She rushed over to the hydria that lived next to the fireplace, poured water from the large vase into a bowl, then hurried back to Alea. Her mother took the vessel and lifted it to her sister’s lips. Alea spluttered before she pushed herself up and took the bowl in her own hands, drinking deeply. As she wiped her mouth, a furrow formed between her brows.
“How do you feel?” Eleni took the bowl from Alea.
“Like a herd of cattle have trampled through my head.” Her frown deepened as she looked down at her crumpled tunic. “Weren’t we just at the festival?”
“Alea, you’ve been gone for days,” said Danae.
Confusion creased her sister’s face.
“But...we were just at the Thesmophoria. We watched the play and the pig being sacrificed and then...” Her breathing quickened.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” her mother interrupted. “Did you see a man?”
Alea shook her head. She looked on the verge of tears.
Her mother smoothed her sister’s hair. “All right, enough for now.” She turned to Danae. “Go to the village and get a chicken from Myron, to celebrate.” She was already on her feet, whirling about the hut. “Calix and Santos must come for dinner too. The whole family. Here—” she pushed Danae toward the door while scooping up the bag she’d dropped and pressed it into her hand, then a coin into the other.
“But—”
“Go on! Or he won’t have any left.”
With a last look at Alea, Danae stepped out of the hut.
She ran down the coastal track that led into the heart of the village, her sandals slapping the sun-dappled path, the cerulean sea her constant companion.
At the edge of the village, she sprinted past the little shrine dedicated to Dionysus, only slowing when she reached the ramshackle collection of canopied stalls that lined the village square. She took a moment to catch her breath, then headed straight for the butcher’s awning.
Her determination to return to Alea as quickly as possible was jeopardized by the arrival of a fisherman’s wife from the next bay. Ceto, a thin woman with sallow skin and sharp eyes, stepped squarely into Danae’s path. She quickly mumbled the sacred greeting before asking, “Is it true? Has your sister been found?”
“Yes. She’s home.”
“Bless the mercy of the gods.” Ceto clutched her hands to her chest. “Has she said what happened?”
“I really must get on...”
But Ceto wouldn’t let her pass. Biting her lip in frustration, Danae dodged right and broke into a run toward the butcher’s stall.
“We’re all so glad she’s home,” Ceto called after her. “But only time will tell if it’s a blessing or a curse!”
Her words unsettled Danae so much that she ducked under Myron’s faded awning with a scowl. The butcher, a man with the stature and complexion of an oak tree, was hacking slabs of meat from the carcass of a goat. She was used to the smell of fish, but she always found the metallic sharpness of Myron’s hut unpleasant. He glanced up, wiping a bloodstained hand across his brow.
“The Twelve see you and know you,” she said breathily.
He touched a bloody finger to his forehead. “You shouldn’t go around with a frown like that. Wind might change and you’ll end up looking like me.”
“I just ran into Ceto,” said Danae.
“Ah. Say no more.”
“I’m after a chicken if you’ve got any?”
Myron nodded and thudded his cleaver down into the stained wooden block. He shuffled through his hut, then out to the yard at the back. After a few moments, Danae heard a squawk and the fluttering of feathers. Then a crack.
Myron reemerged, the chicken dangling from his fist. Danae opened her hessian bag for him to place the bird inside and held out a small copper coin.
He looked at her with a twinge of discomfort.
“The price has, ah... It’s two obols now.”
