The next day he set out in search of work. I won’t return without meat, he told himself. He walked a long way across marshlands and came to grazing grounds, where he offered himself for hire to several herdsmen, each time receiving a refusal. Then he came close to the shores of the Hellespont. He glanced at the sky. Noon. I won’t go back empty-handed. But he couldn’t wander for days as he used to. Zeus and all gods, let me find work, he prayed, scanning the landscape. Along the bleak meadow near the shoreline was a small hut with a lean-to and a fenced pasture—a farm, the dwellers eking out a meager existence. Not promising, but when he knocked on the door, an elderly man with a crippled leg answered.
“I have no sons to help me,” he responded to Arion’s query. “If you repair the sheep pen and chop and haul wood, I can spare some bread my wife baked.”
“Have you any meat?” Arion asked without much hope. “Some game you trapped? Dried fish?”
The old man shook his head. “We rarely eat meat or fish.”
Arion wondered if the old man was telling the truth or merely being tight-fisted. Still he worked until the sun dipped close to the sea. “You’ll come back?” the farmer asked. “I have more jobs, there’s so much I can’t do anymore.” Arion nodded and left with his bread. Trudging homeward, he was filled with discouragement.
On his way, he passed one of the homesteads belonging to a herdsman. He had come here once or twice in search of work, always careful to approach from a different direction. Though this herdsman did not know it, he was Arion’s nearest neighbor. The man, his wife, a child or two, and a couple of servants lived here. The homestead lay directly in Arion’s path. He did not want to attract notice nor give away his own dwelling place hidden in the reeds of the riverbank. He started to skirt far around the place, careful to stay out of sight.
Male voices came to his ears. Ducking behind shrubbery on a low hillock, he peered out. Two men stood just outside the house. They had slaughtered a sheep and hung it upside down on a frame to drain and butcher. Arion cursed his luck. The sun had set but it was not yet dark. If he stood up now, they would see him. He would have to wait until they were done and then hope they went inside. He settled down to wait, watching them through the branches of the thicket.
One of the men took his knife and made a cut down the belly of the sheep. Working expertly, the two men took out the organs and removed the skin. Then they began to cut the carcass into pieces. Arion had seen this many times and had done it himself. As the men separated the meaty leg quarters from the body and laid them on a rough table, he imagined cutting the strips of meat, spitting them and placing them across the hot stones of a fire, sprinkling them with salt. His mouth watered. He could almost smell the grilling meat.
At last the men finished their work. While one went inside, the other bent over a fire pit and began laying out wood. Then he too went into the house.
Arion leapt to his feet. He ran as fast as he had ever run, right up to the table, grabbed one of the haunches, and ran on without breaking his stride. He heard a shout behind him. “Stop, thief!” He did not pause, only changed direction, running toward a point on the river upstream from his hut.
The two men gave chase. Arion plowed on, breathing hard. When he came to the river, far inland from the hut, he dared a glance over his shoulder. His pursuers were three hundred paces behind, indistinct in the twilight. He splashed into shallow water, then sank in a deep spot, almost losing his footing. Wet to his chest, he held his precious burden above the water and surged on to the other bank. Here the ground was flatter, more open. Arion raced ahead until he could no longer hear the men behind him. He came to a pile of rocks and sank behind it. The air tore through his lungs in gasps. When at last he caught his breath, he peered cautiously around the rocks. Nothing. No one. No sound but the wind, the far-off waves on the shore. Perhaps they had not even crossed the stream. He dared hope they had given up and gone back to safeguard the rest of meat. After all, only a haunch was gone.
Unless they knew where he lived.
Arion turned cold at the thought of Marpessa alone in the hut. He sped back along the river, crouching low, keeping to the cover of the bushes and reeds that lined the bank. When he came within sight of his hut, all was quiet. He opened the door. “Marpessa!” he called.
She was sitting up, waiting for him in the dimness.
“I’ve brought you meat.” A smile lit her face, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that it had been a theft. Later, perhaps. “I’m going to make a fire,” he said. It was a risk, but he would keep it small and extinguish it as soon as the lamb was cooked.
Late that night, Arion lay on his bed outside the hut, his mind filled with worries. Perhaps the herdsman and his servant had not given up. Alerted to his presence on the plain, they might find the hut—and Marpessa. Tomorrow he should move her. Abandon the hut and hide their traces. Find somewhere else to build a shelter, perhaps in the hills. But she was in no condition to flee, hide, sleep outdoors.
She had no place in his precarious world. He should get her away from here and find a way to take her home. But what if she wasn’t strong enough to withstand the journey? Oh, gods, send me a sign! Tell me if it’s the right thing to do, he prayed. There was a seaport he’d heard of called Troas south of this barren shore. News and goods traveled back and forth between Lokris and Troy, at least when the weather was fair enough for sailing. Perhaps in Troas he would find a ship bound for Lokris. He could buy passage with the silver pieces saved from Marpessa’s mother, whose fierce whispered words came back to him now: Take care of her. Protect her well.
A feeling of desolation filled him, a feeling he did not care to explore. He drifted toward sleep. Half awake, his mind wandered back to that day so many years ago when his own mother had left him with the seafaring merchants who had bought him as a slave. As he had stood on the shore, she had bent to kiss him stiffly, pressing so hard into his forehead that if he concentrated, he could still feel the burning imprint of those hot dry lips. Then she had turned and walked away, while he made such an effort to control his sobs that his lips trembled and runnels of tears seared his cheeks. Bent and slow though she was with her wasting illness, she had gone swiftly away, her movements jerky, her head down. She had not even looked at him again. Why? he asked in the darkness. Why did you not turn back for one last look at your son?
He had not loved anyone in his life since that moment when she had walked out of it. He would miss Marpessa dearly, but after he had seen her safely home, he would abide in solitude as he had always done.
XIX
THE SHORE
U
In the early morning, Leonteus, the Prince-Governor of Troy, leaned on a crumbling parapet and gazed westward toward the coast. Clouds were massing in the sky. Even without being able to see the water, he knew what it was like: dark gray, immense waves racing toward the shore, their white foam whipped by the wind like the manes of horses. Poseidon’s horses of the deep. The season of storms had come early this year. Soon no more ships would make the crossing from the port of Troas to Hellas.
Leonteus’ heart was heavy as he contemplated the disaster that had struck the citadel. Since the raid, Troy was a sad and diminished place, weakened by the deaths of so many and the theft of most of the grain from the harvest. The temple had suffered the heaviest losses. Almost all the priestesses had been killed. Sacrilege. But no matter the cause, the goddess would be offended if not given her due. He must make sacrifice to Athena and find new priestesses soon so that they could continue to honor the goddess.
There was also the troublesome matter of the two virgin temple slaves from Lokris. He would have to send a report to the temple in Lokris. Since one of the maidens was dead and the other missing and presumed dead, the Hundred Families would have to hold another drawing and send two more maidens to Troy in accordance with the terms of the decree. The slaves would have to be sent immediately
, before the seas became impassible. Or else the consequences of Athena’s wrath were not to be contemplated.
The problem was that only one of the temple girls was clearly dead, her body identified and burned on unfruitful wood outside the city gates in accordance with the goddess’s decree. The other one had never been found. Leonteus rubbed a hand through his bristly gray hair and beard. What had happened to that other girl? His men had searched the city thoroughly. Her body had not been recovered among the dead within the walls, and she could not have escaped the citadel. The day after the raid, the bodies of the dead had been burned in mass funeral pyres. In the confusion not all of the bodies had been identified. The bereaved had claimed their own, but there were always itinerant herders, peddlers, and other visitors passing through the city gates, spending a night or several. Leonteus recalled that the missing girl was not full-figured, but rather slender and wiry. With her cropped hair, most likely she had been mistaken for a boy. It was more than probable that the girl’s body had been burned without anyone knowing who she was. In any case, there was no way she could have survived or escaped. For, if she had survived, where could she have gone?
Nowhere. Leonteus sighed. It was a loose thread, but an insignificant one. He clapped his hands for a servant and ordered a fresh clay tablet. When it came, he set it on the parapet. He stared off into the distance for a moment, then pressed the point of the stylus into the firm red clay. In bold strokes he wrote his report to Lokris. The two Lokrian maidens had been killed in the raid by the Trares. Two replacements must be sent at once. Before the seas become impassible, he thought as he imprinted his seal in the damp clay and summoned the servant for further orders.
It was just past daylight when a noise jolted Arion awake. Voices. A crackling in the bushes. Footsteps. He held his breath. Still far off. He shot to his feet and lunged into the hut. Marpessa, wide-eyed, sat up and stared at him.
“We must flee,” he whispered.
As she pulled herself to her feet, he grabbed his carrying sack. Into it he threw the remains of the meat and bread, the cup, his knife, and all the loose possessions he could find. He reached into the dirt in the corner for his store of silver pieces and flung those in. Then he bunched up the sleeping rugs and stuffed them in too.
Slinging the sack over his shoulder, he took Marpessa’s arm. “Can you walk?” He paused to kick the pallet and the boards on which she had reclined so that they no longer looked like a bed. Then he led her outside, where he scattered the stones and ashes of the fire pit with his foot. He stood still, listening. Over his ragged breath he heard nothing. After a moment came a faint shout. The herdsman. He knew that voice from yesterday. They were far upstream of the hut. He tightened his hand on Marpessa’s arm—peered around the hut. The way to the shore was clear. “Follow me.”
Keeping to the cover of the reeds that lined the river, they started toward the shore. Where to go? Where to hide? He tried to remember what he knew of the coastline. South, he decided. Away from the plain.
As she followed him, her steps were slow, tottering, painful, and he had to rein in his urge to walk fast, to run. They trudged into a strong wind as they approached the shore, then paused behind some tall shrubs while he looked around and listened. He heard nothing over the crash of waves on the shingle. “They’re hunting me,” he whispered. “We must hide.” Zeus! he prayed silently. Let there be some cover on the shore.
Farther down were rocky outcroppings. If they could make it there—
They came to another stream and splashed across the wide shallow ford where it met the sea. Too much open ground. They would be in plain sight if the men appeared. “Can you run?” He broke into a slow jog, leading her by the hand, but stopped when her breathing began to sound harsh and painful.
At last they made it to the pile of rocks and crouched behind on the leeward side. Marpessa was gasping for breath, her face as pale as it had been when he found her in Troy. She was biting her lip as if from pain. Silently her eyes looked questions into his.
“We’ll wait here,” he told her, “until they’re gone.” Glancing down the barren shore, he could see nothing else that would offer shelter or even cover. He prayed the herdsman and his servant wouldn’t come this far.
They would surely find the hut. They won’t believe I’ve gone for good, he thought. Even if we outwait them, they’ll come back. “At least they don’t know about you.” His words to Marpessa were no more than a breath.
He would have to return to the hut when it was safe, to gather the rest of his belongings, to be ready to move somewhere else. In the meantime they must wait here, poor shelter though it was. Marpessa’s lips were blue with cold. He wrapped one sleeping rug around her, the other around himself.
The dark sky was overhung with clouds. Waves boomed on the shore. A freezing wind gusted, stinging his skin with drops of salt spray.
A storm was coming fast.
XX
THE STORM
U
It was another nightmare—the marauders attacking, she fleeing from her bed into a storm. But as she huddled behind a pile of rocks on the bleak shore with the rain falling in icy drops, Marpessa shivered, her teeth clacking together violently. The rain stung her face, the cold bit into her bones. Never had she felt more wretched. This is no dream, she realized.
His eyes anxious, Arion took the second sleeping rug from his shoulders and draped it over her head to keep out the worst of the rain. “I don’t want you to get sick.”
But she pulled the blanket off and handed it back to him. “You’re wet and cold too. Put it over both of us. And this one around us. We’ll sit close for warmth.”
They wrapped one blanket around both of them, draped the other over their heads as a cover, leaving an opening for air and light, and leaned into each other’s warmth. The thickly woven sleeping rugs, smelling of wet wool, gave some shelter from the rain. The rocks protected them from the roaring wind. Marpessa stopped shivering at last. But she was uneasy. In Naryx young unmarried girls were kept from contact with men. It felt strange to be sitting so close to Arion with his body touching hers from shoulder to knee and his warm breath mingling with hers. Even after all they had been through together, Arion was in many ways a stranger. I don’t really know him at all, she thought. And why had they fled the hut? She turned to study his face. “Arion, what happened?” she demanded. “Why did we have to run away?”
“Two men came looking for me,” he answered, “because I stole the meat.”
“The meat we ate last night?” Was that how he got their food? She was so startled that she blurted out, “I thought you worked for our food. You stole it?” Her voice quavered. “And now we’re in danger!”
Arion’s body went rigid, and he sprang up so suddenly she was thrown off balance. The two blankets landed on her as he threw them off and strode into the rain. Stunned, she stared after him. She was afraid he would leave and not come back, but he stalked around aimlessly, making violent movements with his arms. Clad only in his tunic, he must have been cold. But he seemed heedless of the water pouring on him. At last he returned and flung himself down next to her, not touching, not making any move to get under the blankets. He was dripping wet and plainly in a rage.
“What did you expect, Marpessa?” he burst out. “We were starving. We had to survive.”
Remorse flooded her. She wished she could unsay her heedless words. “Arion, I’m sorry, I thought—”
“You thought! You thought I never worked, all I did was steal!”
“No, Arion, I—”
But he cut her off. “Well, that’s not how it was! I worked ’till I was ready to drop—and for nothing but crumbs of bread and cheese or a measly sack of grain! What was I to do if we weren’t to starve? You had to get well. I did it for you. You, Marpessa!” The “you” came out with the force of the vilest insult.
“Arion, I’m sorry,�
� she tried again when she thought his anger was spent. But what a weak word it was! When she glanced at him, his face was closed, his eyes averted. A gulf had opened between them. “Arion, there was no shame in what you did.”
“Shame!” He was off again. “You have no idea, do you? You’ve been sheltered, cared for all your life!”
I can’t help my past, she thought. How will I ever make it right with him? “Arion, you’re wet, you’re cold. Come back under the blanket.” With a pang she remembered the mouth-watering grilled lamb they had eaten last night. “Is there any meat left?” she asked. “Let’s at least enjoy it while we wait out the storm.”
He tossed her the sack. “Help yourself.” Miserably she reached in. There was a generous portion. She tore off a piece, handed it to him. A peace offering. Apparently he saw it as such, for he took it and said, “You have some too.” They ate without speaking. Then Marpessa spread the blankets over him again. She pressed as close as she dared. His nearness sent a warmth through her like embers coming alive in a cold hearth. “Surely the storm will make those men give up,” she said.
She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but at last he grunted, “Perhaps.” And then, “Are you warm enough?”
Her hopes rose. “Aye. Thank you, Arion. For everything.” She felt his body relax slightly next to hers. “Arion, please forgive me,” she said in a small voice. He did not answer at once, and she held her breath, watching him. At last he nodded. Then silence fell between them.
His rage might have passed, but the gulf was still there.
Arion had asked the gods for a sign, but the sign came from Marpessa. Her words had cut deeply. How quickly she assumed I was a thief! She thought everything I brought back to her was stolen!
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