Abigail's Story by Ann Burton

cake of figs and only drank a little water from the skin the old man had refilled for us. She did, however, ask me if I felt sick with every passing mile.
    â€œMy belly feels fine,” I told her. “Stop worrying.”
    After that, she did what she did well: complain.
    â€œThe air in the hills turns my skin to leather.” She poked at her sunken cheek. “By the time we return to Maon, I shall resemble a lizard.”
    â€œSome goat curds mixed with oil will keep your skin supple,” I advised.
    â€œSo I may smell of spoilt milk instead?” She hmph ed. “Then there will be the vermin.”
    â€œVermin?”
    â€œRats, flies, snakes, fleas, ants,” she listed with dismal delight. “If it bites or stings, I venture that you will find it in your bed or crawling down the collar of your khiton.”
    I looked out over the hills. “There cannot be that many, or the herdsmen would move the animals somewhere else.”
    â€œThat is another thing.” She shook a finger at me. “Don’t touch any of the sheep, however clean theylook. They carry pests that will creep under your skin and into your hair. They feed on your blood and have to be burned out.”
    My mother had found some lice in my hair once when I was a little girl. She had smothered them with a liberal amount of olive oil. After that it had taken hours for her to comb out the eggs they had laid, but she hadn’t burned me with anything. “I shall not go near them.”
    Keseke glared at the guards. “The Master should have left the men with us for the season. Women cannot be expected to drive off starving lions.”
    Rats and lice were bad enough, but now lions? I swallowed. “It will not be that bad, surely.”
    â€œWhat do you think carries off half the lambs each spring? And we two without protection,” the serving woman said with a kind of relish, “for those lazy herdsmen cannot bestir themselves to look after their own women and children. They will do nothing but protect the sheep.”
    â€œMaybe we should take to wearing a fleece.”
    Keseke’s nose elevated a disapproving notch. “Jest if you like, but it will not make these things go away.”
    She was right, of course. Women alone always had to be careful, particularly far from civilized places, and that wasn’t a joking matter. I did not relish the thought of being snatched by marauders who would sell me to a slaver caravan—or worse.
    â€œWe should stay indoors at night, and only venture out together during the day.” I might fashion astaff for myself, too. Rivai and I had played Moses and Pharaoh with sticks when we were little, and I had nearly always won. A good club to the head might dissuade lions as well as slavers.
    As long as I do not encounter that outlaw the old man mentioned, I amended. I would not wish to face a man whom someone as mighty as King Saul could not catch.
    Keseke gave me a look of dislike. “Do you worry about anything, Mistress?”
    So the serving woman did not know my thoughts.
    â€œWhen this wagon will stop.” I pressed a hand to the curve of my spine, which was now throbbing in time to the jostling of the wagon. “My back bones feel ready to split.”
    The wagon slowed but did not stop until we reached the edge of the wilderness. Valley pastures flowed wide and green at the base of the outer hills, which were dark with thick forests of oak and pine. In the distance, I saw a great flock of sheep move as one, drifting over and down a steep hill. There were faster, darker animals moving out the outside of the herd, and the faint sound of barking reached our ears.
    â€œThere it is.” Keseke pointed at a small structure nestled back in a thick grove of trees.
    In my eagerness, I did not wait for the wagon driver to help me down, but leapt from the wagon. I hurried to the grove, expecting to see servants emerge from the house and bid us