Chapter XV
XV
It doesn’t take long for me to learn that, though the Acropolis is not an especially big place, there are endless jobs to attend to as an acolyte.
The labor is long, often tedious, but as the days pass, I mind less and less.
Back home, on my island, I’d never done physical work, or held any responsibility.
Sometimes, I imagine what my mother and sisters would think if they saw me scrubbing floors or mucking out the barn.
In time, I stop caring. The priestesses of the temple are, I discover, a sort of family.
Eupraxia walks the temple’s halls checking to make sure we are doing our work, but it’s not uncommon for one of the older priestesses to sneak us a piece of honeyed bread when she isn’t looking, or help us finish the last of our chores for the day so we can enjoy our supper together.
By the end of the second week, Eupraxia has decided we are ready for slightly more responsibility. She informs us that we will be venturing into the city to hand food out to those in need.
“I appreciate that while some of you are from Athens, others have never been permitted to go into Athens proper before,” she says, nodding to a few of the acolytes, including me.
“Be assured that, as servants of the temple, you have a different status from that of most of this city’s women.
Our roles here are recognized throughout the city, and well respected. ”
I do not tell Eupraxia that, in fact, I’ve already been to Athens proper.
As we make our way down from the Acropolis and into the throngs of people, however, it all feels as new as it did on my first visit.
Somehow, it seems even more vendors are out today.
There’s a frenzied energy in the streets that makes my heart pound faster and faster.
By the time we reach our designated spot, there is already a queue of people waiting.
Their eyes light up as they see us coming laden with baskets of bread, fruit, and grain.
“Form orderly lines,” one of the older priestesses leading us instructs. She is calm, clearly well practiced in this. “Everyone will be fed.”
While the people do as she commands, she arranges us acolytes so that each of us is in charge of one line of people.
As we sort the food, my eyes flit to those waiting.
Some are in rags, others have matted hair and unwashed skin.
The other priestesses and acolytes seem unfazed.
I think uncomfortably of how little of the world I experienced from my island home.
What other things am I ignorant of? I’m torn from my thoughts as the first person in my line approaches. It’s a little girl, no older than ten.
“Here you go.” I hand her a sack filled with grain, and she hugs it to her chest.
“Thank you!” she squeaks. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way she is now.
There is naked admiration on her face. She flashes a wide smile at me before dashing away.
The next person in my line is an old man.
He walks with a slight limp, and judging by the permanent grimace on his face, the effort is a painful one.
“For you,” I say graciously, handing him a sack. “Be well, and may the Goddess watch over you.”
The man takes the sack and offers a clumsy bow. There are tears in his eyes. “Bless you,” he whispers. “Blessed are those who serve the Goddess. For she is as great as she is merciful.”
I do not know why the words move me so, but I feel a pressure behind my eyes, a tightness in my throat. I’ve never felt like this before, this swell of new emotion. I realize that this is the first time I have truly felt fulfilled, purposeful.
“Be well,” I whisper back.
—
The rest of the afternoon passes in a hot blur. Athens is a rich city, but I learn quickly that there are many in this city who don’t see even a fraction of that wealth. By the end of our allotted two hours, we have nothing left.
“We’ll come back next week,” the lead priestess says, waving away a few stragglers.
The afternoon sun has drained even the strongest of us, and the lead priestess allows us to stop at a well for water before we make our way to the Acropolis in groups.
Apollonia and I take our time walking back.
In the late afternoon, the bustle of the streets has calmed a bit.
I find myself still reflecting on the people we served.
“They really love her,” I say as we amble along.
Apollonia looks up. “Who?”
“Ath—” I correct myself. “The Goddess. I knew she was admired in Athens, but…” I try to find the words. “It’s more than that. She is truly revered.”
Apollonia gives me a curious look. “Well, of course she is,” she says. “This is her city.”
“How did that happen?”
Apollonia stops walking and looks out to sea.
“The legend holds that, many years ago, Athena and the sea god Poseidon both wanted to patronize this city, to claim it for their own. They could find no fair way to decide, so the king of the gods”—she lowers her voice—“Zeus, decided that it would be settled with a contest. Each god was to put on a display of sorts, and the people themselves would decide. According to the story, Poseidon struck his trident into the ground at the Acropolis, and a large fountain of water sprang up. The people of Athens were impressed, but when they tried to drink the water, it was too salty. Then Athena knelt and planted a seed into the ground. From it, a single olive tree grew. The people saw that the tree could provide lasting food and shelter, so they named her the victor.” Apollonia smiles.
“They even changed the city’s name and built the temple on the Acropolis in her honor. ”
I am floored. I’ve heard many stories about Athena—some good and some not—but never this one.
I look down at the city of Athens, trying to imagine what that kind of adoration must feel like.
My mind turns to Poseidon, too. On my island, among the other members of the Sea Court, the sea king is painted only with reverence.
It’s strange to hear him in this context, as the loser.
“I wonder what it must be like to have that kind of love,” I say aloud. “That kind of power, over so many.”
Apollonia shrugs. “I’ve never cared much for power,” she says. “It’s enough for me to help people.”
By now, the sun is setting in Athens. Street dogs pad along, looking for scraps.
“We should probably head back,” Apollonia says.
We turn a corner, and I freeze.
I recognize the little girl I gave a sack of food to earlier in the day. She is hopping up and down, desperate, trying to get that very sack out of the hands of an older boy who’s taken it. By my guess, he’s around twelve, but tall for his age. He openly sneers at the little girl as she cries.
“Give it back!” she says. “It’s mine!”
“Not anymore.” The boy sneers. “Little rats don’t get food.”
Apollonia takes me by the elbow as though to steer me away, but I shrug her off.
The anger comes suddenly. I feel it building within me like a storm, enormous and consuming.
Images flit through my mind in rapid succession.
I remember my mother throwing her goblet at Euryale; Maheer pinning me against a wall simply because he could.
I imagine my father’s cool indifference as he wrapped his hand around my mother’s throat, and I envision the smug look on Kallisto’s face when she threw a rock at me.
I feel the anger I’ve tempered time after time bubble to the surface, hot and reckless.
All my life, I have been unable to protect myself or anyone I cared about.
I look at the little girl now and I remember every moment I was made to feel the way she does—helpless, unprotected.
Something in me snaps.
I see a brief fear touch the boy’s face as I close the space between us and slap him as hard as I can.
The force of the blow sends him reeling back, and my palm smarts in the place where it connected with his cheek.
Beneath that pain, I feel the prickle of something else.
It takes a beat for it to register that I feel satisfied, vindicated.
“Meddy, stop!”
Apollonia is tugging at my arm, pulling me away from the children.
The boy is now glaring at me, holding one of his hands against the side of his face, but it’s the girl’s look that renders me still.
She is staring at me with a mixture of horror and…
fear. It jars me. So many times, I have been made to feel afraid, but no one has ever looked at me with fear.
The prickling triumph I felt moments ago gives way to something stickier, less pleasant.
“Go,” Apollonia orders the boy and girl. “Now.”
The children, it seems, need no further prompting. At Apollonia’s words, the boy shoves the sack at the girl, and then they both pelt down the street. She waits until they’re out of sight before turning back to me. Her hazel eyes are devoid of any warmth.
“What were you thinking?” There’s a sharpness to Apollonia’s voice that I’ve never heard before, and I start. “He was a child!”
“So was the girl he stole from!” I fire back, not entirely able to keep the defensiveness from my voice.
Something in Apollonia’s expression gives, and in place of anger, I see disappointment. “We are acolytes,” she says. “Our job is to serve the people of this city, to help them.” She shakes her head. “What you just did…that wasn’t your place. It was out of line.”
The words are soft, but I feel as though I’ve been slapped, too. A part of me knows, deep down, that Apollonia is right, but the remnants of the anger I felt before spark to life again.
I glare back at her. “So, as acolytes, we’re expected to just stand by and watch while the weakest of this city are harmed?” I ask. “Do you have any idea how that feels?”
Apollonia raises a brow. “I do,” she says coolly. “Because I’m from here.”
I stiffen.