Chapter Thirteen
Eleni was waiting for me, and as my conversation with Iphinone drew to a natural close, I quickened my pace to join her.
On the remainder of the journey to the river, I learned the names of several more women, some similar in age to myself.
Damaris was a petite young woman who stuck closely to Eleni, though the pair could not have been more different.
She did not speak to me or any of the other women that I saw, and I wondered if perhaps she was mute.
Thalassa was younger still, with dark hair and bright blue eyes, and though she spoke to me, it was with thinly veiled caution.
The only other woman with whom I spoke at any length was Althea, who was taller than everyone else and wore gold hoops in her ears.
At the river, the women gathered under a large copse of poplars. The thin trees offered little shade by themselves, but clustered together as they were, they provided a small sanctuary from the sun.
“The water is perfect this time of year.” Eleni continued to speak even as she untied the knots in her belt. “Sometimes in the summer, I wish it were cooler. It is so hard to escape the warmth then. Was it the same where you come from?”
I parted my lips, ready to reply, only for my words to become stuck in my throat.
Swiftly, I averted my gaze, only to face the same sight again and again.
My pulse pounded. Every woman stripped, one by one, revealing two dozen bodies as varied as the sea is from the mountains.
But all were bound by one common feature. Injuries.
Some of the women were like me, with bruises yellowed and healing, but for others, the tender flesh was still broken and seeping.
And these were not small wounds either. Althea’s collarbone was not straight but jutted out at a strange angle.
And it quickly became apparent why Damaris would not speak, for a bandage was wrapped around her middle, and a deep red stain oozed through the fabric on her side.
Eleni’s back and shoulders were spattered with purple as if ripe grapes had been crushed against her skin, while more than one woman wore the puckered pink scars of a burn.
I struggled to form thoughts when Eleni dipped her head as if in reverence.
“I assume your first day went without incident?”
I turned around, stunned to see Phile behind me.
She smiled, though her eyes moved past me to my companion. “Eleni, thank you for taking care of Otrera. If you do not mind, I would like to have a word with her alone.”
“Of course.” Eleni offered Phile a relaxed smile before turning to me. “I will see you in the water soon?”
It is strange now to consider the nerves I felt back then. I was far from alone, with the rest of the women jumping into the water, splashing and laughing as they washed away the dirt from the day. Yet I felt so detached from them all.
“You have all your fingers. That is a positive sign,” Phile said. This was clearly her attempt at humor, though I could not reciprocate.
“These women, all of them…” I could not finish my words.
“All of them require employment.” It was a statement. Factual. No room for ambiguity.
“Their husbands? They are all still in the village?”
“Mostly yes. Those who live. Some already drank themselves to an early grave. Others picked fights that were to be their last. Althea is one of the widows.”
“They survive without husbands?” I said it to myself more than Phile, yet she answered.
“The husbands here do nothing but drink away the money their wives earn. There is not a good soul among them, but gods be blessed, you have come to this place. You will be taken care of. You will survive. In other places, women are not so lucky.”
I turned my attention back to the river, where several women were aiding Damaris, who stood waist-deep in the water. I needed more answers from Phile, more understanding of what I was signing my life away to. Not that there was much of a life to sign.
“The men here, do they have roles?” I asked. “Goatherding? Preparing wine? Building houses?”
“The sons are goatherds. They earn coin, and I do not believe it hurts to keep them away from their fathers’ influence.
The only vines belong to the tavern, the owner of which is as despicable as the rest. The men sometimes work at crushing grapes in return for wine as payment.
There are those who will stretch themselves as far as to collect wood in the winter and fix the occasional piece of furniture, but for the homes, I consider myself skilled with a lathe and a plane.
Perhaps that is a task that would interest you in the future? ”
A task in the future. And the word future, used without the mention of a husband.
“I have a servant,” I said, feeling the need to raise the issue of Melitta.
“She is an old woman and was not worth my husband selling her. She has been good to me. Is there is a place for her among these women? She is strong for her age, but perhaps you have a less demanding role? She is a most gifted seamstress.”
Phile’s expression was unreadable. Sympathetic, perhaps. “Let her remain as your servant,” she said. “You will earn enough to cover her keep, and perhaps we will be able to throw extra work her way too.”
I had been offered a miracle. The gods had seen and heard my pleas, yet before I could offer my gratitude, Phile had more to say.
“After you have bathed, come to the house. I will give you your wages. We still have much more to discuss.”