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Authors: Tracy Barrett
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me.
"Artemis," I say. She looks up, still wearing what appears to be a smile, and wags her tail. I shrug. She probably would have done the same if I'd said "seagull" or "cheese." It's as good a name as any, though, so Artemis it is.
The land we're walking over is unappealing—rocky, sandy, difficult to traverse. I am lost in my thoughts and at first don't notice that Artemis has fallen behind. I stop and wait for her to catch up, and as soon as she's reached me she flops down on her belly. Her sides are heaving, and I decide to take my midday meal here
—our
midday meal, rather.
I've just found a relatively rock less stretch of sandy earth and am rummaging in my pack when a loud snort and the tramp of many feet rushing in my direction makes me spring up, sword drawn. A shape bursts from behind a rock, and before I can focus on exactly what it is, it runs straight into my sword and then drops on its side, screaming.
Chapter 11
I'M SORRY," I say for what feels like the thousandth time. "I didn't mean to kill your pig. I didn't even know it
was
a pig. I was just holding my sword up at the ready, and it ran right into—"
"She," the old woman says.
"I'm sorry—she?"
"You keep saying 'it.' My Phyllis wasn't an
it.
She was a
she.
"
At least, that's what I think the crone says. She's missing most of her teeth, and her words come out somewhere between a mumble and a whistle.
"Sorry," I repeat, feeling inadequate to her grief. I don't know what else to say or what to do about the pig, which lies motionless between us.
"A dozen piglets at each farrowing." She ignores my apology. "Most of them would live to grow up, too, and make fine eating."
I wish she hadn't mentioned eating. I look at the pig and mentally carve it—her—i nto chops and loins, into fat cheeks and delectable trotters. My stomach rumbles. The old woman looks at me indignantly, and even Artemis lays her ears back as though my hunger, in the presence of this tragedy, is in bad taste.
I end up giving the old woman the blanket that Konnidas packed for me. She is so pleased with it that she becomes friendly and talkative, even recommending an inn farther up the road where I'll be able to sleep in exchange for one of the small pieces of silver from the pouch my stepfather pressed into my hand as I left.
I trudge along the seaside path, first thinking that I should save the silver, then reminding myself that I've been forced to give up my blanket and that the late-winter night is sure to be chilly this close to the water.
The inn is farther on than the old woman said, and it's not much more than a shack, but the old man sitting outside of it chewing on laurel leaves is hospitality itself. "Welcome!" he cries, hauling himself to his feet. He's skinny and wrinkled, and he leans heavily on his staff.
"Sit, grandfather," I say respectfully, but he ignores me.
"Just in time for supper!" he says. "And then you shall have the finest bed in Hellas. What brings a young gentleman so far out into the country?"
"Actually, I'm on my way to—"
"Come in!" He practically shoves me through the doorway. A fire burns in a pit in the middle of the floor, the heavy smoke barely drifting through the hole in the roof. "Sit here." He points at a three-legged stool very like the one that Konnidas must be sitting on at this moment, back inTroizena. He reaches into a bucket and pulls out a fistful of wriggling silver fish, which he proceeds to thread onto long, thin pieces of wood that have been soaking in a barrel next to the fire. He sprinkles the fish with herbs and pops them directly onto the hot coals. They sizzle and send up pungent smoke. After a minute, he turns them, and then he picks up a stick by its end and hands it to me.
I suck the small, salty bodies off the warm twig and wonder if I've ever eaten anything this good. The old man watches me with a satisfied grin, and when my belly is full he takes the three sticks I've emptied and pops them back into the
"Artemis," I say. She looks up, still wearing what appears to be a smile, and wags her tail. I shrug. She probably would have done the same if I'd said "seagull" or "cheese." It's as good a name as any, though, so Artemis it is.
The land we're walking over is unappealing—rocky, sandy, difficult to traverse. I am lost in my thoughts and at first don't notice that Artemis has fallen behind. I stop and wait for her to catch up, and as soon as she's reached me she flops down on her belly. Her sides are heaving, and I decide to take my midday meal here
—our
midday meal, rather.
I've just found a relatively rock less stretch of sandy earth and am rummaging in my pack when a loud snort and the tramp of many feet rushing in my direction makes me spring up, sword drawn. A shape bursts from behind a rock, and before I can focus on exactly what it is, it runs straight into my sword and then drops on its side, screaming.
Chapter 11
I'M SORRY," I say for what feels like the thousandth time. "I didn't mean to kill your pig. I didn't even know it
was
a pig. I was just holding my sword up at the ready, and it ran right into—"
"She," the old woman says.
"I'm sorry—she?"
"You keep saying 'it.' My Phyllis wasn't an
it.
She was a
she.
"
At least, that's what I think the crone says. She's missing most of her teeth, and her words come out somewhere between a mumble and a whistle.
"Sorry," I repeat, feeling inadequate to her grief. I don't know what else to say or what to do about the pig, which lies motionless between us.
"A dozen piglets at each farrowing." She ignores my apology. "Most of them would live to grow up, too, and make fine eating."
I wish she hadn't mentioned eating. I look at the pig and mentally carve it—her—i nto chops and loins, into fat cheeks and delectable trotters. My stomach rumbles. The old woman looks at me indignantly, and even Artemis lays her ears back as though my hunger, in the presence of this tragedy, is in bad taste.
I end up giving the old woman the blanket that Konnidas packed for me. She is so pleased with it that she becomes friendly and talkative, even recommending an inn farther up the road where I'll be able to sleep in exchange for one of the small pieces of silver from the pouch my stepfather pressed into my hand as I left.
I trudge along the seaside path, first thinking that I should save the silver, then reminding myself that I've been forced to give up my blanket and that the late-winter night is sure to be chilly this close to the water.
The inn is farther on than the old woman said, and it's not much more than a shack, but the old man sitting outside of it chewing on laurel leaves is hospitality itself. "Welcome!" he cries, hauling himself to his feet. He's skinny and wrinkled, and he leans heavily on his staff.
"Sit, grandfather," I say respectfully, but he ignores me.
"Just in time for supper!" he says. "And then you shall have the finest bed in Hellas. What brings a young gentleman so far out into the country?"
"Actually, I'm on my way to—"
"Come in!" He practically shoves me through the doorway. A fire burns in a pit in the middle of the floor, the heavy smoke barely drifting through the hole in the roof. "Sit here." He points at a three-legged stool very like the one that Konnidas must be sitting on at this moment, back inTroizena. He reaches into a bucket and pulls out a fistful of wriggling silver fish, which he proceeds to thread onto long, thin pieces of wood that have been soaking in a barrel next to the fire. He sprinkles the fish with herbs and pops them directly onto the hot coals. They sizzle and send up pungent smoke. After a minute, he turns them, and then he picks up a stick by its end and hands it to me.
I suck the small, salty bodies off the warm twig and wonder if I've ever eaten anything this good. The old man watches me with a satisfied grin, and when my belly is full he takes the three sticks I've emptied and pops them back into the
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