Chapter Forty-Six
For all their initial protests, the young men could find no fault with the houses we had prepared for them.
They had enough firewood to get them through a full moon if they were careful, along with plenty of salted meats and cheeses.
They met with their mothers and sisters during daylight hours if they so wished, then returned at night to be with their peers.
Within only days, it was as though it always had been.
But that did not mean the winter was easy.
We lost two children. Two young girls went to the river to walk on the ice, not knowing how thin and fragile it was.
One made it back to the village, but even the blazing fires and tonics Kallista brewed only lengthened the time before her passing.
Such a thing could have happened any year, but it happened that year. On my watch.
Kallista was not only skilled with grapes and vines but with many herbs, and several women made use of her tonics that winter, which she provided readily and freely.
“Phile, this cough is getting worse,” I said as I sat in her home one evening, sharing cups of wine. Phile had barely managed to speak before dissolving into a coughing fit.
As always, she waved my concern away. “It is a winter chest, that is all. It comes each year,” she said, though she seemed unwilling to meet my gaze.
“How are you heating your rooms?” I questioned. “I can send Althea to help. She builds the best fires in our home by far.”
Phile shifted in her seat and set the cup down.
“Do not be so ridiculous. I have servants for that. Now, tell me how things are. The young men seem happy enough.”
“It would seem so. I can only hope that it remains that way.”
For the first moon of winter, it did. The goats still required tending, which kept the young men busy, while the women were determined to use the months away from the tannery productively.
Some used the time to sew and mend garments for their sons, and others practiced their skills at woodworking and fixing joints within the houses.
The young men generally avoid me. I knew there were rumors flying around that I was god-linked.
Patroned, perhaps by Artemis. I chuckled at such rumors in private, but in public, I did all I could to embody them.
For though I would not admit it, some of the young men still sparked a lingering fear within me.
Not for myself but for others. They were, after all, their father’s sons.
Few ever sought me out. The first was Cleon.
He found me when I was alone, returning from an early morning hunt in the forest. I had brought down a small boar, dragging it by the ankles as I walked.
Had I brought Damaris or even Thalassa with me, I would have fashioned a game pole to carry it, but I had not anticipated such a kill.
My bow remained slung on my back. When I saw him, I wondered whether I should arm myself, then hesitated.
The boar alone should be enough to signal my abilities.
“Cleon.” I stopped walking, dropping the boar to the ground with a wet thud, and spoke his name when he was still several feet away from me. “Is something wrong?”
His hands were crossed in front of him. His pose was not hostile, yet I remained vigilant.
“No, nothing is wrong, Otrera. Not at all. Only…” He paused. His uncertainty was nothing I had encountered in a man before. Certainly nothing like Morsimus.
“Yes?”
“I wanted to ask about the Dionysia. The boys wanted to know if there will be a celebration this year. Now that…”
“Now that the men who drank all the wine are dead?” I finished for him.
He took another step toward me. My fingers itched for the comfort of my bow, but they remained where they were.
Cleon’s eyes locked on mine, and a shiver that was not from the cold rippled through me.
He was the same age as me. Older even. In another lifetime, he could have been the man I was given to in marriage.
How different would my life have been then?
Such thoughts had never crossed my mind before. I had been married to Morsimus, and that was the sum of my existence. Yet there, for that split second, I saw something else. I saw what could have been. I shook the thought from my head and tightened my grip on the boar’s legs.
“We will still celebrate,” I responded, then, without another word, continued walking.
“Thank you. I will let them know,” Cleon replied.
He had more sense than to ask if I required his help.