rules. They wouldn't make an exception for a slave and a novice."
I felt unease: "If we were ordered to let our son be sent away, we might want to flee from the Amazons. But how could we go, with me hobbling on a cane? And where could we go? We couldn't live with my people, who treat women like livestock. You would be punished as a slave who stabbed her master. And I couldn't walk north to your Slavic homeland."
We lay in silence. Then I said: "We don't belong among the Amazons. We don't belong among the Greeks. We don't belong anywhere."
After a moment Litha answered: "We belong with each other. We belong together."
She was correct. Together we made our own private sanctuary, a haven from the world's ugliness. It was as if we occupied a snug lifeboat, while storms churned the sea around us. Litha's bed was our refuge. There is such a shelter in each other.
Day after day, as a secure couple, we enjoyed the quiet comfort of being together. Simple things—sitting on the creek bank, watching the water ripple over smooth stones, skipping flat rocks on the pools, washing garments and spreading them on bushes in the sun, seeing leaves rustle against the sky, watching dappled sunlight sprinkling through trees, smelling woodsmoke from the cooking fires, washing pots after dinner, watching long shadows of evening stretch across the valley, hearing little girls laugh as they ran barefoot around the village—all these daily trifles seemed deeply satisfying when we did them as a pair. Even so common a thing as looking at serene cloud streaks in the twilight sky gave us peace. It reminded me of an adage my grandfather recited: A pleasure shared is doubled, and a sorrow shared is halved.
The next time I met Octos at the slave quarters, he looked me over.
"You're glowing, boy. I think you've found paradise."
I grinned sheepishly, feeling foolish.
"Don't apologize," he said. "You've discovered a great truth. All the priests talk about heaven, but they're spieling mumbo-jumbo. You've found the only paradise that's real: the heaven that a good couple make for each other."
I asked how he knew about Litha and me.
"Hell, son, everyone knows everything in this beehive. And most feel glad for you two."
Henceforth, when I was ordered to the beds of various Amazons, it was different. I felt guilty, as if I was betraying Litha. But I enjoyed the other women too. So I was torn by mixed feelings that I suppose have pulled many men in contrary directions.
* * *
As Litha progressed in writing, wielding reed pens with increasing skill, she uncovered a talent. One day in class I noticed her staring intently at me and making long strokes with her pen. After the other pupils departed, she showed me her creation: a drawing of my face that was quite lifelike. I hugged her proudly.
The following day she watched her reflection on a polished bronze shield and drew a similar sketch of herself. She showed the two drawings to Hella and persuaded the Home Queen to sit quietly while she sketched her too. Next she drew her sister, then the War Queen, then my mentor Octos, and others in the village. Outside the door of my classroom, we pinned her drawings for the village to see.
14
Strangely, I took satisfaction from teaching the Amazons to read and write. It changed something inside me. During the years when I had been a free Greek male, I hardly questioned the ways of our land, which ranked men as the only thinking humans. Intelligent Greek boys were educated in skills of the mind while women and girls were consigned to a lower order, as housekeepers and sexual servants. It would have been unthinkable to put a girl in school to teach her words and ideas. But now I was doing it every day. And the females learned with surprising ease, as rapidly as my former male classmates had done. It troubled me to realize that my previous Greek world was based on a false assumption of female inferiority.
One evening, as I recorded proceedings of the Amazon
I felt unease: "If we were ordered to let our son be sent away, we might want to flee from the Amazons. But how could we go, with me hobbling on a cane? And where could we go? We couldn't live with my people, who treat women like livestock. You would be punished as a slave who stabbed her master. And I couldn't walk north to your Slavic homeland."
We lay in silence. Then I said: "We don't belong among the Amazons. We don't belong among the Greeks. We don't belong anywhere."
After a moment Litha answered: "We belong with each other. We belong together."
She was correct. Together we made our own private sanctuary, a haven from the world's ugliness. It was as if we occupied a snug lifeboat, while storms churned the sea around us. Litha's bed was our refuge. There is such a shelter in each other.
Day after day, as a secure couple, we enjoyed the quiet comfort of being together. Simple things—sitting on the creek bank, watching the water ripple over smooth stones, skipping flat rocks on the pools, washing garments and spreading them on bushes in the sun, seeing leaves rustle against the sky, watching dappled sunlight sprinkling through trees, smelling woodsmoke from the cooking fires, washing pots after dinner, watching long shadows of evening stretch across the valley, hearing little girls laugh as they ran barefoot around the village—all these daily trifles seemed deeply satisfying when we did them as a pair. Even so common a thing as looking at serene cloud streaks in the twilight sky gave us peace. It reminded me of an adage my grandfather recited: A pleasure shared is doubled, and a sorrow shared is halved.
The next time I met Octos at the slave quarters, he looked me over.
"You're glowing, boy. I think you've found paradise."
I grinned sheepishly, feeling foolish.
"Don't apologize," he said. "You've discovered a great truth. All the priests talk about heaven, but they're spieling mumbo-jumbo. You've found the only paradise that's real: the heaven that a good couple make for each other."
I asked how he knew about Litha and me.
"Hell, son, everyone knows everything in this beehive. And most feel glad for you two."
Henceforth, when I was ordered to the beds of various Amazons, it was different. I felt guilty, as if I was betraying Litha. But I enjoyed the other women too. So I was torn by mixed feelings that I suppose have pulled many men in contrary directions.
* * *
As Litha progressed in writing, wielding reed pens with increasing skill, she uncovered a talent. One day in class I noticed her staring intently at me and making long strokes with her pen. After the other pupils departed, she showed me her creation: a drawing of my face that was quite lifelike. I hugged her proudly.
The following day she watched her reflection on a polished bronze shield and drew a similar sketch of herself. She showed the two drawings to Hella and persuaded the Home Queen to sit quietly while she sketched her too. Next she drew her sister, then the War Queen, then my mentor Octos, and others in the village. Outside the door of my classroom, we pinned her drawings for the village to see.
14
Strangely, I took satisfaction from teaching the Amazons to read and write. It changed something inside me. During the years when I had been a free Greek male, I hardly questioned the ways of our land, which ranked men as the only thinking humans. Intelligent Greek boys were educated in skills of the mind while women and girls were consigned to a lower order, as housekeepers and sexual servants. It would have been unthinkable to put a girl in school to teach her words and ideas. But now I was doing it every day. And the females learned with surprising ease, as rapidly as my former male classmates had done. It troubled me to realize that my previous Greek world was based on a false assumption of female inferiority.
One evening, as I recorded proceedings of the Amazon
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