I think and say, ‘When we are married, can I still swim with Grandmama in the river?’
He grins. ‘Of course.’
I think some more. I think of my grandmother instructing that Phineus take care of me. I think of Medusa. ‘The sea is awful,’ I say.
‘I felt the same when Ma took me.’ He tilts his head andsmiles at me in a new way, a particular kind of understanding. ‘We are not sea people.’
I like thiswe. ‘Promise that I never have to go back there.’ I say it suddenly. Panic had surged, flinging the words at his mercy. I have never demanded a promise from anyone before.
Phineus’ long lashes flutter in a swift, searching look. He takes to his knees with my hand in both of his. Here, framed in the doorway of my home, with his rich, deep skin offset by the white of his tunic, the white of the marble, he is to me a new kind of god. Protective, watchful.
He says, ‘I promise,’ so seriously, and I smile.
It becomes a kind of game between us, a game of promises, and as I grow swiftly and surprisingly, I come to think of Phineus less and less as my uncle. I am fourteen when I feel that first flush of adolescence, the changes beginning all at once. I am yet to bleed – divinity does not bleed, can give life without such pain and mess, and the women in my mother’s family tend towards a lateness – but I note the sudden swelling at my chest, the soft down blooming between my legs, the shift in the way that my body fits into mykalasiris.
One evening I sneak into the western court, where we dine in company, to scavenge some left-over dessert. I am intent on my task as I walk back through the central court, hands clawing at a pomegranate. My fingers and lips are rouge with my efforts, and I do not notice them until they are upon me.
‘Now, Cepheus, she’s a gift indeed!’
‘You sure you can’t be tempted? We’ll empty our coffers!’
My wrists are suddenly caught. Hands and barley beer and smoky, toasted poppy seeds. I struggle and they laugh. The pomegranate spills down my chest and rolls across the floor, leaving a sanguine stain in its wake. They laugh louder.
‘In a few years she’ll be perfect!’
‘She’ll be like carob and honey, we’ll all want a sip!’
I find my father’s gaze, where he lounges at the centre of the revelry. He is caught between expectations and is not brave enough to fulfil either of them. I feel a sickened curiosity reflecting between us.How much will you permit? What kind of father are you?
He clears his throat and says, ‘She’s a mess. She must go and clean herself up at once.’
But they do not let me go. I feel fingers on my bare knees and on the newly raised marks where my inner thighs have stretched. They shriek and groan and tell my father they will not spoil me, that it is just a bit of fun. I feel afraid then, in my home, in the halls I play in every day; a real, sharp, bright pang of fear that there are things men might do to a girl, in front of her father, that would still mean that she is notspoiled.
My father says nothing. He remains motionless, silent, and I am writhing and loud, and I wonder at who he and I will be tomorrow. I struggle hard, harder. I am stronger than any of us thought and I slip backwards, my feet skidding on the pomegranate juice. They let me go because they can see what I cannot – the pool adorned with fish, bright as flowers, in the centre of the court.
As soon as I hit the water, I know I am safe. It is a cool reprieve and I do not want to emerge until they have all left. But I cannot bear the thought of my father reaching in to pluck me from my sanctuary, like a runty kitten he failed to drown. I stand, dripping, aware of my near nakedness, the thin linen of mykalasiristransparent in the lamplight.What will my Mother say?
‘What is happening?’
It is Phineus. He stands between the columns that lead from the central court into the throne room. The men are immediately quiet. He is much their junior but with his broad shoulders and ferocious disgust etched into his handsome features, he dwarfs them. He strides towards me, eyes never leaving my face, and gathers me in his arms, before turning to my father.
‘Is this how you protect what is yours?’
‘You do not speak to me like that! I am your king!’
‘You are a disgrace.’ He surveys the men, droopy faces agog and delighted by the entertainment. ‘You are all a disgrace.’
He carries me to my room, passing me over to my servants to bathe and warm and gentle. He waits outside my door until I am dressed, solemn and guarding.
When I am sitting in bed he returns and paces my rooms, swearing a bloody vengeance on all who touched me and all who stood and allowed it.
I do not argue with him – I do not need to. The words are sweet and empty because violence is not in Phineus’ nature. It is what I like best about him. When his anger has dimmed, he sits across the room from me and begins to tell me stories of our future. There will be no such men inourcourt.Wewill rule Aethiopia together. We will be kinder than my parents, to each other and our people.
I remember his past promises, the assurance of constant river currents, our land as the whole world, far away from the sea.
‘When we get married will I be in charge of our accounts like Mama?’
‘Of course! You’re quite the best mathematician in the family!’
