Amber and Clay by Laura Schlitz (phonics books txt) 📕

I’d lost it.

Melisto had shown me food plants,

and I gathered them along the way:

sharp herbs that left their tang in my mouth

but did little to satisfy my hunger.

Still I was grateful.

The fourth day I had little food.

I hoped to reach Athens before the sun set.

I thought of Zosima,

of the trouble I’d caused her;

four days I’d been gone, and Phaistus rebuking her;

four days, and she’d think I was gone for good.

I imagined her face at the sight of me:

relief and joy,

her squinty smile, and her flappy sandals;

I knew she’d rush to get me something to eat.

I wanted to show Phaistus the amber sphinx;

he’d see its beauty; he’d know its worth.

I wanted to tell him we could stay in Athens —

But the sun went down before I reached the city.

The gates would be locked.

I’d have to wait another hungry night.

I kept away from the road.

I didn’t want to sleep too near the tombs.

Once again, I stripped limbs from a pine tree

and made myself a bed.

I tied the necklace around my neck. Tightly.

unknotted my cloak and covered myself.

I slept. But I was awakened,

a sound in the night, a presence, an odor,

a trace of music, the singing of the stars,

the voice of the god.

I got up, every hair on end. A noise from the brush.

Then I saw her: more solid than the darkness,

an opaque shadow

larger than a dog,

smaller than a horse,

a lustrous eye,

a savage death.

Melisto’s bear was watching me. I stood

unweaponed

I heard the huff of her breathing;

she was drawing my scent into her nostrils;

I was a warm smell

flesh

food —

I sympathized. I was hungry myself.

I didn’t move a muscle

breathless

danger

— then my laugh came out as a snort.

Melisto had foreseen this hour

and taught me what to do. I lifted my hands,

stamped one heel in the dirt,

and began to dance.

It was no dream.

I danced, and the bear watched me,

and the music came from the stars,

the Great Bear overhead:

perhaps the goddess herself was there,

armed with her silver bow,

ready to shoot me for one false step.

but I didn’t misstep. I danced.

I danced. I growled and pivoted,

huffed and clawed the air,

shifted my weight,

circled and swayed.

I danced till I’d sweated out my fear,

and the bear grew bored and padded away;

I danced till I was dizzy and faint,

and the goddess was appeased.

8.

There was one last knot to untie:

the final gamble. The sun was rising as I entered the city.

I longed to go home,

but I had to see Arkadios.

He was a citizen and a busy man,

away from home all day —

I couldn’t wait till nightfall.

Melisto had told me how to find the house:

She’d described the carved gatepost

and told me the name of the slave at the gate.

“Are you Sosias?”

“I am. Who told you my name, and what do you want?”

He was sizing me up.

I was ragged, and not very clean,

a red-haired nobody.

He was in charge of the household,

a trusted servant, with other slaves under him.

I tried not to sound too meek.

I tried not to sound too bold.

“I came to see Arkadios. He’ll want to see me.”

“Will he, now? Who’s your master?”

“I work for Phaistus, a potter in the Agora.

I knew your master’s daughter, Melisto.”

“The master’s daughter’s dead.

Struck down by Zeus three years ago.

You’d know that, if you knew the family.”

“She’s the one who told me your name.”

I dragged my cloak around my neck,

holding the knot at arm’s length.

I clamped my fist around it,

squeezing, so he could see.

“I have something for your master, here,

but it’s for his eyes alone.”

He was curious,

but he shrugged as if he weren’t.

“I’ll ask if he’ll see you. My guess is, he won’t.

He’ll tell you to leave your gift with me.”

I tightened my grip on the knot

and shifted my weight to the balls of my feet.

If he came at me, I was ready to run.

Instead, he opened the gate.

“You can wait in the courtyard,

but don’t think you can come in the house.

There are women in the kitchen, working.

What’s your name again?”

“Rhaskos. I mean, Pyrrhos.

My master calls me Pyrrhos.

Arkadios won’t recognize my name.”

He nodded.

He understood how it was with names.

I wondered what his real name was.

I followed him into the courtyard.

I could smell bread baking.

My stomach gaped open, like a yawn.

There was a rosemary hedge,

fragrant,

and a bench, which I knew better than to sit on.

The house was well built, modestly large,

the roof tiles unbroken, the altar scrubbed clean.

I saw a tortoise,

crawling steadily, intent on some tortoise errand.

Melisto had told me about the tortoise.

As I stood waiting, a door slammed,

and a little boy scampered into the courtyard.

At the sight of me, he stopped, jamming his fingers in his mouth.

He looked like his sister: broad-shouldered, sturdy,

bushy-haired, owl eyes.

A man came after him. He was like the boy,

like Melisto,

barrel-chested, battle-scarred.

The little boy whirled round,

raced over the grass,

and hurled himself at his father. Arkadios caught him up,

tossed him in the air,

flipped him and juggled him from hand to hand.

He grabbed the boy’s wrists and swung him around,

horizontal. The child screamed for joy.

Arkadios tossed him again,

higher

higher

caught him under the armpits,

and set him back on his feet.

I wondered if he ever tossed Melisto like that.

“Off you go, Takis!

Your papa has work to do!”

The boy circled the courtyard,

running full tilt and barking like a dog.

He made a beeline for the tortoise.

He squatted down, plucked a handful of grass,

and tickled the animal’s mouth.

The tortoise drew in its head.

Arkadios would have passed me;

he was headed for the gate.

I blocked his path.

He frowned.

“Oh, you! Sosias said there was someone.

Who are you and why have you come?”

I gabbled,

“I’m Pyrrhos, slave to Phaistus, a potter.

His shop is near the shrine of Hermes the Trader,

inside the city wall. I come on my master’s behalf.

He’s a freeman, an honest man and a good potter.

His protector, Markos, is dead.

He needs a new protector.”

Arkadios’s eyes were deep-set,

not wide, like Melisto’s;

sharp but not cruel. He wanted to be off. “No doubt.

But I don’t know the man.

If your master wants a favor, he should come himself.

Tell him that.”

He started toward the gate.

“He wouldn’t dare.

He doesn’t know I’m here.

He wasn’t the one who sent me. Melisto told me to come.”

He stopped. His body stiffened.

“My daughter Melisto is dead.

If someone