"Amara!" I heard my sister call for me, her voice ringing through the house. "Hurry! He is coming!"
These words, so joyous sounding, as though a husband in warfare who has been long absent is coming home, did not strike joy into my heart. Rather, when I looked into the eyes of my mother, whom was spinning, the thread running through her aged hands, I saw fear and anxiety there. She was afraid of the unknown. For the unknown was coming – had come – to Mycenae, and she believed that we would all suffer because of it.
"Amara!" My sister came into the room, her hair all out of place, her clothing crumpled. Mother shook her head, but said nothing. She knew the ways of my sister, Alexis. She was wild and unruly, and could not be curbed. Even sitting down quietly, her hair seemed to naturally upspring from it's fastening, her chiton become misplaced. Now, she held some wild energy that seemed to glow in an invisible halo al around her, and I could not deny it; it caught me up and seemed to give me access to the same source of burning fuel that Alexis always had within her.
"What is it?" Of course, I knew very well what; as I stood up, and placed my own spinning on my stool, my mind was already full of pictures.
"Why do you question? You know that Herakles is coming to Mycenae today! Remember the stories we heard about him Amara? Surely you must be curious to see a man like that?" She probed me, above my ribs. It left an aching sore spot.
"I hope you have not been gossiping," mother reproached. "That is a slave's job, not yours."
Alexis, whom had been grasping my hands and attempted to drag me to the door, stopped a moment. "Of course not, mother," she replied, more respectful to mother than she ever was to me, "But I simply thought that if we went to the door we could see him pass through the town. He is bound to pass through this way – it's te main street."
My mother seemed to eye us both. "You may, but heed my words," she cautioned, "This Herakles is no good. The king fears his coming, and so do I. don't think I hear nothing of your prattling Alexis; he's an evil man, and evil men never change their ways, no matter how repentant they feel."
With that she went back to her spinning. It was clear that she would say no more about it, and that this would be the end. But although I said nothing, and curiosity made me follow Alexis to the door, I shared her worry.
Around us, other people stood at their doors, looking down the street. Little children were in the street, wishing for the arrival of a hero; street urchins talked and murmured among themselves. Our slaves gathered with us. All were united in the excitement and the anticipation of the arrival of Herakles.
