fruits or stringy berries clinging to dead vines; like all the other girls, she ate anything she could find, accepting that about half of the food so found would make her sick.
“We cannot stay here,” the women said. “What is the Queen waiting for?”
“Some word from the Goddess,” said the others, and the older women of the tribe went to Penthesilea, demanding that they move on to the winter pastures.
“Yes,” said the Queen, “we should have gone a moon ago; but there is war in the countryside. If we move the tribe with all our children and old women, we shall be captured and enslaved. Do you want that?”
“No, no,” the women protested. “Under your will we will live free, and if we must we will die free.”
Nevertheless, Penthesilea promised that when the moon was full again she would seek counsel of the Goddess, to know Her will.
Seeing her own face once in the water after a hard rain, Kassandra hardly recognized herself; she had grown tall and lean, face and hands burnt brown by the unremitting sun, her features sharp and more like a woman’s than a girl’s—or perhaps like a young boy’s ... There were freckles on her face too, and she wondered if her family would know her if she should appear unannounced before them, or whether they would ask, “Who is this woman from the wild tribes? Away with her.” Or would they, perhaps, mistake her for her exiled twin?
Despite the hardship, she had no wish to return to Troy; she missed her mother sometimes, but not the life in the walled city.
One night at sunset, the young girls, returning to the camp for dry clothing and a share-out of such food as could be found—usually astringent boiled roots, or some hard wild beans—were told not to take the horses out again, but to remain and gather with the other women. All fires in the camp but one had been extinguished, and it was dark and cold.
There was not so much as a mouthful of food to be shared out, and Elaria told her fosterling that the Queen had declared that all must fast before the Goddess was petitioned.
“That’s nothing new,” Kassandra said. “I should think we had done enough fasting in this last month to satisfy any Goddess. What more can She ask of us?”
“Hush,” said Elaria. “She has never yet failed to care for us. We are all still alive; there have been many years when there was raiding, and many outlaws in the countryside, when we did not leave our pastures till half our young children were dead. This year the Goddess has not taken so much as a babe at the breast, nor a single foal.”
“So much the better for Her,” Kassandra said. “I cannot imagine what use dead tribeswomen would be to the Goddess, unless She wishes us to serve Her in the Afterworld.”
Aching with hunger, Kassandra got out of her damp riding leathers and slipped into a dry robe of coarsely woven wool. She tugged a wooden comb through her hair and braided it, coiling it low on her neck. In her exhausted and semistarved state, the very feel of dry clothing and the heat of the fire was sensuous pleasure; she stood for some time simply feeling the warmth soak into her body, until one of the other women shoved her aside. In the close air of the tent, the smoke was gradually filling the entire space, and she coughed and choked until she felt that she would vomit, if her stomach had not been so empty.
Behind her in the tent, she felt the pressure of other bodies, the silent rustle of women and girls and children: all the women of the tribe seemed to be gathered in the dark behind her. They squatted around the fire, and from somewhere came the soft thump of hands on taut skins stretched across a hoop, the chattering of gourds with dry seeds, shaken and rattling like the dry leaves, like the rain pattering on the tents. The fire smoked with little light, so that Kassandra could feel only the faint streams of discouraged heat.
Out of the dark silence next to the fire, three of the oldest women in the
“We cannot stay here,” the women said. “What is the Queen waiting for?”
“Some word from the Goddess,” said the others, and the older women of the tribe went to Penthesilea, demanding that they move on to the winter pastures.
“Yes,” said the Queen, “we should have gone a moon ago; but there is war in the countryside. If we move the tribe with all our children and old women, we shall be captured and enslaved. Do you want that?”
“No, no,” the women protested. “Under your will we will live free, and if we must we will die free.”
Nevertheless, Penthesilea promised that when the moon was full again she would seek counsel of the Goddess, to know Her will.
Seeing her own face once in the water after a hard rain, Kassandra hardly recognized herself; she had grown tall and lean, face and hands burnt brown by the unremitting sun, her features sharp and more like a woman’s than a girl’s—or perhaps like a young boy’s ... There were freckles on her face too, and she wondered if her family would know her if she should appear unannounced before them, or whether they would ask, “Who is this woman from the wild tribes? Away with her.” Or would they, perhaps, mistake her for her exiled twin?
Despite the hardship, she had no wish to return to Troy; she missed her mother sometimes, but not the life in the walled city.
One night at sunset, the young girls, returning to the camp for dry clothing and a share-out of such food as could be found—usually astringent boiled roots, or some hard wild beans—were told not to take the horses out again, but to remain and gather with the other women. All fires in the camp but one had been extinguished, and it was dark and cold.
There was not so much as a mouthful of food to be shared out, and Elaria told her fosterling that the Queen had declared that all must fast before the Goddess was petitioned.
“That’s nothing new,” Kassandra said. “I should think we had done enough fasting in this last month to satisfy any Goddess. What more can She ask of us?”
“Hush,” said Elaria. “She has never yet failed to care for us. We are all still alive; there have been many years when there was raiding, and many outlaws in the countryside, when we did not leave our pastures till half our young children were dead. This year the Goddess has not taken so much as a babe at the breast, nor a single foal.”
“So much the better for Her,” Kassandra said. “I cannot imagine what use dead tribeswomen would be to the Goddess, unless She wishes us to serve Her in the Afterworld.”
Aching with hunger, Kassandra got out of her damp riding leathers and slipped into a dry robe of coarsely woven wool. She tugged a wooden comb through her hair and braided it, coiling it low on her neck. In her exhausted and semistarved state, the very feel of dry clothing and the heat of the fire was sensuous pleasure; she stood for some time simply feeling the warmth soak into her body, until one of the other women shoved her aside. In the close air of the tent, the smoke was gradually filling the entire space, and she coughed and choked until she felt that she would vomit, if her stomach had not been so empty.
Behind her in the tent, she felt the pressure of other bodies, the silent rustle of women and girls and children: all the women of the tribe seemed to be gathered in the dark behind her. They squatted around the fire, and from somewhere came the soft thump of hands on taut skins stretched across a hoop, the chattering of gourds with dry seeds, shaken and rattling like the dry leaves, like the rain pattering on the tents. The fire smoked with little light, so that Kassandra could feel only the faint streams of discouraged heat.
Out of the dark silence next to the fire, three of the oldest women in the
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