by Zizou Corder
She couldn’t believe it. After all, Apollo had been kind to her – he’d told her who her parents were, and given her back her owl. And why would he be so angry with Athens, to send such a curse on them, when they were already at war? Or was it the truth of what the Pythia had told Melesippus and Leonidas – that Apollo really was on the Spartans’ side?
She thought about the sharp, hard arrowhead she had removed from Gyges’s calf. She thought about flesh and blood and the four humours, and the Hippocratic books Hippias had given her to read. She thought about mosquito bites, and how they can fill with pus if you scratch too much, and how doctors who are clean have better results than doctors who are dirty. She remembered: ‘Do not concern yourself with plausible theories, but with experience combined with reason.’
She thought it far more likely that, as Hippocrates had said, a miasma had blown into the city on the wind, and people had breathed it in, and that was how the sickness entered.
‘Teacher,’ she said to Hippias the next day, ‘is it disrespectful of me to believe that the plague has a physical cause, and is not caused by the wrath of the Gods?’
‘It is reasonable of you,’ he said. ‘You are a reasonable boy in a city that was beginning to be reasonable, but seems now to be going backwards.’ He was happy to see her, but it was a tiny happiness in the face of the amount of grief he was seeing every day.
He told her he was not visiting the sick any more. ‘There is no point,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing I can do, and the more I see, the more likely I will take the plague myself, and then I cannot heal anybody, of anything. Where is the justice in that? Apollo would not inflict such injustice. This is not the work of the Gods.’
‘So what are you saying to those who come to you?’
‘I am telling them that there is nothing I or anyone can do,’ he said, and he looked ashamed. ‘And then they go and waste their money on witchdoctors and all kinds of superstitious rubbish instead.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ she said softly.
‘All I want to do is heal people,’ he said, so sadly, and she reached out and touched his hand.
‘Tell me,’ she asked. ‘Has anybody else survived? Or is everybody dying?’
‘Some are living through it,’ he said. ‘One is blind, I heard of yesterday. One has lost his memory completely; he is like a mad man, he knows nobody. Several have lost fingers and toes, it’s not known why.’
He looked queryingly at Halo.
‘I am whole,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Thin and weak, but every part of me is working. How can I show my gratitude for that?’
Hippias was looking at her, smiling.
‘What?’ she said.
‘Everyone in Athens is cursing fortune and the Gods, distraught at the misery, the war, the plague, the horrors – and you speak of gratitude.’
Halo laughed. He was quite right. And yet she did feel grateful. She wasn’t dead!
Halo was up on the Acropolis one morning, getting some clean air, as Hippias had advised her, when a thought struck her: Why haven’t I caught the plague again? If I had it before, and you catch it from being near it, or near to people who have it, why didn’t I catch it again – even from myself? She ran to Hippias’s to talk to him about it.
‘If we’re agreed it’s not from the water, and not from the Gods, but it’s the same plague that came from Libya, and was at Lemnos, and arrived first at Piraeus, so it has travelled in the air, or through the people… So why haven’t I caught it from myself again?’
Hippias gave her a very straight look. ‘You will make a good doctor,’ he said. ‘I haven’t told you before, because I didn’t want to give you an unprovable hope, but so far nobody who has taken the plague has taken it twice. People die on the seventh day, or the eleventh. Nobody, that I have heard of, has taken it twice.’
Halo immediately understood.
‘Then I am safe,’ she said.
‘It looks that way,’ said Hippias.
‘Then I can help the sufferers,’ she said.
‘There is no help,’ he started to say, but she interrupted him.
‘I cannot cure them,’ she said. ‘But I can give them cool water during the time of the great thirst. I can go and talk to them, when their family can’t, without risk of death. Nobody was ever made worse by a bowl of soup, or a cool cloth on the forehead. I can relieve suffering, and I can take notes, and I can observe, and apply reason to my observations, and – can I?’ She was pleading with him.
‘I can’t stop you,’ he said.
So she did. But first, she went down to the Skythian barracks and shouted into their compound, ‘Hey, Arimaspou! I’m immune! I’ve had the plague and I can’t get it again – so do you still reject me, or can I come in?’
And Arimaspou, when he came out, hugged her. Of course she jumped back in alarm. No one could hug her. It was too risky, now she had a girl’s figure. But she was very glad, all the same, that Arimaspou had welcomed her back.
Walking home that evening, Halo and Arko could smell the smoke from the funeral pyres. She flared her nostrils against it, swallowing and trying not to breathe. It smelt like meat cooking. She didn’t want that smell inside her.
In the agora, as they crossed, she heard a man shouting. ‘Who brought this war on us? Pericles! Who didn’t listen to the Delphic Oracle? Pericles! Who has let the Spartans ruin our land and destroy our farms? Pericles! Who brought all the country people into the city, where there is no room for them? Pericles! Who let them occupy the Pelagian Quarter, and brought down Apollo’s wrath on us? Pericles! The Oracle said we can’t win. And how can we win, when this man won’t even let us fight but keeps us locked up inside the walls like a bunch of girls! And how can we fight now anyway, now that we are dying, dropping in the street? You all know who is to blame for this…’
The group of men around him were nodding and agreeing. Halo glanced at Arko. They hurried on through the slackening light.
As they passed the corner a dirty-looking man called out softly to them, ‘Plague cure! Best plague cure! Magic medicine from Persia, it costs but it works, and what price life, eh?’
It was the rabbit-foot amulet man – they had seen him around.
He put his hand on Halo’s arm to stop her, and she turned on him, hissing, ‘You should be ashamed of yourself!’
‘Just offering a little hope, in dark times,’ the man said, offended.
‘Just making a little money out of human misery,’ Halo spat, and marched on.
‘Loosen up, sweetheart!’ the man shouted after her. ‘Cheer yourself up! Buy a new dress!’
Halo froze in her tracks.
He thought she was a girl.
‘Bound to happen,’ muttered Arko, alongside her.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘But…’
‘You have to tell Pericles,’ he said. ‘You’ve been really lucky to get away with it so long.’
Arko had said nothing about this for months.
Halo cursed.
At home, Aspasia was weeping in her chamber, Pericles was striding up and down the courtyard, and Tiki and Samis were hiding. Pericles glanced at Halo and Arko, and they quickly removed themselves too. Even so, they couldn’t help hearing what was being said, as Pericles tried to persuade Aspasia to come out and talk to him.
‘My dear,’ he called softly, at her door.
Halo was embarrassed to hear what was not meant for her ears, and Arko was looking at his hands and pretending he couldn’t hear.
‘My dear – my son Xanthippus is angry with me because I wouldn’t pay his debts. That is why he is telling these lies. You know that. He calls me stingy because I won’t let him be extravagant…’
‘That’s not all he says…’ cried Aspasia angrily.
Halo winced to hear the kind voice sounding so hurt.
‘I know what is being said. I know he says I waste my time talking about philosophy when I should be fighting… Aspasia, you can’t believe that is true…’
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br /> ‘Of course I don’t believe it!’ she says. ‘That’s not why I am upset! I am upset because… because you let people say these things. You are blamed for everything, and you are slandered, and I hate it! Not just for you, but because who will lead Athens when you are cast out? What will become of us without you? They’ll elect some fool like Cleon, and then what? They have already sent ambassadors to Sparta, asking for peace…’
‘My dear, they won’t reject me to make Cleon leader…’
‘Anything can happen now,’ she said, her voice falling. ‘Athens is full of fear and panic and death and blame. Anything can happen.’
Dear Gods, Halo thought. The world has changed completely in the few weeks I was ill.
Pericles spoke to the Athenians the next day. Halo went down to the Assembly to listen. He told them he understood their anger; that bad things happened and that was all the more reason to stick to thought-out plans rather than panic; he told them that they had known there would be suffering, he told them that they were stronger than they knew, and that the reason Athens has the greatest name in the world is because she has never given in to adversity. He was full of strength and determination, and Halo’s heart was full of pride for him and for Athens.
Then, a few days later, ‘They’re prosecuting me,’ he announced, after dinner. ‘I am to leave office, and pay a fine.’
‘What for?’ Halo asked, aghast.
‘For not being superhuman, I think,’ he said. ‘For not being able to make everything all right. But do you know what?’
‘What?’ she asked.
‘That is the least of anyone’s problems.’
He looked so tired. Later, she brought him a cup of wine, and laid her arm across his shoulders.
‘I’m glad you didn’t die,’ he said, looking round at her with a little smile. ‘My extra son.’
When he said that, smiling up at her like she was his one comfort in the wicked world, a panicky feeling came over her.
She had to tell him.
She felt as if she were going to vomit, choking on the words.
Say it.
Arms prickling.
‘I’m a girl,’ she said.
He didn’t take it in. How could he?
‘Uncle, I’m a girl,’ she repeated.
He stared at her, blank-faced.
‘I’m a girl. A kind of Amazon. I had to pretend to be a boy. I never meant to lie to you.’
‘What nonsense…?’ he said.
‘I’m a girl,’ she said again, and she kneeled in front of him. Whatever he said now, she had to accept it.
He said nothing, just staring at her. She did her best to explain, in fumbling words. She didn’t know if he was understanding her.
Aspasia came in, with a soft rustle of the folds of her dress.
Pericles asked, ‘Did you know?’
She lowered her head.
‘I see I am made a fool in my own house. So, I lose a second son. And is that your only lie? Or have you been lying about other things too? Are you Megacles’s child at all?’
‘Yes!’ she shouted. Then: ‘I’m sorry. I deserve anything you say. But I am his child. At least, the Pythia said so.’
‘A girl,’ he said. ‘Well, Aspasia,’ he said, standing up, ‘find her some girls’ clothes, and some girls’ activities, and tell the school – whatever you like. That my son is dead. Tell the household we have a female cousin. Keep her out of my sight. Get a husband for her. If anyone will have her.’
‘But, sir,’ Halo said.
‘But what?’ Pericles turned. His voice was furious.
‘My schooling, sir,’ she said. ‘My studies with Hippias…’
‘What, are you mad as well as female? Learn to sew, girl, and to be quiet.’
‘I can sew, sir,’ she said quietly. ‘I sew the wounds of the Skythian Guard…’ but he cut her off.
‘Mad,’ he said. ‘Or stupid or ridiculous.’
‘No,’ she replied, and she never knew where she found the courage, the determination. ‘Just female. And determined.’
‘Determined on what?’
‘To continue and become a doctor, sir,’ she said quietly.
A silence fell.
‘Not from this house,’ he said.
Silence fell all around, like impossibility. He would not listen. He could not allow it.
Halo felt it closing in around her.
‘Then from somewhere else, sir,’ she said, her voice smaller than ever. It was all she could say. She knew who she was now, and she could not give it up.
Halo left right then. If Pericles was determined to make a conventional girl of her, there was no point in drawing it out. She left in the clothes she was wearing, and walked through the night down to Piraeus, where she lay on her back on the dock wall and listened to the sea crunch and pound, staring at the black sky, watching the familiar stars, listening to the last shouts and rustles of the port at night, and the first comings and goings in the morning. The stone was hard and uncomfortable beneath her.
I am doing the right thing. I am doing what I have to do.
As soon as the sun was up, she walked back up to the agora, to the barber who cut her hair.
‘Shave my head,’ she said.
The barber feared that she, like so many others, had lost her mind in the weirdness of the times. But she hadn’t. She was purely sane.
Shaven-headed and sleek, with her tattoo more than ever like wings across her forehead, she returned to Aspasia’s house and gathered her few possessions together. Quickly and determinedly, she hugged Aspasia.
‘Don’t go,’ said Aspasia, with tears in her eyes. ‘We can sort this out.’
But Halo didn’t let herself stop to be affected. She shouldered her bag, said, ‘Thank you for everything. I won’t forget you,’ and swung out of the courtyard.
It seemed the familiar road to the Skythian barracks already had her footsteps marked out for her to follow.
‘Pericles has thrown me out,’ she said to Arimaspou, in a voice that brooked no discussion. ‘I know you’ve got room for me.’ She marched into the men’s sleeping quarters, and pointed to Gyges’s old cell. ‘Is that still empty?’ She flung her bag down on Gyges’s bare pallet bed, and then sat down, suddenly. She looked up at Arimaspou. Her eyes were huge, the shadows under them deep. But there was a new light in her face.
‘Why?’ asked Arimaspou.
‘He doesn’t think I should be a doctor,’ she said, ‘and I do…’
Even as she said it, she knew she was being unfair. But everything else was unfair – why shouldn’t she be too?
‘No more family, Arimaspou,’ she said, with a tight grin. ‘Just duty now.’
Arimaspou’s face was very thoughtful, as he moved away to tell the cook there was one more for dinner. And when Arko arrived, Arimaspou was not surprised.
Halo would not go back to Aspasia’s house. She couldn’t bear to witness the hurt she had caused. It was Arko who over the next days visited Aspasia, and brought news.
‘Aspasia says to tell you that Pericles has not told anyone your secret. She asked him if he would, and he just shook his head angrily. She thinks he will calm down, and that you will be able to come home… but not yet…’
‘Aspasia says, if you need soap, they are making a new batch tomorrow, and shall she send you some?’
‘Aspasia says, did you hear, Pericles is back in office again? They didn’t last long without him, did they?’
And then, ‘Aspasia says to tell you that Pericles’s son Paralus has taken the plague.’
Halo went to Paralus’s funeral. She stood in the weeping crowd. Half of Athens – those who were not sick and dying themselves – were there, weeping for their own dead as much as for Paralus. They watched with hollow eyes as Pericles, the strong, steady, safe and wise Pericles, broke down and wept when the wreath was laid. Pericles, who never broke down. Pericles, on whom Athens depended as if he were the city’s foundation stone.
&
nbsp; Halo watched him from a distance, and her arms ached to go to him, to hug him. She wished she could say, ‘I am a boy, I am your son, you still have me…’
But he did not want her. She was only a girl.
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‘You’ve done the right thing,’Arko said. ‘You had to tell him, and if he doesn’t accept it, there’s nothing you can do.’
Halo knew he was talking about wanting to be a doctor, not about wanting to be a boy. She didn’t want to be a boy. She just wanted to be free. Why did it have to be so complicated? All she wanted to do was follow her instinct. And being a doctor was good and useful. Why would anyone object?
But they would – if they knew. And Pericles could tell anyone, any time.
‘You know, don’t you,’ said Arko, ‘that he’s upset about being lied to as much as he is upset about you being a girl?’
She knew. And she realized what that meant.
Dragging her heart behind her like a reluctant dog on a chain through the fearful empty streets, she went to Hippias. Round his house a small crowd was gathered as usual, people desperate for help even though they knew there was nothing to be done. He was there, with his books and his dish of cakes, as usual. He looked up as she entered, glad as always to see her.
You won’t be so glad in a moment, she thought.
‘Hippias,’ she said, as firmly as she could, though her heart was fluttering. Perhaps I could go to Cos, and start again as a boy there, with a new name, a new life… ‘Hippias, I am no longer the adopted son of Pericles…’
‘What are you talking about?’ he said, smoothing down his already sleek hair, looking at her uncomprehendingly.
‘I’m nobody,’ she said bitterly.
He stared.
‘I’m a girl.’
‘You’re a girl,’ he repeated.
‘I’m a girl.’
‘You’re raving,’ he said. ‘From the plague. You’re still raving…’
‘No. I’m a girl.’
‘I am astonished,’ he said. ‘But you’re such a quick learner –’
‘Maybe all girls are,’ she said. ‘How would anyone know?’
More than anything, Hippias was puzzled. ‘Why are you a girl?’ he asked.
