CHAPTER 3
Hermes takes Ares and me separately to our mortal destinations. I expect Hermes to torment me with his jokes and rather suggestive comments but for once he keeps his mouth shut. By now I have accepted that my father has decided to condemn me to a year of human mortality, although the thought of living as a mortal still terrifies me. I have never been subjected to hardship or disease and the fear of physical pain, however slight, frightens me more than I can say.
My thoughts are interrupted by the realization that Hermes' chariot has come to a halt. We are in a small forest clearing with a river rushing through on one side. At this moment, I am horribly confused and demand to know why I am not at my assigned destination. It is very unlikely that Zeus would punish me by confining me to solitary existence in a forest glade. He knows that solitude is no punishment for me and that I am not likely to become prey to forest animals. I credit this latter strength to my sister Artemis' tutelage, although I do not like the idea of primitive living.
In response to my questions, Hermes replies that I must walk the remaining distance to my destination. When I demand to know why he will not take me the rest of the way, Hermes merely says that Father will not allow it. And before I can retort with a scathing remark, Hermes has taken off in his chariot. For a few seconds I stand motionless, still staring furiously up at the sky and occupying my mind with two thoughts. The first thought that entertains my mind is the world of torture into which I intend to place Hermes once I regain my pantheon powers. This notion is immediately accompanied by a more troubling realization: I have no idea how to reach my destination without encountering difficulties along the way. As a goddess, I have never encountered this problem. I could appear in a place one minute and then reappear somewhere else in the next moment. All at the slightest whim.
The experience is quite different when one has been demoted from goddess to mere mortal. Who knows what troubles one might encounter when one is not only a mortal but a woman as well? But then I pull myself together and start off after a few moments' confusion regarding the proper direction. I decide to trust my instincts- a most unusual thing for me to do- and turn my steps eastward.
I am unaware how much time passes before I finally come upon a break in the forest. It is clear, despite my new identity as a mortal, I am still mentally processing time and space -or the actual lack of both- as a goddess does. Before me lies a town which I know at first sight to not be my beloved Athens. Athens is in a region of Attica that is full of hills; in contrast, this area offers a faint view of islands in the far-off distance. This strange town also hosts a large seaport whereas Athens is completely land-based. As I venture closer to this bastion of civilization, I can hear a cacophony of sounds issuing from what looks to be the town's agora. The agora is completely packed with people, vendors' stalls, and loading donkeys. I see men in discussion with each other, gesticulating in ways that indicate they are conducting business deals. The roar of the crowds drowns out their voices and I am thus unable to hear what the men are bargaining. The few women I see are clearly not of the upper class. Their skin looks so tight and leathery from years of exposure to the sun that it is impossible to distinguish the old from the young. These women are undoubtedly the wives or daughters of the stall vendors. Some of the women stand beside the men and look on as the latter conduct business. Other females are minding the small children that are frolicking between the various stalls. One woman stands under a cheap canopied stall, bouncing a toddler on her hip.
The agora is also full of smells, some of which are so disgusting that I clutch my peplo to my nose and mouth to avoid breathing in the stenches. Most of these unpleasant aromas issue from various points in the streets where men take the liberty of publicly relieving their bowels. At the same time, I catch whiffs of more positive scents such as fresh fruit and freshly baked bread. It is this latter aroma that makes me realize how hungry I am. Most mortals believe that gods do not feel hunger or thirst and therefore cannot suffer the pangs that come with both experiences. It is certainly true- to an extent, that is. The only thing my fellow deities and I have ever been known to imbibe is ambrosia, a sweet nectar that is impossible to describe to non-immortal ears. While a god cannot die from lack of ambrosia, the near-starvation affects his mental faculties and personal powers to such extremes that the result can only be determined as madness.
The aroma of fresh bread has unconsciously brought me to a vendor's stall where the food lies in small neat rows. The loaves look so inviting that I find myself reaching out to take a piece off the stand…
The stinging blow that descends upon my right ear is so powerful that I am completely knocked off my feet. The edge of my peplo falls from my grasp and I fall face first onto the ground. This part of the street is thankfully free from animal and human waste but the physical impact brings tears to my eyes. I look up to see a stout vendor standing over me, tiny eyes narrowed in anger. "Be off with you, you filthy scavenger!" he bellows, loud enough for most of the people in the street to hear over the din. My eyes burn with tears and my face is hot with rage. I am about to rise to my feet and show him what happens to mortals who dare strike goddesses when I suddenly remember that I have no powers now. Were I to proclaim myself the goddess Athena, the crowd would undoubtedly mock me unto death. Still, I feel the urge to punish this arrogant individual, but cannot come up with a suitable enough punishment.
Just then, a low soft voice behind me asks, "Are you lost, good lady?"
I turn around to see a young woman in dark blue standing next to me. Unlike the other women present in the agora, this woman is not a commoner. It is hard to tell, of course, because she is wearing a dark blue peplo that hides her hair and the lower part of her face. It is the porcelain paleness of her hands that mark her for an upper-class woman and her voice is different from those of the other mortal women I have encountered thus far. Those women have voices that screech like angry monkeys while this woman has a voice that flows like a gentle stream of water. She is taller than the vendor and could carries herself like a goddess. Behind her I can see a man, most likely a slave. He is just a little taller than his mistress and has muscular arms and a lanky build. Although his face is devoid of any discernable expression, I sense that he would commit murder for his mistress if she told him to.
The vendor is startled to have been interrupted by an upper-class woman but he recovers speech within minutes. "I caught this scavenger trying to steal bread from my stand," he says in an aggravated tone. "She just wandered up to my stand, bold as you please, and attempted to rob me with her grubby fingers!"
This is so insulting that I open my mouth to retort but the slave shoots me a warning look from under his dark lashes. I suddenly find myself closing my mouth and keep my silence just as if the slave has struck me dumb.
The young woman has not noticed any of this, for her eyes are still firmly fixed on the market vendor. "Do you not know who this is?" she hisses at him in a low but audible tone. Before the vendor can reply, the woman speaks again. "This is Tanis, daughter of Tassos. Tassos is the finest spice merchant in the land and a friend of the king's cook."
The vendor suddenly looks uncertain but again finds his voice quickly. "Why would a spice merchant's daughter try to steal from my humble stand?"
Instead of answering this question, the woman moves to the front of the bread stand and bends to sniff at the loaves. "This bread doesn't smell fresh," she announces frankly. The vendor, the slave, and I all stare at her blankly. She moves back toward the vendor and says in an accusatory voice, "This bread is stale. What do you think would happen if I were to go to the authorities and inform them that you have been selling stale bread to unsuspecting customers?"
The vendor's face seems to pale slightly under his weathered complexion. I can imagine the dilemma that has just now taken residence in his mind. Whether his wares are fresh or stale is not the issue. The true problem is that a person of the young lady's social standing can inform her husband or father of the vendor's alleged crime and the head of her family can take the case to court. The vendor would most likely be found guilty because the jury would consist of upper-class males who would undoubtedly side with the man who brought the complaint to the court's notice. The vendor would likely suffer public humiliation by being confined to the stocks or worse, having his business stand razed. With all these realizations running through his head, the vendor recants his charge against me and the young woman motions me to follow her and her slave. I realize that I have nowhere else to go and decide to accompany my new acquaintance. I look back as we make our way through the agora and see the vendor looking relieved but still slightly uneasy at our departure.
I walk next to the young woman and feel a surge of admiration for her negotiating abilities. She has great command of rhetoric and might undoubtedly have succeeded in political life had she been born a male. Now that I am much closer to her, I can see strands of auburn hair escaping from their confinement under her peplo. Her eyes, upon closer inspection, are bright green and give the impression that she can accurately analyze people.
"Why did you vouch for me back there in the agora?" I ask conversationally as we feast upon pastries purchased from a nearby pastry stand. The young woman does not speak for a bit of time but breaks her silence once we are out of the agora and in the less-occupied streets.
"I could see you looked lost and the last thing I wanted to happen was for you to be arrested and later killed."
"But why?" I persist, feeling slightly frustrated at this strange reply. "You don't even know me. For all you know, I could be a dangerous market thief who has run off with a pig!"
I realize how ludicrous the words sound the moment they leave my mouth and I am suddenly overcome with laughter. It takes a moment or two before my companion joins in, probably seeing the same ridiculous image of me trying to steal a pig while being chased by a fat vendor brandishing a long loaf of bread. We laugh until our stomachs hurt and then we sit down for a while as the slave stands behind us as a guard. After some time has passed, we resume our trek and my companion leads the way to her house. As we near our destination I ask my new friend, "What is your name?"
"Oh, Medusa," my companion replies with a bright smile. "My name is Medusa."
