council, I asked permission to speak. I told the assembly: "My ladies, I am struck by an odd fact. As you know, the vast majority of Greek women remain illiterate. Only a few daughters of rich families are taught. Remarkably, the largest number of literate Greek females is right here in this small colony."
The council applauded.
To prepare my classes, I searched for more papyrus and parchment in caravan loot stashed in chambers above my classroom. In a leather pouch, I found two parchment scrolls filled with writing. I brought them for my pupils to read and discuss.
The first scroll bore the name Heraclides of Pontus. It proposed a strange theory: that the sun and moon only seem to rise in the east, travel across the sky, and set in the west. In reality, it contended, our mighty Earth is not a fixed firmament, the bedrock of all existence, but is rolling in space, which makes the sun and moon appear to sweep across the sky repeatedly.
A young warrior named Elysia read the scroll aloud to my class. Afterward, the women and girls sat in silence pondering this remarkable new idea. Finally, Litha, who had become my most faithful student, blurted:
"That's fascinating! If it's true, it would explain why the sun and moon follow the same path, day after day after day."
But a thickset Amazon named Hulta seemed upset.
"It cannot be true. Everyone knows that the gods on Mount Olympus command the sun and moon as their divine objects, ordering them to pass across daily. Eila the priestess has declared it so."
Vaguely I sensed that I might be stepping into danger. But we proceeded. I should have heeded my apprehension, because the second scroll caused an uproar. It bore the name Protagoras of Abdera and was titled On the Gods . A ten-year-old girl began reading:
"As for the gods, I am unable to know whether they exist or do not exist, nor what they are like in form. The factors preventing knowledge are many: the obscurity of the subject, and the shortness of life. I suspect, however, that all gods are imaginary, like creatures in dreams. I propose that the learned Assembly of Athens send an expedition north to Mount Olympus, where the strongest young men can climb to the top to see with their own eyes whether a Pantheon dwells at the peak."
Hulta leaped up and shouted:
"Sacrilege! Blasphemy! This insults all that is sacred and holy and divine. Such words never should be allowed. I will inform the priestess."
She stomped out. The rest of us stared at each other. At the pit of my stomach, an ominous feeling said I was in trouble. My stomach was correct. Within an hour, a warrior arrived and ordered me to follow her to an emergency meeting of the village council. Eila stood before the assembly, wearing her priestess robe and headdress. As I entered, she raged at me:
"He is teaching our young women that the gods are figments of the imagination, that all our holy sacrifices are pointless, wasted on nothing!"
"My lady—" I stammered.
"You were not given permission to speak," she snapped. But Hella, fond of me, interceded:
"Give him a chance to explain. Proceed, Melos."
I took a breath to steady my nerves.
"My ladies, I meant no harm. I merely let the pupils read a scroll obtained from a caravan, to improve their language skills. It is impressive that they now can read any writings, just like the most learned men in Greece."
I didn't mention my secret feeling that the Protagoras scroll was a ray of light amid the magic-filled darkness. But the priestess saw through me.
"Writing is dangerous, because it makes people doubt the truths we live by. Scribe, tell us clearly and directly: Do you contend that the many prayers we say to Hera, or the sacrifices we offer to Aphrodite, are meaningless?"
"No, my lady. I merely had my pupils read the scroll for practice."
"Do you believe that Artemis the huntress truly reigns on Mount Olympus, along with Zeus and the deities who guide the affairs of humanity?"
"My lady, I am just a slave.
The council applauded.
To prepare my classes, I searched for more papyrus and parchment in caravan loot stashed in chambers above my classroom. In a leather pouch, I found two parchment scrolls filled with writing. I brought them for my pupils to read and discuss.
The first scroll bore the name Heraclides of Pontus. It proposed a strange theory: that the sun and moon only seem to rise in the east, travel across the sky, and set in the west. In reality, it contended, our mighty Earth is not a fixed firmament, the bedrock of all existence, but is rolling in space, which makes the sun and moon appear to sweep across the sky repeatedly.
A young warrior named Elysia read the scroll aloud to my class. Afterward, the women and girls sat in silence pondering this remarkable new idea. Finally, Litha, who had become my most faithful student, blurted:
"That's fascinating! If it's true, it would explain why the sun and moon follow the same path, day after day after day."
But a thickset Amazon named Hulta seemed upset.
"It cannot be true. Everyone knows that the gods on Mount Olympus command the sun and moon as their divine objects, ordering them to pass across daily. Eila the priestess has declared it so."
Vaguely I sensed that I might be stepping into danger. But we proceeded. I should have heeded my apprehension, because the second scroll caused an uproar. It bore the name Protagoras of Abdera and was titled On the Gods . A ten-year-old girl began reading:
"As for the gods, I am unable to know whether they exist or do not exist, nor what they are like in form. The factors preventing knowledge are many: the obscurity of the subject, and the shortness of life. I suspect, however, that all gods are imaginary, like creatures in dreams. I propose that the learned Assembly of Athens send an expedition north to Mount Olympus, where the strongest young men can climb to the top to see with their own eyes whether a Pantheon dwells at the peak."
Hulta leaped up and shouted:
"Sacrilege! Blasphemy! This insults all that is sacred and holy and divine. Such words never should be allowed. I will inform the priestess."
She stomped out. The rest of us stared at each other. At the pit of my stomach, an ominous feeling said I was in trouble. My stomach was correct. Within an hour, a warrior arrived and ordered me to follow her to an emergency meeting of the village council. Eila stood before the assembly, wearing her priestess robe and headdress. As I entered, she raged at me:
"He is teaching our young women that the gods are figments of the imagination, that all our holy sacrifices are pointless, wasted on nothing!"
"My lady—" I stammered.
"You were not given permission to speak," she snapped. But Hella, fond of me, interceded:
"Give him a chance to explain. Proceed, Melos."
I took a breath to steady my nerves.
"My ladies, I meant no harm. I merely let the pupils read a scroll obtained from a caravan, to improve their language skills. It is impressive that they now can read any writings, just like the most learned men in Greece."
I didn't mention my secret feeling that the Protagoras scroll was a ray of light amid the magic-filled darkness. But the priestess saw through me.
"Writing is dangerous, because it makes people doubt the truths we live by. Scribe, tell us clearly and directly: Do you contend that the many prayers we say to Hera, or the sacrifices we offer to Aphrodite, are meaningless?"
"No, my lady. I merely had my pupils read the scroll for practice."
"Do you believe that Artemis the huntress truly reigns on Mount Olympus, along with Zeus and the deities who guide the affairs of humanity?"
"My lady, I am just a slave.
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