Chapter 4
The Followers of Dionysus
The tension ruptured. All around, the villagers shouted, given permission by Philemon’s act of condemnation.
“Filthy animal!”
“Whore!”
“You aren’t welcome here!”
Through the commotion, Danae spotted Iatromea in the crowd. She wore a look of satisfaction, reserved for those who believe themselves the agents of justice.
“How could you?” Danae shouted, wrapping her arms around her sister. “You promised! You took our coin!”
Iatromea raised her wrinkled chin. “My soul sickened with your secret, so I went to the priestesses. They told me I must bring it into the light, for all our sakes.” She glanced at Philemon. “He had a right to know. We all had a right to know there was a Maenad hiding among us!”
“I knew she’d run off with them that night,” said Ceto. She pointed at Alea’s stomach. “She danced with those wicked women then spread her legs for the first man she saw!”
One boy, Karan, who Danae had cared for when his mother was sick, picked up a stone and threw it.
He aimed for Alea’s head. Danae threw herself in front of her sister, pain spiking across her skin as the stone caught her arm.
The child immediately bent down, scrabbling for more ammunition.
Others followed his lead, throwing anything they had to hand; sticks, clumps of dirt, stale bread and fruit that had turned rotten in the heat.
The sisters backed away from the well, but the crowd closed in on them.
Danae tried to shield Alea, but the onslaught came thick and fast. These people had known the sisters all their lives; the village was like one extended family.
But in a single breath, hatred had poisoned them.
Danae feared if they didn’t get away, they might be stoned to death.
A shadow passed overhead. The crowd looked up as a large bird soared above them, momentarily blocking the glare of the sun.
“An eagle!” someone cried.
“The sacred bird of Zeus!”
A few people backed away, their makeshift weapons discarded.
“Come on!” Seizing the opportunity, Danae grabbed her sister’s hand and dived through a gap in the crowd.
They sprinted down the sun-baked path, stopping only when they were well beyond the outskirts of the village. Panting, Danae fell to her knees, then looked back to make sure they weren’t being followed. The dust was already settling on the empty road.
She wiped the sweat from her eyes and turned to Alea. “Are you all right?”
Her sister’s tunic was filthy, her hair plastered with pulp, and there was a glistening cut on her forehead.
Danae took her sister in her arms and hugged her tight.
Alea’s body spasmed. As her sister’s tears soaked into her shoulder, she pictured herself back in the square.
Instead of fleeing, she launched herself into the crowd, punching and kicking.
She clawed her nails down Iatromea’s hateful face and smashed Philemon’s head into the well over and over again until it cracked.
She forced herself to take deep steady breaths.
“It’s all right, it’s going to be all right,” she muttered, even though she had no idea how it could ever be all right again.
She desperately wanted to take her sister’s pain, suck it out like it was poison from a bee sting. But there was nothing that could save Alea now.
News of Alea’s condition tore through the village like a hurricane.
Overnight Danae’s family became outcasts; at market, her father found his catch was worth half of what it had been the day before, many of the shopkeepers refused to sell to them, and they were no longer welcome to scrub their clothes with everyone else at the river behind the village.
So, Danae and her mother were forced to take the long path into the hills on washing day.
Alea didn’t accompany them. After the attack at the well, her mother had forbidden her sister to leave the safety of their yard.
They paused for breath halfway up the rocky track, wicker baskets piled with dirty tunics balanced on their hips.
Danae looked back. The village lay beneath her at the edge of the sea.
The houses looked tiny from her vantage point, clinging to the land like the barnacles on the underside of her father’s boat.
From here the villagers didn’t look like people at all, just a cluster of ants.
She bent down and picked up a stone. Closing one eye, she held it out above the dwellings.
She wondered what it would feel like to have the strength of a god and crush anyone who hurt the ones she loved.
“Danae, stop dawdling.”
She dropped her hand and let the stone tumble back onto the path.
They trudged up through sparse, yellowing grass, which gave way to a woodland track, until eventually they emerged onto the broad rocks of the riverbank.
They set down their loads and dipped and scrubbed the soiled clothing in the water.
It was quiet, save for the rush of the current, clicking of cicadas and the occasional call of a kestrel.
Danae breathed in the verdant air, thankful to be away from the oppressive atmosphere of their hut.
She wrung out a sodden tunic and splayed it flat on the rock to dry.
As she delved into the basket to retrieve another, she heard a tinkle of laughter.
Her head snapped up. Had they been followed?
Then she spotted someone further down on the opposite bank.
The woman slid into the river, gasping as the crisp water lapped over her mahogany skin. She submerged herself, then broke the surface and threw back a slick of hair. Another woman emerged from the trees and launched herself bodily into the river, showering the first in spray.
Danae glanced at her mother. “Maenads?” she whispered.
Eleni nodded, a wary frown creasing her brow. She raised a finger to her lips.
Transfixed, Danae watched the women giggle and splash each other.
She had never seen two people so free from inhibition.
She knew she should look away, but she’d never really seen a naked body before, apart from accidentally catching a glimpse of her sister’s when she was dressing.
The Maenads’ breasts bobbed in the water, the tufts of hair under their armpits wicked into curls.
Their skin folded, rolled and stretched as they moved. They were mesmerizing.
She was so captivated by their bodies, she barely noticed their faces. When her eyes did finally travel upward, recognition jolted through her.
The first woman was the Maenad who’d saved her from the stampede at the Thesmophoria. Before she knew what she was doing, she was on her feet. Her mother was hissing at her to sit down, but like a hound with the scent of a rabbit, she could not let go.
“Maenads! I want to talk to you!”
The women froze. When they caught sight of Danae, they immediately swam for the bank.
“Danae!” Her mother tried to grab hold of her, but she slipped through Eleni’s fingers and dived into the water.
Her mother’s cries were drowned out as the river enveloped her. The current threatened to bear her downstream, but she struck out, her limbs strong from years of battling sea tides. She knew her mother couldn’t follow her. Eleni had never learned to swim.
By the time she reached the far side, the Maenads had vanished into the trees. She grasped fistfuls of grass and heaved herself out of the water. Catching sight of a trail of wet footprints in the earth, she ran after them.
As she tracked them through the woodland, it occurred to her how dangerous this was.
The Maenads were wild, capable of anything.
She ground the fear between her teeth. These women must have taken her sister from the Thesmophoria, it was the only explanation.
They probably dragged Alea through the woods, then left her to be preyed upon by the first man that found her.
Danae didn’t care how dangerous they were, she would kill them, all of them, with her bare hands.
Then she thought of the woman who’d helped her at the festival, recalled the genuine concern in her eyes. The flame of her rage sputtered out. She shivered in the shade of the trees as her wet tunic clung to her body and suddenly realized that she had no idea where she was.
Then something hit her in the back.
She twisted to see an apple roll across the ground behind her. Then another smacked her in the shoulder. She spun around.
Laughter pinged between the trees. She couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from.
“Come out, you cowards.”
“Come out, you cowards.”
This was a game to them. Her anger flared again. “I know you took my sister the night of the Thesmophoria. I know it was you.”
The laughter stopped.
The Maenad who’d saved her stepped out from behind the trees. Danae was disarmed by her nakedness, the dark tuft between her legs, the way her wet hair slicked over her full breasts and the round curve of her stomach. She dragged her gaze upward and clenched her jaw.
The woman’s eyes were deep and serious. From the lines around them, Danae realized the Maenad was older than she first thought.
“We do not kidnap women.”
Danae took a step back and stumbled on one of the apples. “I don’t believe you. I know what you Maenads do. I saw you at the festival.”
“You saw us dancing. We disrupted your ritual, but we did not harm anyone. I helped you, remember?”
“But...” Danae couldn’t argue. Then she recalled what had happened to Melia’s daughters. “An extra girl was sacrificed because of you.” She couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice. “You brought the wrath of Demeter down on us.”
The woman’s eyes swelled with sadness. “I am sorry to hear that. It is a terrible demand for a god to make.”
Danae stared at her. How could she utter such blasphemy?
The other Maenad emerged from the trees. She was younger than the first, her curly hair dripping onto her sun-rouged shoulders.
“We didn’t take her, but there is one who might know what happened to your sister.”
Danae’s heart lurched. “Who?”