Shadow of Athena

by Elena Douglas

  As the day passed, she paced often around the grassy area, pausing to gaze down the slope. Nothing. Perhaps I was overly fearful, she thought. Maybe Drakios just spied on me because he was curious. The shadows were lengthening when she rose slowly and stretched.

  At that very moment a shape loomed over her from the uphill side of the slope. Before she could cry out, Drakios barreled into her, knocking her down. The knife flew from her belt and skittered to the ground. His weight crushed her into the dirt. His hands held her wrists at her sides. She couldn’t breathe or move. He leered into her face.

  “You can’t fool me, pretending to be a boy! I saw every bit of you when you were bathing yesterday!” He was breathing hard, his words spraying her face with spittle.

  She forced down fear and tried to kick him, but his legs pinned hers down, immobilizing her. His breath, reeking of wine and onions, was hot on her face. She smelled his acrid sweat. As he reached down to raise her tunic from her thighs, she clawed at his eyes. He slapped her with massive force across the face.

  Everything went black, shot with sparks of light. Stunned by the pain, she felt a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. His hand curved around her thigh, inched upward. Her skin crawled.

  Suddenly she remembered the dog. “Herakles, to me, to me!” she screamed. Drakios’s hand clamped over her mouth, forcing her head painfully upward and to the side. She saw a bright glimmer in the grasses. The knife. Out of reach.

  Herakles circled them, barking wildly. Then the sheep bleated and the dog ran back to them. The bleating and barking grew fainter. They were scattering. Herakles must be running after them, leaving her alone. Marpessa’s stomach sickened with fear.

  Drakios’ hand probed her inner flesh, making her nauseous with revulsion. The knife. It was behind her right shoulder. She couldn’t reach it even if she could extend her arm. She dug her heels into the soil and thrust against them with all her strength. Arching her body up, she managed to scoot herself and Drakios closer toward the knife. The movement dislodged his legs. She crossed her ankles and clamped her knees together. He was breathing hard, trying to get her legs apart. Now both her hands were free. She reached backward over her head slowly, slowly, groping toward the knife. Not close enough. Her fingertips just grazed it. She was terrified he would notice. To distract him, she gasped out, “Arion will kill you!” And pushed off again with her heels.

  It made him focus on her face. He loomed over her, laughing contemptuously. “Nay, I’ll kill him. Playing us for fools, sleeping with his whore under our very noses. Now I mean to have what he has every night!”

  “I’m his sister!” Marpessa hurled the words with explosive force. Her eyes locked with his as her fingers closed around the knife.

  XXXV

  SEARCH FOR MARPESSA

  U

  The shadows were lengthening, the sun’s light deepening to orange. Arion, working with Epistrophos and his sons to carry loads of lumber from the woods down to the shore, stopped to wipe sweat from his brow. His gnawing anxiety was rapidly growing into panic. Drakios had disappeared. All afternoon Arion had tried to watch him, but his work often took him down to the shore while Drakios remained in the woods.

  “Where is Drakios?” He shot the question at Alphareus, who was preparing another load to carry.

  Alphareus replied, “He went farther into the woods to see if there were any cut trees we left behind.”

  Pheidas, the middle son, said, “That was some time ago. It wouldn’t surprise me if he went home. He’s a shirker!”

  The words struck Arion like a blow. He flung down the log he had lifted. “I’ll go see if I can find him.” He strode off before they could object.

  The strength of a Titan flooded his veins. He ran through the woods, calling Drakios’s name. No answer. Drakios had gone—he was sure of it. Avoiding the place where the others were working, he raced toward the family’s dwelling.

  When he arrived out of breath, the door stood open. Epistrophos’ wife sat at her loom. Drakios was not there.

  The old woman gave him a surprised glance. Before she could speak, he set off at a run up the slope in the direction Marpessa usually took with the sheep. She’d mentioned a spring up the hill and to the west. He ran until he was out of breath.

  “Teukros!” he called, turning in a circle to send his voice in all directions. No answer but the wind. He ran again, weeds and thorn bushes scraping his legs, but he barely noticed. He saw a stooped old goatherd heading downhill. “Have you seen a lad with a flock of sheep and a dog?” he asked. The old man gave him a vague look and shook his head.

  At last Arion came to a spring, perhaps the right one, but there was no one there. He saw signs of cropped grass and sheep droppings, but these were old. No sheep had been here today. The fiery disk of the sun slipped behind the top of the hill. “Teukros!” he called over and over, listening after each call for a faint answer or perhaps the baahing of the sheep. No sound but the whisper of the wind. At last he stopped and looked to his left up the mountainside, where the terrain became rougher and more overgrown. To his right the land rose steeply, strewn with boulders. There was no way to tell which way she had gone, or if she’d even come this way at all. The sun was gone, the wind brought a chill to his bones, and twilight deepened swiftly. Perhaps she was far below him on the slope. Or she’d returned to the dwelling. His heart froze at the thought of her alone with the family, or worse, alone with Drakios.

  He must go back. If she was able, she’d return there. If not, he’d find Drakios and force him to tell what had happened.

  “Teukros!” he called one last time. And then, his voice rising in agony and desperation, not caring who heard: “Marpessa! Marpessa!” But there was only the silence of deep twilight. Even the wind had died.

  “Zeus, help her!” he prayed. “Athena, as she honored you and served you in your temple, be merciful to her now!”

  Filled with urgency, he started back toward the house. He had been gone a long time. Perhaps she’d returned there while he was searching, and was waiting for him. But when he opened the door, only Epistrophos, his wife, and the two elder sons were sitting by the hearth. Fear squeezed the breath from his lungs.

  Their heads swiveled toward him. “Where is Drakios?” Epistrophos demanded. “We thought you went to seek him, and—”

  “Where’s Teukros?” Arion interrupted roughly.

  “Your simpleton brother has not returned with the flock,” the wife retorted. “You should know better than I what trouble he’s got into. He’d better not have allowed the sheep to come to harm.”

  The sheep. He’d almost forgotten them. Surely she’ll be with them. “We must find them!” He started for the door.

  But just then it was flung open, and Drakios staggered in, his hair disheveled, his tunic torn and dirty. A bloody rag was tied around his neck. He was alone.

  Arion lunged, knocking him to the floor, seizing him in a chokehold. “What have you done with Teukros?”

  “Let go!” yelled a voice behind him. Rough hands grabbed his neck, tugged his hair. But Arion had never felt such fury—or such strength. He was barely aware of their efforts. He closed his hands around Drakios’s throat and at the same time shook him. “Where is he? Tell me before I kill you!”

  “Get your hands off him, you monster!” Epistrophos bellowed, but Arion tightened his hold until he was squeezing the windpipe. Drakios’s pulse beat against his fingers. The man’s eyes bulged in terror. His mouth worked as he tried to form words. Arion fought off a savage desire to strangle him and loosened his grip just enough to allow Drakios to speak.

  “Up the slope,” Drakios gasped. “Very far. There’s a big rock surrounded by pines, a stream and—”

  A blow from behind struck Arion on the side of the head, stunning him. Two of the men hauled him away, dragged him to his feet. They held him while the third
man, Alphareus, swung his fist and drove a mighty blow into Arion’s belly just below the rib cage. Arion fell like a dropped sack of grain.

  He couldn’t breathe. He was in agony. He made groaning sounds beyond his control. At last he caught a breath. Another. Slowly he dragged himself to his feet. Epistrophos, at Drakios’s side, shouted over his shoulder to his sons, “Hold him!” but Arion, lurching like a drunken man, pushed past them and managed to reach the door.

  “She’d better be safe!” he snarled, and flung himself out into the night. Then he stopped. Oh, gods, I said “she”!

  It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding her. Outside he tried to recover his strength. His head throbbed. When he put a hand to his temple, it came away bloody. He drew several deep breaths. Then he started up the slope.

  It was not yet fully dark. Far up the hillside he saw the outline of a huge rocky outcropping, surrounded by a black fringe of trees. His breath tearing painfully, he made himself trudge uphill until at last he reached it. On the far side of the rock, just as Drakios said, there was a stream. And not a living soul was near.

  He felt an enormous relief. He’d feared he would find her dead. Or too hurt to move. But she must have fled. If Drakios was telling the truth and she’d been here at all.

  He began zigzagging down the hill, calling her name, trying to imagine where she might be. As darkness fell completely, his despair grew. He was nearing the house when he heard a faint bleating. He ran, following the sound. Soon a small flock of sheep emerged from the fold of a hillock, followed by a dog and a bedraggled figure trailing behind.

  “Marpessa!”

  He ran to her, enfolded her in his arms. For long moments he couldn’t speak. At last he loosened his grip to peer into her face. “Are you well? Are you—are you—?”

  “I am—unharmed.” But she buried her head in his chest and burst into sobs.

  He held her against him for the rest of the walk down the slope. When they reached the sheepfold, he helped her secure the flock for the night. At the door of the house they stopped. Arion hesitated. He was not ready to confront Epistrophos and his sons, but he and Marpessa needed food.

  “Go to our shed.” He swung Marpessa gently around by the shoulders and pointed her toward it. “I’ll get us what we need.”

  He entered the house, and before anyone had time to speak, he said, “Your sheep are safe.” He glared around the room at all of them, defying them to stop him. Deliberately he went to the pot on the hearth and filled a trencher with enough food for two. Then he took a clay lamp and a jug of water. He fled before anyone spoke.

  After they finished eating, Arion said, “Did he hurt you? Tell me what happened.”

  Marpessa told of the sudden attack, the struggle, the knife. “When I got my hand on it, my nerve failed and—” She stopped.

  Arion put his arm around her and held her close. “Tell me.”

  “I—my grip loosened. I aimed for his jugular but only made a shallow gash. I thought he would come at me again, but he fell away. I leapt to my feet, scrambled away from him, and then Herakles returned.” She gave a shaky laugh. “He saved me! He growled ferociously and lunged. I lifted the knife, and Drakios jumped up and ran away.”

  “Then what?” Arion asked. “You were gone a long time.”

  “The sheep scattered. It took me hours to find them.”

  Not satisfied, Arion put a finger under her chin and turned her face up to inspect it by the dim, flickering light of the lamp’s flame. When he noticed the bruises on her cheek, the cut on her lip, dark rage filled him again. He jumped to his feet. “I’m going to kill him!”

  “No!” She scrambled up, grasped his arms. “There are four of them. They’ll kill you.”

  Arion shook her off. “No matter! He hurt you. He tried to force you.” He grabbed the knife and started for the door.

  Marpessa flung herself on him, pushing him back with all her weight. “Arion, listen! It’s past. We’re finished here. All we need to do is get on that ship tomorrow.”

  Arion’s muscles were tensed like springs. His hand clenched hungrily around the knife. He moved her aside and reached for the latch.

  Marpessa gave a sob. The sound of it stopped him. He saw fear in her shadowed face. Breathing raggedly, he forced down his rage. “Aye, the ship. That’s all that really matters.” He slipped the knife back into the sheath at his belt.

  Marpessa slumped against him and buried her face in his chest. As his arms closed around her, his knees weakened with the thought of what had almost happened today. It had been too close a call. A warning. He touched the hair that fell in soft, feminine curls around her face.

  “You look too fair!” he said. “No wonder Drakios noticed. Before we leave I’ll cut your hair, make you look more like Teukros. But now you must sleep. We’ll go to the ship at dawn. Before Epistrophos and his sons are awake.”

  As soon as Marpessa settled down in the straw, Arion went to lie across the threshold. Drakios would not catch them unawares again.

  XXXVI

  PERGAMOS

  U

  They left at first light and made the long journey across the gulf. Then they found passage on fishing boats that plied the coast to the south, with Arion working as a fisherman to earn their way. Many days later the boat that carried them arrived at a sandy harbor near the mouth of a river. After the men ran the vessel up onto the beach, Marpessa waited, sinking her feet into cold, damp sand, while Arion thanked the fishermen who had given them transport and then had further talk with the owner of the boat. She could not catch every word when Arion spoke the Ionian dialect of his childhood, but she guessed that he was asking for information.

  As they left the shore and headed toward the village, Arion said, “There’s a big, rich town just inland, up in the hills—Pergamos. Their merchants trade with the Phoenicians, who come here often. This is where we will find our ship. And,” he added with a grin of triumph, “the man told me of an empty shack up the shore where we can live until the next ship arrives. And there’ll be work for me while we wait.”

  Arion had a few coppers in his belt. When they reached the marketplace, Marpessa’s mouth watered at the smells of food offered at the stalls. Arion bought them each a round of bread and a stick of grilled goat meat which they ate as they walked. With her hunger assuaged, Marpessa stopped before a booth selling trinkets of copper and silver. She picked up a copper mirror, then put it down as if it had burned her fingers. Teukros would never touch a mirror. But Arion guessed her intent. After a swift glance to make sure they were unobserved, he took the mirror and held it before her.

  Marpessa stared. It was a lifetime since she had last seen her reflection. Now she barely recognized herself. It showed the face of a lad hardened beyond his years. A sun-browned, wind-roughened face smudged with dirt, its sharp cheekbones hollowed out by hunger, the hair roughly shorn close to the scalp. When Arion had cut her hair, he’d spared no pains in taking away her femininity.

  As he put the mirror down, she looked up at him. His eyes were deadly serious, speaking to her without words. The role of Teukros was no mere game. It was an identity she must adopt completely, every moment of every day. Her survival—and possibly his—depended upon it.

  As they walked away from the booth, she was already cultivating a scowl and a boyish squint to further disguise her girlishness.

  The shack was in sad condition, a dirt floor, walls made of thin boards with cracks between them and some boards missing. Marpessa’s heart dropped at the sight, but she knew they were lucky to have even this much.

  The next day, after Arion set off down the shore to join the fishermen, she explored the hills behind the village; they were barren with their cover of dried winter grasses. There were no woods or streams. After a day of wandering, she found a few nuts and late berries. She returned to the hut weary, wondering what she would
do during the long days.

  Arion came back in the evening with coppers in his belt and goat meat for dinner. “I’ll make enough to buy our food and even have a few coppers left over for other things we need,” he told her as he prepared a small fire in front of the hut. “And the men are very friendly.”

  Marpessa felt a pang of loneliness. “I could work too,” she offered, but he shook his head.

  “It’s heavy work. We’ve forever pulling boats out of the water, repairing hulls, mending nets, hauling in fish, cleaning them.”

  “I can repair nets and clean fish,” she pointed out.

  “Marpessa, there are lots of crass jokes, men’s talk. I wish to spare you that.”

  He’s scared, after what happened with Drakios, Marpessa realized.

  The next day she went to the river, which they had learned was called the Kaikos. She followed its course inland and caught several fish, which she cooked and had ready when Arion came home. “Freshwater fish tonight!” she said proudly, thinking he’d be pleased.

  But he frowned. “Be careful! Stay away from people. Don’t speak to anyone.”

  “I am careful!” she protested. “I avoid places where I’m likely to meet anyone.”

  “It’s just that I worry. The fish is very good,” he told her.

  The next day brought a storm. Winds lashed the hut and drove the rain in icy spears. Marpessa huddled miserably inside the hut. The roof leaked, and she had no way to repair it. The rain did not stop for days. Arion continued to work with the fishermen, who lent him a hooded cloak of oiled canvas. He brought back oakum and driftwood to plug the worst holes in the roof. At night when they lay together, Marpessa drew comfort from the warmth of his body. But when morning came, the rain still fell.