CHAPTER 14

How I manage to make my way back from the Underworld to the forest and then to Medusa's house before sunrise baffles even me. It is as though all three backdrops have somehow merged into one because everything slips past my consciousness with no acknowledgement to time. Except for the fleeting presence of Leuco (who alternates between slightly securing his talons into my cloth-covered shoulder and gently taking off to glide a few paces in front of me), I notice nothing else of my background surroundings. This might also be because my mind, as always, is constantly shifting its gears of thought.

If KarmĂȘ isn't in the Underworld, where is she?

What if my actions with the wine caused something terrible to happen to Medusa and her family?

What if I don't arrive back at the house before anyone realizes I'm missing?

Even once I reach Medusa's house after departing from Leuco (owls, after all, do not do well as house creatures) my mind simply refuses to block out all sorts of horrible fates that may have befallen KarmĂȘ, Medusa, and the latter's family. I only just avoid bumping into one of the male slaves before slipping up the stairs to the gynaeceum and into Medusa's room. I am relieved to discover Medusa still curled up in her bed, her auburn tresses decorously spread upon her pillow much like the serpents I sometimes see slumbering peacefully in my temple gardens. I feel a smile break out across my face as I tiredly crawl into the other bed and give myself up to sleep.

AMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA

Life goes on in Dorian and Aspasia's household after my return from the Underworld. Much to my surprise (and dare I say it, relief!), no one in the house seems any the wiser for my one-night absence. Apart from the daily chores and domestic duties required of us unfortunate women, conversations in the gynaeceum revolve around gossip that focuses on the latest births and marriages. Karme's disappearance is brought up at least one or two more times at women's gatherings before speculation dries up and the bored women are forced to find other topics to satiate their endless chatter.

The topic that soon finds the most discussion is the upcoming festival known as the Heraia. As one might discern from the name, this solely female-celebrated festival honors my stepmother Hera and occurs once every 4 years. I am no stranger to deity-centered festivals, but this is the first time I have participated in one (and as a mortal, too!). Originally, I expect to be just one of the many female acolytes pouring the wine or performing in the celebrated choral dances.

I am then most unpleasantly surprised when one morning Aspasia informs Medusa and me that we have been selected along with a group of other girls to participate in the festival's main event- the footrace. I am combing out Medusa's luscious auburn hair while she sits on her bed with her back to me. Whenever I comb out Medusa's hair, the slightly blonde strands shine against the deep red.

Stroke, sunlight, wine. Stroke, sunlight, wine.

Aspasia's news causes my usually dexterous fingers to tangle the comb in a particularly thick curl and Medusa lets out a small whimper of pain as I attempt to free the comb from its soft prison. Once I manage to do so, I find that I am incensed. To me, running (unless one's life depends upon it) is an undignified pursuit that results only in tired bodies and dirty clothing. I am not my sister Artemis, who would gladly spend all day in such athletic feats. I never ran distances as a goddess, and now I am expected to do so as a mortal woman? I think not!

Fear of Zeus' threat prevents me from telling Aspasia and Medusa the true reason for my refusal, but this does not mean I embrace my new role as a racing maiden in the festival. I first try to convince Aspasia that I am physically unfit for this event, but my pleas fall upon deaf ears. Aspasia is an observant woman and my sprightliness about the place during domestic tasks has not escaped her notice. If anything, it has only strengthened her determination to have me participate in the footrace. I also find myself wondering whether she is growing tired of having me, an unrelated female, under her roof and is quite ready to marry me off. This is confirmed when Aspasia reveals that Dorian has been approached by several of the town's most prominent men with offers to wed me. No doubt this has come about as a result of the gossiping housewives, many of whom have looked upon me with suspicion ever since I first arrived here. At first, I had assumed that they were merely jealous of my talent with the weaving loom, but that is merely the ambrosia on the bread. It is truly amazing how some women (be they mortal or divine) can be so petty!

But I am equally determined NOT to run the footrace and soon find another possible escape route. Upon hearing that custom demands that the women weave a purple peplos for Hera's statue, I then volunteer my services in the garment's creation. Whether goddess or mortal, my weaving skills are stellar. I am disappointed to find that only married women are allowed to participate in the weaving of the peplos. Why is it that women can only create true finery when they are maritally enslaved to men?!

Undoubtedly seeing the coming storm in my eyes, Aspasia sends Medusa and me out to the kitchen orchard to gather figs. I am still seething as we pluck the figs from the low-hanging branches (we leave the ones on the higher branches to the taller slaves) and drop them into one large-bellied basket. Medusa tries to cheer me up with stories about some of the other girls who have also been selected to participate in the footrace such as Thekla (who spies on her family's young male slaves when they bathe in ) and Delia (who gorges on sweetened figs when her mother is not looking). The way that she describes and then imitates each unfortunate female when she is caught in the specific forbidden act causes me to laugh and momentarily forget my agitation. The unexpected appearance of Medusa's brother Titos, who then proceeds to chase us both around the courtyard, adds to my giddiness and succeeds in temporarily driving both the footrace and thoughts of marriage in general from my conscious mind.