Arion felt like cursing aloud, shouting, sobbing like a broken-hearted child. Why had he trusted Klonios and waited for him after getting off the ship? His jaw throbbed, his head, arms, and shoulders ached with bruises, but these things did not matter. Klonios knew about Marpessa. In his mind he saw again his last sight of her, fleeing into the woods. Marpessa, please be safe! He had nothing to offer the gods except his silent supplication, but he begged them, Athena and all the gods, let him not find her! Please protect her!
But even if she reached safety, he would never see her again.
When night came on, he fell into an exhausted daze. Suddenly, a sound. He jerked awake in complete darkness, his pulse pounding. Then he saw a tiny bobbing lamp flame. He could just make out two figures on either side of the lamp, trailed by a third, shapeless in the dark. As they drew near, the flame shone upward on the lined face of an older woman. The figure beside her was small and slender. His heart leapt.
“Arion!” came her whisper. His whole being flooded with joy. His hands shot out through the bars of the cage. She brought them to her face, and he felt her smooth cheeks against his fingers. Her tears rained down into his palms.
Another hand touched him through the bars. He looked into the shadowed face of Amaltheia. “Thank you for saving my daughter,” she said.
She doesn’t know about the child, he thought with a pang of guilt.
The third shadow came forward, a stooped and shriveled crone. “Be quick!” she hissed. “The guard—I drugged his wine— but he may wake soon.”
Amaltheia asked, “Where is the key to this cage?”
“Locked in his strongbox. Only the master can get it,” the crone answered.
Arion’s hope ebbed. He said, “Then you can’t get me out of here.” His voice shook, and he fell silent.
Marpessa’s hands quivered in his. “Oh, Arion, what will he do to you?” Behind her, the crone was clucking with impatience.
But Arion cut them both off. “Listen,” he insisted. “Klonios has guessed everything. He said he’d make you pay for defying the goddess. I don’t know what he means to do, but I fear the worst. No one must know you’re here in Naryx—not even Thrasios.” He reached through the cage, grasped Amaltheia’s cloak, and looked urgently into her eyes. “You must hide her. Klonios’ll look for her. He won’t give up.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Dress her as a servant. Don’t let anyone in your house.”
A sudden swishing noise made them all freeze. But when it came again, it was nothing but the night wind. “Hurry!” the crone hissed in panic. “He’ll kill us all!”
Marpessa straightened, withdrew her hands. He felt her reluctance, the warmth slipping away. “What about you?” Her words trembled. “My love, we’ll find a way to save you,” she whispered.
Arion shook his head. “It’s hopeless. Save yourself, my Marpessa. That’s all that matters now.”
The next morning, while his minions were combing the town for the girl, Klonios went to the agora so that he could look, listen, and gauge the temper of the townspeople. He prided himself on his ability to do this. A sacrifice to appease Athena, he heard them saying. Well, if that was what they wanted, he had the perfect victim. It would be most satisfactory to turn over to the High Priestess the man who had defiled one of the maidens sent to the temple in Troy and consecrated to the service—virginal service—of the goddess.
It would also take care of Klonios’s revenge on the lowly slave who had dared attack him. It was a nice touch that Klonios needn’t soil his own hands.
As soon as possible he would have audience with the High Priestess. He could hardly wait.
L
FAILURE
U
In the servants’ quarters of the house of Thrasios was a small hole of a room with a dirt floor and space for only two pallets. It was unoccupied, for with the failed crops, Thrasios had been forced to let some servants go. It became Marpessa’s hiding place. Amaltheia told the serving women, “She’s in danger. No one, not even the master, can know that she’s here.” She added, “Don’t let her go out.”
Marpessa heard but lay without speaking on her pallet curled in a ball, knees against her chest. She couldn’t move. She could barely breathe.
She remembered her vision in Athena’s temple. The altar and the knife. They were for Arion, not her. On the morrow they were going to kill him.
If only Athena had chosen her as the victim instead.
A human sacrifice to propitiate Athena!
Notices were posted in the agora where men read them aloud in incredulity, in growing excitement. A culprit had been found: the slave who had been sent to escort the temple girls to Troy last spring and who had never returned. By the merchant Klonios’s heroic intervention, he had been captured. It was revealed that he had ravished and defiled one of the girls, getting her with child and bringing Athena’s wrath upon the town. Now, with his death, Lokris would be saved.
Rumors swept through the agora like a wind. Klonios, watching half-hidden in the shadows of the temple’s columns, listened with satisfaction to the buzzing of small knots of men who gathered, dispersed, formed into other groups.
“—one of Thrasios’s slaves!”
“I know who he is, used to see him around—”
“A surly fellow. Kept to himself.”
“How do they know he ravished the girl?”
“Klonios swore to it, he said—”
“The slave got her with child. He should be killed!” At that there was an angry buzzing and mounting outrage.
“And where is the girl?” someone shouted.
“—seems to have disappeared.”
“I’ll wager Klonios knows. He’ll bring her out of hiding in time for the sacrifice.”
Klonios smiled to himself. That I have every intention of doing, he thought.
Amaltheia stood over the bed, looking down at her daughter. Marpessa loved Arion. That was evident from all the girl’s actions, even before she confessed this to her mother. But it came as a shock that Marpessa was with child. How can any good come of this? Amaltheia worried. She would do anything to ensure her daughter’s happiness. But I can’t worry about it now. Amaltheia looked at Marpessa’s pale, clammy face, her closed eyes ringed in shadows. Amaltheia didn’t think Marpessa was aware of her until the girl whispered, “Mother, if he dies, I’ll die too.”
Then we must save him, Amaltheia thought. But how? Could she persuade or bribe the High Priestess to stop the sacrifice? She had no means for a bribe since she had parted with the last of her dowry months ago when she gave it to Arion to watch over Marpessa. What, then? Think! She wracked her brains.
The oracle—could it work in their favor?
Amaltheia went down on her knees and took Marpessa in her arms. The girl’s body was quivering with frenzy. Amaltheia held her tightly. Then she got to her feet, backed away. Somehow she had to break through Marpessa’s despair. She made her voice deliberately harsh. “Get up, girl! Why are you lying here? We must do everything we can!”
Marpessa looked up at her mother, her eyes wide and dark with fear. “What can we do?”
“Some weeks ago the High Priestess sent envoys to Delphi. The oracle they came back with is an enigma. It’s posted on a column of the temple with a reward to be given for the correct interpretation. If we can find a solution that might help Ar—”
Marpessa sat up at once. “What does the oracle say?”
“The envoys asked the Pythoness at Delphi how to break the curse. The answer was, ‘The sacrifice of a mated pair of turtledoves is displeasing to the goddess. They must be set free.’”
Hope flared in Marpessa’s eyes. “Mother, I think Athena’s been helping me ever since I escaped the marauders.” She gave a tremulous smile. “I know the meaning of the oracle.”
I’ll go at once to the temple, Am
altheia decided. But revealing her daughter’s presence was risky, and she did not know the High Priestess. Her one friend at the temple was a minor priestess who could not even help her get an audience.
At the temple she was admitted by a priestess wearing a white head cloth that completely hid her hair, a thin woman of middle years with a pinched face. Her body tight and tense, the priestess listened to Amaltheia’s request, then shook her head impatiently. “The High Priestess is very busy. She won’t see you.”
“My name is Amaltheia, wife of Thrasios, mother of Marpessa. It’s of utmost importance. Please, you must ask her.”
The woman’s blank look indicated that those names meant nothing to her. But she said reluctantly, “Very well. Wait here.” She led Amaltheia into a small room off the main chamber.
Amaltheia waited, fretting that in her absence Marpessa would do something foolhardy. Amaltheia doubted her servants’ ability to keep the girl confined. At last the woman returned—without the High Priestess.
“It’s as I told you. Her Eminence cannot be disturbed. She is about to undergo the ritual purification for the sacrifice tomorrow.”
“Listen, please! My daughter Marpessa was one of the temple maidens sent to Troy last spring. She has come back, and—”
But the woman cut her off. “What are you saying? Both those girls are dead.”
“But my daughter has returned. I beg you to tell Her Eminence and ask—”
“Your story is impossible. You’re wasting my time. I have duties to perform.”
“Wait, I can prove it—I can bring my daughter—Marpessa—here. And she knows—”
But Amaltheia got no further. The priestess cut her off, her voice rising in fury. “Enough! Leave now!” She picked up a mallet and struck a bronze gong. Two burly male attendants appeared as if they had been waiting just outside the room. “Take this madwoman outside!”
As the men grabbed her arms, Amaltheia burst out in desperation, “But my daughter can—”
“Your daughter’s dead. I won’t listen!”
As the two men pulled her to the door, Amaltheia said in a muffled voice, “I only wanted to help our city.”
The priestess looked slightly abashed. She said reluctantly, “There is a very old tradition. Just before a human sacrifice, anyone may speak on the victim’s behalf. If you have something to say, come forward then.”
A slight hope lit Amaltheia’s heart. “Thank you!” But the priestess had already swept from the room.
The guards showed Amaltheia to the outside door, then left her. She recalled that her friend the minor priestess owed her a debt of gratitude. Amaltheia had nursed the woman’s mother through a dangerous illness last winter. Her friend was in charge of incense, and this gave Amaltheia an idea, something that might make Athena seem displeased with the sacrifice. Amaltheia found her friend in her room at the rear of the temple. The priestess, a small, timid woman, agreed to do as she asked.
But Amaltheia feared it wouldn’t be enough.
Without much hope, Amaltheia decided to call on Thrasios in his warehouse. Perhaps she could persuade him to use his influence to stop the sacrifice. When she reached the warehouse grounds, a man, one of Thrasios’s workers, accosted her. “My lady, a word with you. I dare not go to the master!”
It was unusual for a male servant to address her. Surprised, she asked, “What is it?”
“I beg you, do not tell the master it was I who spoke to you.”
“Aye, aye!” she promised. “I’ll not mention your name. Now go on.”
He hesitated, lowered his voice, looked around. “Do you remember Nikias who used to work in our fields?” Amaltheia had a vague memory of Thrasios’s complaints about a man by this name quitting his service abruptly. “Nikias left after he suddenly became rich,” the servant said. “I know why.”
Amaltheia waited impatiently.
The man continued, “He was bribed by Klonios to perform a service for him.”
She caught her breath. “What service?”
“Months ago, Klonios bribed him to bake all our seeds—barley, wheat—before they were put in the ground, so they would not sprout, and to put salt in the irrigation water in the vineyards.” The man paused, lowered his eyes. “I also heard that he put poison in some of the wells in town. So that it would look as if the town was cursed, and the goddess angry. But mainly he wanted Thrasios to be ruined. Klonios wanted revenge—I don’t know why.”
Even with everything else, this news punched the air from Amaltheia’s lungs. She thought of the women who had miscarried, the malformed offspring born in sheepfolds and stables. She looked at the man sharply. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“It’s been weighing on me. I didn’t know what to do. We all feared Klonios. But after this long, I was afraid to go to the master.”
She let out a breath. “Thank you for telling me.” As the man bowed and left, her thoughts raced. Could this news help defeat Klonios before it was too late? But even if Thrasios publicly denounced him, it would not save Arion’s life. Her hopes sank. As she walked into the warehouse, she breathed against a weight of dread.
Thrasios greeted her with exasperation. “Why have you come to bother me?”
“Thrasios, you must influence the heads of the Hundred Houses to stop this sacrifice. Arion is your slave.”
He waved her to silence. “Mine no longer. He ran away. Now the temple has him, wants to kill him, and welcome, I say.”
Amaltheia appealed to his greed. “If you stop the sacrifice, you could have him back.”
Thrasios gave a humorless laugh. “As an example I’d have to punish him harshly for escaping—perhaps cripple him or kill him. On top of that, Klonios would demand a huge reward for returning him. So the slave is no use to me.”
“But this sacrifice is wrong. It will be a stain on your honor!” Amaltheia lashed at him.
“Not so. He deserves to die!”
“He is blameless!”
“It will save our city. You know nothing of these things. Now go!” Thrasios growled. “I have important work.”
Amaltheia pulled her shawl over her head in defeat. Then she told Thrasios about Klonios’s treachery.
Thrasios went rigid with outrage. “Klonios did this? Why?” he demanded furiously. “I’ll kill him! I’ll get my sons, and after the sacrifice we’ll—” He paced and ranted, oblivious of Amaltheia.
She sank her face into her hands, then turned away.
All day Marpessa waited for the night. She must go to Arion. But she knew the servants were watching her, so she stayed alone in her room. When darkness came, she sat huddled on her bed until long after the household fell silent. At last, when all seemed to be asleep, she stole outside silently. A bright moon lit her way. She needed no guide and no lamp.
As she crept up the alley to the back of Klonios’s house, she held her breath, paused—peered fearfully around the corner into the garden. Last time the old serving woman had drugged the wine of the man guarding Arion. This time— But luck was with her. The guard was slumped against the fence, snoring. She inhaled deeply, passed him on silent feet, reached the cage.
“Arion!” It was the softest of whispers, but it brought him instantly upright and alert.
“Marpessa?” He pulled himself close to the bars. “Gods!” he hissed. “Why have you come?”
Shocked, she whispered, “I had to see you.” She touched his face. His skin was cold, damp. His eyes, their surfaces glistening in the moonlight, were glazed like the eyes of an animal caught in a trap. His breaths were short, rapid, each one cut off before it was complete. He had gone very far to a place where she couldn’t reach him. His eyes abruptly swung to her, feral, angry. “It’s too dangerous. You must leave.” Tears burst from her eyes. His hand came out and traced the line of her cheek. Then he withdrew it as if burned, and she hea
rd his abrupt breath. In a voice she barely recognized as his own, he said, “If Klonios catches you, they’ll sacrifice you too.”
“He won’t catch me. But Arion, we have a plan, and we can—”
He cut her off. “It’s no use. You’ve risked everything—for nothing. Now go!”
She went cold with dismay. She couldn’t leave him like this! Just then a noise jolted them. Shuffling footsteps. A quavering voice. “I heard you come.”
Only the crone! Marpessa took a shaky breath. The old woman said, “The master’s awake. Quickly! Out the back way.” She pointed. “Go!”
A thud came from the house. A door opened. A lamp flared. Marpessa cast a look at Arion, but his face was frozen. “Hurry!” he said.
Marpessa ran.
A silent shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness of a clump of bushes near the alley and followed her.
LI
THE ALTAR
U
The sacrifice would take place at noon at the altar in front of Athena’s temple, and all the people were required to be present to propitiate the goddess. In slowly growing numbers, the entire town gathered in the agora outside the temple. From his spot just inside the temple portico, Klonios watched. Impatience gnawed at him as the sun inched its way up the sky. One of his most diligent servants had followed the girl last night when she sneaked in to see her lover, as he had known she would. Now he knew where she was—and who she was. He smiled with satisfaction. Marpessa. His men had orders to bring her here so that she could watch her lover die. After that, Klonios would make her pay for defiling herself with a slave. And no one would stop him. Thrasios would not thwart him again. In fact Thrasios should thank him for making sure the harlot got what she deserved.
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