Melisto picked at the knot that fastened her himation to her back. She undid the cord and draped the bear pelt around her like a cloak. Wool grease had prevented the rain from soaking in. The inner folds were not even damp.
Elpis tugged at her. “Do me, too.”
Melisto snorted: an exasperated sound she had learned from Lysandra. She untied the cord that bound Elpis’s himation, shook out the cloth, and began to towel-dry the younger girl. Elpis’s skin was goose-pimpled; her body was as fine-boned as a fawn’s. Melisto had never been delicate like that.
“This is the first cave you have seen.” Korinna’s voice echoed against the stone. “There are many in these mountains. As a Bear, you must learn to provide yourself with shelter and food. Before the battle of Salamis, the women and children fled the city. My grandmother told me how it was. The women who’d been Bears were able to help the others. They knew which plants were safe to eat. They knew the caves. If there’s a war — and there is always war — the wisdom you learn as a Bear could save lives.
“The knowledge we give you is a gift. But it is secret knowledge, and you must not boast of it. When you leave Brauron, you will speak only of what all women know: wool work and cookery and the care of children. Once you marry, you will no longer be a wild bear. Marriage will tame you. But you will remember what you learn from us. In times of hardship, you will share what you know.”
The girls listened gravely. Already Melisto’s imagination was at work, envisioning a city besieged by Spartans. She would be a heroine, stealthy and wise; she would lead her mother and Thratta to a cave like this one.
There was a cache of firewood in the driest corner of the cave. Melisto followed Korinna and helped her carry the logs to the firepit. The priestess kindled a fire and told the girls to wrap themselves in their himations. Then she left them. She returned some time later with an armful of roots, ferns, and green plants.
Melisto gazed at her worshipfully. Korinna was drenched, but she seemed refreshed, even exhilarated. Her skin gleamed with water, and she quivered like an animal, without seeming to notice that she was cold. She pulled her rope of hair around one shoulder and twisted it, squeezing out a small waterfall. Then she hunkered down and separated the plants into piles: one for each child and one for herself.
Melisto saw herself performing the same action: dividing food for herself, Thratta, and Lysandra. She would give Thratta and Lysandra the same portion, not shortchanging the slave. She was eager to sample the plants, but found them sharp and tough. Some of the wild herbs stung the inside of her mouth, cutting her tongue, but leaving a clean aftertaste. Other plants oozed sap so bitter she was tempted to spit them out. She liked the dandelion flowers the best: they tasted like food, not grass. Elpis wrinkled her nose over the plants and ate little, complaining of hunger. In her heart, Melisto sympathized.
The children prepared for sleep. The floor of the cave was sharp and uneven. The fire provided light and smoke, but little heat. Melisto wrapped herself and Elpis in a tight cocoon. The younger girl’s skin was icy. Melisto held her close, chafing her bare arms. At last the child grew warm, and she fell asleep.
Melisto remembered Thratta’s words: I think some god has made you strong. She was proud of herself. She had eaten wild plants, and she was sleeping in a cave. She had never been afraid of the dark, and Korinna had smiled when she helped with the firewood.
The following day dawned chilly and clear. The children rose at first light and shoved their sore feet into their sandals. They draped their cloaks over their wet chitons and resumed their journey, limping. Elpis was pale. She walked hanging on to Melisto’s hand, sagging against her, almost tripping her. Melisto wanted to shake her off, but something held her back.
The fiery sun climbed the arc of the sky, opening the poppies and hardening the mud underfoot. Wind dried the girls’ tunics. As the day grew warmer, they shed their himations. They began to whisper and chatter; they picked up speed. Midmorning the procession passed through a village, and the villagers left their houses to honor the Bears.
They fed the bedraggled children bowls of barley porridge sweetened with honey. Melisto savored every grain, licking her forefinger and scraping the bowl. Some of the village women gave offerings to the children. These were not gifts, but objects to be passed on to the goddess at the sanctuary. The most beautiful girls were adorned with ribbons: Elpis received three. The women made a pet of her, stroking her frizzy curls and praising her. They decorated her: a yellow ribbon around her right wrist, a scarlet one around the left. A sea-green ribbon hung in loops from the shoulders of her tunic. Elpis spun in circles, watching the ribbons float around her. Color bloomed in her cheeks.
Melisto received no ribbons and understood why. She sat in the shade of a juniper bush and watched the younger girl twirl. It hadn’t occurred to her that Elpis was so pretty. She felt hoodwinked.
After a brief rest, the handmaids gathered the girls, reminding them that they had lost a half day because of the rain. If they were to reach Brauron while the moon was still full, they must travel quickly, following the river Erasinos.
The landscape was changing. Forest and foothills gave way to marshland. All her life, Melisto had looked up to the breathtaking height of the Akropolis, the Rock of Ares, and the Hill of the Wolves. Now the horizon was low and soft; the hills curved like the haunches of a sleeping woman. The sky was full of seabirds:
