Chapter XXV
XXV
I work diligently in the temple for the next few days.
We don’t return to Athens proper to serve the people, and I use my time at the Acropolis to win back the favor of some of the priestesses.
Though I’m not required to do it, I take up even more of the old duties usually reserved exclusively for acolytes—like mucking out the barn.
At mealtimes, I offer to clean up after, so that everyone else can go to bed.
It doesn’t take long for my efforts to be noticed, and slowly, the priestesses who’d been cooler to me warm again. I count it as a triumph.
“You’ll be good for this temple,” one of the older ones says to me one morning. “The Goddess has picked well.”
I relish the compliment, but behind it, I feel the tiniest bit of guilt.
Though I haven’t seen Poseidon again since our impromptu meeting on the beach, I find myself thinking more and more about the second kiss we shared.
I knew, when it happened, that it was probably wrong, but I wasn’t able to help myself.
I still remember the way Poseidon looked at me, like I was some rare treasure to be cherished.
No one had ever looked at me like that before, and the truth is I crave more of it.
You made vows, I remind myself. You made vows to Athena, not Poseidon.
I bury the thought of his face and continue in my work.
—
Days after these musings, I’m standing in the temple’s small olive tree grove harvesting when it happens.
At first, I don’t understand what’s going on. I hear a commotion, and when I turn, I see Eupraxia racing toward me. She looks unusually harried.
“Medusa.” There’s an edge to her voice that I’ve never heard before. “You need to come with me. At once.”
Something is wrong. I sense it immediately. “What? What’s happened?”
“There are people outside the Acropolis’s main entrance,” she says. “They’re…asking for you.”
I stare at her, not understanding her meaning. “For me?”
“Yes,” she says in a strained voice. “Come.” Already, she’s turned on her heel and started to walk—run, really—out of the grove and toward the front of the Acropolis.
I follow, trying to keep calm. By the time we’ve crossed the entry, we’re nearly sprinting, our peploses fluttering in the wind like banners.
We reach the front gates, and I stop short.
A crowd has gathered just outside the Acropolis.
I can’t possibly count them, but I estimate there to be at least fifty people.
I see men and women, children and elders, finely dressed senators and slaves wearing only rags.
None of them seem angry, but there is a frenetic energy about them that somehow feels off.
I see a desperation in their eyes that puts me on edge.
Some of them are shifting their weight anxiously from foot to foot; others are craning their necks as though searching for something.
One of the men toward the front of the crowd spots me and points. “There she is!” he shouts. “It’s her, Priestess Medusa!”
At once, the crowd becomes more raucous. My steps falter, and Eupraxia gives me a sidelong glance before raising both hands to quiet the crowd. “I am the high priestess of this temple.” Her voice rings with authority. “And I demand to know why you all have gathered here.”
There’s a pause. No one in the crowd seems willing to be the first to speak.
Then a woman emerges from the throng. It takes me a moment to pinpoint why she looks familiar, but then I recognize her.
It’s the woman from the market, the one whose sick daughter I prayed for nearly a week ago.
She looks different, though. Her body has become fuller; her cheeks have a fresh color that makes her look younger. She looks at me and smiles.
“We are here for Priestess Medusa.” There’s an undeniable reverence in her voice. “We are here to receive her blessings and to ask for her to pray to the Goddess on our behalf.”
Eupraxia frowns. “Every priestess of the Acropolis is empowered to give blessings and pray to the Goddess,” she explains. “You don’t need Medusa to—”
“We want her!” a man shouts. He has swarthy skin, a burly frame, and numerous burns across his bare arms. My guess is that he’s a blacksmith. He lowers his eyes before me in deference and, in a lower voice, adds, “The Goddess listens to her prayers. She is favored.”
Several people in the crowd murmur their assent.
“Favored?” Eupraxia now looks confused. “What do you mean, ‘favored’?”
“She prayed for Kallinikos, the charioteer who won the Panathenaic games even though he was predicted to lose,” says the first woman.
“Then, when I brought my sick child to her in the market, she prayed to the Goddess and asked for her health to return to her. She was nearly dead.” She holds up her child for the crowd to see.
To my surprise, the girl is much plumper, rosy-cheeked.
“Now look!” the woman exclaims. “My daughter is healthy, entirely healed!”
The people around her grow more excited as I grow more nervous. What the woman hasn’t mentioned is that I also told her to give her daughter water steeped with laurel leaves, which probably contributed to the child’s improvement. Before I can say so, another man steps out from the crowd.
“I came to Priestess Medusa a few days ago, too,” he says. “My barley crops were suffering, and I asked her to pray for me. That night, when I got home, we had a rain shower. You all remember it?”
Several in the crowd nod.
“My crops immediately began to come to life again,” he says. “It was a real miracle.” He points at me. “And it was because of her.”
Now real fear arrows through me. The truth is, I barely remember this man or his prayer for crops.
I tell myself that his claims are only a coincidence.
I am just a mortal girl. I am not a god.
This doesn’t make sense. People are beginning to shout at me, fighting and clamoring for my attention.
One woman breaks from the crowd and grabs at the hem of my peplos, prompting others to do the same. I’m being pulled into the throng.
Eupraxia grabs my arm just in time. “Stop this!” she orders. “Stop at once!”
The crowd is no longer listening to her. There’s a feverishness among them now. I’m suddenly very aware that the two of us are badly outnumbered.
“Eupraxia,” I say in a small voice. “They’re not going to leave.”
For as long as I have known the high priestess, she has exuded surety, confidence. Now, for the first time, I see that confidence falter. “Then what can we do?” she mutters.
“Trust me.”
She says nothing, but I take that as an assent. I step forward and raise my hands. At once, the crowd goes silent.
“People of Athens!” My voice rings with new authority I didn’t know I possessed. “I will hear every one of your prayers,” I promise. “But in order to do that, we must have order. We must respect the sanctity of this temple.”
Some of the more boisterous members of the crowd look down, appropriately shamed. While I still have their attention, I continue.
“Form one orderly line,” I instruct. “Anyone who shoves or becomes unruly will be asked to leave.”
At once, the crowd begins to file into a neat queue.
Perhaps on another day, I might find their obedience impressive, but now I find it unnerving.
Eupraxia looks on for a few more minutes with an expression I can’t read before turning and going back into the Acropolis.
That worries me, but I redirect my attention to the first person in line, a stout woman with curly dark hair shot through with gray.
She’s holding a basket. When I lift the cover, I see it’s filled with olives.
“The trees in our orchard have not bloomed well in four years,” she says. “Please, Priestess Medusa. Ask the Goddess to restore them.”
I take her hand in mine and smile. “Let us pray.”
—
For the next three hours, I pray with the people of Athens.
I keep my word, listening to every prayer request. Some men ask for their investments to prove fruitful; some women ask for good marriages.
Children come into my line asking for silly things like sweet bread.
Every so often, an elderly person asks for relief from their suffering. By the end of it, I am exhausted.
I expect to find Eupraxia once I return to the Acropolis, but the high priestess is nowhere in sight.
In fact, most of the priestesses seem to be elsewhere, and those I do see quickly make themselves scarce when they see me.
I head to the acolytes’ quarters, thinking a short nap might do me some good, but when I reach the door, I realize the room isn’t empty.
Athena is standing in its center, her face drawn. “What,” she says through clenched teeth, “do you think you’re doing?”
The iciness in her voice seeps into my skin. Any pride I felt as I offered blessings dissipates as we stare at each other.
“What do you mean?”
“Do not play coy with me, girl.” Her hand slices through the air, and I’m glad I’m not standing close to her. “The people who came to the Acropolis’s front gates today, what were they doing?”
“Th-they asked for blessings,” I stammer. “They asked for me to pray to you, on their behalf. I didn’t see any harm in it.”
“They credited you with the acts of a god!” Athena thunders. “And you did not contradict them.”
“I am your priestess, Goddess.” I am fighting to keep the tremor from my voice. “They know that anything I do is in service to you.”
Athena looks away from me, scowling. “They were all but worshiping you today,” she says bitterly. “You, a common mortal.”