Chapter Forty-Three
During those first days after the men’s death, a council was formed and tasks were delegated among the women. New living arrangements had several families combined under one roof, limiting the number of houses that required heating and repair. Roles were assigned, resources pooled.
Soon we found a new rhythm, although life was not always smooth.
Some days flowed with such ease it was as though women and children were always meant to live this way, free from the burden of men.
At other times, it felt as though all the problems of the village were being thrust upon me one after another, and it was a miracle I did not collapse under the weight.
One moon, a downpour caused leaks in several houses, yet a moon later, it was the heat forming cracks in the bricks.
Another time, a storm caused a tree to fall, blocking the river and causing a flood.
Yet together, twelve of us shifted the fallen trunk up onto the bank and celebrated our accomplishment with a feast of wild boar.
For we never went hungry. We never feared at night.
Only when autumn came did our laughter dwindle and an edge of tension stir in the air.
For we knew the young men would soon return to spend the winter with their families. Families that now lacked their fathers.
The day of return had played on my mind since we killed our husbands.
Different laws held in different lands, but one was the same everywhere: A son should avenge his father’s death.
What did that mean for us? Would the sons turn their weapons against their mothers, their sisters?
Against me? Or worse still, would I be forced to kill these young men if they came for me and the women? What would happen to us then?
As the last moon of autumn waned above us, we met again, the young men the sole point on my agenda.
As was always the case, the women were well aware of the reason for our gathering, and the moment they arrived, the meeting erupted into arguments.
“He is my son. He has spent half the year away from me, and now you are saying he is not to sleep under the same roof? He is only fourteen years old.”
“That is not what I am saying.” I fought the urge to grind my teeth or fire an arrow into the wall in frustration. “We are here to discuss what would be best for everyone.”
“It would be best for sons to be housed with their mothers. As has always been the case,” Glykeria insisted.
She was not the only mother with a son out with the herds, yet she was the one who defended them most vehemently.
Perhaps that was why I struggled to keep my temper, for Glykeria could irk me more than anyone else. Except perhaps Thalassa.
I allowed a deep breath to fill my lungs, yet before I could respond, Damaris was speaking for me.
“Glykeria, surely you understand that not all women feel comfortable in such a situation. This is the first time in my life that I can recall sleeping through the night without the fear of someone creeping into my or my child’s bed.
Some of these boys are not children anymore.
They are young men. Old enough even to be married. ”
“You are calling my son a rapist?”
I silently cursed the woman, waiting for the moment when I would be required to step in and mediate, yet Damaris could hold her own when it was required of her. She did not raise her voice but spoke with curt authority.
“I have said no such thing,” she responded. “I am saying that every man has the physical ability.”
“Perhaps a man you raised could do such a thing, but mine would never.”
“Do you not understand that the fear is enough?”
“This is ridiculous. You are judging my son because of what you fear yours will do.”
“Enough!” My raised voice was now all it took to bring them to silence. “This is not helping. If you cannot speak without shouting over each other, you have no place in this discussion. I do not care which side you are on. I care about you as a group, what is best for this collective.”
Glykeria’s eyes flashed. Trapezitai’s showed a similar glower. I do not doubt they cursed me to the gods that night, but I was learning to put personal concerns aside, so I lowered my voice.
“All women need to feel safe. That is paramount. And we have plenty of empty houses.”
“Some of which are near impossible to heat.” Althea made a practical point.
“We will use those that are adequate,” I responded. “Now, I wish for a raise of hands. Which women do not feel safe with young men in their homes?”
I looked around, expecting arms to fly into the air, yet instead, I saw hanging heads and eyes focused on the ground, avoiding my gaze.
In the end, it was Thalassa who spoke.
“Anyone who is afraid will not say, because they fear people like Glykeria will hold it against them.”
As several heads raised, I could see this was the truth.
Iphinone offered me a small nod of agreement.
The ire that had been smoldering within me at Glykeria all night caught light.
There was fear in the group, fear of one another.
The rot I had hoped to eradicate was seeping back in beneath the tiles.
“Fine,” I said, my decision made. “Even one woman or child scared on my watch is too many. When the young men return, they will sleep in homes of their own, separate from their families.”
Chaos erupted, and I waved my hands to calm it.
“Listen! Listen to me.”
My pleas did not work, and even a shrill wolf whistle from Thalassa failed to silence them.
She drew a knife from her waistband, and with the same skill with which she had thrown it at the deer, she sent it spinning hilt over blade until it collided with an amphora by the wall.
The smash of broken pottery startled the group to silence.
“We will prepare two of the houses for the young men to ensure they are more than adequate. The young men who return with the herds will sleep there. Any woman who wishes to stay with her sons is most welcome to do so,” I said.
“And leave my other children?” Trapezitai responded.
“This is your choice.” I spoke with the tone of a ruler. I could hear it then. “Most of you now share your homes with another family. Your children will not be alone.”
“You only say that because you do not have children yourself,” Glykeria spat back. “It is easy to make such a decision when you are barren. You will never understand the pain you are causing us.”
Silence swept through the group. Glykeria’s words echoed in the hush.
There were many unspoken rules of womanhood, as varied as the hues of a sunset, yet this one we all knew.
You did not call a woman barren. Not one who had been married and was old enough to bear children.
I drew in a slow breath, knowing that every woman’s eyes were on me, waiting to see my reaction.
“Perhaps I am in a better position to see others’ opinions objectively,” I said.
“Perhaps I am more invested in the village’s interests than in my own.
” I could have gone on, but I stopped myself.
My aim was not to bring her down the way she had tried to do with me.
My aim was for peace always. “There are other women who will stay with your younger children so you can join your son if you wish, but none of the young men will sleep in the same houses as the women. If you wish to share meals with them, it is in their houses. Is that understood? This is no longer a discussion. The decision is made.”
Knots twisted in my gut, yet as Kallista’s eyes met mine, gratitude glinted there. I had made the correct choice. For her and for others.
Shortly afterward, the only women who remained were those with whom I now shared my home: Althea, Damaris and her two young children, and, against my better judgment, Thalassa and her family.
I had not wanted Thalassa to reside with us.
I wished for anyone else to take her under their wing, but her involvement on the night of the men’s death was widely known.
Many blamed her for the women we had lost. Either she stayed with me, or she and her three young children would be destitute.
I could have reconciled myself with her death easily enough, but not her children’s. So she remained with us.
“Was I wrong?” I asked as I stared into a cup of water. “Should the sons be allowed to stay with their mothers? Perhaps Glykeria was right.”
Damaris was quick to come to my defense.
“No. Glykeria made a scene because she wanted a scene. She is the one who got a job for her son with Phile as soon as he was old enough because she wanted him out from under her feet.”
“It is true,” Althea said. “She is trying to make herself out to be a victim so that she can excuse how little she does in the village.”
Gradually, my guilt was marginally lessened. The friendship I shared with these women was unlike any I had known before. They were my equals, my confidantes, my kin.
“Althea is right.” Thalassa did not sit with us but spoke from the far corner. “You are doing what you can to protect the women of the village. That is your role.”
“Thank you.” It was the first time I had thanked her for anything, and the words left my lips before I could stop them. Sometimes, apparently, a truth from an enemy is worth more than a truth from a friend.
* * *
Autumn had descended in full; leaves were abandoning the trees to return to the earth, while each morning, the air brought a colder and colder chill.
The horses no longer bathed in the water to cool themselves but gathered on the riverbank to drink.
But the greatest sign of the cooler months was Hirtus’s departure.
He had been gone for only three days, but I felt his absence more keenly than my own husband’s.
“I do not understand how you do it,” I said to Phile the night after he left. “I cannot imagine how you must miss him.”
“It is true, but the joy with which he returns and the tales he recounts of his travels bring us closer.” She drew a sharp intake of breath, as if she meant to continue speaking, only for a deep cough to come instead. One deep enough that a simple pat on the back would not alleviate it.
“Here,” I said, handing her a cup of water, which she sipped until the coughing ceased.
“Do not look at me in such a manner,” she said when she found her voice again.
“In what manner?” I asked.
“As if I am growing infirm. I spent plenty of winters here without Hirtus before you came along, and I have survived each one. This will be no different.”
I knew she spoke the truth, but in Hirtus’s absence, I felt a responsibility that extended to Phile and even her servants.
“Now, let an old woman drink her wine in peace, will you?”
* * *
The first I knew of the young men’s arrival was the thundering hooves of a horse racing into the village.
“Otrera! Otrera!”
I had seen Aina on the back of that mare dozens of times. I had seen her walk and gallop and jump over hedges taller than a man. But every time, we had been out in the countryside, away from people. Yet that afternoon, the pair stood boldly on the path outside my home.
“Aina?”
She had come straight to my house, followed by a crowd of women and children.
Every person knew of Aina’s gift with the horses, but to see it in front of them was a very different matter.
Some stood with their hands over their mouths, and others held their children close, as if just being near Myrina and Aina would inspire them to leap onto a horse and gallop away.
“Aina? What are you doing here? Where is your mother? What has happened?”
Her breath labored slightly, and I could not imagine the pace at which she had galloped to me.
“They are here. They are coming.”
“The young men?”
She nodded. “Mount. I will take you to them now. You can speak to them before they reach the village.”
“Mount? The horse?”
She nodded again, this time shifting her body farther forward up Myrina’s neck, exposing a greater length of back on which I could perch.
“It was my mother’s suggestion. It is perfectly safe, I promise.”
The others watched with a collectively held breath while I stared into Myrina’s wide eyes. Her tail barely flicked as she held my gaze, as if she knew exactly what I was to do.
“Can she hold us both?”
“She can. I do not doubt her. Come. Let us go. Mother is trying to prevent them from coming to the village, but I do not know how long she will be able to delay them.”
I stepped toward her, only to hesitate.
“One moment,” I said. Racing back into the house, I grabbed my bow and quiver. I did not wish for this meeting to descend into violence, but I would not be ill-prepared if it happened.
When I returned, Aina stretched her hand out to mine and, with a strength I did not know she possessed, hoisted me upward.
Through grunting and heaving, I maneuvered myself until I sat with my legs on either side of the horse.
I had barely grabbed the back of Aina’s tunic when she kicked the animal with her heels and we galloped away.