RCG-I Seasonal Salon
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When Destiny Walked the LabrynthChapter 9: At the MarketplaceAt dawn, Ansel arose restless and by habit, wandered over to her desk to write. She wondered if she dreamed her encounter at the beach or if she had gone to the beach at all, but when she scratched her head with her stubby fingernails, she felt gritty sand on her scalp. Surely, then, at least that part was true. When Geneera awoke soon after sunrise (as she always did for her morning run), she found Ansel still writing at her little, wooden table. “My, you are up early this morn.” Ansel shrugged. She felt hesitant about telling Gen of the woman at the beach; Gen might think she was losing her sense to the sea again. Like after Amnisos, when had remained unresponsive for a long time. People worried about her; especially Meter and Gran. It occurred to Ansel suddenly that she might be losing her sense of reality, really losing it – that she would become one of those people who does not know who or where she is at any given time, who talk to phantasms, shout to the sea and slap rocks until their hands are bloody and someone kind comes to walk them home. That thought threatened to throw her into a panic, so she forcibly pushed it back to ponder at a later time. But other things preoccupied Geneera’s mind. Grinning, she pounced on Ansel’s sweet hay filled bed mattress and crossed her long legs. “Garin really likes you. He says you are prettier even than your meta.” Ansel looked up from her scroll, swiveled on her stool to face Gen, and forced herself to concentrate on her friend. “Hmm, that one I have never heard before. What does he want, do you think?” “Silly, he wants to spend time with you.” “Gen, I do not even know him. Nor him me.” “So spend time with him and get to know him. He is considered one of the best of the dancers and he is very good looking. Do you not like him?” “Ai, no, it is not that.” “Then what is it?” “Well, boys have never before shown much interest in me and in honesty, I do not trust his motives.” Ansel wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “This is our Kore Festival, no? It is time to become women, to fling off girlhood, or so meta and everyone keeps telling me.” She slapped \her pen down on the table in frustration. Her voice held bitterness. “I have had many experiences with false friends, those who want to be seen with the First Elder’s grandaughter yet care not for me. I do not need pretend interest from a false lover. Can you not hear the stories in the athlete’s dorms? ‘Oh Garin, you certainly did turn the head of the grandaughter. Did you take her in the meadow? Or did she bring you back to her private apartment? How was she, Garin? Was it worth it to have to spend time with her?’” “Oh Ansel, I think you judge him, and yourself, harshly…” “Do I? Maybe. But Gen, everything is changing too fast. You are my best friend, my only friend in truth, and you are leaving me to join the Bulldancers. We are about to be declared women in front of all of Knossos, and I do not know who I am nor what I want.” She glanced down at her chewed fingernails, then raised her head and looked Geneera in the eyes. “I envy you. You have always known you wanted to be an athlete regardless of what your meta wants. And now, you are joining the dancer troupe, just as you dreamed. I never had a goal like that. Now I am to become Kore and my future seems less clear to me than ever. I’m plain scared.” “You could be a teacher, Ansel. You were always better at your studies than me.” “I could teach, but my heart would not be in it. Would I teach here at the Agronos? Then, for my entire life I could listen to people wonder aloud why I am not pretty like my meta, nor clever like my granmeter. And probably not as good a teacher as your meter as well. I could spend my time apologizing for not being any of them.” Ansel felt her eyes well with tears. She clenched her teeth trying to hold them back. It was no use though and the fat hot tears spilled over her cheeks. After a moment, she continued. “To make it worse, there is nowhere in this land I can escape, Gen. Both Meta and Gran are known anywhere I go.” Ansel paused, ashamed at her tearfulness, angry with herself that she could not control them better. “I don’t know how people know who they are, Gen. I am never sure of anything. I ponder and ponder, but still no answer comes to me. Sometimes I think I am going adrift. I really mean it.” Abruptly, Ansel stood and turned her back to her friend while rolling up her papyrus. She fumbled for a moment with a length of sinew, then wrapped and tied it around the scroll. Swallowing hard before she turned back to Gen, she said, “But let us talk about something else, yes? I was thinking… I was thinking… perhaps we could skip the opening of Festival and go directly to the marketplace. If we go early, we will have the best selection. Later, it will be very busy.” Geneera nodded. “Agreed. Most of the Festival crowd will attend the opening. No offense meant to your Granmeter, but she will speak for longer than I can listen.” A reluctant half-grin crossed Ansel’s tear-streaked face. “Indeed. Gran can talk the length of many courtyards.” An hour or so later, the girls left the Agronos and began walking down to the large meadow bowl where the marketplace was held, south of the Center. It was a bright morn and a light, soft breeze blew their hair off their faces. Their feet kicked up a fine yellow dust from the dry rocky soil, as the Cronetide rains had not yet begun. Leathery-leaved plants lined the path as they descended in the meadow. As they approached the market, the sound of voices raised in dickering drifted to their ears. Others, too, had apparently decided to skip the opening of festivities in favor of shopping. Soon, their nostrils were assaulted with the odors of dung and unwashed bodies, as well as the more pleasing scents of baking bread, sizzling meats and exotic spices. The off-key clang of copper bells, accompanied by the lows and bleats of the various animals who wore them, could be heard mixed with the general din. Somewhere, someone was playing an eerie tune upon a reed pipe. Traders intuited that the girls had the means to buy likely based on the girls’ dress and Ansel and Geneera were eagerly courted from the moment they stepped foot in the dusty corridor between the many booths. “Girls! Girls! You must try my perfume!” called one peddler as he waved them towards his booth. Compliantly, the girls sniffed the proffered tiny ceramic pot of oil. Geneera wrinkled her nose. “Ai, it is too sweet!” She pretended to gag, wrapping her arms around her slim waist and retching clownishly. The trader rolled his eyes, turned his back to Geneera and attempted to woo Ansel. “It is patchouli, young Miss, and the sweetness, that is what the boys like,” the portly trader wheedled as he mopped his sweaty brow with a square of undyed linen. Ansel rubbed a drop of the oil onto her wrist while Geneera wandered away, her attention drawn to a nearby leather-goods stall. Ansel’s eyes followed the back of the rapidly disappearing Geneera, “Um, no thanks, I do not want the perfume, not now anyway,” she told the trader hastily, then trotted to catch up with her longer-legged friend. The perfume peddler shrugged good naturedly as he re-corked his pot of oil. The girls quickly learned not to respond to the traders’ calls. They scooped their hands into baskets full of slick obsidian beads and admired shell-encrusted bangles, looked at themselves in highly polished silver hand mirrors and cooed at brightly dyed skeins of wool. Bronze charcoal braziers belched forth strongly scented powdered incenses. Dried medicinal herbs and ostrich plumes were tucked between stalls of copper pots and ceramic vessels. Geneera bought a seal stone carved from marble. It depicted a cunningly carved miniature Bulldancer springing through the air over a bull’s head. Ansel bought a silver dolphin brooch for her meter. Both girls breakfasted on honeyed, sweet-cheese pastries and pulpy fruit drinks as they meandered through the stalls and booths. Next to a display of braided bread and harvested vegetables was a booth where a stooped, elderly man was carefully arranging rows of short, broad-bladed bronze knives and swords with ornate sheathes of leather decorated with silver, gold and copper. As the girls approached, the man took out a cloth and began rubbing the blade of a knife. His naked belly jiggled in rhythm with his polishing. Behind the display of weaponry hung upon a pegged wooden board were coats of the sort one would wear for protection in a fight or battle. Some were jerkins of leather, others ringlets of solid bronze. Among them was a cap made of an exotic blackish metal. “What is that?” Geneera asked the trader, pointing toward the cap. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.” The man took down the cap for the girls to look more closely. The metal was heavy as bronze, but looked coarser and knobby. Ansel asked, “Why would someone want to buy that helmet? Is it because they cannot afford bronze?” The man laughed aloud revealing several missing teeth. “Little maidens, I would sell you that cap of iron for only about ten times the price of the bronze. For all its unsightliness, it can turn a bronze sword.” He bent close to them in a conspiratorial manner adding, “The making of iron is difficult and its recipe is a secret. Not that anyone here on the island is even trying to discover that secret. Bah! They think they are forever immune to what happens in the outside world. But those nomadic warrior ogres understand the value of iron. It is strong! And it is in the hands of the wrong people!” He shook his head in disgust, then ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. Pointing a gnarled finger at the girls, he said, “One day everyone will have iron weapons. When that happens, heed my words, girls, the world will change, the world will change.” “Ai, good trader, you speak wise as the serpent. I myself bought an iron dagger just this last maidentide,” said a voice behind the girls. They whirled around to see a stout silver-haired woman, her hands on her hips, nodding her head as she talked to the iron trader. Next to her stood a tall, pale man with extraordinarily fleshy lips. “Times grow dangerous for traders, especially the females. I feel more safe with iron on my side.” “You are Melodia, from Delos, no?” the trader asked. “And of course, I know you, Trader Alekki. Can I interest you in some iron weaponry also? Surely you need protection with the merchandise you handle. I have testimony to its efficacy, as you heard.” “No, friend, though I would indeed enjoy hearing more sometime. Melodia and I were just walking by and heard you speaking to the girls. I must be off to my own tent now, for I am on an errand for Helen Demetria of Athena.” “I would talk more with the iron tradeskourete, Alekki. Perhaps we can meet again to talk before the Citizenry meeting?” “Of course, Melodia.” Quickly he embraced her, kissing her on the cheek, and then left. Melodia frowned quizzically at the girls, then pointed her chin at Ansel saying, “Unless I miss my mark, you are Ansel, grandaughter of First Elder Thesmas. Do I win?” “Yes,” she replied, almost too wearily to be polite. Sometimes she wished mightily to have a less well-known face. “Know your meta and Xeronos, and have met your Granmeta. Saw you when you were a babe and not since. You look much like your meta though. Name’s Melodia. I trade in Trojan silver mostly, gold, electrum and precious gems when I can.” Ansel warmed to the no-nonsense woman. “Delighted to have your acquaintance, Tradeskore Melodia. Here is my friend, Geneera, daughter of Priesera Vasilea.” “Geneera, delighted to meet you. I do not know your meter personally, but have heard her speak. But here, let me ponder for a moment; my youngest daughter, Dia, is a bit older than you, Ansel, so it must be, oh, close to fifteen turns since I saw you last.” “Indeed, I will have sixteen turns to me this Metertide.” “Ach, you are nearly Kore. How time flows.” “Yes, Mistress.” “Were you thinking of buying anything from our good tradeskourete? No? Then perhaps I may enjoin him. Please give my heart’s blessings to your meta, Ansel. Tell her I will see her at the Citizenry meeting. Now, good trader, what else have you in ironware?” Just as she and Gen were retreating from the iron trader’s stall, leaving Melodia deep in conversation with the trader, Ansel noticed two other people approaching – Carea and a man who turned out to be Carea’s Uncle, Nikolas. Gen grinned and skipped over to them, excitedly kissed Carea on the cheeks and hugged “Uncle Niko” as Carea introduced him. Ansel tried not to feel left out when Carea didn’t also introduce her to Uncle Niko. Nikolas was no taller than Gen and stout, no doubt once powerfully built as Carea was now. His balding head was more than compensated for by the rich black hair he grew everywhere else. His forearms and lower legs where they peered below his white linen tunic, even the knuckles of his square hands and the tops of his sandaled feet bloomed with lush hair. “Carea tells me you are to join the troupe, Gen. You must be excited. I remember when Carea told my sister and I that she had been accepted. My Carea whooped and danced for all of the weeks before she left for Knossos.” For all that Ansel didn’t like Carea, she couldn’t help but warm to the idea of her jumping and dancing like a child. She smiled a little at Carea, but the girl was looking down at her own feet. “Oh yes, I am breathless with excitement!” Gen confirmed. “But please, Uncle Niko, if I may call you that, I have not yet told my meter. If she were to find out from anyone but me…” “Ah, I can see that would be most uncomfortable. You may count on me not to divulge your secret, Geneera. Some things a Meter must learn first from her daughter.” Carea looked up sharply and said, “My Uncle wishes to speak at length with the iron trader, Gen. Where are you going? I hope to find some leather for boots. Would you like to come with me?” Ansel held her breath. Gen turned toward her, caught Ansel’s eye for a moment, then replied, “We, Ansel and I, are looking for a few things, too. Do you wish to join us?” Carea looked at Ansel, her eyes hardening again, and said, “No, I think I will go quickly find the leather and then join the opening ceremonies. I will take time to peruse the market later this Festival.” Gen shrugged her shoulders and hugged Carea farewell. The day was growing warm and the two girls walked slowly, pausing often to finger some new rarity. Ansel noticed that nearly every conversation she overheard, from the people milling around the refreshment booths, to some comments made to a traveling muse, to an earnest and somewhat heated discussion between traders, centered on unrest in the area. Some expressed concern about the great mountain Herilia rumbling on the nearby island of Heria. Others whispered about political and religious unrest on neighboring islands, and the northern mainlands. Many planned to attend the upcoming Citizenry meeting. For the first time, Ansel gave some consideration to attending herself, providing, of course, it didn’t conflict with something more interesting. Finally, Ansel spotted a booth selling what she sought. Among trinkets of ivory and gold and boxes of a black wood, were bolts of orange and red cloth with fierce-looking, golden lions woven into the pattern. She had seen cloth of this type before in a market many years ago and had never forgotten it. Her Meter had marveled at the texture of the material; soft, yet tough, while the young Ansel had poked chubby little-gitl fingers at the lions. To the young adult Ansel, the lion pattern of the cloth seemed random, yet still had a sense of rightness that spoke to her deeply. She had no idea how she might use the cloth, but she wanted it anyway. “How much for the cloth, good TradesKore?” she asked the tall, large-boned woman behind the booth. “You have silver? It is two standard-weight rings for the bolt,” she replied. When Ansel gasped at the price, the trader said, “Alas, young miss, the trade routes become more and more dangerous, and so I must ask more for my products to make the long journey profitable.” Geneera, who had been sifting through a display of wooden beads cunningly carved to resemble birds, cocked her head in interest at the trader’s words. “Why are the trade routes becoming more dangerous? I heard this had been a particularly favorable year for weather,” “Indeed,” the woman replied, gracefully turning toward Gen as she spoke, “the weather has not been the problem. You who reside on Kriti are isolated by the Meter Sea, and she continues to smile on your lovely lands.” She flashed white teeth in a smile, but her eyes did not reflect amusement. “But alas, your neighboring countries do not share in your peaceful existence. Surely you have heard that in many of your neighboring lands there has been unrest - raids from light-skinned nomads who bear terrible weapons and worship a god who speaks in a voice of thunder and blood.” Ansel’s heart suddenly thumped hard in her chest, then returned to normal. To cover her momentary confusion, she swallowed, then said, “No, we…I hadn’t heard.” “We think they come from far to the North. On the borders of Libya, my home, there have been battles. Everywhere is the rumor of war. The worst of it is spoken barely above a whisper; this god of battle commands his followers to sacrifice all the men and boys of the conquered lands to him, then to rape and enslave the women. And so my business becomes more and more dangerous as even foreign traders are at some risk. Many women traders have already been forced to find less dangerous work, while others have given their sons or brothers or consorts a more active role so that the monsters and their vile followers will allow them to trade in peace.” The woman stood to her full height, her eyes full of flame. “My sisters and I also carry weapons now, and we have learned to use them. Never will we submit to the dogs.” She spat on the ground and looked fiercely at the girls. Abruptly the Libyan trader allowed her shoulders to slump a little and she chuckled. “Luckily for me, most of them are cowards, no more than little boys playing at defying their meters. The fear of Goddess is strong in them, and they know in their hearts they risk Her wrath. But I shudder to think what will happen if ever they lose that fear.” Ansel liked the trader woman and dickered just enough so not to offend her, then handed over her silver. As the woman wrapped the precious cloth with a length of cheap, clean linen, Ansel mused about the woman’s tale of unrest in her home country. She privately resolved to attend the Citizenry meeting no matter what other interesting events might be happening at the same time. Copyright by the Kassandra Sojourner ~ All rights reserved |
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