Hope of Earth (29 page)

“But two women alone—would it be any safer in the city than in the countryside?”

She had a point. “Maybe not.” Jes considered further. “We could carry weapons.”

“Not a bow. No woman carries a bow.”

“The knives. The clubs. There won’t be any distant hostilities here anyway, only close ones.”

Wona touched her knife. She had it in a sheath on her thigh, so it was concealed. “But the club—”

“I noticed that some men here have been injured. They wear braces on their limbs, to strengthen them while they heal. Some of those braces are crude. Suppose we wore such braces on our legs?”

“But we aren’t injured.”

“How would anyone know?”

Wona shook her head. “Why should we want to—”

“Like this.” Jes took her club and laid it along the outside of her right leg. Then she tied it there with a band of cloth. “See—a splint.” She stood and walked around the chamber. “It chafes a bit, but some padding should ease that.”

Wona’s face brightened. “And if some man attacks—”

Jes reached down and quickly untied the club. “Then I am armed.”

“I like it.” Wona tied her own club similarly. “But this wouldn’t do at the Acropolis.”

“At such time as we have finer clothing, we’ll seek some other way.”

“But maybe, for such work, I should not be beautiful,” Wona said thoughtfully.

“As plain as you can be,” Jes agreed. “That won’t be a problem for me.”

They settled down for the night, satisfied. The house was bare and chill, but no worse than camping outside. They would get by well enough, for now.

In the morning they ate more wine-soaked bread, used the refuse potty and dumped it in the trench behind the house, and strapped on their braces. Then they went out to seek employment at the nearest weaving establishment. Jes was garbed as a woman.

Thé proprietor hardly glanced at them. “If you work well, you get paid. I will be the judge of your merit.”

Jes shrugged. “If you are not fair, we will seek work elsewhere.”

“I am fair. My name is Crockson.”

“I am Jes. This is my sister Wona.”

He led them to the working area, where several women labored at small looms. “You are familiar with such equipment?”

“We have a similar loom at home,” Jes said with satisfaction. “Give us your pattern.”

Thus directly, they were working. The work was long and tedious but familiar, and they were competent. These were standard weighted warp looms, with the vertical strands suspended from a cloth beam and held taut by decoratively molded baked clay weights tied at their bottoms. The alternating warp threads were divided into two sections, which hung on either side of a wooden bar: the shed. The weft, or horizontal threads, was woven in between the descending warp at intervals, according to the pattern. The patterns were simple, requiring no particular attention. Jes got nô special thrill from weaving, because it was traditional woman’s work, but she could have handled a much fancier design than this.

At times they shifted off to help prepare the threads, which were of two types. Wool was the common fiber, and it came in several natural colors: black, gray, brown, tawny, beige, and white. It was easy to dye, and was warm. Flax was rarer, because it required rich soil to grow and much water for its initial processing, but it was softer next to the skin, and much stronger. So the finer weaving was done with flax. But most of the work in the shop was on the wool, which had to be untangled, cleared of burrs and debris, and combed out into long, fluffy sausage-shaped bundles for spinning. They used drop spindles for spinning, patiently forming the thread. There were always women on the looms, and others “working the allotment,” as the cleaning, combing, and spinning of the wool was called. This was the most tedious chore, and there were normally two women spinning thread for each one working the loom. Most of their production was for export, because Athenian women were expected to fulfill the modest needs of their own households.

Days passed, becoming routine. Crockson was as good as his word, paying them fairly for their production. Soon they had enough money to improve their life-style somewhat, with better food and better blankets. Loom work was no quick path to riches, and they still had to live frugally, but they were no longer at risk of starvation.

Jes was interested in the things of the big city, and really appreciated its beauties. Wona was indifferent to those, but was alert for the places where wealthy men might be found.

One day they visited the Agora again. This time they toured the Painted Stoa, a handsome colonnaded stone building in which many paintings were hung. These showed scenes of Athenian military exploits, done on removable wooden panels. Jes’s eye was caught by those depicting sea battles. How she wished she could step into one of those scenes, and be there on a trieres, a ship with three levels of oars, the ruler of the seas. But alas, it was just a foolish fancy.

There were no rich citizens in attendance on that day, and Wona was soon eager to visit elsewhere. So they went to the Monument of the Eponymous Heroes, one of the newest structures. Ten new tribes had been formed, and the names of a hundred early Athenian heroes were sent to the oracle at Delphi. The oracle picked ten, and it was after these ten that the tribes were named. Now there were ten statues honoring these heroes. The monument served a practical as well as an esthetic function, because public notices were posted here, concerning upcoming business of the tribes. But no really likely prospects were reading the notices at the moment, so Wona soon lost interest. Thus their visit was a failure, in one sense, but Jes was glad to have done it. She would have liked to see all the monuments of Athens.

Crockson had seemed indifferent to their presence; they were just two weavers among a number. Then he surprised them. After a few days he spoke privately to Jes. “I lost several good employees recently, because of the disruption of the war. I see that you are competent in all the aspects of weaving, and do not shirk. I will promote you to manager of this section, at higher pay, if you will commit to remaining here for at least a year.”

Jes didn’t question why he knew that her commitment would be good; he was clearly a competent judge of character. He had made the offer to her because he saw that her work was better, and that she had discipline and integrity. Unfortunately, she couldn’t oblige him. “I am here only until my sister finds a suitable man to marry. Then I must go home to my family.”

“Your sister is a beautiful but inattentive woman.” He squinted at her. “Sister-in-law?”

He was observant indeed! “Yes.”

“If I help you find a man for her—”

“I will go home that much sooner,” Jes said firmly. “I have prior commitments.”

“And you honor them. You are a good woman. I will help you anyway. I will tell you the best and most honest merchandiser of clothing, and where to encounter citizens.”

“We would appreciate that. But why should you bother?”

“Because if ever your situation changes, and you need to return to Athens for a prolonged stay, you will take the job I have offered you.”

She considered, and nodded. “I do not expect to return, but if I do—it is a good offer.”

He told her what he knew, and in due course she and Wona went shopping with their new obols and drachma coins where Crockson had recommended, and were treated fairly. They were ready for the next stage.

But excellent prospects turned out not to be as common as they had hoped, and one section of the city after another failed to yield Wona’s prize. Jes chafed as months passed, taking through the winter, without resolution. Meanwhile she worked in the position Crockson had offered, running his shop. She had to admit it was a comfortable interim situation. If only it didn’t seem so permanent!

Finally, they went to the Acropolis as brother and sister, because unaccompanied women were frowned on here. Wona was well dressed, a splendor to behold, catching male eyes in exactly the manner intended. The market place was one thing, but the seat of government was another; women needed to know their place. Jes carried a short staff, which she used as a cane, as if somewhat uncertain of her footing. They ascended by way of the Propylaea, an enormous sloping ramp, and went to make an offering at the Temple of Athene.

There were indeed men there, for Athene was the goddess for whom the city was named, and many wished for her favor as the goddess of war, fertility, handicrafts, and wisdom. Wona flirted shamelessly, apparently on the theory that more prospects were better than fewer. Jes tried to caution her, but could not speak openly in public, lest their purpose become too obvious.

No man, however, made a direct approach; this was after all a pious place. But when they passed a dark alcove, a hand reached out and caught Wona by the elbow, hauling her in. It took Jes a moment to realize that she was gone, for Jes’s attention had been on the grandeur of the temple. Then she whirled, and spied the action in the alcove. The man wore the robes of a citizen. These were of the ordinary style, simple in cut and material, but fine in workmanship. Ostentation was frowned on, but quality in clothing did show. However, in this case, no quality of manner was showing.

The man was groping Wona hungrily, sliding one hand into her décolletage while the other drew her in closer. Wona was trying to extricate herself without screaming or being unladylike, but it was clear that more was needed, and quickly. What the man had in mind was something other than courtship and marriage.

Jes stepped in. “My sister is not interested in this relationship,” she said politely but firmly. “Please desist and release her.”

“Get out of here, stripling,” the man grunted, getting hold of Wona’s breast.

So much for politeness. Jes lifted her staff and rapped the man smartly across the back of the head. He grunted and his grip slackened, allowing Wona to wrench free.

“We had better flee this region,” Jes muttered. “Hurry.”

They hurried, but it was already too late. “That man attacked me!” the citizen cried. “Kill him!”

This was no time to argue the niceties of provocation and reaction. They broke into a run.

The temple guards quickly took up the chase. Jes knew there would be no mercy, for the guards would take the word of the citizen over that of noncitizens. They had to hide immediately—but where?

“The priestesses’ quarters!” Wona said, pointing to an offshoot archway.

They dodged into it, and then around another corner. There was a great loom with a partly done tapestry.

They paused. “Can we masquerade as two women?” Wona asked with half a smile.

“We had better,” Jes agreed wryly.

Hastily Wona simplified her robe, removed her limited jewelry, and adjusted her composure to fit the style of a temple woman. Jes hid her staff in an alcove and quickly removed and reversed her robe so that its yellow side was out, then donned it and adjusted her style to be feminine as they scrambled for the stools before the tapestry.

The thing was huge, and very finely wrought. A pattern was being made according to a picture, and a scene was being woven in. They only glanced at it as they completed their adjustments, quickly loosening and binding back their hair in the temple mode. Wona had to rub off makeup, while Jes tried to make herself look more submissive.

Only now did they have the chance to really examine the loom. “Look at this!” Wona breathed. “Brass thread weights—with owls.”

Jes peered at one. Indeed, it was metal, imprinted with a design showing an owl with human hands spinning wool from a basket in front of it. “Athene’s bird,” she agreed. “The same as on the silver coin.”

The picture was about half-complete, showing a series of horizontally oriented scenes covering the entire cloth. The design was exceedingly intricate, in two colors, each requiring its own special threads: saffron-yellow and purple. Such a tapestry would require months to complete.

“This isn’t just an incidental project,” Wona said, awed.

“This is the peplos,” Jes agreed. “The Peplos of Athene.”

They gazed at it, overwhelmed by the significance of their discovery. Every summer the Panathenian festival was held in Hekatombaion, the first month of the Athenian calendar, and it was the biggest event of the year. The culmination was the presentation of the richly woven robe that was the peplos to the statue of Athene, and the sacrifice of a hundred cows on Athene’s altar, which was then set afire by the prize-winning torchbearer.

The weaving of the peplos was reserved for specially chosen women, a great honor. The colors were expensive and significant. Saffron associated with women and femininity;indeed, a poorer grade of that color was what Jes and Wona wore. The purple was “sea purple,” the color of kings, its rich dye derived from the murex shell. Unlike most natural dyes, both of these were colorfast in both water and sunlight. Athene rated only the very best.

The scenes on the tapestry had as yet only their top halves, but this was enough to show that they portrayed Athene and Zeus leading the gods to victory in their epic struggle with the Titans. The design differed somewhat each year, but the essence was the same. The peplos would dress the life-sized statue of Athene Polias—“Goddess of the City”—on the Acropolis.