Chryse and I were at a loose end. Chryse was not deft enough to please our shipwright, and although I could handle the tools, women were not allowed to build ships. So we sat in the market and solicited patients.
Healers were rare and we were well patronised.
I had been given an Asclepid's gown by Master Glaucus, a unique gift, after a long and learned discussion on the use of certain mushrooms as an antidote in poisoning cases. It was a fine garment, deep scarlet and flowing, but it produced such shock amongst the clients that I had one made for myself of my favourite dark green linen, easy to wash. Women who came to the market got used to me being there after a week, and before long the matrons of Kenchraie brought their troubles to a female healer; not midwife or witch but a healer like a man, and from Epidavros, too.
It was a fairly healthy place. There were accidents, of course, and the usual household burns and fractures. Because we had adopted the Asclepid's practice of only accepting what the patient could easily give, slaves came too, and the poor.
As summer grew we acquired tenancy of a hut in the market from a seller of vegetables. We cleaned it and divided it down the middle, male on the right and female on the left. In any matter where we felt that we needed consultation, we would call each other in. I found that Chryse was better than I at wounds - this was perhaps not surprising - but that I had more patience with indeterminate complaints, where the patient feels not well but not exactly ill, head-achy and uncomfortable. For these I prescribed infusions of pleasant herbs and honey, though what I wanted to say to most women was they needed more rest and some care and consideration, which they were not going to get.
One very hot day I called down the wrath of the Gods on a stupid man who wanted his wife to submit to the rites of Aphrodite within two days of giving birth. The vessels of the body are open for six weeks, and that Goddess can kill a woman with a newborn.
He gave me an argument, and I called Chryse, who listened, nodded gravely, and agreed with me. The man flung a coin at us and swore that she was his wife and he would use her as he wished. I lost my temper and followed him into the street, shouting, 'If you have any care for your health, freeman, you will let your wife sleep in peace. Her death may follow if you force her, and then your genitals will wither. Aphrodite the Stranger is a fierce opponent to those who would abuse her worship.'
The man collected his wife and scuttled away, followed by the laughter of the market women. I returned to my patients. Something was worrying me.
Since we had left Epidavros, Chryse had not lain with me. He was willing to make love; the touch of my fingers still brought heat to his skin, and he would caress me, please me; but he had not lain inside me. Eumides could receive his seed, but not I. I remembered that there was something that I had never told him. First there had not been time, and then I had not spoken, wondering how both of them would react.
I prescribed absently for a baby with summer diarrhoea, reminding his mother to feed him boiled water, and made an ointment out of lard which was melting as I pounded it. Sweat dripped down my face. It was as hot as a forge inside that hut and no one else was likely to come until the afternoon coolness.
I called through the curtain, 'Are you alone?' and a tired voice replied "Yes. Are you?'
'Come down to the shore,' I said. 'I need a wash and I have something to tell you.'
In a few minutes we were stripped of our robes and wading into the blood-heat water in a cove so clean that I saw his pale limbs through the sun-dazzle. He took my hand as we sank down into the blessed coolness.
No one was about. The citizens of Kenchraie had gone into their houses and shut their doors and were sleeping away the hottest part of the day. Dogs drowsed in the market, too sleepy to snap at swarming flies. I knew that Eumides would be comfortably drowsing under the half-built boat. It was delightful to be awake while all others slept, delightful to float free in the expanse of the sea and hear the little noontide waves laugh as they broke on the rocks. Chryse lay beside me, his hair floating like a triton's. A light breeze ruffled the water and made him sneeze.
'What did you want to tell me, Lady?' he asked.
I swam over to him and anchored myself with one foot on a reef. He embraced me and saw our hair mingle like sea-weed.
'You need not be afraid to lie with me,' I told him.
'But, do I not please you, Lady, as it is?'
'Yes. But you are afraid, aren't you, that I will conceive and die as your golden maiden did?'
His face bobbed next to mine, but I could not read his expression.
'Yes,' he said, finally.
'Oh, Chryse, I will not die in childbirth. I did not know how to tell you, fearing that you would be terribly disappointed. But they told me in the temple of Gaia when I was cursed by the God - I am barren.'
There was a splash, and I gulped water, to be hauled into a sandy wet embrace and kissed by a soft mouth bitter with salt.
'Is it true? Is it really true?' he gasped, as I coughed and shook my head.
'Unless you drown me, I'll live with you until we both die of old age. And you can bathe me in seed and I'll never conceive,' I said, spitting salt water down his back.
'Agape mou,' he whispered, finding my mouth and kissing me very gently. 'Oh, my love.'
I told Eumides that night, as we dressed the adze cut across his knuckles and plucked curls of sweet-smelling wood from his curly hair. He explained how beautiful the new craft was growing under his hands and those of the sailmaster. 'They'll bring the mast down from the mountain tomorrow,' he said.
To my admission, he said, 'Barren, Princess? What did you expect me to say? That you are half a woman and we should cast you off? I've sown little Eumides all over the Aegean, Cassandra, from Phrygia to Epirus. Any common woman can bear me a child if I need one. But you are unique, healer, daughter of Priam, sweet princess, only priestess of my heart.'
And I lay with both of them that night, sweet sailor and grave Asclepid, still loved and valued, with my most shameful secret revealed and shared.
The summer was waning when we heard a voice raised on the other side of the market, and a lyre keeping time to one of Arion's most scandalous lyrics.
We ran out and saw Menon sitting on the sea-wall with a ring of delighted citizens around him.
'Cassandra!' he called. 'Arion Dolphin- Rider famed bard of the Argives, sent me.'
'Is he well?'
'Spends his time drinking wine in the shade of the vines. He has sent me away.' Menon's face crumpled for a moment, then resumed its performer's smile. 'We made my lyre and he told me to go forth and become a famous bard. "I've given you my songs," he told me. "Now make better ones of your own."
'I don't know if I'll ever be able to do that. But this is his last song, Princess. He sent me to sing it to you and the sailor and the Asclepid.'
Menon tightened a peg, twanged a string, and began to sing. His voice was a tenor, clear and tuneful, but in it I could hear an echo of that honey-voiced old man, and see the glint in his bright dark eyes.
A thrice-woven cloth is warmest.
A thrice-twisted thread is strongest.
Three, three, three is their charm.
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The third day is fortunate
The third child is beautiful
Three, three, three is their spell.
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The third wave is highest
The third horse is strongest
Three, three, three is their charm.
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Two combined in man and maid;
Three combined the Gods ordained.
Three, three, three is their charm.
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Two combined is husband and bride.
Three combined is unbroken joy.
Three, three, three is their charm.
Dionysos loves those three,
Three who lie together in love,
Courage and beauty shall they know.
Never to part; three is their charm.
When Thanatos come to take one,
The others will deny him,
Until the feathered Angel carries three.
Three, three, three is their spell.
Three, three, three is the charm,
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Arion's blessings to the three,
Trios, God-protected, God-ordained.
Three, three, three is their spell.
We gave Menon a handful of trading gold and set sail for Troas the next week.
I spoke to a white bird, that which the sailors call the footless one, and the lone flier replied:
'Beware the siren voices. Bones strew their shore, bones of seamen who have listened and wrecked. Under their sweet seeming are the hearts of sharks. White teeth line their mouths and they savage as they kiss.
'Block your ears, Odysseus, Prince of Ithaca. The wind is carrying you to them.'
I rewarded him with a fish and began melting beeswax. If the Gods were sending me into every peril in the world, I would endure. And I could not pass the siren's isle without hearing their song.
But I was resolved not to die doing so.
The harvest was good. As the year grew warmer and drier, we threshed and winnowed, piling golden grain into sacks sewn shut to be stored. The grapes grew heavy on the vines and the olives plumped. I grew fatter and Orestes grew taller, until Pylades our cousin said one day, looking at us as we sat at supper over a laden table, 'Ah, you are the most beautiful of all your unhappy house.'
'The thistle is blooming,' the old man, Clonius, said, loosening his belt and leaning back against Aulos' shoulder. 'The cicada calls, the goats are fat, and women are full of lust.' He grinned at Lysane, who scowled at him. 'High summer, and nought to be done but sleep in the shade, boy - that's the time for a farmer. The hay's bleaching in the meadow, the wine's growing on the vine, and you can smell the sea. Gods help all poor mariners, who earn their living on the unchancy waves. Land's best,' said the old man, and staggered out into the men's quarters to lie down and sleep the heat away.
We women mounted our stairs and lay down on cool, well-woven linen - a gift from our master, Pylades - shaded our windows and sprinkled our naked bodies with well-water scented with roses. Lysane slept soon, and snored, keeping me awake.
'Is it true?' I asked a drowsy Alceste, who lay nearest me.
'Lady?'
'Is it true that in high summer women are filled with lust?'
In answer, she rolled over to me and kissed me on the mouth. It was a pleasant kiss, extended for a long time. I heard her catch her breath, but her lips left mine just as she found them.
'No, Lady,' she said, resuming her place and closing her eyes. 'It is not true.'
Yet when I came close to my own Lord, Pylades my cousin, there was something stirring in me, feeble and not often renewed, like a somnolent creature stirring in its sleep.
When the height of the heat had passed and Orion and the dog star Sirius were both in the sky, we cut our grapes, laying them on cloths for ten days in the sun and then five days in shade. Autumn was coming and beyond that, winter, when Boreas rules. But we were well stored. The crushed grapes yielded fine wine, our beehives gave us honey. The attic was stacked with sacks of grain, pickling olives, and tanned skins from the autumn slaughter. We could winter perhaps two-thirds of the flock. The rest must be sold or killed.
I did not go with Pylades and Orestes into the fair in Delphi. I had got out of the habit of wearing a veil around the house, and found it heavy. And there were tasks for me. Lysane, Alceste and I were making cloaks and boots for the coming cold. Cutting and sewing hides is not as pleasant as weaving, and it is very hard on the hands. I was sucking at a punctured finger when a visitor was announced. I found a veil and flung it over my head and went down to the ground floor.
A welcome visitor indeed. It was Menon, apprentice of the famed bard Arion Dolphin-Rider. He was dusty, hungry and tired, but we had food and wine in plenty.
Every evening, Lysane, Alceste and I came down the stairs with our work and sat by the fire. Pylades would take off his boots and put his feet on the hearth and tell stories as we sewed. We would talk about the work of the farm, just us, for the slaves retired early to their own quarters, and Clonius and his son went home to their own house in the lower field. Sometimes we mentioned people we had known back in the city of Mycenae, which now seemed so far away. But we never talked of my mother or father.
Pylades remembered things which I had forgotten; a stone-throwing game which the children had played on the pavement outside the temple of Apollo, for instance. One cast up pebbles and tried to catch them on the back of one's hand. I had forgotten it; but with Lysane and Alceste I recaptured my skill. He remembered Neptha, my nurse, too. I still missed Neptha. I hoped that she would approve of the conduct of my household.
It was slow and comfortable conversation. No one was in a hurry, and there were no surprises. I no longer started at sudden noises.
Now we had a welcome guest; someone who would greatly enliven the evening. We were all tired with the length and the heat of the summer. And bards always had news. As it was a special occasion, the slaves stayed, sitting on their usual benches. Abantos brewed his spiced wine, which he alone knew how to compound.
We waited while the bard removed his boots and Alceste washed his feet, gave him a clean tunic and fed him autumn honey and new bread. Menon was a tall young man, pinched with cold and hollow-cheeked. Tauros had bitten him on the ankle when he came in, unannounced, but the teeth had not broken the skin.
'I lost my way to Delphi,' he explained. 'I was astray in the dark until I saw your light. Praise be to all the Gods for this food and wine!'
'When you are rested,' said Pylades, 'we would gladly know how your master Arion fares. He gave me a great gift once.' Pylades smiled at me and drew Orestes close. The boy snuggled into his arms like a puppy.