Now the coldness and horror would not go away. He trembled uncontrollably. Cold, so cold. Gradually he became aware of the heat and pressure of a body next to his, arms holding him tightly. He opened his eyes, then closed them against the sun’s blaze.
Churning brown waters. The current sucking him under. Death.
He saw other things. Marpessa clinging to a tree. Safe. Then launching herself into the raging river.
He opened his eyes in a panic—and saw her face next to his, her eyes looking at him anxiously. She was alive. And somehow she had pulled him out of the flood.
He tried to say her name, but no sound came. He tried to lift his arms to put them around her, but they would not move. “Marpessa,” he managed at last. It came out as a croak. “You saved me. You could have died!” She said nothing but gave him a smile of pure wonderment.
He made a Herculean effort to lift his arms, and this time put them around her. His eyes fell shut. He drifted.
It began with her fear of losing him. His shivering and her unendurable longing to comfort him. It continued as they came awake together, eyes opening and meeting with the knowledge that life could be snatched away in an instant. Each moment was precious. All this flowed between them without words. For a long time they lay still, her face on his bare chest, her arms around him, legs over his, skin on skin, absorbing the warmth of each other and the sun.
Then she felt him start to tremble again, only now it was different—vibrant and urgent. His yearning swamped her and became her own. All she wanted in the world was to fuse her body with his, her soul with his, to not be parted from him ever again. She tightened her arms around him and found his lips with hers.
As they lay together on that ruined shore littered with wreckage, they were borne away on a force greater than any flood.
XXX
RUIN
U
All the radiance of the sun filled Arion and brimmed over. He had never known such joy, never imagined it could be like this. If he kept his eyes closed and didn’t move, he could focus his whole being on the feel of her arm across his chest, the hand that rested lightly on his collarbone, the warmth of her body against his side. He could believe it wouldn’t vanish like a dream. He could pretend it was all right. Then she gave a sigh and stirred. Her body disjoined from his. He let his arms loosen, but he didn’t want to let her go.
He opened his eyes, and remorse fell on him like a shadow, a darkness with weight and substance. His happiness fled. I had no right. I let it happen. I’ve despoiled her. He tried to throw the ugly word from his mind, but it remained lodged there. He was afraid to look at her. But when at last he turned his head, she smiled, lowered her eyes shyly and moved close again.
“Marpessa, we—I shouldn’t have—”
She slid her fingers over his lips. “Don’t say that!” She tightened her arms about him. “We are alive, and the gods have given us this. It was meant to be.”
He was silent. His heart lightened a little. If she was right, gifts from the gods were to be accepted with gratitude. He took a deep breath, but a harsh cough tore his throat. All at once he felt the pain of his bruised and battered body. With a groan he sat up.
The clouds had gone. The storm had passed. A few birds chirped, shrill and outraged at the horror the gods had wrought. A flapping noise from the reeds startled him, and a duck took flight, its wings drinking the wind like thirsty tongues. Next to him, Marpessa sat, then stood. She reached down to help him to his feet. When he swayed dizzily, fighting the weakness that swept through him, she put her arms around him. A cold breeze stirred. He held her, feeling the dampness of her tunic, the shiver that ran through her body.
“We must go, Marpessa. Back to our camp.”
“Can you walk?”
He nodded with more confidence than he felt. As she brushed the dirt and leaves from his sodden tunic, he noticed that his belt was missing, and his knife too. And of course their fishing gear and the fish they had caught. He wanted to hunt for these things, but one look at the wreckage all around told him it was useless. Likely their possessions had been washed as far as the sea. And what of their camp, high on the mountain, near the streams that fed this river? He pushed the worry aside and took Marpessa’s hand, feeling the delicate bones beneath her skin. “Let’s go, my—” But he could think of no endearment tender enough to express what he felt. Instead he willed his eyes to tell her all that he could not say in words.
Their progress up the steep slope was agonizingly slow. Arion had to stop often to catch his breath, and each time, Marpessa listened anxiously to his painful wheezing, then reached for his hand. They went on. She was only vaguely aware of the changed landscape they passed through—uprooted trees, rivers of mud covering the undergrowth, a terrible absence of birds, of any sounds of life. When Arion’s feet slowed, she put her arm around him, hoping to give him strength. “Come, Arion! Only a little longer.” It was a lie, but he managed the next step and the next, his face drenched with sweat. The sun was sinking in a fiery glow, and the air was cooling sharply when they finally reached their camp.
They stopped at its edge, and Marpessa gave a cry of horror. A wasteland lay before them. The flood had raged through the glade with devastating force. Rocks, boulders, fallen trees were strewn about as if thrown by the hand of a Titan. The open area was littered with debris: branches, torn-up shrubs, the swollen carcass of an animal she could not identify, probably a fox or a weasel. All the things they had acquired to make survival possible were gone: her grinding stones, the fire pit, the cooking pots, the ropes Arion had strung between trees, the garments and blankets they had hung to air out, the javelins, bows, and quivers of arrows he had stowed on the branches of an evergreen oak.
Marpessa’s knees buckled. “The gods—they’re angry! Athena—” Her voice broke. “Athena tried to warn us this would happen.”
Arion gently turned her to face him. “Let’s look in the caves,” he said. “Maybe some things were spared.”
They made their way to the storage cave. It was a sodden wreck, its floor a swamp, the stores of grain and salted meat swept away. There would be no supper tonight, no breakfast tomorrow. Her own cave had fared no better. Gone were her bedding, her extra tunics, the small store of rocks, feathers and other keepsakes she had gathered. She gripped Arion’s hand as they moved on to his cave. Its floor was muddy, but there was a crevice where he had stowed a sleeping rug and other things. By some miracle the soaked rug had stayed wedged in place. Arion reached his hand along the crevice.
“The dried meat! It’s here, and also my fire-starting rocks. We’ll eat tonight,” he told her, then added in a shaky voice. “But my silver and copper pieces are gone. Every single one.”
As they stepped outside, Marpessa turned away, determined that she would not cry.
Arion saw her shoulders quivering. Over his own despair came a gladness that he had earned the right take her in his arms and cradle her head against his chest. “Marpessa!” he whispered. At least we’re alive, he wanted to say, but she might not find immediate comfort in this. Instead he said, “Let’s search around to see if any more of our belongings have survived the flood.” It might be futile, but it would occupy them, give them a purpose.
As she walked around the edges of the camp where the woods infringed, he went to the massive evergreen oak into which he had thrust his second-best knife and wound a rope securely high around the trunk. Looking up, he gave a crow of triumph. They were still there! At that moment Marpessa came running back, holding an iron vessel aloft. “Look, Arion, my cooking pot! It was over yonder, caught in the branches of a tree.”
“See, now we can collect water, we can cook, and I have found my rope and knife.”
She gave a small smile. “I’ll fetch us some water.” She winced at the word. “If you can make a fire, we’ll warm the meat and dry the blanket.”
As she s
tarted for the spring, he listened to the sound of her footfalls, light as dried leaves blown against the forest floor. An odd fancy, since all around him the ground was damp, the torn branches wet and dripping. There would be no fire. The evening chill crept in. All he could think of was his need of rest. He found armfuls of leaves and branches that would shield them from the puddled water. With these he made a makeshift bed on the floor of his cave and over it spread the rug that had survived the flood. Wet though it was, the wool was thick enough to keep some of the cold away.
Marpessa came out of the shadows, water slopping from the vessel she carried. Night was falling swiftly. They sat on the ground and devoured the cold meat. She was shivering. He pulled her close. He too was shaking with cold. At last they arose and went into the cave.
In the darkness, Marpessa felt his shuddering. “Your tunic is damp. Take it off.” She pulled it over his head, then doffed her own. “Come,” she murmured. “We’ll warm each other.” She arranged the blanket so that they lay on half of it and pulled the other half over themselves as a cover. When she crept next to him, his shaking was still violent. “Arion! Are you ill?”
“I’m well enough,” he muttered.
You’re not, Marpessa thought. He had taken water into his lungs. What if he dies? Oh, gods! Oh, Apollo, god of healing, help me! She entangled her limbs with his and blew warm breaths on his neck where the blood pulsed beneath the skin, until at last his body relaxed and his breathing deepened. She reached up to caress his hair, his cheek. Tightening her arms around him, she kissed him.
His bones melted like iron in the forge. He had thought that they would lie together only for warmth. Yet why not accept this wondrous gift of the gods, who had robbed them of everything else? Marpessa, my love! He took her in his arms.
Afterwards, he thought, I should not have. She can never be mine. His happiness fled, and again he ached with guilt. Yet as she lay trustingly at his side, her breathing becoming rhythmic with sleep, a larger question loomed in his mind.
What are we going to do?
Only by chance or the will of the gods had they survived this flood—because they happened to be downstream. But now they had lost everything. With winter coming, there would be more storms, perhaps more floods. Before long, snow would come to the mountains. He flung an arm over his brow. “We can’t stay here.”
He did not realize he had spoken aloud and awakened her until he heard her soft question in the dark. “What shall we do?”
Holding her close he whispered, “I’ll think of something.” Wild thoughts raced through his mind. Take her away to the far ends of the earth. Start a new life together where no one can find us. Yet it was impossible. All his earnings were gone and he had nothing. Their attempt to survive in the wilderness had failed. The flood had shown them they could lose their lives at any time. And if he became injured or ill and died, she too would perish, with no one to provide for her. Another unwelcome thought came. If I had gone down the mountain leaving her alone as I so often did, she would have died here.
I can’t care for her. Of what use was his love for her—his hopeless, helpless love—if he could neither protect her nor provide for her?
She can never be mine.
His duty was clear. I must get her to safety. That meant taking her home. And there was only way to do it. Seek the Phoenicians, whose ships sailed across the seas in winter. If we go south we can surely find them. I can work as a sailor, earn our passage.
I must give her up.
Her arms tightened around him. She lifted her head. He felt her soft lips on his neck and her breath warming his skin. She whispered, “I love you, Arion.”
The words stabbed his heart. The pain went sharp and deep. His throat tightened so that he could not speak. No, no, you mustn’t, he thought. You’ll be hurt. As he struggled to keep his breathing even, he was glad she couldn’t see that his eyes had filled with tears.
XXXI
AMALTHEIA’S GRIEF
U
Each morning Amaltheia would lift the small silver mirror from her bedside stand and stare at her face with a kind of wonder. The features were all there, older, sharper, the eyes deeply shadowed, the hair grayer, but recognizably her own. How could it be so when her heart had died?
She would pull herself slowly to her feet. She must somehow get through the day ahead, a succession of endless, repetitive chores performed by rote from long experience. Often she was barely aware of her own actions or the words she spoke. In the same way each tomorrow must be faced anew.
Amaltheia was no stranger to loss. She had buried her parents, a sister, a brother, and her first child, a baby girl. Each death had torn a hole in her heart. The empty spaces were still there, scarred over by time but never mended. Each grief had its own shape and color. Her first baby left a deep hole, pale lavender, cloudy and blurred around the edges with what might have been. Her mother’s loss was a chasm, gray and formless, so wide that the young girl she was then had not been able to see across it. The loss of her unloving father was a small, shallow gash like one made by a spear, an angry red in color, emitting twinges of bitterness and regret.
The wound from the loss of Marpessa was so great, so deep that all the other losses blended into one massive crater. Once she had been terrified by how much she could lose. Now the gods had done their worst. Nothing else could touch her.
Be strong for me, Marpessa had said the day she left, the last words she ever spoke to her mother. Now Amaltheia repeated the words mindlessly to keep at bay those other thoughts, the ones that would drive her mad, such as how Marpessa had died and whether she had been ravished by the barbarians. She saw her absence from Marpessa’s side during the last moments of life as her own failure. How I wish I could have held you in my arms. If only I could have died for you! But in order to get through each day she must not let herself think these things.
In the future she would come face to face with Marpessa in the underworld. Until then, her daughter’s words were a lifeline to her: Be strong. For me.
For you, my darling. If she had failed her daughter in life, she would not fail her in death.
XXXII
THE JOURNEY SOUTH
U
The next morning, with nothing to eat, nothing to do but leave the ruined campsite behind, they made a pack of their few remaining belongings and set out down the slope along a narrow animal trail. As their walking fell into a rhythm, Marpessa ventured to ask, “Arion, where are the Phoenicians to be found?”
“South,” he answered, “I don’t know how far. We’ll ask along the way. In fact—” She heard his hesitation. “I don’t know anything about them, only that they have big ships and enough skills to get us home in winter.”
The Phoenicians, she thought. They would speak a different tongue, worship different gods. A whole world of fear opened up in her. “Arion, must we?” she asked in a small voice. “Must we seek them?”
He said abruptly, “We don’t have much choice.”
His words brought no comfort. She skirted her fear and forced herself to think of their goal. Home!
Once she’d wanted that more than anything. But now she was no longer an innocent child longing for her mother. She was a woman, joined to Arion for life. She’d been taught that losing her maidenhood outside of marriage was wrong—a fatal mistake, a sin in the eyes of the gods. Yet how could something be wrong that felt so right? She belonged to Arion. Together they would overcome every obstacle.
But what would happen when they reached Lokris? Runaway slaves were severely punished, often maimed or put to death. He would also be blamed for ravishing her. Her heart pounded out of control and her knees turned wobbly. She almost stopped walking. Then she quickly put the thought away from her. When I tell them how he rescued me and saved my life, they’ll reward him, not punish him.
Yet sudden doubt assailed her. Father—t
he members of the Council—they might not listen to me. She gave a cry of anguish, stopping on the trail.
Arion, two paces behind, came up next to her. “What is it?”
She flung her arms around him. “What if they kill you when we get to Lokris?” Her head against his chest, she felt the sudden jerk of his heart, but he stood so still that she knew he had already accepted this possibility. His hand came up to stroke her hair, perhaps to calm himself as well as her. She raised her head to look at his pale, resolute face. “We’ll stop them. When they see that you’ve saved me, brought me home— And my mother will help us.”
He was silent for so long that she didn’t think he would answer. At last he murmured, “No use speaking of it. It changes nothing.”
“But, Arion, what will we do? We must—” she began, but he thrust her gently from him and turned her onto the trail once more.
“We’d best go on.”
After that she was as silent as he. Her mind whirled in a blind panic. We can’t risk it. We mustn’t go back to Lokris. Then where will we go? But there was nowhere else.
A while later they stopped at a stream. As she bent to scoop water into her mouth, Arion walked a short distance upstream to a deep green pool. He crouched over it, intent and still. Suddenly he made a lightning-quick movement that produced a flash of silver and sent a fish flopping onto the bank—a fish almost as long as his hand. He gutted it and divided it. When he handed her half, she was too famished to care that she was eating it raw. The texture was slippery, but the taste was good. As they resumed their journey, she pulled a few small bones from her teeth.
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