‘These silks are almost as fine as mine,’ Cornelia said, attempting joviality as she pulled the sleeves of the robe over her welted skin. ‘Perhaps I should have joined the Goddess rather than marry.’
‘You can still find another way. I will write to your cousin. As soon as we hear any news, we will send for you. For now, we will find you a place to sleep tonight.’ Medusa took the girl’s hand, but her gesture was met with silence. Cornelia’s eyes, which for so long had looked pleadingly to Medusa, now refused even to meet hers.
‘Medusa. I thank you. You have tended me well.’
‘Cornelia ...’
‘It is late. There are only so many hours for which a woman can pray and have her husband not feel abandoned.’
Medusa reached to touch her shoulder, but remembering the bruises, she withdrew.
‘Cornelia, no. You do not need to return to him.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘You would turn me into an islander. A farmworker.’ Her pretty face contorted. ‘You would have me digging in the dirt and sharing a mattress of straw with the rats and the vermin? How could I live such a life?’
‘You would live it. You would be alive. You do not need to return to him.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘No, you —’
‘Yes. My wife is correct. She needs to return home now.’
He stood in the light of the entrance, his bronzed arms out, his bare knuckles worn red and bloody from the resilience of his wife’s flesh. There was a nervousness to his stance, an edge to his eye.
Fury, almost unearthly in its intensity swarmed Medusa. She stepped towards him.
‘This is the temple of the Goddess.’ The wrath in her voice made the air tremble. ‘You are not permitted here.’
The snake eyes of the man smiled upwards as if she had done no more than ask him the price of a fig.
‘I do not wish to intrude. I have merely come to retrieve what is mine. Are your prayers done, my love?’ He spoke past Medusa to his wife, who shook behind her. ‘I know the gods will have listened to you. I am certain. And what timing have I that I appear at the moment you wish? It is as though we were cut from one cloth.’
Cornelia’s feet remained rooted to the ground. The bravado with which she previously had spoken evaporated into the air.
‘Cornelia.’ Her husband’s tone grew harsher.
‘Sir,’ Medusa spoke again. ‘This is the temple of Athena. Leave here.’
‘I will leave when I have what I came for.’
‘You should leave now, with what little of your dignity remains.’
Anger flashed in his eyes.
‘You would question me?’ He stepped forwards into the temple. Medusa gasped as if his foot had buried itself into her stomach rather than simply step across the threshold of the temple. His fingers flexed. Her eyes blazed.
‘You wish to strike down a priestess in the temple of the Goddess of War?’ Medusa asked.
‘I do not wish to,’ he replied.
‘Then leave.’
The man shook his head.
‘I will leave when I get what I came for.’
‘You will. The gods will see you here. They will see you, here, this day, mark my words. You know no wrath like that of a goddess whose temple has been defiled.’
She stood her ground, hands quivering against her hips, no fear, only fury.
‘I do not wish to harm you, Priestess. I have only come for what is mine.’
‘You have no claim on her in here. And you will not defile the name of Athena,’ Medusa repeated.
From behind her, Cornelia’s stuttering breaths echoed.
‘I am coming. I am coming with you, my love.’
Medusa spun around, breathless.
‘You cannot.’
‘Look at you two, bickering over a silly mistake.’ She laughed, high and false. Her eyes glanced across Medusa as her feet skipped over the ground. Both landed beside her husband. She took his hand and swept her arms around him, grimacing in pain as she did so. Medusa’s eyes were drawn to her belly. A belly where, only hours ago, a small heart had trembled, so tiny that only the gods could have heard. Cornelia turned towards the entrance.
Only at the point of departure did she glance back towards Medusa. She mouthed something, perhaps a word of endearment, perhaps an apology. Which, Medusa would never know.
Chapter 4
Three days later, a slave came to the temple. The man was young, his dark skin marked with pink stripes. He walked with his head down and waited at the steps of the temple. When another priestess approached him, he asked for Medusa by name.
‘My master says he has no more need for this.’ The messenger placed an item into the palm of Medusa’s hand. The gold of the ring was dull and tarnished, a crust of red muting the shine.
‘And your mistress?’ The words tumbled from Medusa’s mouth, her tongue and throat numb.
‘An accident.’ The man’s eyes scuttled across the ground.
Weeping was not her custom, not anymore. She had cried that first night when her father left her. The Goddess had gone too and she was alone, not just in the temple, but indeed the world. In the privacy of a quiet corner, she had allowed herself a moment.
There had been other times in the early days. The sight of a bloodied child or a baby, still from birth, had caused tears to rise up and fall freely. Most of the time they went unnoticed, drowned out by the mother’s own wails and cries. Gradually, over the years, her heart had hardened to such matters. It was life. Children were beaten, babies died and, every year, countless women were lost in the same way as Cornelia. Some of them had come to the temple seeking the strength to pull away. Few had had the courage to see it through. Some stayed with their husbands for the children, some for the gold. Many because they held fast
