited jewelry, and adjusted her composure to fit the style of a temple woman. Jes hid her staff in an alcove and quickly removed and reversed her robe so that its yellow side was out, then donned it and adjusted her style to be feminine as they scrambled for the stools before the tapestry.

  The thing was huge, and very finely wrought. A pattern was being made according to a picture, and a scene was being woven in. They only glanced at it as they completed their adjustments, quickly loosening and binding back their hair in the temple mode. Wona had to rub off makeup, while Jes tried to make herself look more submissive.

  Only now did they have the chance to really examine the loom. “Look at this!” Wona breathed. “Brass thread weights—with owls.”

  Jes peered at one. Indeed, it was metal, imprinted with a design showing an owl with human hands spinning wool from a basket in front of it. “Athene’s bird,” she agreed. “The same as on the silver coin.”

  The picture was about half-complete, showing a series of horizontally oriented scenes covering the entire cloth. The design was exceedingly intricate, in two colors, each requiring its own special threads: saffron-yellow and purple. Such a tapestry would require months to complete.

  “This isn’t just an incidental project,” Wona said, awed.

  “This is the peplos,” Jes agreed. “The Peplos of Athene.”

  They gazed at it, overwhelmed by the significance of their discovery. Every summer the Panathenian festival was held in Hekatombaion, the first month of the Athenian calendar, and it was the biggest event of the year. The culmination was the presentation of the richly woven robe that was the peplos to the statue of Athene, and the sacrifice of a hundred cows on Athene’s altar, which was then set afire by the prize-winning torchbearer.

  The weaving of the peplos was reserved for specially chosen women, a great honor. The colors were expensive and significant. Saffron associated with women and femininity;indeed, a poorer grade of that color was what Jes and Wona wore. The purple was “sea purple,” the color of kings, its rich dye derived from the murex shell. Unlike most natural dyes, both of these were colorfast in both water and sunlight. Athene rated only the very best.

  The scenes on the tapestry had as yet only their top halves, but this was enough to show that they portrayed Athene and Zeus leading the gods to victory in their epic struggle with the Titans. The design differed somewhat each year, but the essence was the same. The peplos would dress the life-sized statue of Athene Polias—“Goddess of the City”—on the Acropolis.

  “It would be almost sacrilegious to weave even one thread of this sacred work,” Wona said. “We are not ergastinai, the approved matrons.”

  “So let’s do it,” Jes said wickedly.

  But before they could properly orient on the pattern and find the correct thread, the pursuit burst in. The delay had not been at all long; their amazement at their discovery had made it seem more. Two guards stopped to stare suspiciously at them. Probably other chambers were being checked at the same time, so the guards had no way of knowing which one held the fugitives. That didn’t mean that Jes and Wona were safe, just that they had a chance. If they could bluff well enough.

  They both paused with their hands lifted, as if interrupted amidst their joint labor on the tapestry. Both stared at the intruders with startled innocence. Jes had just recently learned the expression, and hoped she had it right.

  One guard studied Wona, who still looked ambitiously female despite hunching down to seem less so. “That one could be the woman.” He turned to stare at Jes. “But that’s not the youth.”

  “He’s beardless,” the other said. “Might be him.”

  Jes took the initiative. “Why are you staring at me?” she asked. “Don’t you louts have better things to do than intrude on the work of temple matrons?”

  The first guard hesitated, but then decided. “You could be him. We’ll take you to the head priestess.”

  That would be disaster. Jes knew she had to act quickly and decisively to avert such a step. That meant either grabbing a weapon and trying to disable them silently, which was surely a hopeless effort, or satisfying them that she really was a woman.

  They stepped toward her. She set one foot on her own hem and stood up suddenly, in alarm that was genuine, though not for the reason she wished to convey. The foot anchored the robe, preventing it from rising with her, and it pulled down off her right shoulder, exposing her breasts.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, in only half-feigned mortification. She quickly hauled her robe back up as she inhaled and arched her back, making her modest bosom stand out just before it was covered.

  The men stopped. “That’s no stripling,” one muttered. Then, embarrassed, they turned and exited the chamber.

  Jes sat back on the stool, weak with relief. Her heart was pounding, and she felt her face flushing. In that moment she remembered an episode with Ned, when they had taken wares for trading to a distant city and she had distracted bad men by wearing a string skirt. That, too, might have been fun, had there not been peril.

  “Well played!” Wona said. “You showed them just enough, in a brief flash, so that their male eyes exaggerated the effect, and you also forced a maidenly blush.”

  “Half of it was accident,” Jes said.

  “Then make sure it’s not an accident next time. Show men only flashes, not the full display, until such time as they are committed. You could also have remained sitting.”

  “But then the robe wouldn’t have come off.”

  “Like so.” Wona swung her legs around toward Jes, and her robe failed to follow perfectly, so that one thigh and the dark crevice between thighs lay open to view. It was very clear that Wona was no man.

  “Oh.” That might indeed have been easier.

  “But your way was good too,” Wona said. “With that maidenly exclamation. In that instant you seemed as female as it is possible to be.”

  “Thank you.” But Jes knew that they weren’t safe yet. “How do we escape before the real priestesses return?”

  Wona reflected. “We may just have to walk out as we are. But it’s too soon to make the attempt; the guards are still searching. So let’s weave our thread.”

  Jes nodded. They addressed the tapestry, studying the pattern, and solemnly wove in one thread. No one would notice, but they would know that they were part of the most famous garment in Greece.

  By then, enough time had passed. They went to the corner and recovered their hidden things, and also strapped their daggers back on to their inner thighs, just in case.

  Then they heard someone coming. They dived back to the stools and addressed the tapestry again. Jes’s staff made a clatter as she hurled it back into the corner.

  A single, mature woman entered. She wore a tiara bearing an owl, and a necklace of beads carved in the likeness of olives, another symbol of Athene. Her quality saffron robe identified her clearly: she was the head priestess!

  The woman’s glance was imperious. “Come with me,” she said. “Bring your things.”

  Jes exchanged a wary look with Wona. Did the priestess know? Or were there so many novice priestesses that she simply didn’t recognize them all? But then why was she ordering them to go with her? Was she going to turn them in to the male authorities?

  There didn’t seem to be much choice. They stood, and Jes fetched her staff. They followed the priestess out of the chamber.

  She led them through convoluted passages to an opulent chamber in another part of the temple. “The goddess saw fit to shield you from the guards’ eyes, and we will not presume to go against her will. But you mu
st leave. We can not afford scandal in the Temple of Athene. There has been no episode. The guards were confused. Depart by this rear exit.” She opened a door that led directly outside. “Never speak of this. Agreed?”

  Jes and Wona exchanged another glance. Then both nodded. The head priestess was letting them go!

  The woman left by the internal door. Alone, they quickly changed back to their original aspects, Jes becoming male. Then they walked out the back way as man and woman.

  “She knew,” Jes murmured as they got clear of the temple.

  “She knew,” Wona agreed. “She saw that we were harmless, and she did not want blood on her floors. So she got rid of us much the way we got rid of the guards, with minimum fuss. She is not our friend.”

  “But neither is she our enemy. To that we owe our lives.”

  “We owe our lives,” Wona agreed soberly. “I think I will not look for men any more there, lest she change her mind.”

  They walked back to their apartment. The day was a failure, in the main sense, but perhaps not entirely.

  Another day they visited the port city of Piraeus, which was connected to Athens by a set of long walls that enclosed the road to north and south. The walls were fortified throughout, and there were cross-walls so that even if an enemy force got between the main walls, there would be no easy access to the cities of Athens or Piraeus. The bowmen on the walls were relaxed, now that the enemy was gone, but it was clear that they could devastate a hostile force if the need came.

  Piraeus was much smaller than Athens, but interesting because of its harbors and the ships in them. The stately trieres were there, moving out on their two sails, their oarsmen resting. Jes was fascinated. She was familiar with the type of ship, but had never actually been on one. “To think they have to pay oarsmen to serve on those,” she said. “I would do it for food.”

  “How much do they pay the captain?”

  “The trierarch? Nothing, usually. It’s a public duty for citizens of high standing, lasting a year. He has to outfit the ship and pay the crew. The city is supposed to pay for it all, but that can take time, and meanwhile he has to cover it all himself. That’s why so few ever volunteer for this duty.”