Chapter Thirty-Six
We needed to act immediately. Any delay and whispers would reach the men’s ears. These women could not lie to their husbands, even to save their own lives. So with the skins left festering in the pits, we gathered in Phile’s home.
“How do we stop the children from seeing?” Thalia asked. “You do not have children. You do not understand.”
“Has your child been playing elsewhere every time your husband beat you?” My response was unsympathetic and my regret immediate.
I tried again more softly. “We will do it when the children are asleep. If they are old enough, add valerian root to their milk. If they are too young, nurse them into a slumber.”
“What of Kallista at the tavern? Do we tell her? Her husband beats her,” Iphinone said.
“And worse,” Thalia interjected. “He lets the men in the tavern use her. When they are drunk and violent, he lets them take her to the back room.”
“I will tell her,” Althea offered. “She and I have spoken several times at the river. And I can do the act for her if she needs help.”
“How are we to do it?” Damaris spoke the question that many of us were thinking.
Personally, I had already envisioned Morsimus’s death a thousand times—with poison, with a knife, and now, more recently, with a bow and arrow.
I wished him to see me raise my weapon and fire it into his chest. I wished for him to know what I had become.
But it was not something the other women could do.
“However you must,” I told them. “Hemlock grows in the forest. You can make a tea of it if that is what you prefer.”
“Or there are knives.” Phile caught me by surprise. “We have countless sharp knives for fleshing. They would do the job. It might do everyone good to take one with them even if they do not intend to use them. For protection, should the hemlock not work.”
As my gaze met Phile’s, I tried to read the thoughts that spun behind her eyes as she continued to speak.
“If this is to be done, we need to make sure there are no loose ends. No survivors. Or there will be repercussions.”
I nodded. “Every woman should take a knife from the fleshing table,” I said. “No one should leave without one, regardless of what you intend to do. We will brew the hemlock here too if that is agreeable to you, Phile?”
“It is best,” she said, answering in the way I had hoped. “It will prevent accidents with children or the men growing suspicious. We can add it to my wine. Offer it to the men when you arrive home. Say it is a gift from me for the skins fetching such a good price.”
“I am happy with that,” I agreed.
The women nodded in agreement, though no one spoke. I saw their fear. I wanted to offer them the assurances they needed. I was so certain of my decision. So confident in the promises I had made to them. Confident and foolish.
“We will not be safe if we do not do this,” I said, my voice strong.
“But I know this will not be easy, no matter how much we despise these men who have abused us for so long. Everyone’s situation may be different, but we are all wed to men who do not deserve a place in the land of the living.
” I drew in a long breath before I continued.
“This is what I suggest. Every man will be killed in his home. And every man will be dead by sunrise. The deaths must be swift and silent so others do not catch wind of what is happening. Hemlock is the only option to be used before nightfall. Those are your only constraints. Is that agreeable to all?”
Whispers passed among the group, and though I could not hear what was said, they seemed to be murmurs of agreement.
Before they could grow too loud, I continued.
“So now we must brew the hemlock. Althea, when you leave, go straight to the tavern, take a small flask of the hemlock wine with you for Kallista, and ensure you are entirely alone before you tell her what is planned. The rest of us will go home as normal, but before that, we need to return to the tannery. Ensure our hands are stained and our clothes smell. If we arrive home clean, the men may grow suspicious. Lastly, if there is anyone who does not think she can do this, you need to speak now. The men must not find out.”
“What about Lycurgus?” Iphinone asked. “How will we kill him?”
It was a question I had not considered, but there was no doubt in my mind that he would die tonight, whether by my hand or someone else’s. Eleni would be avenged.
“He drinks at the tavern at night,” Althea responded. “I doubt his wife’s death will change that. But I can deliver wine to his home before he leaves. Say it is from Phile in sympathy for his loss?”
“That will work,” Phile said.
“Good.” Once more, I took charge. “Then there will be no loose ends. Remember, this is not murder. Only men who have made us fear for our own lives will die tonight.” I focused my attention on Phile as I said those words. “This is survival.”
There was little chatter among those of us who returned to the tannery, but other than the silence of our contemplation, we worked as if it were any other day.
As we toiled, my mind twisted over and over with all the ways we could fail.
All the horrendous ways the women could be punished and tortured should we not succeed.
I calmed my mind the only way I knew how.
I shot my arrows.
One after another, I sent them into the air so that they landed so tightly clustered in the skin that the feathers of one fletching could not be distinguished from another. Each time I shot, I imagined a heart. Morsimus’s heart. Lycurgus’s heart. This would be the last day they beat.
Once I was out of arrows, I slung my bow over my shoulder and walked to retrieve them, musing upon the words that Phile had said to me.
If the gods were watching and judging, then Artemis was not the only one who deserved my devotion.
As I yanked an arrow out of the skin, I recalled the painting that decorated the walls in our home and the eyes that had stared back at me since I scrubbed the years of grime from his image during my first night in Ninniya.
In that moment, I realized the truth. There had always been a war, bubbling beneath the surface of our existence, and Ares had been there, watching quietly for this moment to come.
As I closed my eyes, I muttered a prayer to the god. Let him watch. And let him see us win.
“Your skill has grown,” Damaris said as she appeared beside me and broke my thoughts. “You know that many of us here believe you have been gifted by the gods.”
I scoffed, though the vision of both Ares and Artemis remained firmly in my mind.
“If I have been, then I pray tonight is the night they show me.”
She nodded, but her expression did not falter.
“I believe the gods sent you here, Otrera,” she said. “And I believe I prayed for you to come.”
I did not know how to respond, so I remained silent and let Damaris continue.
“There have been whispers before. Women wishing to rise up. Each time, my heart leaped, as I believed that if just one woman could find the strength to move beyond words, then perhaps I could find that courage too. Yet I feared what would happen if only one woman brought her husband the justice he deserved. I do not fear today. I had never dared to dream that all of us would rise together, but this is how I know we will survive. It is you who have done this, Otrera.”
“It was Phile who gave us purpose,” I objected. Yet Damaris was not to be deterred.
“Yes, she gave us safety, but it is you who have given us belief. Hope.”
I took her words to heart with a heavy burden.
We did not lay the snares out for the rabbits that evening, nor did we head down to the river to bathe. Instead, we grew quieter and quieter, as if our whispers could somehow travel on the breeze. When the women readied themselves to leave, I spoke to them one final time.
“This is to be the last night you enter your homes afraid. The last night you fear for your children. This is the night we gain our freedom,” I said.
“What if something goes wrong?” Thalassa whispered. “What if they sense something?”
“If they do not take the drink, you have your knives. But if one of your husbands comes home with his fist flying and you are in fear, then call. Call your name out into the night. Althea, Iphinone, myself, any of us who can be there will be there. The gods will be there with us.”
She nodded as I turned my head and looked at each of the women. Each met my eyes with the slightest dip of her head, stirring the certainty within me.
“Then we are ready,” I said.