by L. E. Waters
“Why are you here, Sokaris? You do not own slaves after death,” Aapep says even-toned.
“I went to claim his body and found he had already been moved to have funeral rites. That is not standard for executions.”
“I had him moved. My family is paying for proper funeral rites.” He sets his gaze on mine.
“Why would you do so?”
“The gods will not rest until injustices are righted,” he says with his cold eyes squinted.
I now know who pushed Bastet.
Chapter 6
I back out of the room and return to my dwelling to plan how I will avenge her. The new slave I sent for is here. He kneels, and I name him Aten. I tell him to fetch some hot water to clean my feet so that I can retire and enter my dwelling. I look for Sehket and find no cat in my room. I yell for Aten, who hurries in, bowing.
“When I sent for you, I instructed you to bring my favored cat Sehket. Where is she?”
He wrings his hands and sputters, “I gathered the black tailless cat you asked for and put her in this basket with linen tied around the top. I was walking by the temple square at the time of Nun’s execution, and when the crowd broke out in cheers, the cat went wild. The basket fell out of my arms, and the cat ran away. I could not get her back.”
I strike the slave with my open hand and proceed to beat upon his bent-over form.
The slave falls to his knees, covering his head as I yell, “Get out of my sight!”
He scurries outside but stoops to pick up his blanket. I throw the empty basket at him, hitting him in the back of his head as he runs away, leaving the moth-eaten blanket behind.
“UGHHH!” I scream out, falling to my knees, drawing the attention of slaves on rooftops within range of my cry.
How did my life fall to ruin like this? How could so much change in two days’ time?
“Bastet, Bastet, Bastet.” I lament like a woman.
Pulling myself back up, I retreat to the solitude of my room. I slump down on my bed in despair but jump up realizing I haven’t checked the bed yet. I pull the sheets back to see nothing there. Breathing a sigh of relief, I fall on the bed and extinguish the candle by my side.
Moments later, in the moonlight, I see a peculiar movement but it flits away into the shadows.
Sitting up with my hands braced at my side, I call out into the darkness, “Aten, is that you?”
When mere silence echoes back, I wish I had not sent my slave and only protector away. The air is thick with an unseen presence. I still my breathing to listen for evidence of an intruder.
What is that? Is it coming nearer?
My eyes dart into the dark corners where the moonlight can’t reach. I wait. Nothing comes.
I release my held breath and lie back down, scoffing loudly at my delusions.
Something lunges toward me. I scream out as it stabs deep into my left hand. I pull my hand in tight, trying to hold off the pain. Expecting to feel where the reptile had punctured me, instead I feel something stuck in the flesh of my hand. I yank it out and hold it to the moonlight. A sharpened quill glistens in the blue light, still dripping clear fluid. I lick the liquid, which instantly burns, numbing my tongue.
Poison.
I pray I removed it in time. The shadow moves across the walls and disappears out the door. I look down and see the wound is ominously turning black. A searing, burning fire creeps up my arm. I feel the poison flow into my heart, and after several painful spasms, my heart slows.
In my last few moments, struggling to breathe, I try to piece together how this all could have happened without any warning from Serapis.
How could I have been so blind? Aapep ’s namesake—the moon snake god!
Something bounds through the window beside my bed and I call out, “Aapep? Come back… to watch… me die?”
I brace for his final blow but instead feel the familiar pull on the linens as she leaps on top of me, and I hear her comforting purr. Sehket quickly settles in, her paws tucked on my chest, and warms my cooling heart as I close my eyes.
Second Life
Spartan Education
Chapter 1
The sea air dampens my long hair as I ride Proauga through my father’s countryside. A sunny crisp day in glorious Sparta and it was torture waiting until my lessons were done and my mother finally let me go outside. The sweat from my black filly’s back soaks into my tunic as I ride bareback. I’m one with her as she gallops over the hills, knowing the way to my favorite spot. She slows as soon as she reaches the cliffs. I dismount and lay in the silken grass, looking over the turquoise Gytheio harbor, watching all the little white sails flashing and cracking in the wind as fisherman gather up their heavy nets. I can smell the sea from all the way up here.
A thunderstorm rattles the earth, causing me to roll onto my knees in search of lightning, but the sky is blue and free from clouds. Then everything shakes. Proauga’s golden eyes widen as she shrills a frantic whinny and speeds into the thick brush. I fight the momentum of the earth’s shaking and retreat from the cliff toward the trees. An estate crumbles in the distance, its majestic columns falling over like felled trees. The roof and walls collapse forward onto fountains and statues in the garden. The helot slaves go running in every direction, screaming for their lives. The cliffs give way, and the ground I’d just been standing on crashes to the shores below.
We had earthquakes before, but nothing compared to this. Five minutes pass until the quaking stops. As soon as I can get Proauga to come to me, I mount, desperate for home.
I pray to Hestia as Proauga flies through the never-ending olive groves, my fists white in her dark mane. Approaching, I see our helots deep in rubble, lifting away stones. I know in that instant my life has changed. I rush to where I’d left my mother sitting with her weaving and start digging there first. I remove the stone covering her feet and yell for the helots to come lift off the rest of the debris on top of her. I turn away once I see her crushed into something unfamiliar, recognizable only by the mole beside her eye. One of the helots removes his tunic and places it over her, attempting to erase the memory from our minds.
“Father!” I cry as I strain to move more stones, then shout at the slaves, “Why aren’t you all digging faster!”
Two other bodies are found before we find my father’s. One is our helot, Delia, the household slave who cared for me for all of my sixteen years. The other is her daughter, Kharis, who had been raised with me. Father is found last, under the collapsed timbers in the barn. All who meant home to me were wiped away in a single moment. My house is in ruin, with only one wall still standing.
I watch from a safer distance on the hillside as our helots carry my parents to the supply wagon and cover them with the linen my mother wove that morning. I split a long piece of grass in two as I remember neither would be allowed a marked grave, which were reserved only for battlefield deaths and women who died in childbirth. They will be buried somewhere I can never find them. A tear breaks free from my burning eye as flames ignite in the cleared field beside the house. As the hungry cremation flames reach to the sky, I realize Delia and Kharis should be so lucky.
Where am I to go?
I can think of only one other place. Leaving everything behind, I ride in haste to see how my uncle’s estate has fared. From far away, his situation looks bleak. Like all the other estates I pass, everything is reduced to dust. However, as I ride closer, I hear the booming voice of my uncle, Nereus, yelling at his helots. Relieved to see him well, I embrace him.
“Alcina, you’ve survived! And how so my brother?”
“Everyone’s dead.” My voice breaks. “Mother, Father, Kharis, and Delia.”
“Oh Poseidon! What have you done?” he says to the sky. “Alcina, you’ll stay with me for now. We’ll have to forget all we’ve lost and regain our strength to build a shelter before nightfall.”
We work alongside the helots all day, building back up the walls to one room. We use the sails from Nereus’s sailboat to provide a roo
f for us that night. Three of his household helots sleep with us on straw, while the others go home to their village outside Sparta. The next day, only some of his helots return.
“A rebellion’s broken out in Sparta,” one helot informs Nereus.
“I knew this day would come and may Zeus strike them dead for taking advantage of this disaster!” Nereus says through his teeth. “Where’s the other half of my helots?”
Another helot says, “They’ve taken up with the rebellion.”
“I hope the hoplites kill them all,” he says, tight-lipped.
He marches into the shelter and returns in his armor with sword and shield in hand. After a moment of contemplation, he turns to me. “I have to go into the city to make sure this is under control. Keep a close eye on these helots.” Handing me his large army knife, he adds, “If you use it, use it well.”
He straddles his horse and rides down toward the city.
I slip the knife under the leather straps of my sandals and sit under a tree to get a little shade. A girl about my age catches my eye; she has the same misplaced look as me. I walk over to her by the gardens. “My name is Alcina.”
She glances up and away but replies, “Ophira.”
We’re quiet for a few moments. I notice she’s quite pretty—for a helot. By her fair skin, I deduce she spends most of her time in the house weaving or doing chores. Even though we are girls of similar age, I could pick her up and carry her. Her frame is short and slight due to the deprivation in which most non-Spartan girls are raised; nutritious food is saved for the males of those households. She averts eye contact and plays with the medallion around her neck as I look her up and down.
She has large, honey-brown eyes, and the only flaw on her well-formed face is a small scar on her forehead. As she notices the knife tied to my calf, she pulls her skin cloak up over her head, shrinking away from me. Many helots fear Spartans and try to avoid them, but I’m so lonely I’m not going to let her get away.
“Do you belong to my uncle’s household?”
She looks down and says, “I came here to talk to your uncle.”
“I’ve been left in control while he’s away. You can speak to me.”
She seems hesitant. “My husband, father, and mother were all killed in the revolt. It’s not safe in the city. Seeing that your uncle has lost some of his helots, I’m hoping to be reassigned out here in the country.”
Surprised she’s already married, I wonder if I’ve misjudged her age but then remember Spartans marry much later.
“What housework can you do?”
“I can do anything: cook, clean, care for children, fetch water, weave.”
“I’ve lost my parents in the earthquake, and my house needs to be rebuilt. Once it’s standing, I’ll need household help, since some of our helots perished.”
She brightens at this. “There’s no man in the household?”
I know her concern; household helot women have other uses as well.
“Not now,” I say, and she breathes easy. “It would be nice to have company.” I smile, and she cracks a weak smile back.
By nightfall, Ophira and I dig access to the supply house, from which we scrounge up jugs of wine, bags of maza, dried fruit, and salted fish. In the distance, Nereus screams at his horse. Nereus isn’t good with horses. He prefers the water, even the roughest sea, over the most beautiful day on land.
“No! Back home! Back home!” he fumes while pulling hopelessly at the reins.
I sprint to help him walk his horse back up.
“Ah, many thanks, Alcina,” he says as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “I think Zale is much improved, though; I didn’t have any problems on the way there.”
Showing his age, he’s breathing heavily now and stands back mid-step to catch his breath. Old age is a rarity in Sparta, since most men don’t live long enough to retire from military service. He still needs another moment to catch his breath, and he reaches up to push his greying hair to the side, flashing a long scar running down his forearm.
“Nereus, how did you get that scar?”
Always willing to retell a tale, he needs no encouragement. Rolling up his tunic sleeve slowly, in large cuffs, he exposes the scar that extends to his biceps.
“I’ve only reached this great age by making one very wise choice.” He never begins with the answer to your question but starts at the beginning of his whole tale. “While Spartans are strongest on foot and earth, I’m a fish in Poseidon’s shining seas. One day, in a great coastal battle, I was commanded to bring my ship to shore and reinforce the footmen. I should have known my place was the sea, but I rushed out like all young men do. I was Heracles himself! As soon as my foot touched soil, I was instantly sliced from shoulder to wrist by a Persian sword.” He traces the thick white line and then looks out to the sea. “I never left Poseidon again, no matter the command. I stayed behind to watch the ships and let others die onshore.”
“So that is why you spend so little time onshore now, Uncle?”
He laughs. “If I never had to step foot on land again and could live off the seas indefinitely, you would never see me again.” He lights up with one eye closed and one eye widened and says, “The trick is to know all of Greece’s rocks, shallow spots, and harbors like the insides of your eyelids. Once you do that, there’s nothing to fear.” He pulls back like he entrusted me with the secret of life.
Finally up the hill, I ask, “Has the rebellion been extinguished?”
“The hoplites managed to contain the helot rebels in the region of Mount Ithome, in Messenia, but they lacked the strength to defeat them and their vast numbers. We appealed to our allies for help; hopefully, they’ll assist us.”
I worry about what would happen if the slaves finally revolt and gain power.
“Did I ever tell you about the time…” He begins his tales again, and I decide it’s a good time to gallop Zale back to her makeshift stables.
When Nereus realizes he’s cut off and sees the ease with which I control Zale, he calls up between his hands around his mouth, “Hubris, I tell you, hubris!”
His laughter carries through the crumbled hills.
Chapter 2
Nereus allows Ophira to live with us. It’s amusing, watching him tell her story after story, since she can’t tell him to stop. I’ll find Nereus following around after her, busy with chores, filling her head with tales. It’s hard to leave once my family’s helots and freed skilled workers finish rebuilding my house, since we’d found a little happiness in our pulled-together family. Nevertheless, I need to be there daily to keep the helots busy. I’d been trained by my mother to run the farm, and I’m now going to have to take over earlier than I ever thought.
Nereus lays his hands heavily on Ophira’s and my head. “Come back whenever you need company.”
I would have felt sorry for him to be left, but Nereus is never distressed at being alone. He takes off daily to go fishing in his little boat and can find a way to talk with anyone who crosses his path. Nereus drives his chariot back to my farm, since Ophira can’t ride, and I follow behind on Proauga.
Ophira takes one look at the rebuilt estate, with its columned terrace looking out on the gardens, livestock, and the barley fields below, and asks, “This all belongs to you?”
“My father was an accomplished hoplite. Sparta gave him great rewards for his bravery.”
“They will allow a girl to run this alone?”
“Women run Sparta while men are away, fighting for more land to occupy and protecting the state. In two years, I’ll most likely be married and will run two households. I’ve been taught everything I need to know.”
She looks wary of my promise, coming from a world where even their men aren’t given their own households to run.
“Where do we begin?” She squints up at the imposing size of the house.
“You’ll make dinner for us tonight.” I clap at two helots leaning on a fence. “You boys!” I offer up Proauga’s reins. “Feed a
nd water my horse, then set her out on the east pasture.”
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
A year drifts by, Ophira and I are content in our little world and my mother would’ve been proud.
Ophira asks one day while we’re preparing dinner, “Why didn’t your parents have more children?”
“They did. My mother gave birth to two other sons.”
I strain the wheat grains and dump them onto the stone to pound into gruel for bread.
She looks confused but keeps adding wood to the fire below the three-legged clay oven.
I explain before she figures out how to inquire. “Both times, my mother was forced to bathe the babies in pure red wine to test their constitutions, but the strong fumes only sickened the children and sent them into convulsions. My father brought each one to the Lesche for the elders to inspect. Both times my father came home empty-handed.”
She stands up quickly. “What did they do with them?”
“The infants were left to die in a chasm at the foot of Mount Taygetos.” I see her appalled look. “It was the sadness of both of my parents. My mother could never go near there. We would ride twice the distance to avoid the area on our way into the city. Not having a son in a Spartan household is an embarrassment. My mother didn’t want to go through the experience ever again, so there were no others.” Wanting to leave the thought behind, I ask, “Tell me of your family.”
She goes back to chopping cabbage for relish as the water begins to boil. “They had to live in a state-granted house in Laconia which had two other families living in it. Each family occupied two small rooms. My mother had a half-Spartan/half-helot—”
“A mothax,” I interrupt.
She flinches at the sound of the word, but continues, “—a son, who was sent away to the Citizens’ Army, and we never saw him again. I was forced to marry a man at fifteen who was twenty years older. We had to live with my parents.”