Shadow of Athena

by Elena Douglas

  She knuckled away the last of her tears and smiled sheepishly. “I don’t cry often. I haven’t cried since—since the drawing,” she explained.

  “I’ve cried for the last five days.” Haleia’s eyes were red and swollen. “What will my young brothers and sister do without me?” Marpessa said nothing but took the other girl’s hand in hers. Tears pooled in Haleia’s eyes. Her head drooped forward, her lank dark hair falling like a curtain around her face. “The youngest, Pyrrhus, is a year old. He took his first step yesterday. I’m worried that I’ll never see any of them again.”

  They will try to kill us, Haleia had said in the temple but then had refused to say more. Death. That she would cease to exist was unimaginable, yet so terrifying to Marpessa that it cut off her breath, squeezing sorrow to the furthest corner of her being. Mother! she cried in silence. Did you know of this? And why didn’t you tell me?

  When she could breathe again, she asked Haleia, “You said ‘they’ could kill us. Who? Why?”

  “I—I don’t know much,” Haleia answered hastily. “Most girls survive, though, so it’s likely we’ll be safe. We have guides—the old man, Gortys, has been guiding the temple maidens for years, and that slave of your father’s is young and strong.“

  But Gortys was so infirm he’d barely managed to clamber into the wagon. As for the slave Arion, she hardly knew him. She had only seen him from a distance. This morning when she’d watched him load the wagon, his stolid face had been like a hand held up, palm out, to prevent anyone from approaching. Leukos didn’t like him and thought him disloyal. The slave probably hadn’t even wanted to come on this journey. This cold, distant man was now her only link to her home—and her only able-bodied protector. He doesn’t care what happens to us, she guessed. It was a lonely and frightening thought.

  For a time they bumped along in silence. Marpessa looked at the grassy hills, the olive trees with their silver-green leaves, the ancient gnarled oaks adorned in new green foliage, vibrant in the summer sun. But it all looked gray to her. She who loved wild creatures heard with indifference the clamor of birds hidden in the trees.

  Suddenly Marpessa made a sound of disgust. Stop it! she told herself. Best not to dwell on something that might never happen. That would only serve to make her miserable. “We might have died at home,” she said to Haleia, “stricken with some disease, or stung by a scorpion, or bitten by a snake. Any of us could die at any time.”

  “Is that meant to be comforting?” Haleia asked.

  Marpessa shook her head. “We’re going on an adventure, and there’s honor to be gained. Like the heroes of old. Surely you’ve heard their stories? They did not know whether they would come back from their journeys. But they—“ She paused, searched for the right word. “—embraced their fate.”

  I will not be a coward, she decided. And I will make the most of each day.

  Immediately she began looking around, observing their surroundings, their traveling companions. Leading the convoy were two wagons that carried the sailors who would crew the ship. Third in line, directly in front of the girls, was the supply wagon with the two guides. In the girls’ wagon, on the seat behind them, sat the two sour-faced priestesses who would accompany them as far as the Trojan shore. One was short and stout, with dust-colored hair and an upturned nose that she held high, as if everything was beneath her notice. Her name was Anteia. The other was thin, dark-haired with a small, prim mouth. Marpessa could not remember her name. The two women ignored the girls but made occasional comments to each other.

  At long last the oak trees gave way to wind-shaped cypresses and pines. There was a salty tang on the breeze. Leaning forward, Marpessa sniffed. “The sea!” she said excitedly to Haleia. “I’ve never seen it before!” They rounded a curve, and there it was, a flat, blue-gray sheet of water reflecting the sun in blinding silver. She stood up, shading her eyes. As she stared at the boundless horizon, she could believe she was looking at the edge of the world.

  A hand behind her grabbed her gown and jerked her to her seat. “Sit down!” Anteia snapped and struck her sharply on the arm. “You’re a lady, not some rude peasant boy. A fine servant you’ll make for the goddess if you don’t learn manners!” Dismayed, Marpessa bit back the retort that sprang to her lips.

  The wagon convoy drew to a halt near a small harbor surrounded by a few houses. At once she saw the ship, propped up by beams on the sides, its prow resting on the sand. Its stern rocked gently from the small waves that struck it. Until now Marpessa had only seen painted ships on the red clay amphorae at home. This ship was larger than she’d imagined. She was curious about how it would float.

  The men jumped down from the wagons and formed a line to the ship. They began unloading amphorae, bundles, and chests, handing them along the line to be put in the depths of the ship. Two men led forward a dozen sheep and goats and carried them bleating aboard. Marpessa watched as they were lowered into the hold. At last the guides came to the women’s wagon.

  “We are ready to take you on board, ladies.” Gortys extended a hand to Anteia, then the other priestess. Arion assisted Haleia, and Marpessa watched as the tall girl clambered down awkwardly.

  Then Arion stood before her. Startled, she found herself looking into eyes as clear a brown as a stream pooling over fallen leaves. She couldn’t read their expression. He reached up his hand to her, but to show him that she was agile and needed no help, she jumped down on her own from the high wagon. To soften her rejection, she smiled up at him. He said nothing, only turned away and followed Gortys to the shore.

  A plank, with narrow wooden cleats nailed across it, rested against the side of the ship. Arion helped the priestesses climb up it to the ship, then Haleia. The footing was tricky, and the women moved slowly, clinging to his firm handhold. Then Gortys, who had climbed up first, led them across the gangway to the aft part of the ship, and it was Marpessa’s turn to board. Arion made no move to help her. She set her foot on the plank and started in surprise as it moved beneath her. She glanced at him. The look in his eyes seemed to say, Go ahead on your own, since you’re so capable.

  But Marpessa was an adept tree-climber. She sprang up the plank and, without looking back, went to join the other women in the stern where a small area had been set aside for them: a square tent covered on four sides with undyed cloth, and two boards outside it that served as benches. As she sat down next to Haleia, Marpessa glanced at the tent in distaste. It looked hot and stuffy, barely large enough to stand in.

  Arion went to sit near the fore. Marpessa saw the crew sitting on thwarts on either side of the ship, oars at the ready. The captain, a short, swarthy, grizzled man, stood on the foredeck. He lifted a large, two-handled libation cup.

  “O Lord Poseidon, god of the deep, hear our prayer and grant us a safe journey!” he intoned. “Protect us and bring us safely across the Aegean Sea, that we may deliver these two maidens to Athena’s service in Troy.” He poured the dark wine into the waters of the harbor. Then he gave a sharp command, and the men on the shore shoved the ship off the sand until it floated free. “Start rowing, men! Pull! Together! Pull! Bring her about!” shouted the captain, and the ship swung around until it faced out to sea.

  Someone began beating on a drum to keep the rowers in rhythm. The ship surged forward. Marpessa sat up in excitement, listening to the swish and splash of the oars in the water. As the men pulled and strained, the dock slipped away, and the land began to lose its features.

  “Unfurl the sail!” the captain shouted.

  Four men tugged on a series of ropes. With a creaking noise, the sail opened downward and billowed out in the wind. The men shipped their oars, and soon the only sound was the slap of waves as the hull cut through the water. The breeze tore at Marpessa’s hair, whipping it around her face. The land behind them became no more than a wavy green line. On the far horizon she could see another line of land, faint and hazy. The island of Euboea. Unt
il this moment it had only been a name her father mentioned when discussing his wine shipments. Now there it was. The whole world lay before her, deep blue water with a white foam wake swirling out behind. A few gulls floated on the wind behind them. The beauty of it all filled her soul.

  Mother, do not weep for me, she thought. If I had stayed all my life in Naryx, I would have never known this moment.

  Watching the land slip away, Arion drew a deep breath. How life had changed! No more harsh master. No more toil in vineyards and warehouse. Instead he would lend the sailors an eager hand and learn all he could of sailing and the lands they would see. So far neither captain nor crew had treated him like a slave. Perhaps they did not even know he was one.

  His hand slipped furtively to his leather belt. Some of his hard-won silver had gone toward buying it. He had sewn a secure inner pocket to store his earnings, including the silver pieces given him by the lady Amaltheia this morning.

  The thought of that precious metal gave him a pang of guilt. He planned to leave this expedition the instant it became possible. To slip away on the Trojan shore, or perhaps even earlier if the chance presented itself. To disappear. But the silver from Amaltheia seemed to burn against his skin. He remembered the pain on her face and thought of his own mother, forced by illness and poverty to give up her children. Even Amaltheia, rich and privileged, could not control her daughter’s fate. Gortys had told him what danger lay ahead for the girls from the armed men on the Trojan shore.

  “I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I’ve seen many girls killed in spite of all we could do,” Gortys had said. “Then the Trojans drag the poor corpse off and burn it.”

  Arion didn’t want to think what might happen to the girls. It would be better to leave their fate to Gortys, who had experience with this yearly mission, since he, Arion, had none. Even if he stayed with them and did his best to protect them, he might not succeed. He knew nothing of fighting or warfare.

  And his own life would be at risk.

  He stared at the horizon in bitter anger. No one ever worried about his fate. Yet he was expected to put the safety of these girls before his own. Well, he would not. He had his own plans.

  With the wind steady, they made good speed. When the sun’s rays slanted long and golden, the wind slackened. They had reached the channel between Euboea and the mainland. The helmsman guided the ship into a small cove where they would stay the night. There was no beach to run the ship up on, so the captain called, “Drop anchor!” Several sailors unwrapped a large log attached to a rope. It was so heavy it took four men to lift it and heave it over the side. Later Arion learned the log was hollowed out and weighted with lead.

  The men began unloading provisions into a pair of skiffs, which they would ferry back and forth until all the men were ashore. As he climbed into a skiff, Arion saw Gortys speaking to the priestesses. The two girls remained sitting on their bench. “Have food sent on board for us,” the dark-haired priestess said. “We’ll spend our nights on the ship in the modesty and privacy of the pavilion.”

  Arion was glad not to have to bother with them. On the shore someone had kindled a blazing fire. The smell of grilling lamb filled his nostrils. The sailors beckoned him to join their circle around the fire. After eating, they told tales of their adventures and passed around a wineskin. As he drank with them, listened to their talk, and watched the sparks from the fire shoot up into the sky, Arion could almost believe he was already a free man.

  With full bellies and wine warming their blood, the men settled down to sleep. But Arion thrashed restlessly where he lay under the stars. Those girls. Just as he was about to win back his freedom, those two were destined for slavery—if they were lucky enough not to be killed. An unwelcome thought came to him. Perhaps the hand of some god had put him here—and entwined his fate with theirs.

  He pounded his fist into the soft dirt. Never, he told to himself. I’ll never return to slavery.

  VIII

  CROSSING THE SEA

  U

  They were heading northeast, two days out of Euboea when they ran into rough seas. Gale winds pushed the ship broadside, tilting the deck, so that Arion had to grip hard on the rail. He spread his feet, struggling for balance. The waves were as big as hillocks. He was sure the ship would capsize. As the sailors rushed to the oars and brought the ship around, one of the men shouted to him, “Come help with the sail!” Struggling on the swaying gangway, Arion hurried to the ropes. He was glad that he had the knack of it now. And he added a fervent prayer: Thank the gods I’m not seasick!

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the two priestesses and Haleia go white-faced into the tent. Marpessa watched them with a wicked grin. As soon as they were out of sight, she jumped up from her accustomed bench and went to the railing, leaning into the wind. With the sail now furled, Arion saw Gortys make his way to her across the heaving gangway. “Mistress, you should go inside now. It’s not safe out here.”

  “Safe?” Marpessa scoffed. Clearly she was not prepared to move. “This trip is not safe! But I promise not to fall overboard.”

  Gortys flapped his hands helplessly and went back to his place near the stern. Arion turned away to hide his smile.

  Marpessa loved the gale wind, the cold salt spray on her face. She felt a wild defiance. Poseidon, lord of the sea and shaker of the earth, was making his presence felt. Her ancestor Ajax had died at sea, scoffing at the gods. It was his sin that had brought her to this pass, yet for the first time she felt a kinship with his spirit.

  She looked over her shoulder at the tent where the other three women had retired. She was sorry for Haleia’s seasickness but glad to be free of the two priestesses. With their watchful, disapproving eyes on her every moment, she was forced to sit still on the bench, to modulate her voice, to behave with decorum, when all the while she wanted to explore the ship, to stand next to the men raising and lowering the sail so that she might learn its workings, to lean on the railing and watch the dolphins leaping in the ship’s wake. When the ship anchored for the night, she wanted to go ashore to explore their new surroundings. Instead of being confined to the hot, stuffy tent, she wanted to eat and sleep under the night sky like the men.

  A wave hit the ship with a force that made Marpessa lose her footing. Clinging to the rail for dear life, her heart thudding, she barely managed to regain her balance on the slanting beam where she stood. She glanced around quickly, but Gortys hadn’t noticed. He was busy helping the man at the helm. The rest of the men rowed with furious effort toward the distant shore, fighting the seas and the wind, while the captain stood near the bow, searching for a sheltered place to drop anchor. The ship could make no headway in a gale of this force.

  Marpessa saw that Arion had taken his place at an oar now that the sail was down. The muscles in his brown arms swelled and bunched. He rowed as strongly as any of the sailors. Out here he seemed a different man from the one she had seen laboring over the vats in her father’s warehouse.

  He must be happy to have left all that behind, she realized. Though he is a slave, he now has far more freedom than I.

  It was just past noon when they found anchorage in a small sheltered cove to wait out the storm. The ship had sustained minor damage. Since Arion was handy with tools, the captain put him in charge of repairs. They were able to set out the next morning without having suffered much delay. Though the wind was now favorable, the seas were rough, and the three women were too weak and sick to come out of the tent. Arion knew this would make Marpessa happy. She had abandoned her sandals, and he saw her often at one rail or the other, or gazing outward near the bow or stern. The ship was not large; the captain ordered her sharply out of the way when the men were trimming the sail and told her to stay away from the helm, but otherwise, so long as she did not interfere with the eight pairs of oarsmen, she was allowed to roam freely from fore to aft along the gangway.

  Arion had
known very few girls or women, since they rarely ventured farther than their home or the market place. However, he began to suspect that Marpessa was different from most. She had the eyes of a young, wild hawk, restless eyes that ranged the seas and skies, taking in everything. Those eyes spoke to his spirit.

  A day or so after the storm, one of the gulls that followed their ship became tangled in the ropes that held the sail to the spar, high above the deck. It flapped wildly but could not get free. Its foot had caught in one of the bronze rings through which the ropes were looped.

  For a frozen moment the eyes of all the men were on the bird as it flapped and struggled.

  “It’ll get hurt!” Marpessa cried.

  One of the men scrambled below, coming back with a hunting bow. “Best get rid of it now.” He nocked an arrow and took aim.

  “No!” The cry came from Marpessa. Before any could stop her, she kilted up her skirts and began climbing the mast, nimble as a squirrel.

  “Stop! Come back!” It was Gortys, but she paid him no heed. The captain made a quick gesture in the direction of the man with the bow, and he lowered it. Arion held his breath. He had a swift, flashing glimpse of her slim legs, muscled like a boy’s, as she pulled herself up. No one spoke, no one moved. She was now high up on the mast, which was swaying back and forth in a wide arc as the ship dipped and rose in swells. For a heart-stopping moment she froze, several arm lengths from the spar. The gull, which seemed to have given up, drooped limply. The captain took a few steps along the gangway to stand just beneath her.