Stuff in astericks are supposed to be italics.
The Weaver
Chapter Three~Attracting Danger
I now had live audiences from Lydia and nearby villages. Father moved my loom down into the meadow every morning. It was the same one, for though Father had suggested buying a new one, I would not part with it.
He also moved the spinning wheel to the meadow, next to my loom. The dyed wool was stacked neatly in the box beside my wheel. By mid-morning, a crowd would've gathered around me. Of course, Father had hired men protecting me and forcing the people to quiet, but they still distracted me. I could now spin so quickly that I was finished spinning before the hour was over. Then, I smiled for the crowd and began the real work.
I closed my eyes, but I could still hear them. The children pushed to the front for a better view. Standing so close were they that I almost felt their small breaths. Whispers moved around me, passing from one person to the next.
*Concentrate*, I told myself. Imagining a huge green forest, I focused on the picture and blocked out the scene around me. The trees were enormously tall, covered with deep green ivy and moss. Pine needles and red leaves lay against the plush emerald grass, soft on the travelers' feet. The horse rested, nibbling on blue berries from thorny black bushes while a young couple argued. The man was lithe and tall with light brown hair kissed by the sunlight filtering softly through the leaves above, lighting the entire scene. He wore traveler's clothes and held a split old staff which he pointed at the pottery-filled cart. The woman held her pink lips in a defiant expression as she shruggled with the broken wheel, stuck in mud. Her long, flowing garments dragged along the ground and troubled her work. She pushed aside a blue-gray sleeve and opened her mouth for another argument, hazel eyes flashing dangerously.
Suddenly, my fingers reached the edge of the loom and my eyes flew open, painfully depositing me unceremoniously back into my real world. The tapestry was finished.
From the rear of the crowd, there was a short burst of applause. They talked among themselves, no longer bothering to whisper. One woman stepped forward to look closer at my tapestry. Turning around, she glared at me, her beady black eyes surrounded by the wrinkles of age.
"You think you're so great, don't you Arachne? 'Oh, Arachne is ONLY fifteen, yet she can weave almost as well as Athena!'" she mocked, her voice sickly high-pitched.
"I never said I weave as well as Athena. No one does. No mortal can," I answered, my voice so soft and husky she leaned forward to hear.
"What do you call this then?" she demanded, gesturing to the crowd. "You think so highly of yourself that you invite people to WATCH you!"
I did not know what to say. A good daughter rarely speaks, and I had little experience with words. Nobody had accused me before, they had only praised me. Rightly so, I was unprepared for this new assault.
The two hired men leaned forward and grabbed her by the arms. She struggled, but they clutched tighter and dragged her away. Still, she yelled at me.
"Foolish, proud girl! You weave no better than I! Come, let us have a contest! I'll--"
The taller man covered her mouth and silenced her. I thanked him with a relieved smile. Something small grabbed my skirt, and looking down, I saw a young girl grin up at me.
"Don't listen to her. You're the best! My ma said so, and Ma is never wrong. You're just as good as Athena!" she declared fiercely.
Weakly, I pried her fingers from my clothes and tried to smile. I wanted nothing more than to be alone. Loneliness would have been to me like water was to a thirsting man.
"I will be...going to bathe now. Good-bye good people," said I in the loudest tone my feeble voice would allow. Grumbling and murmuring, the crowds dispersed, each man or woman going their own way, trickling off toward home.
Not waiting, I turned and walked slowly up the hill to my room. I needed to speak with Father.
"Arachne, you are BETTER than Athena! You are the BEST weaver Greece has ever known!" Father's voice boomed in the great dining hall. I pushed my food aside and twisted a handkerchief in my lap.
"She is simply jealous," he continued. "Next time anyone dares to speak to you that way, you WILL say, 'I weave better than Athena.' Arachne, do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Arachne, take PRIDE in your work. We have no need for modesty now! We live like aristocrats! We ARE aristocrats! Brag all you need to, daughter. Spread the word, let no one humble you now. As aristocrats, we have no need for the gods! Rich enough are we that we can live without their blessing!"
Simply to prove his point, father walked to the end of the hall and knocked over the sacrificial altar. I stood up quickly and gasped. Mother's voice resonated in my mind.
*Never anger the gods.*
"No, Father!" I cried, scurrying forward. "You mustn't! We cannot risk the gods' wrath!"
"I SAID, we have no need for gods! No longer shall they be worshipped in this household! What have they brought us? Nothing," he spat. "Never again shall I sacrifice my best cattle for the worthless creatures!"
I looked up to him and saw how cold and lifeless his eyes were. Strange that I had never noticed it before, but I had never looked into his eyes.
"Mother said to never anger the gods. At least keep peace in her memory!" I begged. The tears flowed freely as fear clutched my heart. Athene had graced me with a talent for weaving...if angered, Athene could take it away, withdrawing her blessing.
Father grabbed my wrist and pulled my face close to his. He reeked of deer and roasted beef. His eyes flashed dangerously.
"Your Mother was a stupid woman whose weavings were only fair. She was a pawn, an easy piece to play. YOU, Arachne, are the real prize. You are MY prize. Do not humble yourself and lower your worth! Next time another dares question your skill YOU WILL SAY??"
He paused, waiting for my answer. I tried to turn my face away, for his breath was burning hot on my skin. Father grabbed hold of my chin and forced me to look at him.
"I will say that I weave better than Athene," I answered, my voice trembling.
"SWEAR IT!" he screamed in my face.
Now my mind was very muddled, and I was thoroughly confused. I didn't understand how it mattered if I said this or not. How would it "increase my worth?" Why did Father care about my "worth?" What WAS my "worth?" Still, Father was furious with me, and I feared him. Bottom lip trembling, I mumbled what he wished to hear.
"I swear I will, Father."
"Good," he said, releasing his grip. Quickly, I backed away from him.
"Tomorrow, I shall see. I will be there. I will see," warned Father.
I curtsied quickly and raced out of the hall.
There he was the next day, in the middle of the crowds. I could see him at once, for he wore regal clothing, velvet and animal furs. All the time I had spun, he had not yet said a word.I forced myself to ignore him and moved myself to my loom.
This time, when I closed my eyes, I saw the clouds. Beautiful clouds they were, fluffy and white, the edges painted with the colors of sunrise. The sky was pale blue, beautifully tinted with pink and gold. There! A flock of geese returning north! The head goose flapped its wings laboriously, its honks loud and breaking the peacefullness. A dozen honks answered it from the rear. One straggling goose at the edge dipped and swooped in the wind. Oh, the glorious wind! Gentle, playful was the wind, whistling through the soft clouds. My fingers danced further up the loom. Now I saw a great bright light. Could it be the sun? No, 'twas not the sun but a golden palace admist a golden kingdom! Ah, it rested gracefully on a particularly large cloud, wholly peach-colored save for whiteness around the edges. Bright rays shone from this glorious kingdom, angels flew around it. One angel, a small baby, slept on a floating cloud. Above the kingdom floated the image of a huge feminine figure. She looked to be made of clouds, her skin was so pale. Toes nearly touching the tallest tower, she hovered by two gorgeous wings, white with soft pastel colors. Her robes were white as well; they hung loosely about her and billowed around her, floating as if they were in water. Golden hair underneath a crown floated like her robes. Looking closer, one could see that her eyes were large and pale amber, her face full of character. It was she, not the kingdom, that shone light upon the world.
I felt the wood at the top of my loom. The blanket was beautiful. Opening my eyes, I caught sight of one woman in the crowd. She was an old woman, crouching over a walking stick, her grimy clothes clung tightly to her frail body.
"I hear that you say you are better than Athena," she croaked, waving the splintered staff in the air. Glancing at Father, I saw him nod. Slowly, I turned back to the woman.
"Where did you hear that?" I whispered quickly. She cackled.
"Oh, everyone knows it! All else think so: the young Arachne weaves better than Athena! Well, my dear, I am old. I am old enough to know that we mortals should fear the gods."
An unwilling smile tugged at the corners of my lips. What was this woman trying to say?
"My mother said so as well," I answered.
"Child, you must apologize! Tonight! Sacrifice your father's best cattle so that you may save yourself!" she yelled, kicking at the grass.
"Arachne," Father said warningly, his strong hand on my shoulder. I did not need to turn around to know of the look in his eyes.
"Move back to your cottage," the woman continued, beginning to wheeze. "Save yourself from your own pride, for none can weave better than Athene."
My mouth refused to open. Kicking my feet, I would not face her. Only a tight squeeze from Father forced my mouth to open, gasping in pain.
"I...I am the better," I panted. "You said it yourself: all know that I weave better than Athene. I do. You saw it with your own eyes. Could Athene have woven this?" I asked, gesturing to the blanket.
*There* I thought. I said it. Now Father would leave me be. Twisting my neck, I looked up to see him nod in approval.
The old woman shook her head and righted herself to her full height, which slowly began to grow. Her threadbare clothing melted away to reveal silks. The staff in her hand lengthened, smooth, and turned into a silver spear. Lank gray hair transformed into long, luscious tawny locks; wrinkled skin smoothed to a pale perfection.
I stared up into her beautiful face, strikingly intelligent and analytical. Lovely gray eyes gazed at me underneath wide brows, and I knew the presence in which I stood. Here was she: Athene, goddess of wisdom, warfare, and the arts.
I flung myself at her feet.
The Weaver
Chapter Three~Attracting Danger
I now had live audiences from Lydia and nearby villages. Father moved my loom down into the meadow every morning. It was the same one, for though Father had suggested buying a new one, I would not part with it.
He also moved the spinning wheel to the meadow, next to my loom. The dyed wool was stacked neatly in the box beside my wheel. By mid-morning, a crowd would've gathered around me. Of course, Father had hired men protecting me and forcing the people to quiet, but they still distracted me. I could now spin so quickly that I was finished spinning before the hour was over. Then, I smiled for the crowd and began the real work.
I closed my eyes, but I could still hear them. The children pushed to the front for a better view. Standing so close were they that I almost felt their small breaths. Whispers moved around me, passing from one person to the next.
*Concentrate*, I told myself. Imagining a huge green forest, I focused on the picture and blocked out the scene around me. The trees were enormously tall, covered with deep green ivy and moss. Pine needles and red leaves lay against the plush emerald grass, soft on the travelers' feet. The horse rested, nibbling on blue berries from thorny black bushes while a young couple argued. The man was lithe and tall with light brown hair kissed by the sunlight filtering softly through the leaves above, lighting the entire scene. He wore traveler's clothes and held a split old staff which he pointed at the pottery-filled cart. The woman held her pink lips in a defiant expression as she shruggled with the broken wheel, stuck in mud. Her long, flowing garments dragged along the ground and troubled her work. She pushed aside a blue-gray sleeve and opened her mouth for another argument, hazel eyes flashing dangerously.
Suddenly, my fingers reached the edge of the loom and my eyes flew open, painfully depositing me unceremoniously back into my real world. The tapestry was finished.
From the rear of the crowd, there was a short burst of applause. They talked among themselves, no longer bothering to whisper. One woman stepped forward to look closer at my tapestry. Turning around, she glared at me, her beady black eyes surrounded by the wrinkles of age.
"You think you're so great, don't you Arachne? 'Oh, Arachne is ONLY fifteen, yet she can weave almost as well as Athena!'" she mocked, her voice sickly high-pitched.
"I never said I weave as well as Athena. No one does. No mortal can," I answered, my voice so soft and husky she leaned forward to hear.
"What do you call this then?" she demanded, gesturing to the crowd. "You think so highly of yourself that you invite people to WATCH you!"
I did not know what to say. A good daughter rarely speaks, and I had little experience with words. Nobody had accused me before, they had only praised me. Rightly so, I was unprepared for this new assault.
The two hired men leaned forward and grabbed her by the arms. She struggled, but they clutched tighter and dragged her away. Still, she yelled at me.
"Foolish, proud girl! You weave no better than I! Come, let us have a contest! I'll--"
The taller man covered her mouth and silenced her. I thanked him with a relieved smile. Something small grabbed my skirt, and looking down, I saw a young girl grin up at me.
"Don't listen to her. You're the best! My ma said so, and Ma is never wrong. You're just as good as Athena!" she declared fiercely.
Weakly, I pried her fingers from my clothes and tried to smile. I wanted nothing more than to be alone. Loneliness would have been to me like water was to a thirsting man.
"I will be...going to bathe now. Good-bye good people," said I in the loudest tone my feeble voice would allow. Grumbling and murmuring, the crowds dispersed, each man or woman going their own way, trickling off toward home.
Not waiting, I turned and walked slowly up the hill to my room. I needed to speak with Father.
"Arachne, you are BETTER than Athena! You are the BEST weaver Greece has ever known!" Father's voice boomed in the great dining hall. I pushed my food aside and twisted a handkerchief in my lap.
"She is simply jealous," he continued. "Next time anyone dares to speak to you that way, you WILL say, 'I weave better than Athena.' Arachne, do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Arachne, take PRIDE in your work. We have no need for modesty now! We live like aristocrats! We ARE aristocrats! Brag all you need to, daughter. Spread the word, let no one humble you now. As aristocrats, we have no need for the gods! Rich enough are we that we can live without their blessing!"
Simply to prove his point, father walked to the end of the hall and knocked over the sacrificial altar. I stood up quickly and gasped. Mother's voice resonated in my mind.
*Never anger the gods.*
"No, Father!" I cried, scurrying forward. "You mustn't! We cannot risk the gods' wrath!"
"I SAID, we have no need for gods! No longer shall they be worshipped in this household! What have they brought us? Nothing," he spat. "Never again shall I sacrifice my best cattle for the worthless creatures!"
I looked up to him and saw how cold and lifeless his eyes were. Strange that I had never noticed it before, but I had never looked into his eyes.
"Mother said to never anger the gods. At least keep peace in her memory!" I begged. The tears flowed freely as fear clutched my heart. Athene had graced me with a talent for weaving...if angered, Athene could take it away, withdrawing her blessing.
Father grabbed my wrist and pulled my face close to his. He reeked of deer and roasted beef. His eyes flashed dangerously.
"Your Mother was a stupid woman whose weavings were only fair. She was a pawn, an easy piece to play. YOU, Arachne, are the real prize. You are MY prize. Do not humble yourself and lower your worth! Next time another dares question your skill YOU WILL SAY??"
He paused, waiting for my answer. I tried to turn my face away, for his breath was burning hot on my skin. Father grabbed hold of my chin and forced me to look at him.
"I will say that I weave better than Athene," I answered, my voice trembling.
"SWEAR IT!" he screamed in my face.
Now my mind was very muddled, and I was thoroughly confused. I didn't understand how it mattered if I said this or not. How would it "increase my worth?" Why did Father care about my "worth?" What WAS my "worth?" Still, Father was furious with me, and I feared him. Bottom lip trembling, I mumbled what he wished to hear.
"I swear I will, Father."
"Good," he said, releasing his grip. Quickly, I backed away from him.
"Tomorrow, I shall see. I will be there. I will see," warned Father.
I curtsied quickly and raced out of the hall.
There he was the next day, in the middle of the crowds. I could see him at once, for he wore regal clothing, velvet and animal furs. All the time I had spun, he had not yet said a word.I forced myself to ignore him and moved myself to my loom.
This time, when I closed my eyes, I saw the clouds. Beautiful clouds they were, fluffy and white, the edges painted with the colors of sunrise. The sky was pale blue, beautifully tinted with pink and gold. There! A flock of geese returning north! The head goose flapped its wings laboriously, its honks loud and breaking the peacefullness. A dozen honks answered it from the rear. One straggling goose at the edge dipped and swooped in the wind. Oh, the glorious wind! Gentle, playful was the wind, whistling through the soft clouds. My fingers danced further up the loom. Now I saw a great bright light. Could it be the sun? No, 'twas not the sun but a golden palace admist a golden kingdom! Ah, it rested gracefully on a particularly large cloud, wholly peach-colored save for whiteness around the edges. Bright rays shone from this glorious kingdom, angels flew around it. One angel, a small baby, slept on a floating cloud. Above the kingdom floated the image of a huge feminine figure. She looked to be made of clouds, her skin was so pale. Toes nearly touching the tallest tower, she hovered by two gorgeous wings, white with soft pastel colors. Her robes were white as well; they hung loosely about her and billowed around her, floating as if they were in water. Golden hair underneath a crown floated like her robes. Looking closer, one could see that her eyes were large and pale amber, her face full of character. It was she, not the kingdom, that shone light upon the world.
I felt the wood at the top of my loom. The blanket was beautiful. Opening my eyes, I caught sight of one woman in the crowd. She was an old woman, crouching over a walking stick, her grimy clothes clung tightly to her frail body.
"I hear that you say you are better than Athena," she croaked, waving the splintered staff in the air. Glancing at Father, I saw him nod. Slowly, I turned back to the woman.
"Where did you hear that?" I whispered quickly. She cackled.
"Oh, everyone knows it! All else think so: the young Arachne weaves better than Athena! Well, my dear, I am old. I am old enough to know that we mortals should fear the gods."
An unwilling smile tugged at the corners of my lips. What was this woman trying to say?
"My mother said so as well," I answered.
"Child, you must apologize! Tonight! Sacrifice your father's best cattle so that you may save yourself!" she yelled, kicking at the grass.
"Arachne," Father said warningly, his strong hand on my shoulder. I did not need to turn around to know of the look in his eyes.
"Move back to your cottage," the woman continued, beginning to wheeze. "Save yourself from your own pride, for none can weave better than Athene."
My mouth refused to open. Kicking my feet, I would not face her. Only a tight squeeze from Father forced my mouth to open, gasping in pain.
"I...I am the better," I panted. "You said it yourself: all know that I weave better than Athene. I do. You saw it with your own eyes. Could Athene have woven this?" I asked, gesturing to the blanket.
*There* I thought. I said it. Now Father would leave me be. Twisting my neck, I looked up to see him nod in approval.
The old woman shook her head and righted herself to her full height, which slowly began to grow. Her threadbare clothing melted away to reveal silks. The staff in her hand lengthened, smooth, and turned into a silver spear. Lank gray hair transformed into long, luscious tawny locks; wrinkled skin smoothed to a pale perfection.
I stared up into her beautiful face, strikingly intelligent and analytical. Lovely gray eyes gazed at me underneath wide brows, and I knew the presence in which I stood. Here was she: Athene, goddess of wisdom, warfare, and the arts.
I flung myself at her feet.