It was my own fault, she acknowledged, but I thought it would do no harm. Weeks—she’d lost track of how many—had passed since their servitude began, and she had been obedient and had followed every rule. But yesterday she had succumbed to temptation. Looking longingly out of her window at the sunny courtyard and seeing no one nearby, she had crept outside to catch the warmth and feel the breeze, only intending to stay for a few moments. But someone saw her and reported her.
Alone in her room, Marpessa yearned for activity. Even scrubbing the steps would have been a relief. She missed Haleia, who endured these days without complaint, doing Marpessa’s job as well as her own. She had told Marpessa that at home she ran the household and took care of her ailing mother and the younger children. She had accepted their lot far better than Marpessa.
I thought I was the strong one, Marpessa recalled. But there were different kinds of strength, and Haleia’s was not to be scorned.
The confinement ended at last but left an inner wound that wouldn’t heal. The next day as she resumed scrubbing the temple portico at Haleia’s side, a heaviness dragged her spirits down. Haleia, perhaps in an attempt to divert her, asked, “At home did you ever think about marriage?”
Marpessa replied, “Not much. Only as something far distant, something I knew would happen eventually.” But the subject did not cheer her. “If I had not come here, Father would have found me a husband in a year or two.”
“I didn’t have much chance of marriage,” Haleia said. “We were too poor to afford a dowry.”
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Marpessa said. “Still, I wonder who my father would have chosen.” A sudden memory surfaced. A year or more ago when she had been dancing with the other maidens at the Dionysian festival, she felt someone’s eyes upon her. A man was staring at her, a hard, wizened man about her father’s age, his eyes like glowing coals in a cruel face. A predator’s face. Evil. Dismayed, she stumbled in the dance. It was as if those eyes had stripped her down to her bare body, her naked soul. The memory sent a shudder through her. She said to Haleia, “My father would have chosen a wealthy man, but perhaps not someone with a kind heart, someone I could love.”
“Love!” Haleia scoffed. “A man’s job is to put bread and meat on the table. To provide a home.”
Marpessa dipped her rag in the pail of water. “My mother taught me that happiness doesn’t matter, only duty and honor. But still, I think she wanted me to be happy.”
With that they fell silent. Marpessa thought of the wraithlike girls whom Arion and Gortys had escorted back to the ship. “Those two girls,” she said. “They’ll never be able to get married either.”
Haleia shrugged and went on scrubbing.
Women who never married were disgraced, forever dependent on the charity of fathers, brothers, uncles. How can I endure it? Marpessa wondered, if after this I am denied the only honorable life a woman can have?
A quick, darting movement caught the corner of her eye, and she turned to look. Not far outside the colonnade, a small sparrow hopped about the courtyard looking for grain between the paving stones. Poor little thing, she thought. It must be starving to come to this bleak place looking for food.
But the bird took flight and left Marpessa longing for wings.
There were days when Arion tramped for hours, footsore and weary, finding no work, only doors closed in his face. Many nights he went to bed hungry. Then fear gripped him. I can’t work if I’m starving—if I have no strength.
Sometimes the men who hired him asked questions. “Who are you, young fellow? What are you doing here? What polis are you from? How do I know you are not a brigand?” Or: “You say you are Ionian, but in your speech I hear more of Hellas.”
Word of him, this stranger in their midst, would spread. Some merchant ship from Lokris might come to this shore. Someone might recognize him. Perhaps his former shipmates did not really believe he had died. If he was caught, he would be taken back to Lokris and punished, perhaps put to death. And he had another looming fear. In the cold weather, the season of rain, the river would flood its banks. His little hut would no longer be habitable. But where would he go? There was a gnawing ache within him, a mixture of loneliness and dread.
He often thought of Marpessa and Haleia. How were they faring? As a distant dream he recalled how protective he had felt when they crossed the Trojan plain, even willing to risk his life for them. He remembered binding Haleia’s ankle, then putting his arm around her to bear her weight. That contact, flesh against flesh, now seemed like something rare and precious. He remembered Marpessa jumping in the water to save Haleia. The strength and spirit she had! He had wanted to say to her, “You have the courage of the ancient heroes.” When they hid in the thicket as the Trojans searched for them, she had borne herself well, but he had felt her fear. It surprised him that he could know her very feelings. In comparison, his existence now seemed almost meaningless.
He found work with an old widow, alone and helpless. She needed a man to lift heavy things, repair fences, pull the brambles from her garden. “You can work for me from time to time when I need it,” she’d said, “harvest time, sheep-shearing, repairs. I can’t pay you in silver. Only in food. And not a lot.” But he was glad to help.
The widow made him think. He wanted someday to find a wife, yet no freeborn maiden would ever have him, a fugitive, a man with nothing but the skill of his hands, the strength of his back and limbs. But perhaps a widow, an older woman, with children, it didn’t matter. Someone who would be glad of his company, his usefulness.
Someone who could offer a home, an escape from his present existence, caught between the harsh struggle of living and the fear of dying.
The longing to escape overpowered Marpessa. She needed to walk under an open sky, to feel the breeze on her face. If I could have freedom, just a little, it would help me endure. An idea came to her. The day was forbidden to her, but perhaps she could steal part of the night when all were asleep. At night she would be invisible. She could go outside and look at the moon and stars, feel the cool night air. Outside the temple gate. The very thought of it made her heart pound with fear and excitement. I would come back before they even know I’ve gone. She understood the risk and accepted it willingly. I was beaten, and I endured. I was imprisoned, and I endured. It’s the lack of freedom I cannot endure.
She thought of little else. She toiled at Haleia’s side without uttering a word. She could not share her thoughts, for the other girl would never understand. As her plan formed, she envisioned herself climbing over the gate in the dead of night, slipping down the dark street on the other side—just for a short time, just a taste of freedom. But it would be enough.
Still, something held her back.
Then one day at the noon hour, when all the priestesses had retired for the midday meal, as she and Haleia were sweeping and scrubbing, their stomachs growling with hunger, she straightened, shook the stiffness from her knees, and looked around. She stood directly in front of the open door to the temple, the very place she was not supposed to enter. Peering in, she saw several dark rooms at the end of which was the inner sanctum, which she knew held the statue of the goddess.
“Marpessa, don’t!” cried Haleia.
“It’s all right,” Marpessa reassured her. “I can’t see anything. And I’m not going in.” But she looked toward the sanctuary and asked silently, Oh, Athena, how long can I endure this servitude?
Gazing into the darkness she saw the faint glow of the burning coals on the altar before the goddess. She imagined the tall statue behind it, the stern warrior figure. Floating in the darkness above the altar she saw twin points of light, perhaps only the daylight catching in the statue’s eyes.
Or perhaps a sign. Oh Goddess, help me, guide me! she prayed.
In her mind she heard the goddess saying, Do it, my child. Go!
Marpessa’s heart surged. For the firs
t time in many weeks, she smiled.
XIV
NIGHT VENTURE
U
Marpessa, having gone to sleep early, awoke and stole out of bed in the deepest part of the night. She glanced at Haleia, a motionless hump in the dark, breathing evenly. Then she peered out of the window into the shadowed courtyard. Stillness all around. She listened to the profound silence, her head lifted, ears straining like an animal’s to catch any sound, anything stirring. Nothing. All was well. She would go out for a nighttime adventure. She had done this several times now, but she would not abandon caution. She knew it was not wise to go too often. She swung her legs over the window ledge, her bare feet finding the cool flagstones below. A wan half-moon hovered near the horizon. She glanced back at the temple, a huge forbidding edifice at the upper end of the sloping courtyard, its stone walls black in the starlight. The wide blockish columns that spanned the shadowed entrance looked like the huge teeth of a grinning maw. The world took on a mysterious identity in the night, she thought. Shapes were different, presenting themselves as looming, living things, hiding their daytime forms. As she crept from shadow to shadow along the perimeter of the courtyard toward the gate, she began to hear the soft sound of the priestesses’ snores through the windows of their sleeping chambers.
Then—a faint noise. She went still and flattened herself against the wall. A rustle, the squeak of wood. There! Across the courtyard. Her body tightened in fear. She willed herself to become part of the shadow. A ghostly figure, a priestess, was coming from the direction of the privies. Coming her way. She stopped breathing. Then the pale-robed figure shuffled to a chamber door, opened it, and went inside. Marpessa’s breath slipped out. Her heart slowing, she waited long moments after the soft thud of the shutting door. The fear, the relief, the excitement—all were like wine in her blood.
When she felt it was safe to move again, she slipped along the wall toward the greatest obstacle—the gate, beyond which lay the streets and houses of Troy. None guarded the gate. There was no need. It was twice the height of a man, built of roughly hewn timbers, tree trunks from the rich forests of the mountain slopes, and it was barred from the inside. Marpessa kilted the skirt of her loose garment and pulled herself up to cling with her toes to the first crossbeam. Her fingers found the spaces between the vertical timbers and gripped hard. She heaved herself upward, handhold to handhold, foothold to foothold, until she reached the top. Then she swung her legs over. On the other side, she hung by her hands, looking down. The distance to the ground was higher than a tall man. Below was hard-packed dirt. She drew a breath and let go.
She landed in a crouch, knees absorbing the impact, and stood a moment to catch her breath. A wild, rebellious joy washed through her. Each time it was like this: once outside the walls of the temple, she felt alive. She was the old Marpessa again.
With an effort she reigned in that hot surging tide. The gate closed off the upper end of a narrow, sloping street, bordered by the walls of small, crowded houses, all connected. She could hear occasional sounds, the scrabble of a rat searching for food, the distant bark of a dog, but otherwise the city was silent, the inhabitants asleep. She began to walk, luxuriously inhaling the cool night air and her stolen freedom. A scent of flowering herbs wafted over the wall of a courtyard, and she heard the chirping of crickets, a sound she had always loved, but it made her think of autumn nights. Looking up, she saw the stars that represented Pegasus and Andromeda high in the sky. Did that mean that autumn was already far advanced?
She walked all the way to the bottom of the sloping street, farther than she had previously walked, and came to a corner where the narrow street was crossed by a wider one, which, she guessed, led to the great outer wall. She yearned to see the walls of the citadel but dared not go on. Those walls were guarded from several crumbled lookout towers.
Reluctantly she turned to retrace her steps—and stopped. A faint shout came somewhere, perhaps one of the towers. She frowned, listening.
Another shout, louder this time. Then distant pounding feet. Several men running, shouting frantically.
“Invaders! Barbarians! Coming this way!”
XV
ATTACK
U
Marpessa stood frozen. The words had no meaning. Then it hit her. Barbarians pillaged and destroyed all in their path. Her blood turned to ice. A voice quite near shouted, “To arms, to arms!” Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. She spun around the corner of the narrow street and hid in the shadow of a recessed doorway.
A more distant voice called, “They’re here! The east gate! They’ll breach it!”
Urgent pounding feet ran past her down to the wider street. The night came alive as men burst out of doorways, some with flaring torches. Marpessa shrank down, tried to make herself invisible. She dared not move.
“Arm yourselves!” someone shouted. “Fetch help! From the barracks!”
She must get back. If she could just reach the temple, she would be safe. She could see the temple gate, a large black square at the top of the sloping street, impossibly far. Many people swarmed in the darkness, panicked women milling about, men moving swiftly toward the walls. When Marpessa stepped out of her doorway, no one paid her any mind. She burst into motion, dodging through the crowd, running.
Just then a terrible roar split the air—a many-throated bellow of challenge, of triumph. The invaders had breached the walls. Their barbaric war cries grew louder with every instant, their heavy tramping feet pounded like the hooves of horses galloping nearer, nearer. She heard fearsome thuds and clangs of metal on wood as the Trojan men ran to meet them, armed only with staves and clubs, and fell back with terrible cries. Wounded, dying.
Unstopped, the invaders swarmed up the street—toward her. All the breath was squeezed from her lungs, her heart beating hard enough to split her chest apart. The temple gate was close, a hundred paces, but too far, too far! The barbarians were almost upon her. Even if she reached the gate, she’d have to climb it, making herself as conspicuous as a spider on a wall. She flung herself against a house on the side of the street. Miraculously an alley opened to her right, a pitch-black crack between houses. She dived into it and found it very shallow, barely the length of her body. Not much of a hiding place. She flattened herself against the ground, willing herself to become part of the paving stones, part of the shadows, and peered out. Barbarian shouts drowned out all other sounds. Monstrous dark forms were running past, some holding flaming torches aloft, a stream of men, a raging torrent, all shouting, a roar of noise as they ran toward the temple gate.
From all around her came smashing sounds and screams like those of animals at the slaughter. Some marauders were breaking into houses, and she heard their harsh menacing cries from within as they killed the hapless inhabitants. The greatest mass of invaders pressed on toward the temple. Now she couldn’t see the gate, so many forms were massed in front of it. There was a commotion amongst the dark throng, a steady pulsing movement, and she heard a deep, booming sound loud enough to hurt her ears. They were wielding a massive battering ram, bronze on wood, striking again and again, relentless, rhythmic blows. Then came a crack like a thunderbolt, and more deafening cracks as timbers were torn asunder. Marpessa envisioned the men pulling the gate apart like a child’s toy. A guttural roar of triumph erupted from hundreds of throats, and she knew the gate had given way.
A rush of wind swept her skin. The barbarians were racing past her as if sucked into the ruined maw of the temple gate. She lay flat against the ground, her heart beating into the earth until the last of the invaders had run past her. Then she eased her cramped legs under her and stood up. Her whole body shook. Her legs wouldn’t move. She couldn’t think.
She began to hear terrible screams coming from the temple courtyard. Haleia, she thought. I must find her! But moments passed before her weak legs at last obeyed her will. She forced herself into a stumbling run toward t
he shattered gate. Athena, she prayed, let Haleia, let the priestesses be safe.
Just inside the gate she stopped. A scene of horror met her eyes. Garish orange light from torches, billowing smoke and flames where one of the buildings had been set on fire. The courtyard was aswarm with the solid bulky shadow-forms of barbarians crouching, bending, stooping, stabbing. They made hoarse grunts like rutting animals. They shouted, jeered, laughed demonically as the women let out piercing screams.
Rape. Invaders raped, then killed. Zeus! Let it not be!
A dark form stood too near, his back to her. He started to turn, and Marpessa dived into shadows. She stumbled over something soft, wet, and sticky, and looked down. A face, eyes wide, blood dripping from a mouth open in the rictus of death. One of the priestesses—Hyrmene! She shoved a fist into her mouth to stop her scream. I must find Haleia. Trembling, she backed against a wall, then realized she could be seen in the light of the torches. As she darted behind a column, one of the barbarians hovering over a fallen body saw her. He straightened, started toward her.
Oh, gods, I must get away. I’ll come back for Haleia when it’s safe.
She turned and ran toward the gate. He was behind her, but fear gave her feet wings. She looked over her shoulder, and her foot struck a fallen timber. She fell, her ankle twisted under her. A wrenching pain shot up her leg. She gasped, then glanced back. In the confusion she could not see her pursuer but she couldn’t be sure she had lost him.
No time for pain. She pulled herself to her feet. Hobbled out of the gate, down the street, creeping from shadow to shadow. All too visible. Many of the raiders, finished with their business in the temple, started roaming the town. Footsteps behind her. Wild with pain, she sped up, half running, half hopping to spare her injured foot. The steps behind her—closer, gaining on her. Zeus, Athena, help me!
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