Amber and Clay Read online

  Melisto grumbled, “I wanted new sandals.” She was glad to have something to complain about; it made the world familiar. It was Thratta who had argued against the purchase of new ones, reminding Lysandra that Melisto had a two-day walk ahead of her. Thratta had oiled the old sandals and wiped them free of dust.

  Lysandra circled her daughter, checking every detail of her appearance. “You are perfectly presentable. There will be prettier girls, I’m sure, but you need not be ashamed to stand with them. One more thing — ” She reached behind her neck with both hands, unclasping the necklace from her throat. “Take this with you.”

  Melisto’s eyes widened. She gazed with disbelief at the gold beads, the glowing amber of the sphinx’s head. “For me?” she said. Her fingers uncurled like poppies opening to the sun. The necklace, still warm from her mother’s flesh, fell into her hands.

  Lysandra’s voice broke the spell. “No, not for you! What would a child do with such a treasure? You must take it to Brauron and give it to the goddess as an offering. Don’t you understand? I need Artemis to bless me.”

  Blood rushed under Melisto’s skin. She shook herself as if another jar of water had been poured over her head.

  “I’m pregnant,” Lysandra said bluntly. “The whole household knows. Are you so backward that you haven’t guessed? Doesn’t it occur to you, when I’m sick morning after morning, that I’m going to have a child?”

  “I’ve heard you throwing up. I don’t think about it.”

  “Of course not; you think only of yourself. Can’t you understand what a source of shame it’s been, to have only one child, and that child a daughter? What about your precious father! Haven’t you seen how he longs for a son?”

  Melisto lifted her eyes. It was the accusing, owl-eyed look that Lysandra most detested.

  “Don’t scowl at me like that! How many times have I told you: a girl of good family keeps her eyes lowered! What will the priestesses at Brauron think if you glare at them like a wild animal?”

  A retort flashed through Melisto’s mind. “Maybe they’ll think I’m a bear.”

  Unexpectedly Lysandra laughed. “Maybe they will. Perhaps they’ll tame you; I never have. I pity them, all the same.” The smile died on her lips. “Remember your father, Melisto. Have pity on him, if you have none on me. He’s wanted a son since before you were born. If the goddess favors us, he’ll have one at midwinter. Take the necklace to the priestess at Brauron. And pray for me. Another birth like yours could kill me. I could die.” Her voice sharpened. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

  Melisto wasn’t listening. Before her mind’s eye rose an image: her father with a son in his arms. Jealousy leapt and burned inside her. Then her mother’s words sank in. Lysandra could die. Melisto didn’t want that. She wondered if there was any point in saying so. She gnawed her lower lip, searching for words.

  “It’s light outside,” observed Thratta.

  The four women turned as one to the storeroom window. Dawn had given way to bright morning. The procession was to begin on the Akropolis before noon. Melisto’s heart beat double time.

  “We mustn’t be late.” Lysandra’s voice was calm. “Put on the necklace, Melisto. That way, you won’t lose it. Remember what I’ve told you and kiss me goodbye.”

  Melisto kissed her mother’s cheek. The two of them embraced ceremoniously and separated in perfect unison. Melisto held out her hand to the slave women. She was not fond of Chresthes or Evnike, and she thought it was good of her to take their hands.

  “Goodbye, Chresthes. Goodbye, Evnike.”

  Her face paled when she saw Thratta standing before her. The Thracian woman stood with the rolled bear-cloak in her arms. Melisto had not prepared herself to part with Thratta. All at once it was as if some god possessed her, pulling her face into a tragic mask. In a moment her mouth would grimace, spilling forth grief like lava.

  Rough hands clamped down on her shoulders. “Turn around,” Thratta ordered. Melisto felt the wadded bear-cloak press against her back. Thratta was lashing it into place: crisscross over her chest, crisscross between her shoulder blades. The cord was too tight, and the irritation was distracting.

  Thratta leaned forward, speaking into Melisto’s ear. “Do you know what I think? I think you will be a good Bear. I think some god has made you strong.”

  Melisto blinked. Thratta tied the final knot, yanking the two ends of the cord so sharply that Melisto rocked on her feet. Then she whirled about, flinging her arms around the slave woman. She tensed her eyelids to seal the tears inside.

  A moment passed, then another. Melisto stepped back: she wanted to be the first to pull away. She set her chin, screwing her mouth into a fierce line that was meant for a smile. Some god had made her strong. She would go to Artemis and serve as a Bear.

  2. SACRIFICE, BUTTERFLY, FIRE

  On the crown of the Akropolis, the sun blazed, and the wind breathed in gusts. Melisto stood before the Temple of Artemis, conscious that the crowd was watching her. She had known there would be a ceremony and a sacrifice, but she hadn’t known so many people would come to watch. As a Bear, she was a celebrity, destined to serve both Artemis and Athens.

  The Athenians had reason to be grateful to Artemis. When the citizens fought against the Thirty Tyrants, the goddess appeared on the battlefield, bearing a torch. It was Artemis who granted the warriors inspiration and victory. The Tyrants were overthrown, and democracy was restored. A new temple dedicated to Artemis the Torchbearer was being built down at the harbor.

  Melisto tried not to fidget. She kept her eyes downcast and obeyed the four strong-looking women in charge of the Bears. They herded the girls away from their mothers and discouraged them from tearful goodbyes. One frizzy-haired child of six or seven defied them, waving to her mother, calling out, and sobbing. Melisto darted a scornful glance in her direction.

  The temple doors opened. There was a murmur from the crowd as the priestess of Artemis emerged. Melisto glanced sideways and then stared. The priestess from Brauron was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.

  She was seventeen years old and dressed like the goddess herself in a deep violet robe with a fluted hem. The cloth was tissue thin, with pleats that rippled open and shut with every stride. The priestess wore a fawn skin over one shoulder and a quiver on her back. Two large hunting dogs followed at her heels: Melisto had never seen dogs so magnificently obedient. They walked with their heads up, stately and alert. When the priestess paused in mid-stride, they stood like statues, ears pricked.

  Melisto’s skin tingled with gooseflesh. She felt she was in the presence of the goddess herself. She knew her mother was an attractive woman, but there was something feral about Lysandra’s grace, something that reminded her of a weasel she had once watched kill a snake. The young priestess was flowerlike in her beauty. Her cheeks were flushed, not painted, and her dark hair was unbound. In the wind, her tresses were borne upward; they seemed to move of their own free will.

  The crowd fell silent as a priest approached the altar. Libations were poured: milk and honey and wine. A young girl led a goat with gilded horns toward the priest. Like the Bears, the goat had been washed and groomed for the occasion. Its coat shone like silver in the sun. The girl holding the lead carried a basket of grain. From time to time she fed the goat, who nuzzled her, asking for more. The priest sprinkled water on the animal and the goat tossed its head, agreeing to the sacrifice. Deftly the priest reached into the basket. He drew out the sacrificial knife. The goat, suspecting nothing, licked the young girl’s hands.

  The knife flashed, cutting the animal’s throat in one swift movement. Melisto joined in as the women in the crowd gave a great cry of mourning and shock. The goat’s knees buckled, and the blood began to flow.

  What followed was familiar: the blood splashed over the altar and the swift butchering of the dead animal. Melisto did not watch. The small girl who had waved to her mother was sobbing afresh, undone by the death of the goat.

  B
ut the mood of the crowd was relaxed. The mothers of the Bears exchanged greetings, taking advantage of the holiday that allowed them to leave their homes. The goat was cooked, and the meat shared among the people. Melisto was given a mouthful on a spit. She leaned over to eat it so that she wouldn’t drop grease on her tunic. The four women — were they priestesses or only handmaids? — divided the girls into groups of fifteen. A dark-skinned Syrian girl began to play the double flute. The procession took shape: the priestess first, then the dogs, the girls in their four lines, and the handmaids bringing up the rear.

  The priestess headed toward the great gate. She did not look back to see if the girls were following her. She trusted her presence to draw them. Melisto fell into step, head high. She was keenly aware of the picture the girls were making, with their yellow tunics, purple ribbons, and crowns of flowers. Like water, they flowed through the great marble columns.

  Once they reached the bottom of the Akropolis, the four women collected a pack donkey each. The procession wound its way through the Agora and down to the Sacred Gate. Melisto looked from side to side. Athens was her city, and she wanted to remember everything: tombstones and boundary stones, shops and shrines, forge and kiln.

  By the time they reached the Sacred Gate, the crowd had dispersed. The flute girl stopped playing and stepped aside. The Bears passed out of the city, heading northeast to Brauron, a journey of twenty-four miles.

  Away from the city, the terrain changed. The road was less marked, and the ground was rough, with rocks breaking out of the thin soil: the bones of the earth cutting through. The air was fragrant with thyme and spring onion. Wildflowers dotted the path: scarlet poppies and gleaming buttercups, cranesbill and windflowers. Melisto snatched up handfuls and tucked them under her belt.

  The girls no longer kept to their lines. They formed small clusters and whispered to one another, glancing warily at the women in charge. Names were exchanged: the first seeds of friendship. As the hours passed, the children began to limp, but they did not dare complain. One of the handmaids scooped up a weeping five-year-old and set her on the donkey’s back.

  As the sun sank in the blue sky, the mountains loomed ahead. They looked daunting: the slopes so thickly furred with greenery that the shadows appeared black. Melisto had been told that the world outside her city was a wilderness, peopled by wolves and satyrs and centaurs. Now she saw that it must be true. She quickened her pace until she caught up with the dogs.

  The path was steeper now. The girls climbed it, crushing stems of myrtle and oregano underfoot. When they faltered, the women urged them onward. Sometimes they stopped to point out a clump of weeds. “Girls, look closely. This is fennel. You can eat every part of it: bulb, stalks, seeds.” “This is cat’s-ear: you can boil the roots and eat them.” At the thought of food, Melisto’s stomach growled. She eyed the wild plants warily, hoping she wasn’t going to have to eat them for supper.

  By sunset, many of the children had bleeding feet, and the smallest ones were in tears. Melisto looked down at her well-worn sandals and felt a surge of gratitude to Thratta. During the long hike, she had pulled ahead of the others. She had expected to be as inferior in strength as she was in beauty, but she was not. Once the Thirty had been defeated, Melisto had resumed her trips to the fountain house. Keeping up with Thratta, lugging the heavy water jars, had made her strong.

  Her arm prickled. A butterfly had come to taste the salt on her skin. Melisto held still, transfixed. Its wings were dull gray, spotted with black. All at once the creature opened its wings, showing a flash of pure and glistening blue. Melisto opened her mouth to cry Oh, look! but the butterfly had flown away. She followed its flight and saw that the priestess of Artemis was watching it, too. Their eyes met. Melisto’s lips spread in a dazzled grin. Then she was overcome with shyness and hung her head.

  The priestess let them onward. The dogs and the girls followed. In a few minutes, Melisto heard the sound of trickling water. She was thirsty.

  They had come to a spring in the foothills of Hymettus. The priestess bent and scooped up the water, dashing the drops at the children. She was purifying them so that the nymph of the spring would let them play in the water. She spread her slender hands and announced that they would camp for the night.

  The girls took off their sandals. The promise of rest and the sight of bubbling water refreshed them. They stepped in gingerly, cooling their aching feet. Then they waded deeper, up to the knees. Silence gave way to squeals and splashing. The little girl who had cried so hard on the Akropolis caught sight of a frog and began to chase after it, laughing.

  Melisto waded in with the others. High up on the bank, the priestess of Artemis was kneeling, uprooting tufts of grass. Melisto left the water so she could watch her. She flattered herself she was inconspicuous, but the girl’s dark head came up. She looked directly into Melisto’s face.

  “If you want to ask a question, ask it.”

  Melisto’s mouth fell open. Swiftly she gathered her wits and spoke before the priestess could change her mind. “What’s your name?”

  The priestess smiled. “Korinna,” she answered. She reached into the quiver at her back and took out a digging tool.

  Melisto risked a second question. “What are you doing?”

  “Digging a pit for the fire.”

  An idea flashed into Melisto’s head. She could find no fault in it, but she hesitated, afraid to risk the friendliness Korinna had shown her. “I could dig, if you want. That way your dress — ” She indicated the pleated masterpiece that was Korinna’s peplos.

  “I don’t fuss over my dress,” Korinna retorted. Her smile was the smile of a goddess: tender and radiant. She held out the digging tool as if it were a scepter. Melisto snatched it and dug for all she was worth.

  Once the pit was dug and lined with stones, she looked up. Two of the other women had dug firepits, and the girls had been set to gathering sticks. Most of them had never seen a fire kindled. The hearths in their homes were kept burning in honor of Hestia; if the fire went out, a slave went to the Temple of Hestia to fetch live coals. Here there was no temple. Civilization had been left behind.

  Korinna knelt by the firepit. She reached into her quiver and took out two stones; Melisto was close enough to see that the larger stone had a deep cleft in it. The priestess opened a leather pouch and withdrew what looked like a dried mushroom. She held the grooved stone tightly, on top of the mushroom, and struck the larger stone with the smaller. There was a scraping noise. After some moments, a wisp of smoke crept up from between Korinna’s hands.

  The priestess bent forward and blew on it. A flame the size of a teardrop rose from the pitted surface of the mushroom. The children pressed forward. This was magic.

  With a sharp knife, Korinna sliced off the smoking part of the mushroom, setting it in the firepit. She fed the flame with pine needles and twigs. Once the flames grew strong, the oldest woman came with a dried branch and carried it to the other pits.

  The women unpacked the donkeys. To Melisto’s relief, they brought forth loaves of barley bread — there was a little round loaf for every child — dried figs, hard cheese, and honey cakes made with sesame seeds. When one of the children complained of thirst, the older woman waved her toward the spring.

  Melisto stood by the donkeys until she was given her share of food. Some of the girls sat in clumps, chattering as they ate. Melisto climbed up the bank and sat between two pine trees. She ate slowly, relishing the food. When she had licked her fingers clean, she unbraided her hair and shook her head, like a horse freed from the bridle.

  The air was cooling. The handmaids had tethered their donkeys. Now they prepared the children to sleep. They led them to a space some distance from the water, where they could relieve themselves without fouling the spring and offending the nymphs. The girls turned their backs to each other so they could unknot the cords that fastened the cloaks to their shoulders. The cloaks would serve as blankets for the night.

  Melisto watch
ed as they laid out beds around the fires. She reached behind her back and tugged at Thratta’s knots, working her own cloak free. The himation was saffron yellow and thickly napped, like an animal’s pelt. When she spread it out, it was twice as long as she was tall. She was later to learn that a girl like herself had woven it, and that she would have to make one for a Bear who would come after her.

  Some of the girls draped their himations over tree branches to make tents. Melisto chose a hollow for her bed and gathered armfuls of pine needles to make it soft. The pine boughs were thick above her head, but she used her belt to lash them together, making a roof. As she spread her cloak over the pine needles, a faint whimper reached her ears.

  It was the child who had cried that morning — the same child who had laughed so merrily as she chased the frog in the stream. In the firelight, her face was shiny with tears. Like a moth she flitted from bed to bed, looking for someone to pay attention to her.

  Melisto got off her knees. She brushed the pine needles off her dress and stumbled down the steep bank, setting her feet sideways because of the slope. She held out her hand to the child.

  “It’s time for you to stop crying.” Her voice was brusque, with a hint of Thracian accent.

  The little girl scampered up to grab her hand. Her eyes were half drowned in tears.

  “Come and bring your cloak. You can sleep with me. If we have two cloaks, we’ll be twice as warm.”

  The little girl wiped her nose on her palm and handed her cloak to Melisto. Melisto showed her the sheltered place under the pine trees. The little girl spoke respectfully. “Did you make that? It’s good.”

  Melisto nodded, happy to have this confirmed. “We’ll have two blankets,” she pointed out, “and we can pile pine needles between them.”

  “I can sleep with you?”

  “I said you could, didn’t I?” Melisto squatted down and smoothed out a wrinkle in her cloak. “Lie down. I’ll cover you.”

  She covered the child with half her cloak and heaped pine needles on top. Over the pine needles, she draped the second cloak, folded in two. “Now, let me in.” She squirmed under the blankets and curled up on her side, knees bent.